> The Stereotypical Necromancer > by JinxTJL > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Chapter 1 - The Walk Home > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 991 AB Equestria. It's a beautiful place, one we all know well. A marvelous, wonderful place, where all of a pony's dreams can come true. From the light-dappled capital Canterlot to the high spires of the bustling metropolis Manehatten, there's a place for everypony. Filled with wonders and whimsy. Sights and sounds. Music and mayhem. Ponies and palaces. Creatures... and chapters of my newest book! Hello there, ponies of all ages! I'm the world-famous author, Page Puncher, and I'm here to talk to you about- Light Flow sighed as he pressed his ears back, tuning out the inane babbling coming from the nearby radio. He had hoped to catch something about the weather report for tomorrow, but there seemed to be a pivotal lack of dice today. Rainstorms make for excellent brooding! He turned away and pushed through the crowded front of the local bakery to continue his trot down the street towards his home. His mother always worried when he came home late, and though it didn't fit at all with his thoroughly established personality, he didn't really want her to freak out at him. He hated when she freaked out. It made him feel the total opposite of dark and brooding. He wasn't a foal! Making his way through the twilit-cast streets of Ponyville, he kept a cautious eye on each and every one of the ponies he passed—watching what they were doing, hearing what they were saying, and—this was important—plotting out where they were going. It was a bad habit of his, really it was—though one he'd been trying very hard to fabricate for himself. It was a popular opinion in his books that cool ponies were wary and cautious, and that meant keeping a close eye on the ponies around him. He was cool and watchful! Yes he was! Unfortunately, as he did his very best to fit into his own definition of cool, he walked directly into a pony who was quite obviously standing in front of him. If he had been any good at looking at the ponies around him, he definitely would have noticed the obstacle—though he'd never admit it to anypony. The collision thoroughly shocked him out of his pony watching, and so he turned a furious gaze upon the fool that dared to stand in his way! Oh. It was his neighbor, a wrinkly old hag of an earth pony mare. He didn't actually know her name, but she was really nice, and she gave him fresh fruit from her cart sometimes. Not that he appreciated it or anything. Or ever asked. Nice ponies are the antithesis of those who lurk in the dark! He frowned at her, swishing his two-tone red and brown mane out of his eyes most venomously. He had grown his mane out specifically so that he could do that. Mysterious ponies always have long manes that they have to constantly flip out of their eyes. Of course, he was only nine, and his mane was barely long enough to even dip down into his vision—but it was the principle of the thing! The principle! Behind his smoldering glare, he was thinking about how much longer it would take for his mane to reach the industry-certified cool length. He wasn't really sure how long that actually was, but he was sure that he would know it when it happened. The annoying old mare was still there, though—he had to make her go away. He shook his head slightly to shoo the stray thoughts away, and turned his short attention towards the pony in front of him. The nice pony who he hated smiled down at him sweetly, completely and utterly unaware of the plot he was hatching at that very second to dispose of the hated do-gooder! First, he would club her over the head! Then he would get rid of the witnesses. Then he would- "Well, hello there, Light Flow! How are you today? Are you getting along with the other foals at school? You're not getting into fights are you? Are you getting enough to eat? How is your mother? Is she well? You know, I saw her the other day at-" The nice pony whom he despised cleverly targeted his only weakness: boring things! His eyes quickly glazed over, and he began to lose focus on his forming plan to dispose of the body. No! He cannot be defeated! He had to think of a way to escape the nonsense filling his head! He was in serious danger, here! After all, how could he plot his schemes if all he could think about was his mother's encounters with boring old ladies!? It was all he could do to just try to catch his fleeing thoughts before they escaped his head and let those around him know of his dastardly schemes. Metaphorically making a leap, he finally managed to wrangle one! Yes—he had a plan, now all he had to do was implement it... "Um, that sounds great, ma'am, but I gotta get home—so bye!" He mumbled out, and quickly left the NOT-victorious old mare behind. The plan was a total success! He heard her call out about whether his mother was free tomorrow, but he shut his ears from the sickly-sweet words of the kind fruit vendor. Resolving to steel his will against her endless tirades of nothingness the next time he encountered her, he continued his trot down the street to his home. Turning onto his street, the setting sun framed the far-off royal city of Canterlot on its high-and-mighty mountain, reminding him of his iron resolve to one day rule from there with a mighty, bloody hoof! He stood around for a moment, admiring the cool shades of encroaching nighttime and reveling in the darkness, before promptly hurrying on his way. Of course night is his favorite time of day! It's not scary at all! He stalked through the darkness, letting it envelop him like a cloak—letting out a fearsome battlecry when something in the gloom twitched. He whirled around to the source, ready for frantic battle, but found nothing except the quiet, docile shadows. He laughed in a fearsome manner, turning and continuing at a confidently average pace towards his home. Even the most fearsome monsters fear something—and that something was Light Flow! As his house came into view, he hefted an internal sigh, and let his well-practiced stormy visage fade away. He trotted across his slightly-overgrown lawn with his brows furrowed and his ears folded, and as he came to his doorstep, he cast a glance down at his brown hooves with their maternally sheared fetlocks and let a real frown form on his face. Practicing to be a villain is really hard... > Chapter 2 - The Library > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Equestria. It's a beautiful place- Light Flow kept a quick pace past the familiar store, trying desperately to block out the invading words from the charismatic radiopony. The new book on sale may have been extra-super-fabulous, but he just didn't have any interest in that kind of story. A lame book about an adventurer? Who in their right mind would read the exact same thing they'd already read a million times before when it'd just been... prettied up and made shiny? Light continued on his mental pace of bashing rehashes on his straight course to the library, intent on borrowing the newest book in his favorite series. He would just steal it, of course—he was a thoroughbred scoundrel, after all—but he was feeling a bit magnanimous on account of the occasion. Dark Heart 79 was sure to be the best in the series since DH 45! He'd heard from some wickedly irreputable sources that the main character, Umbral Dross, was going to try on a new shade of black this time—and he was going to get a new piercing! That's so cool! He could only wonder about where the new piercing would even fit, considering he already had seven. Was it going to be his long-awaited third ear piercing, the foretold sign of Dreck's coming doom? His second tongue stud? Oh, he hoped it was the tongue stud. That was so cool. Tongue piercings were the absolute coolest kind because they made you talk all funny—but in a cool way! The coolest way! Light Flow, continuing to internally gush over piercings and shades of black and their varying levels of coolness, happened to stop paying attention to where he was going, inadvertently leading him face-first into something. Something a bit harder than a kind old mare. His head made brutally swift contact with the hard surface with a dull thunk, leaving the colt to fall back onto his rear with a surprised yelp. A sudden sharp pang averted his attention from glaring at the offending pole, leading his exploratory hoof to ruffle about his stinging mane. He felt something hot and wet. A pain. He pulled his hoof back with a wince. There was a messy little splotch of red painted on his frog. Something inexplicably like a whimper eked out from his bit lip, while a blurry sensation of warmth built at the corners of his eyes. He swept his hoof through his mane again, and when he turned it around to peer at the once-pink patch of soft flesh, the splotch looked bigger. He sniffled, first wiping the blood off onto his coat, then the tears from his eyes, forcing his face to contort into a solid, steely gaze. Hard as he tried, though, he couldn't fight the odd mewl. No. Villains don't cry. He kicked himself up off the ground, proudly continuing to trudge his way towards the nearing library. His head hurt, but not that much—and crying was for kids and do-gooders, anyway! He'd just go to the stupid tree, pick up his stupid book from the stupid librarian, and go back to his stupid, ugly house. Why did... why was everything so freakin' stupid?! No matter how he stomped, no matter his clear anger and his loudening snivels—and no matter how pouty of a face he made, nopony turned as he passed the streets. Nopony cared. Nopony blinked. But he knew better. Everypony was staring at him—jeering and laughing at him, hiding cruel smirks behind their smiling masks. They could see how weak he was—knew how scared he was. Their voices rang in his ears incessantly, no matter how hard he pressed them back against his head. Over and over, ringing and clamoring like bells as his breathing began to pick up. His heart was racing. His pace was speeding. He wanted them to stop. Look at the fearsome villain! Look at him cry! What a foal! He's so scary, right? What a joke! I bet I could beat him! A newborn could do it! Look at how weak he is! He's a failure! He'll never be anything more than a loser! Look at his dumb, tiny horn! Stop it. Stop it. The front door of the library came up before him as something trailed down his cheek, and he threw the sneering edifice open as hard as he could. The door went bang against the wall, and a pony looked his way—not that he cared. He wished they would drop dead. Standing alone in the doorway, drawing his breaths as deeply as he could, somepony began to approach him. Probably to laugh. Laugh at the little colt making a fuss, everypony. He forced his gaze to the ground as two orangeish hooves came to a stop in front of him. No. He refused to look up at whoever it was. Nopony on Equus had the right to see him cry. He'd just stand right where he was until the stupid hooves went away so he could buy his stupid book. "You okay there, sugarcube?" He shut his eyes at the unfamiliar tone of the twangy accent, shaking his head up and down jerkily and jostling his mane in a way that wasn't the least bit mysterious. Just... dumb. One of the orange hooves raised, and he felt something shuffle around in his mane. The urge to push the weird, country-sounding hoof away rose in his veins, but against his better judgement, he let the limb explore his head, even suppressing a flinch when it brushed up against the burning spot he'd bonked against the pole. Eventually, the hoof came away, and a moment passed before he heard the voice from the hooves again. "Y'don't look okay, sugarcube. Heck, looks t'me like you're bleedin'." He screwed his eyes shut as more useless tears leaked from them. He hated feeling like this—like... like he was weak, and like he'd lost all control. Like everything around him was spiraling and spiraling and spiraling and he just wanted it to stop. He forced the incoming sob to die as one of the hooves in his peripheral scratched against its twin. One of them raised to push him in the side, so he let himself take an instinctual step back out onto the street. "C'mon, I'll getcha all fixed up. Follow me, y'hear?" The promise of help rang clearly in his muddled headspace, and in his current state of mind, he really didn't care if it made him look weak. He just wanted to get away from the ponies in the streets. He nodded as little as he could, blindly following behind the orange hooves as he watched them trot by. He kept his head down, making sure to keep at least one of those hooves in his vision at all times. He didn't want to lose them. They continued at a steady pace as Light focused on listening to the noise of the hooves on packed dirt, just trying to keep breathing. Eventually, the ground beneath them bled away from the dirt paths of Ponyville to unfamiliar grass. The green shade was different from the comforting brown. It stung his eyes. The hooves in front of him were saying something. In fact, they had been talking for a while now, but he wasn't listening. He wasn't really doing anything except walking forward and struggling not to break down. Why was it always so hard? Eventually, after a long while of walking, the hooves stopped, and he slowed to a gradual halt behind them. He wondered why they didn't just keep walking. He wanted to walk forever until Ponyville was long gone. Just a speck on the distant horizon. Something to forget about. "You jes' wait here, sugarcube, an' I'll be right back." The hooves exited his vision, and there was a sound of a door opening and closing. He set his rear down with a heavy thump and kept staring down at the grass. It was green and wavy. Not a lot to say, really, but he kept staring at it anyway. To Light, it was the only thing in the world. He didn't want to stare at anything except that grass. No matter how much he hated it. So he sat, and he stared. It felt like hours before he heard the door open again, but it was probably just a few minutes. He didn't really care how long he was sitting, he just wanted to get out of this stupid place with the stupid grass. He listened intently to the soft sound of a pony stepping on deserving grass, and saw the hooves trot into his vision once more. A little white box emblazoned with an even smaller red cross fell down next to them, and the hooves spoke again. "Alrighty sugarcube, you jes' stay still, alright? This might hurt a bit." He screwed his eyes shut as a latch unlatched, and a hoof shuffled into his mane again. He felt more than heard the spray of the antiseptic, drawing a disgusting whimper of pain from him as yet more useless tears trailed down his cheeks. The pain soon abated as he something wrapped all the way around his head, wrapping tighter and tighter until he felt like his head would just burst from the pressure. He always knew he would die like this—at least, ever since about a minute ago. He heard what sounded like the snip of scissors, leading him to cautiously peek an eye open. Two orange hooves attached to a freakishly orange body placed a loose roll of gauze and a can of antiseptic spray back into the white box, while the little shears went in after them. The box shut, and the hooves let out a satisfied sigh. "Well, reckon' that's it, sugarcube. All fixed up. Y'all should probably head on home an' take a rest, though. Wrappin' up that bump on yer' noggin' can't do much more'n a good night's rest." He saw the hooves shuffle around on the grass again, and he silently wished that they would just leave him alone. "You're... awful quiet, huh? Y'all got a name?" He kept quiet. He felt marginally better now, and he didn't feel like crying so much, but he refused to allow the hooves the satisfaction of knowing his name. He kept his head down, silently watching the hooves at the top of his vision as one of them raised up to rub at the other. "Er... well, s'alright if y'don't feel much like sharin'. My name's Applejack, by the by, if'n you were curious..?" A head tried to duck down into his field of view, but he quickly turned away from it. He caught a flash of a blonde mane, but that was all he could stand to see. He didn't want to see anything of the hooves' owner. He heard a sigh. "Well, I can't rightly force you to speak. 'Sides, y'all should be gettin' on home. It's gettin' dark, an' I'm sure yer' folks are mighty worried right about now." A few moments of silence went by, and out came another sigh. It sounded exasperated. His eyes narrowed as he frowned. Good. Served the hooves right for being such a goody-four-shoes. "So... I guess I'll be seein' y'all around." He watched as the orange hooves finally walked away, though he waited to raise his head until he heard the noise of the door being opened and he was sure he was alone. A disgustingly homely cottage sat immediately in front of him, though he hardly cared. To his sides and all around him for as far as the eye could see were apple trees, and what looked to be a barn nestled into them a bit away. Figured. Farmers were a nuisance, and far too earnest. He should burn the dumb orchard down. He reached his hoof up to the spot where the cloth was covering his injury, and an unbidden sniffle escaped as his injury twinged under the bandage. He dropped his hoof back to the grass, glaring at the comfy home. He hoped he never saw those dumb, orange hooves again. He stood up and turned away from the house. He could clearly see the thatch rooves of Ponyville in the near distance, some ways away from a fence-linked, white wooden arch. He set off towards it, pointedly ignoring the beautiful countryside around him. His new opinion was that he hated trees, and the color green. And apples. He definitely hated apples. He passed through the gate, arriving some walking distance later in Ponyville proper. He ignored the looks he got from the ponies around him as he stomped through the roads leading to the library. He heard some whispers. He saw some concerned glances. He kept a grimace. He vowed to one day put a similar bandage on each and every one of them. The stupid orange hooves had told him to go home and rest, but what did they know? He'd show them! He was going to go get his book, and then he was going to stay up all night reading. That'd show that dumb... apple pony. He once more found his way to the library, where he found himself glaring at the stupid door in the stupid tree. His snarl deepened; he turned around and shot his back legs out towards the door, careening the splintered portal into the opposite wall with a deafening bang. The ponies inside went quiet, all stopping what they were doing to cringe back from the unwelcome intruder. Light Flow stood as a menacing shadow in the in the cracked doorway, dwarfing everypony else in the room. Each of the feeble fools trembled in paralyzing fear at the mere sight of the intimidating, dangerous, handsome villain blocking their only escape route. He stomped forward, shaking the tree with each heavy step, while the simpletons around him looked on in frightened awe at the towering monster suddenly amidst them. The counter peered up far below him, as did the miniscule old librarian huddled behind it. She stuttered out a fearful greeting, eyes brimming with tears, completely and utterly focused on his extremely intimidating visage. Light Flow opened his mouth, showing his bloodied, razor sharp teeth, and- "Excuse me, ma'am," he whispered out in a small voice. The elderly librarian who he couldn't remember the name of turned her attention to him from the book she was reading, furrowing her brow with obvious concern at the sight of him. "Light Flow! What happened to you, dear? Are you okay?" she spoke worriedly, quite obviously referring to the bandage wrapped around his head. It really didn't look that bad, but he supposed some ponies just didn't think it was as cool as he obviously did. He was just imagining how he looked, obviously, but he knew it was cool. He was always cool. Everything he did was cool. "Oh, I... uh, walked into a pole..." he muttered out, keeping his eyes on the surface of the counter from where he'd reared his hooves onto it. He wasn't quite tall enough to just look over the counter, which made him feel like his hooves were actively shrinking. He shuffled one on the counter as the librarian continued to stare at him with her stupid green eyes. Tartarus below, how he wished he could make her just stop staring at him. "Well... as long as you're okay..." came the mare's low tone. He hated that tone. He didn't want anypony to care about him—he was a villain! And what a villain he was. "Oh, dear, the book you were asking for just arrived. Would you like to check it out?" The librarian was speaking again, but he barely heard her. He felt... wrong. Like something was eating him up inside. Like something was tearing itself though him. "Actually, ma'am..." he began in a quiet voice, "I think I'd like to check something else out today." The librarian blinked at him in surprise, saying something he didn't hear as he turned his attention to the library as a whole. There were three ponies milling about inside, but he didn't care about them. He shuffled his way over to his preferred corner of the building, where all the dark fiction stories had been sorted. He didn't know why, but he just... didn't care about shades of black and tongue piercings anymore. They didn't sound very cool. His eyes flicked over the numerous books that he had all read before, skipping over anything and everything without any titles really jumping out at him. The black covers and the black lettering were all... melding together, and his head was beginning to spin. He didn't think he liked the color black anymore. A deep, acrid taste was rising in his throat. He felt like he was going to vomit. He nearly gave up, until, on his fifth look through, he saw a book that he must have overlooked. It had a brown cover with black lettering, so not a huge departure, but it was different enough that his interest was slightly piqued, and the taste in his throat started to recede. He leaned in close, carefully reading the title of the brown colored book aloud. "The... Necromancer and the Night?" > Chapter 3 - The School > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was impossible, he decided. It simply couldn't be true. Of all the things that could possibly happen at any time to anypony, why did this have to happen, at this time, to him?! Why him? Light Flow sat against a lonely tree in the far corner of the schoolhouse's yard, clutching a brown-colored book in his hooves as he stared with a firm pout towards a pony playing on the swing set. Orange Hooves. His frown deepened, and he cursed under his breath with words his mother would never approve of—but he didn't care. The characters in his new book used those words, so why shouldn't he? He had never wanted to see those stupid orange hooves ever again, and even worse, now he could see the whole pony attached to them. Oh, how he wished he could go back to knowing even less than her dumb face. Their relationship was now way too personal to stand. Though, if somepony were forcing him to be completely honest as some revolutionary new torture method, he would say that the filly with the three apples painted on her flank was, in a resigned word, cute. But if anypony just up and asked what he thought of her, he would say she was incredibly ugly. He would say that he hated the dumb apple pony. He would say that her long, blonde mane that effortlessly caught the light in a near-perfect facsimile of a sun-dappled meadow's day made him want to barf. He'd say her tendency to wrap it into a ponytail so her soft, lovely face was always in view was nauseatingly self-centered. He'd proclaim as loudly as he could that the subtle, shifting shades of orange fur that traveled down her back were aggravatingly uncentered and that they certainly didn't remind him of a fading sunset. Above all, he'd ruthlessly condemn those deep, green eyes with all their imperfect flaws that sparkled like priceless emeralds. He hated the color green. Yellow, too, and orange. He didn't even really like apples at all, or sunsets. Emeralds may as well have been worthless trash to him. He only valued pain and suffering. He turned his attention away from the disgusting filly and her disgusting antics on the disgusting playground equipment, instead focusing on his newest obsession, conveniently encapsulated by the brown-bound book in his hooves. It was a relatively plain book, casually unremarkable to the average eye, but Light Flow considered it a personal treasure of his. The Necromancer and the Night. His previous frown slipped away, replaced by a dopey smile as his stare grew dreamy. He just couldn't believe he'd never heard about Necromancy before. Or, he guessed he could believe it, maybe. No, it was pretty believable, after all. Not his fault the dark arts weren't a common topic. More ponies should've been interested, in his opinion. From what he could gather from the book in his hooves, as well as a big book he found at the library that had a bunch of laws in it, Necromancy was an super touchy subject. There was some kind of weirdo taboo about it—and it was certainly illegal. It was so far off conventions, he'd not even been able to find the penalty for studying it. He imagined it wasn't good. He didn't care about any of that though. It wasn't illegal to write fiction about it, and that was all that mattered to him. After he'd discovered the book during that stupid Saturday evening, he'd spent most of his waking hours pouring over it. He was almost done, actually, and he would've finished by now if his stupid mother hadn't told him to go to school. After school, he was gonna go back to the library and ask if there were any more books on the subject. Smiling, he prodded the buzzing core of energy in his chest, huffing out a breath of quiet exertion as his horn gradually lit with a subtle red haze. He gently took the book in the grasp of his mana, opening its cover to where he'd last left his grinning skull bookmark. He was right at the part where the Necromancer resurrects his Dark Mistress, and together, they formulate their plan to overthrow the Princess. In the back of his mind, he idly wondered why such sacrilegious material was even allowed to exist, but, as with most things, he didn't really care. As long as no Celestial Disciples had plans to ambush him and throw him in jail for reading, he'd stay his current course. Because he loved Necromancy. It was the coolest thing he'd ever read about! Screw those dark-and-broody plotheads that just sat around moaning about the futility of life, or whatever! Now, he could read about real dark-and-broody villains that actually did things, and sat around boasting about the perks of un-life! The idea of raising the dead was so incredibly awesome! It was the darkest, most vile thing he'd ever conceived of! What could've been worse than shackling those who have passed from this plane of existence to your unbreakable will and forcing them to do your bidding? Commanding dark legions made of undying zombie ponies who have no fear or morals? Ruling over the whole of a newly undead Equestria where the sun has set for the last and most tragic time? Creating a catalyst to hold your soul in and becoming immortal? That was another thing he loved! Immortality was always a hot topic in his old books, since living forever is a horrible, never-ending nightmare of constantly watching those you love wilt and die—forced to forever stay distant from those around you for the paralyzing fear of getting too close to anypony that would surely disappear in but a blink of the eye—embracing a fate of eternal loneliness, only ever watching over the place you used to call home from afar as it gradually and painfully changes irrevocably from what was once so comforting?! Or something. His point was that Necromancy solved all those problems! If anypony a Necromancer loved ever died, they could just bring them back to life and live with them forever! Not that he had loved ones. Villains can't have loved ones, because they can always be used against them. Safely hidden behind the levitating screen of his beloved book, Light grinned to himself. It'd taken him a while to learn that it was okay to show feelings besides anger—justas long as no one could see him. Hiding emotions was a sign of depth of character, or so he'd read. Truth be told, he didn't even really understand what depth of character even meant. From what he'd gathered in his time reading some of his mother's books, it basically meant that a character with too few traits is badly written and uninteresting. He knew he didn't have that problem though. He was a deep, interesting villain with a tragic backstory! Unfortunately, because he was so busy pondering the depth of his character and thinking of new tragic events to monologue to despicable heroes about, he happened to completely miss the bell signaling the end of recess. The sharp ringing of the alarm was rendered deaf to his ears, and he continued to sit there stewing in his own thoughts until he was suddenly alerted to an approaching presence. As he would soon realize in hindsight. A shiver raced down his spine, his ears straining to their limit at the sound of grass crunching. Behind his book, he thought he'd seen... a flash of orange? Couldn't be. It wasn't. He said so. He let his book drift slightly up and peered suspiciously under it, immediately catching a vomit-inducing view at one of the most unfortunately familiar sights he'd ever come to know. A groan rose in his throat as his head fell forward, quietly seething as his forehead made contact with his mana. Orange Hooves. Of course. "Hey, y'all know it's time to—wait a minute..." He couldn't see her, but he was assuming the plug-ugly apple pony was making some sort of ugly, scrunchy face. He heard a gasp, and he bit down on his lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, knowing that the encroaching situation could be nothing but bad. "I recognize you! Yer' that rude colt from th' other day!" Rude..? Him? He was the rude one? As he'd carefully cultivated, his anger began to burble in the back of his throat, as he showed when he lowered his book all the way to stare at the filly. He glared his best, most scathing Angered Glare back at those unflinching green eyes, attempting to will the annoying fly into leaving him alone by sheer vitriol. Couldn't she see that he was trying to read?! The clearly feeble minded orange pest took a step back, likely in agonizing fear of his well-practiced sneer. He'd worked hard and long at the ability to make his face contort in such frightening ways that anypony whom he happened to choose would fall into a state of deep, instinctual dread. It was clearly working, and if he'd not still been staring, he'd have grinned in triumph. He won. He always won. "...You alright there? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'?" Light's face almost literally deflated, suddenly taking on a stony expression of neutral monotony as his overtaxed mind went into overdrive in a struggle to comprehend the words. After a moment, his jaw dropped open, and his ears pressed back against his head. Looking at him, it was almost as if somepony had popped his battery out and he'd completely lost power. The filly's expression morphed into that of panic. "Uh... Are... are you okay?! Yer' face is gettin' really red!" He couldn't think. He felt as if lava was filling up his head and pouring out of his ears as great, big, rolling clouds of smoke. He continued to stare unblinkingly at the pony who he suddenly had no strong opinions about as she danced nervously on her hooves. He didn't really have any thoughts about anything at the moment. The only thing in his head was a record player playing the a single thing over and over again. Stuck on the same, looping track. Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? Y'all need the bathroom or somethin'? "Um... w-wait here! Ah'll- er- go get the nurse!" The strange pony in front of him shouted in a clear panic before galloping off towards a building he wasn't sure he had ever seen before. Anypony happening to observe the spectacle would then have watched the strange brown colt continue to gape at absolutely nothing before eventually, with very little ceremony, passing out in a dead faint. What they wouldn't know, and what even Light wouldn't remember, was the last thought that ran though his head before he lost consciousness. As his internal record player finally managed to unstuck itself, it wheezed out one last thing before exploding in a great burst of flames. Though he had a vague sense of embarrassment when he eventually woke up in the nurse's office. Did his scary face really look like that? > Chapter 4 - The Bunny > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- As was normal for him, Light Flow sat alone in the middle of his room. He spent pretty much all his time in his room, actually—at least, when he wasn't at school or the library. He just didn't see the point in spending more time outside than he needed, and any time he spent with other ponies was practically wasted. Unfortunately, he usually had to go back on that philosophy when his mother forced him to spend time with her. He loved her, obviously, but she could just be so annoying. Villains didn't need mothers, and villains didn't play boardgames! Not even Monopony! Meanwhile, his room—his sanctuary—was about as close as a room could physically get to a pure reflection of his inner self. It was as if he'd filled a bucket with his personal essence, shook it up, and just tossed it into an enclosed space! ...That particular metaphor may have been creepy in an uncool way he didn't like, but it didn't change the fact that there was no place he'd rather be. Being here just brought him a relentless sense of enveloping comfort. To distill its aesthetic down to a word, Light would have to say it was black. Very black. He had a black mattress, black sheets, pillows, curtains, windows... Okay, not windows, because that was apparently ridiculous, but he really wanted some. He had a black bookcase full from end to end of black-bound books about black subjects, and a black chest in which to hide his dark secrets, which was, in actuality, his dark toy chest. That didn't mean his toys weren't super dark and dangerous, though! The once-white walls had been painted entirely black and dreary, and he had...a dirty brown wooden floor that he'd laid perpetually unfitting black carpets over because his mother told him they weren't allowed to paint the floor. He didn't know why—it's not like anypony else would ever live here—but he had to concede some battles to the forces of good and his mother. He'd been staring all around the room for a few minutes at that point for... somewhat inscrutable reasons—but now he turned his attention back to the little horseshoe box he'd pulled out from where he'd hidden it under his bed. Staring at it, he couldn't help but muster a shaky swallow. He wouldn't tell a convincing lie about it, he was nervous. It felt like there was a little jagged knife in his belly, trying desperately to rip itself up his throat and slice across his tongue in a bloody line. He was very nervous, but as he was with that macabre metaphor, he was also so excited! In his experience, excitement was easily confused for nervousness, but he'd been learning to differentiate the two by how good they felt. They shared so many familiar sensations—a bursting, tearing pressure in his chest; the cutting, rending ticklishness running up his spine; even the odd feeling of burning acid in his throat. He felt it when a new series came out, and he'd felt it the first time he'd channeled mana into a simple light spell. It made him think of a quote from an old book he'd liked. "How this sparks the dark embers of my heart! The cold flare of life stirs in my soul!" So cool, but... he'd left that part of himself behind, now. He'd write that down in his now-defunct book of dark poetry, but he was moving on from all that pointlessly dreary stuff. Even villains enjoyed reminiscing on the ponies they used to be. He shook himself out of his reverie, focusing instead on the present. Now this was the kind of thing he'd been dreaming about for weeks now. He'd quickly burned through the two book stock of Necromancy-related stories the local library kept, and his craving since then had intensified so strongly that he'd resorted to reading anatomy textbooks just to try to fill that repulsive-wanting part of himself. Thinking of it—that itchy, wormy feeling—his hoof settled skittishly on the top of the horseshoe box of its own accord, rubbing over its surface longingly before he came to his senses with a shake and went further to shake his head at his limb and retract it. A good villain should wait for that which he desires. His obsession with dead things was growing by the day, but he was tired of reading. It was unfulfilling. He wanted to get hooves-on. And it was getting really hard to wait. His mother had found it outside in her garden, and she'd thoughtfully given it to him to bury. She was considerate like that—she knew how much he enjoyed tragedy. He wasn't sad, though, and he wasn't going to bury it. He wanted to play with it. He began the mental motions of lighting his horn, though his mana stalled in his veins before his horn had even begun to glow. There was a better way to do this, he knew. He wanted to physically touch it. Carefully, reverently, his trembling hooves crept out once more to rest on either side of the box's thin lid, lifting it the whole way off in a moment of pure adrenaline and tossing it aside with a shaky breath. He licked his lips, leaning daringly in as his eyes began to shine with unrestrained wonder. In the center of the open box, curled in on itself in a limp ball, was a white bunny rabbit, barely the size of his hoof. Dead. No visible injuries, but it was thin, and nearly pallid. So far, he'd pretty much assumed it must've died due to starvation, but even that was kind of hard to believe. Maybe it was just too dumb to live, because it'd died right in a garden full of plants. It must've had some weird eating deficiency. He couldn't help but stare—unabashedly, though he was hardly ever abashed. The dead bunny may as well have been a bucket of water, because he was drinking in the sight like he was a pony who'd gone three days in the desert with nothing to drink. He wanted the sight to be familiar. Best of all, his mother was out for the day, so there was no chance for anypony to see him hunched over the corpse of a woodland animal. Of course, he couldn't care less about what most ponies thought, but... his mother... He didn't want her to think he was weird... Oh, he wanted to touch it so badly—but he had to hold off until he'd absorbed every detail. He felt himself swallow on instinct, staving off the rising feeling of pressure in his throat like there was something stuck and trying to claw its way out. He licked his lips, inexplicably dry. What was most evident? Probably the evidently visible veins pressing against the expanse of the expired creature's exposed skin, even under the thin layer of its fur. With the active functions of the body having ceased, what had once been blueish was now turning purplish-grey, though he was at a loss for why. He wondered what happened to all that blood that was inside living things when they died. Did it... he didn't know... evaporate or something? Did all the decaying flesh absorb it? Did it just clot away into nothingness? His once-idle curiosities quickly grew into burning questions in need of answering, and so he made a quick mental note to look up the gruesome details in a textbook when he had unallocated alone time. What was next on his mind were the little bones pressing out of its taut skin—the ribs, especially, seeming quite obvious for how caved in its belly was. Those little sticks of bone glued onto the spine to press all the juicy meat of an animal into proper place. Fascinating to look at. He could even count them with how the bunny's skin was so stretched thin, straining all that useless material to a near-breaking point. How sad. He wondered if the especially sanctified white of bone would contrast with the animal's dirtied, loveless fur. Light Flow let his tongue dart out to wet his lips again, and the thought crossed his mind to get up and get a glass of water or something. He thought again, and then he chuckled out loud to relieve the increasingly pervading pressure building in his tight chest. The noise reverberated around his head, bouncing off the walls of his mind again and again until he was sure it'd never die. As all things did, though, it soon petered out. His visual curiosity was sated, and now he was almost ready to touch it. Tentatively, pausing for a moment in-between, he leaned his head closer to the bunny. He crept forward until the blurry end of his muzzle was skirting the line of touching its lifeless side, so close that he could probably reach out with his tongue and... ...No, that wasn't something he wanted to try right now—or maybe ever. For now... He closed his eyes, taking a moment in the silence to himself before he braced and took a deep whiff. ... He leaned back from the tiny thing and tried to reassert his flailing thoughts—actually, he went ahead and boxed them up, opened up the nearest window, and tossed them to the curb. It didn't matter what he thought of it; all that mattered was that it was time for the main attraction. Slowly—ever so slowly—he reached a perpetually unsteady hoof past the threshold of the box, creeping a hoof past the gate of reasonable doubt, then the point of no return, and finally down the well of carelessness until the softest sensation of fur tickled against the vulnerable flesh of his frog. It was... cold. He let out a quivering, disbelieving breath as the situation began to dawn over him, and he pressed the weight of his hoof against the small form a bit more forcefully. In the back of his mind, behind the pity party—the best kind of party—he knew he had to be very careful, since there was no telling when he'd have any sort of chance to be this intimate with a corpse again. It would actually be the most mortifying thing he ever did if he went and broke it. The shock of having all his dreams realized was passing, and with it, a wide grin was replacing his expression of quiet wonderment as he gently rubbed the soft bunny corpse. Back and forth: with his every delicate ministration, he felt the tiny, ticklish protrusions of its bones poking his frog, and the hollow give of its chest. He could hear how its bones creaked when he grew too daring and pushed too hard, and he'd spent long enough in its presence now to recognize the faded scent of dirt underneath a cloying... something. Some smell. This was wonderful. He was petting it just like a living animal, but it was dead! He loved it. He loved it so much. He did. He made himself love the feeling. It didn't matter if he was welling up. The hot feeling in his bunched cheeks was from exhilaration, and nothing else! He was still smiling! He was so happy! His hoof rose in a jerkish, wobbling arc from the unmoving form of the rabbit the instant that an uncomfortable drop of warmth fell atop it. Weird. How disruptive. He decided to close the box, casting a glance up as he replaced the lid to see if the roof was leaking. He found nothing, oddly enough, but it seemed like a good time to slide the box back under his bed, as he did without looking at it very much. Or at all. It was getting blurry in here. Time for bed. He turned to his bed, pulling himself onto its surface with unsteady hooves as the oddest little whining and keening noises snuck out from somewhere. Wasn't him. He was still smiling. So large and widely. It didn't matter that his teeth were chattering as he pulled himself towards the nearest pillow, and it didn't matter that the fur of his cheeks was deeply matted with inexplicable water as he laid his face directly down into it. He didn't know why the plush fabric grew so damp so quickly. He didn't know why any of this was happening. He didn't know why he was sobbing into his pillow, He was still smiling. Because he was so happy. > Chapter 5 - The Pink Thing > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was currently very confused. It had been about a week since he had first experimented with the bunny. He had to admit... His first exposure to a dead creature wasn't at all what he had dreamed it to be. Sure, touching the dead body and sniffing it and stuff had been exciting for a while, but... The excitement had faded quickly, and a growing empty feeling had begun to fill his chest. He felt... sorry for the creature. He had felt disgust with himself, and he had begun to regret disturbing the bunny like that. He wasn't afraid to admit it. After all, even villains have regrets. He just wished he hadn't cried himself to sleep. But he had moved past it. The very next day, he pulled the bunny out again so that he could begin killing his feelings on the matter. His books taught him that morals slowly crumbled over time, given enough exposure. Sure, maybe he had cried a little when he saw it again, but he stopped eventually! Unfortunately, the bunny began to decompose only a short two days later, so he was only able to gain so much familiarity with it. He observed the decomposition process for a while, but... he found that he wasn't quite ready for that. After forcibly emptying his stomach, he buried the horseshoe box like he was meant to in the first place. He got on with his life. He continued to re-read the Necromancy fiction available to him, while also expanding his knowledge on anatomy. He didn't really like learning about the topic, since it was boring and sort of gross; but it was a science closely intertwined with the magic of Necromancy, so it was absolutely worth knowing. Regardless, the events of the past week were only slightly related to the phenomenon that was currently occurring on his doorstep. Light Flow was confused. This was because there was a vibrating pink mass standing on his doorstep holding a cupcake. It was rapidly chattering in what he assumed was a foreign language, since he didn't understand a word of it. It was also gesturing wildly, and waving the aforementioned cupcake around in a haphazard manner. What he assumed was an undulating pink tentacle finally shoved the cupcake into his face, and he managed to make out the tail end of the essay that was just fired at him. "-so what do you think!" The creature finally stopped vibrating, and was now smiling at him widely while periodically bobbing the appendage holding the cupcake. Now that he got a good look at it, it didn't seem to be a horrible pink blob come to devour him. It looked like.... a pony? The pony herself was, in a word, pink. Her mane was pink, and extremely messy. Her coat was pink, though it was quite a bit neater than the disaster that she called a mane. Her eyes were... okay well her eyes were a pretty shade of baby blue, but nearly everything else was pink! He would even go so far as to say that her personality could be considered pink. She was bouncy, hyper, and animated; which were all things that could bring the word pink to his mind. The only thing besides her eyes that wasn't pink was her cutie mark. He knew it was impolite to stare at a thing like that, but he never cared much for social niceties, no matter how much his mother tried to beat the lessons into his head. The cutie mark in question was a trio of balloons, one yellow and two blue. It was kind of plain, but he supposed he didn't have any sort of room to talk, considering his own lack of a special talent. Finished with his examination, he quickly flicked his eyes away from the filly's butt. He furrowed his brow, and stared at the hyperactive.. pony, with great apprehension. He glanced down at the cupcake warily, and read the words 'Feel Better!' written on it in what seemed to be vanilla frosting. The cupcake itself looked pretty good now that he thought about it. It looked to be red velvet, which happened to be his favorite flavor of cupcake. Wait... He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. As far as a cautious pony like him was concerned, there were no coincidences. Somehow, this... thing, had found out his favorite flavor! He didn't know how. He certainly didn't tell her! Did she somehow extract it from his brain? Could she read minds?! What other powers did she have?! He panicked for a moment, before realizing how ridiculous that was. He brought himself down to Equus, and took a mental step back. This was clearly a normal, albeit hyper, earth pony filly. She probably used more regular tactics to learn about his preferred flavor. It's likely she just asked someone who knew. But... what if they wouldn't give her the info? What if she was forced to resort to more extreme measures? Maybe she was forced to torture them? Who had she tortured?! Come to think of it...his mother hadn't been home all day. She had only said that she was going out for a bit. She should have been home by now! The market isn't that far away! His head spun as he quickly jumped to the worst possible conclusion. What had this monster done to his mother?! As Light Flow was busy internally exploding, Pinkie Pie was beginning to become a bit worried. The poor pony with the dead bunny she had come to cheer up was just sort of standing around with a vacant look on his face. She began to worry that she had done something wrong. Maybe ponies here didn't give cupcakes as gifts? She had only been in town for about two weeks now, maybe there was some sort of rule she didn't know about that prohibited unsolicited cupcake giving! Pinkie Pie continued to stand there with the cupcake in her hoof, her big grin having slipped off her face in favor of a small, worried frown. She didn't wanna go to jail... Meanwhile, Light Flow had managed to wrangle his thoughts into something resembling normal. He drew in a deep breath, startling the other pony out of her own reverie. He blinked rapidly, trying to figure out when his thoughts had derailed so thoroughly from reality. He was similarly startled out of his reverie when the definitely-normal pink pony spoke in a low unsteady tone. "U-Um. It's not... illegal to give cupcakes in this town right?" Light Flow was thoroughly baffled by the odd question. He didn't think it was illegal to give cupcakes anywhere in Equestria. He looked at the pink pony with squinted eyes, and noticed something strange. Was her mane... deflating? "No, it's not." He spoke slowly, and carefully. Truth be told, he was still a little discombobulated from his earlier mental breakdown, and the slow canter of his sentence was more for his own benefit than it was for the strangers'. The pony seemed to perk up at that, and her mane almost puffed back up to what it was before. A smaller smile than she wore earlier grew on her face, and her eyes regained some of the excitement they had before. "O-Okay.. So.. Um.. This is for you!" She said brightly, once more shoving the cupcake into his hoof. His eyes glanced down to the cupcake now in his grasp, before focusing themselves on the pony offering it. He stared at her for a moment. "Why are you giving this to me?" he questioned in an even tone. Now that he was calm, he could work his metaphorical magic by intimidating her into leaving him alone. The pink pony's face twisted in confusion, before she snorted once, and began giggling uncontrollably. She fell onto her back, limbs flailing all around as she writhed in what could have been reasonably mistaken for agony. He watched her, face set in a thoroughly confused expression, as he wondered what could possibly be so funny about his simple question. Is this pony... okay? He grimaced down at the laughing pony, and idly wondered what should be done about the current situation. It was quite apparent to him now that, even though she couldn't read minds, it didn't mean that she was... normal. Villains did have a tendency to hang around the mentally ill, if they weren't wrong in the head themselves, that is. But since he was reasonably sure that his faculties were in order, he supposed that it wouldn't hurt to befriend his first crazy pony. ...Or maybe not. He stepped back from his doorstep, still holding the cupcake, and shut the door in front of him. He waited silently until he heard the laughing of the crazy pony stop, and allowed himself to sigh in relief. He might've been a villain, but that pony kind of creeped him out. While having a sidekick seemed cool in his head, he would rather it was a sane pony. Plus, he just didn't really want it to be her. He turned around, intent on taking the cupcake to his kitchen to eat in peace, before coming face to face with two huge baby blue circles. He screamed in a decidedly less-than dastardly fashion as he jumped back. The cupcake flew from his hoof and impacted with his ceiling with a 'splat'. He stared up at his lost confectionary for a moment while he held his chest, feeling the way his heart beat against his ribs frantically. He took note of the way it threatened to escape, much like a caged bird would. He made a further note to make a new entry in his book of dark poetry. Regardless, he managed to tear his eyes away from the tragic murder of his cupcake, and focused himself fully on the intruder in his home. The crazy pink pony was staring up at the cupcake as well, wearing a small frown. "Well why'd you go and do that?" She muttered before turning those big blue eyes on him. She spoke more directly to him, though she was still frowning: "I made that cupcake special for you! And now it's on the ceiling!" She suddenly gasped, and her expression brightened. "I just got an idea! A cupcake fight! That'd be so fun, and so tasty too, and everypony would get all covered in cupcake, and then everypony'd get to eat the cupcake off themselves, though if everypony wasn't really clean it'd probably be really dangerous, but that wouldn't be an issue as long as everypony bathed before hoof, but there's no real way to force everypony to shower so there's no real way to make it safe, and if it's not safe then it's not fun and-" The definitely-crazy and almost-certainly-dangerous pony advanced on him slowly, her mouth running a mile a minute. He backed away at the same pace she walked towards him, until his butt hit the door behind him. He glanced behind him at the closed door before looking fearfully at the pony who was now talking directly in his face. He tried to focus his thoughts, but the pony currently pressing herself into his face made it difficult. He couldn't think, but he knew he was afraid. He had never had anypony besides his mother force themselves so close to him before. He drew in short gasps as his eyes filled with hot liquid. This was it. He knew. This was how he was going to die. Cut down in his own home by a crazy pony. His mother was going to come home to find his cooling corpse on the floor of their living room. He screwed his eyes shut, and let out a small sob. He didn't want to die. His scattered thoughts gathered around the image of a white bunny sitting in a box. He remembered the cold feeling of the body, and he imagined himself in the same position. He imagined the warmth of his coat fading away, and the steady beat of his heart coming to a stop. He imagined the light in his eyes going out, and his thoughts and dreams leaking out of his head, and scattering on the wind. Somepony help him..! He slumped down on the floor and made himself as small as possible. He tucked his ears close to his head, and covered his face with his hooves. He hoped that the crazy pony didn't make him suffer. He knew villains were supposed to like suffering, but... "There was so much I wanted to do..." He lay there in a ball on the floor, shuddering and sniffling in fear as he waited for his impending doom, before he felt a hoof nudge into his side. "Hey.. Hey! Are you okay? Do you need some help? O-Or a cupcake?" He didn't even hear the words. His mind was swirling around and around. His thoughts and feelings zipping around chaotically, as if they were caught in some sort of storm. He saw pictures, and he struggled to make them out. A bunny rabbit, a brown pegasus stallion, a pair of orange hooves, a soft white face. At the very center of the maelstrom of these thoughts, feelings, and memories lay his simplest and most base desire. A desire that exists deep in the hearts of every living creature. Something he hadn't realized he wanted so badly until now. He wanted to live. His eyes slowly struggled open as more tears leaked out. His vision was blurry, and all he could see from his position on the floor was a plain white wall. His short gasps and fevered panting turned to deep, gasping breaths; almost as if he was struggling to breathe. The air felt hot in his lungs, and it burned his mouth every time he inhaled. He grit his teeth, and pressed his tongue against the back of them. He felt his heart beat hard against his chest. It was warm. He was alive. He wanted to stay that way. He slowly put his hooves under him, and pushed himself up. He stood shakily on unsteady hooves as he stared at the stupid plain brown floors that he had always hated. A small wet spot had gathered around where he had pressed his face against it, and an idle thought crossed his suddenly adrenaline-fueled mind. He wondered if the wood would stain. He turned his plain brown eyes from the stupid plain brown floor and focused them on the ugly blue eyes of the pink assassin who had taken a step back from him. He saw her mouth move, but he didn't hear the lies that spewed forth. He knew it was all an act. She had come here to kill him, he knew. That cupcake was probably poisoned. No, he was sure of it. "Get out" He managed to choke out in an unsteady tone. His teeth ground against each other heavily, and he could still feel the tears in his eyes; but he didn't care. He just wanted it to leave. He wanted it to die. The dumb pink mouth moved again, but he cut it off. "I said get out!" He said in a louder voice than before. He was gaining ground against his fear, filling the empty space with anger. Fear had its place, but his anger would keep him alive. "Get out!" He screamed at the pink. His vision was so blurry, he could only make out the vague shape of it, but he knew he was having an effect. The ugly pink splotch in the sea of red was shaking violently, leaving faint afterimages. Or maybe it was just moving that quickly, he didn't care. Celestia, how he hated pink. "LEAVE!" He roared gutturally, spit flying from his mouth. The pink finally turned around and ran away into a throbbing mass of browns and whites and red. Good. He hoped it would get lost in there. He stood there, heaving great burning breaths as his anger slowly faded. The rage he had felt in response to his life being threatened slowly abated, and was replaced by an empty feeling. As the emptiness grew, and his legs began shaking under him; the red in his vision slowly bled away. He felt a sob force its way out of his mouth. His legs gave out, and he crashed to the floor. He felt the hollow feeling in his chest slowly force its way up his throat, and into his mouth. He tasted something vile, and he vomited onto the floor. He felt the substance seep into his fur from where it was pressed to the ground, and he closed his eyes in a mixture of shame and apathy. When Light Flow's mother came home an hour later, she found a cupcake on the ceiling, and her son lying in the living room, silently sobbing in a puddle of vomit and tears. She also found the separate trail of tears leading away from him, and up to their open kitchen window. > Chapter 6 - The Chicken > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 992 AB "I'm telling you! I've been there! Lots of times, honest!" The familiar southern twang that he wished wasn't so familiar drifted across the classroom and filled Light Flow's ears. He glanced over to where a set of orange hooves had placed themselves on top of a small wooden desk. His eyes lazily drifted up to the face of the pony attached to them, as she yammered on about her supposed adventures into the Everfree Forest. A small group of his weak-minded classmates had gathered around her, and were listening with enthralled expressions. He snorted in derision. He couldn't wrap his head around why those pathetic ponies cared so much about a few silly trips into a stupid forest. Even if the forest was really dark and scary, and really cool. And probably filled with neat dead stuff. And maybe he had always wanted to go in there himself, but it wasn't like he was too scared to! He... just...never found the time. He was busy quite often, with his reading, and his brooding, and his.. uh... Stuff... Why was he trying to justify this to himself? It didn't matter! "It's practically my second home! It don't scare me a bit! Why, I even made friends with a Timberwolf!" His classmates let out gasps, and multiple ponies simultaneously went 'ooh' and 'aah'. He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. It all sounded so dumb to him. Just because she lived next to the forest didn't automatically mean she was some kind of expert. He unconsciously scooted his chair closer to where the apple pony was spinning her wild tale. Just because the sun had been shining into his eyes. No other reason. Unfortunately, the subtle sound of the chair scraping against the floor caught the attention of the farm pony mid-sentence. He saw those green eyes flick towards him as her mouth halted in the middle of a word. He saw her close her mouth, before a grin formed on her face; and he felt panic rapidly rise inside of him. He set his eyes forward, and a pained grimace made its way onto his face. He heard the telltale 'clip-clop' of hooves on wood and silently cursed his hubris. Don't let her come over here. Celestia help him, he really didn't want her to come over here. Please, please please ple- "Light Flow believes me! Don't you, sugarcube?" He felt a hoof throw itself over his withers, and he sighed audibly. He stared forlornly at the open book on his desk, before turning his head to look into Applejack's big green eyes. He had learned her name after enough time, though he would always pretend he hadn't. It was hard not to pick it up though, especially with how much she bothered him. It seemed like every week she found some new excuse to inject herself into whatever he happened to be doing. If he was going to the library, she would spot him from her family's apple cart and forcibly tag along with him. If he was reading in the schoolyard, she would come over and sit next to him and just talk and talk and talk for what seemed like hours on end. If he was plotting evil plans alone in his room, his mother would come up to tell him that Applejack had come by to see him. If he was having any sort of fun by himself: Applejack always seemed to come along and ruin it with her presence. He hated her so much. He turned his attention back to the present, and to the hopeful green eyes staring into his own exasperated brown ones. He felt the tension in him grow as it always did when she was near. It was a horrible bunching feeling in his bones, like they were coiling in on themselves. He mentally geared himself up for another encounter and pasted a condescending smirk onto his face. He may not have felt it, and it didn't really reach his eyes, but it was important to at least try and maintain his illusion of 'uncaring jerk'. He shook the offending hoof off his withers: "As if! Like you would ever go someplace that scary, Orange Hooves." He announced in his best 'holier than thou' voice. Though, his smirk fell a bit as he thought about the meaning of 'holier than thou'. He didn't really want to be holier than anypony else, it was kind of his whole schtick that he wasn't. As he pondered the use of the phrase 'eviler than thou', he didn't notice Applejack looking at him with a growing fire in her eyes. He was startled out of his musings when she jabbed him in the side with a hoof. "Oh yeah? You callin' me chicken? I bet you wouldn't go in there in a million years!" Her face tilted upwards in smug satisfaction, pleased with her rebuttal. He heard the words, but he was having a hard time understanding them. They rattled around in his head, and his well-practiced smirk slipped off of his face in favor of his mouth opening slightly in disbelief. His brow furrowed, and he felt around his teeth with his tongue as he tried to restart his brain. Was she... Was she calling him a chicken?! He closed his jaw, and felt his cheeks redden as the dumb orange pony's entourage gathered around to giggle and laugh at him. They pointed their hooves at him, and began chanting 'Chicken! Chicken!' over and over again. The muddled high-pitched mockery blended together into one cacophonous jumble as it attacked his ears. It felt like the horrible sound was piercing into his very soul. His chest clutched tightly, and he sucked in his cheeks. His head felt hot. He swung his head around, looking at his classmates' jeering faces. He felt his face warm, and he blinked rapidly to prevent anything incriminating from forming. He swung his head toward his accuser, and fixed an angry glare on her. Her own smug smile had faded, and she was also looking around at the group with what he knew was likely a fake worried expression on her face. "Um.. Hey y'all, I-I didn't mean-" "Fine! I'll do it!" The words rang loud and clear, even despite the giggles and jeering calls of his classmates. The room quickly silenced as his proclamation rang clearly throughout the mostly empty space. He stared defiantly at the stupid apple pony, even as she stared back with that dumb sad expression on her face. He knew it was just an act to save face though, and he furrowed his brows; even as tears began to build at the corners of his eyes. He felt them, hot and wet. But he refused to blink, as he stared into the eyes of the constant nuisance in his life. He wouldn't give her any ground. The defiant brown of his eyes clashed with the regretful green of hers, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop as everypony around them held their breath. The tension was palpable, and even he felt like this was maybe getting out of hoof; though his rising anger was quickly pushing those thoughts aside. Isn't this what she wanted? Didn't she want to see him cry again? Isn't that why she hung around him?! Finally, green's resolve broke, and the two orbs flicked down to the ground. "You don't have to do that sugarcube... I.. I was just teasin'..." She uttered in a low, defeated tone as she rubbed one of her hooves against the other. Her ears were tucked down into her head, and the end of her braided tail swished slowly over the floor. He had to admit, it was an admirable mockery of sincerity. But he knew she didn't feel sorry. Not at all. He stood suddenly, shocking everypony out of their stupor as the harsh screech of the chair reverberated in their ears. He glared at the stupid apple pony as she rubbed her dumb orange hooves together. Her ugly, puke-shaded eyes flicked between him and the floor; and he saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips. She started to speak again, but he interrupted her. He wouldn't let her have any ground. He wouldn't be the one on the defensive. Not with her. Never again. "I'll bring something back, to prove I went! Then who'll be the chicken?!" He projected his voice loudly. He wanted everypony to hear him clearly, so they would know. Know that he was strong, and she was weak. He turned his back on his dumb classmates, and headed to the schoolroom door. He heard the weak apple pony call something after him, but he didn't care. I am strong. > Chapter 7 - The Fear > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was beginning to regret his hasty actions. The Everfree lay in front of him from where he stood at its edge. The pleasant greens of vibrant grass and the speckled blues and yellows of the springing flowers began to fade away only a few steps ahead. They were replaced by the dull uniform greys and browns of dead grass and fallen leaves, shading the border of the cursed forest quite clearly. It was as if the forest actively sucked the life from the surrounding ground, ensuring that the trees were the only foliage living inside. Of course, he knew enough about the forest to know that there were multiple kinds of different flora inside besides the greedy trees. Most regular plants couldn't survive in such a nutrient-deficient place, but some particularly hardy greens managed to eke out an existence. Unfortunately, this usually meant that they had found different sources of nutrition. Like meat. Like pony meat. He closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. He shook his head roughly, his still-too-short mane swished against his head; and he reveled in the comforting feeling. He dared to peek an eye open at the forest, before quickly shutting them again. It was still there, and it was still scary. He took in deep breaths, in and out. In and out, like his mother had taught him. In and out, in and out. He felt his rising fear abate, and he opened his eyes again. The forest stood ahead, a rising wall of black trees and dark shade. They were packed tightly together, almost as if the woods were creating an impenetrable defense against intruders. They shot upwards, easily dwarfing the relatively small unicorn. Branches and bushes intertwined together, creating a reasonable wooden facsimile of a chain-link fence. It was like a fortress. Him and the forest had one thing in common though. They both ended with a reddish-brown covering on their heads. Instead of a normal green shade, the leaves on the trees sported a darker coloring. The brown leaves rustled together in the slight breeze: brushing together and creating dry, hollow noises. The blackened wood. The grey grass. The lifeless leaves. It was as if the entire forest was dead. From where he stood on a nearby crest, Light Flow defiantly kept his ground against the blight. Soon, he would journey inward; and emerge forever changed from the pony he was now. There was no going back. After leaving the schoolhouse, and trekking his way across the relatively busy noon-time Ponyville: he had arrived at the edge of the feared Everfree Forest. The forest that parents used to scare their children into complacency. The forest that was whispered about in hushed tones with wary glances; as if it could hear them. The forest that everypony everywhere unanimously agreed seemed fundamentally wrong. He tried to keep himself calm as his thoughts kept straying back to the forest. He had been angry when he left, full of rage and fire and conviction. But it didn't last, and now he just felt apprehension. He wet his lips, and left his mouth slightly agape. He sucked air in through his teeth, in and out. He had to prove Applejack wrong. He needed to. She can't see me weak. He felt a tightening in his throat, and he swallowed to try and relieve it. He was stalling, he knew he was. It was obvious. He could so clearly identify what he was doing, purposefully leading his thought process in circles so he wouldn't be forced to act. He needed to stop. He needed to move. He felt dumb. It was just a forest. So what if it looked, sounded, smelled, felt like death? Necromancers didn't fear death. They conquered it. They ruled it. Necromancers were death. The characters in his books didn't fear anything. They were confident. They were fearless. They were apathetic and cool. They were fear. But was he? The shadows cast by the trees seemed to crawl along the ground in front of him. It grew along the ground in unnatural ways, and he watched with unblinking eyes as it seemed to waver in his vision. The darkness boiled and writhed, popping and stretching into new, horrible shapes. Long dark tentacles undulated in the non-space, dripping with inky viscera; and they reached out toward him. They grasped at his hooves, and squeezed and tore at them. Ripping and bleeding and hurting him. Red mixed with black, and he felt reverberations in his ears. He felt sick. There was a choking pressure in his chest, and he felt his skin blister as the angry appendages slithered over it. A slimy, pushing feeling crawled its way up from where he felt the pressure was, though it didn't didn't abate in the slightest. It only grew. He opened his mouth in a silent scream as he felt the slimy feeling fill his mouth. Black liquid pooled on his tongue in great, gushing spurts. It kept pushing up and up from his throat, like there was a fountain in his lungs. It grew and grew, until it began to leak out over his teeth, staining them a deep black. It trickled down his chin, and the tentacles rose to meet it. They crawled up his chest, and seemed to absorb the fluid. It tasted like bunny. The tentacles slithered up his upper half, and crawled along his body. His skin grew heavy and hot and wet where it came into contact with the nightmarish substance. He couldn't see it from where his eyes were set forward, but it felt squishy and loose on his bones. He felt like it was sloughing off of him, and into the void below them. He could smell the sharp scent of iron on the air. His white bones exposed themselves to the world, and were quickly smothered by the contrasting black tentacles as they forced their way into his opened insides. They squirmed and writhed inside of him, poking and prodding at his organs and his bones. They wrapped themselves around the squishy bags and tubes, and pulled. His vital parts were torn from their proper places, and the void messily consumed them. His stomach burst in the powerful grip, and the useless acids dripped into the all-consuming emptiness. His lungs and heart were pulled away, and they popped messily like balloons; spraying red fluid onto the black ground below him. His bones snapped and cracked, weak like wet cardboard. The darkness took it all, sucking and gnashing and crushing. Soon, his skin was empty, and the tentacles roved their way up his body. They slithered up his neck, and forced themselves into his gaping jaw. His teeth were plucked and stolen, and his tongue was similarly torn off in the process. The tentacles finally made their way up his face, and he saw them enter his field of view. They slowly, so gently, inched their way closer to his still brown eyes. The two orbs were frozen in place, even as his body was cannibalized. He felt the tips prod at the edges, testing the fragile spheres before they pierced them in a swift blinding motion. All he saw was darkness. Endless darkness. It felt like an eternity, there in the dark. He felt his body fade away, though his consciousness remained. He tried to move his hooves, but he didn't feel anything happen. No feedback, and no movement. No sound reached his ears, and he couldn't taste the liquid anymore. All of his senses were completely deprived. His mind instinctively tried to panic, but he squashed the feeling before it could begin. Panic didn't matter anymore, not now. He knew what to do. He breathed in with lungs he couldn't feel, and opened his eyes. He looked out into the dark forest in front of him, as silent as ever. The shadows were docile, and they didn't move from their places under the foliage. He felt around his teeth with his tongue, and he flicked his eyes down quickly to his torso. Everything was in its place, and his fur was unblemished. He couldn't smell iron, and he couldn't taste anything either. He shuffled a hoof on the grass, and felt the dull tips poke at his frog. He breathed out. He was alive. He stepped forward. > Chapter 8 - The Forest > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow wasn't afraid. Not at all. He wasn't even lying this time. His careful hoofsteps left subtle marks in the forest floor as he trotted through the dank recesses of the Everfree Forest. The dark trees rose up around him, covering the sky with a living canopy; which left the underside of the forest in an unnatural shadow during the otherwise bright day. They pressed close to each other, completely blocking his way forward at times; forcing him to pick his paths at the total whim of the forest. He swore that the scarred and gnarled bark was forming laughing faces, mocking his inability to proceed. He set his jaw, and resolved to ignore the stupid things. Dead leaves and small greens crunched noisily underhoof, filling the air with unwelcome noise in the otherwise silent place. It rang loud in his ears, a sharp contrast to the normal encompassing silence of the forest. Speaking of noise: it was far quieter than he had expected it to be. There wasn't any birdsong, or fluttering of wings. He couldn't hear the rustle of small feet as they trampled through the undergrowth or dug into the ground. There were no bugs crawling on the shaded floor, and no buzzing flies in the air. There was no animal life anywhere. At least, not any normal animal life. He stopped in his tracks, one hoof on the massive root of a particularly adventurous tree. He stood still, not daring to move, or even to breathe. A stalled gasp died on his lips, and his jaw hung open for a moment before he closed it softly. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and bit down. He had heard something. Something unmistakable in the total silence of the otherwise dead woods. It cut through the air like a blade, reverberating easily in the cramped space; and ringing loudly in his ears. It was a howl, deep and uniform. A low tone that hung for multiple seconds, before dying out slowly. He knew what that meant. He knew what kind of animal made that noise, anypony around these parts would. There wasn't a single pony in Ponyville that didn't know and fear that creature. Timberwolf. He suddenly felt far more unsure about his quest, like he had at the forest's edge. He wasn't quite afraid, that wasn't the feeling that was building in his gut. Fear was easy to disregard after his strange hallucination earlier. He didn't know the feeling brewing inside of him, but he wasn't as confident as he had been just a few minutes ago. The howl hadn't sounded close, but his mother's old stories made Timberwolves out to be abnormally swift creatures above all. Strange, considering they were made of wood. If one caught his scent, he wasn't sure he would be able to escape. As loathe as he sometimes was to admit his flaws, he knew he wasn't the most athletic pony. He spent nearly all of his time reading, and any physical exercise he may have had, he only got on the rare occasions his mother got fed up with his brooding and sent him outside to 'play'. He raised his hoof from the dry forest floor and set it on the large root next to his other one, and took an unsteady breath. He pursed his lips, and felt around his teeth with his tongue. He flicked his eyes around at his surroundings, trying to decide whether he should just give up and go home. He had been walking for what he guessed was thirty minutes or so, and the sparse foliage around him was beginning to grow more dense. Other than that, he had no way of telling his progress into the woods. The trees blended together around him, forming an almost solid wall of blacks and greys. Everything looked the same in this stupid forest, and he couldn't remember which direction he had begun walking in. He had vague recollections of seeing a cliff or two: harsh rocky inclines forming steep stony walls that thematically clashed with the regular wooden ones. He was also pretty sure he had heard a river a while back. The subtle bubbling and washing of the waves had been very soft on his ears, and he wasn't even sure he wasn't hallucinating again. He hadn't been able to see the watery pathway anyway, so he had dismissed the thought of it and continued on his way. He wouldn't panic, he refused to, no matter how lost he may or may not have been. His eyes were dry. He was fine. He would keep going until he found something, and he wouldn't give up. Not until he had something to prove his strength. He just.... he just had to... He had to keep going. He had to take another step. His hoof set itself down on the other side of the root, and he set his jaw. He looked forward into the shade and the quiet, and continued his earlier pace. The trees scrolled past his vision in a unfocused blur as he cantered along on his chosen path. It wasn't a traditional path like the roads he had seen in Ponyville, but more of a simple opening in an otherwise crowded area. Since it didn't follow any logic except the forest's, he often switched directions and elevations; twisting and turning around and around. It effectively destroyed any chance he had of mentally keeping track of where he was going. He just knew he had to keep going forward. One hoof in front of the other. Forward. He continued that way for what he guessed was at least fifteen minutes. It could have been more, and it could have been less, but it was incredibly hard to tell in this place. He spared a quick glance to the leafy coverings above him, only taking his eyes off the path for a second; but it was enough, and that's when it happened. He felt his hoof strike something hard, and the sharp pain came a moment before he began to tip forward. He sucked in through his teeth, and let out a tiny gasp as his view took a turn downwards. His back hooves slid on some stray leaves behind him, and he was left wobbling on one hoof. Of course, he couldn't keep balance that way, and he came crashing down onto his face. He felt a stinging pain in his hoof from where it had struck the offending object, and a deeper pain in his jaw where it had taken the brunt of the fall. He groaned out between his smooshed lips from his humiliating spot on the forest floor, and silently thanked his luck that no one had seen that. He imagined he was a pitiful sight, lying there with his butt in the air and hooves splayed all around him. He gave some honest consideration to just closing his eyes and taking a nap, but he knew that was just inviting a quick death in his sleep. He wiggled his butt in the air as his back hooves scrabbled for purchase on the ground behind him. He heard the swishing of his tail in the air and muttered out a muffled curse. Maybe a quick death wouldn't be so bad right now. Eventually, he found purchase, and managed to heave himself up onto unsteady balance. He glanced down at what had tripped him, and he groaned at the sight of an outstretched tree root. He glared at the tree it extended from, and he could have sworn the stupid thing was grinning at him. He scoffed audibly, and turned his head, raising it haughtily. He wouldn't allow the tree the satisfaction of seeing him get mad. Regardless, he proceeded forward in a careful, measured pace, making sure to watch for protrusions on the path ahead. He continued on that way for another thirty minutes before he caught a flash of something ahead. He blinked a few times, almost sure that he was seeing things; and he sped up in an attempt to reach his new goal faster. He slowed to a halt, and stared upwards. It was a break in the canopy, and he could see the sky again. But that wasn't what had shocked him, after all: he had seen the sky only an hour or so ago. At least, he thought it had been an hour. He stared at the fading orange sky as it quickly darkened before his eyes. He couldn't believe it, and he felt his jaw open slightly in horror. He had gone into the forest at noon. How was it already sunset!? The fire blazing in the sky was slowly extinguished by the growing inky blackness. It dragged its way across the sky, as the burning colors flew away in terror. Flying and screaming across the sky, desperately running from the encroaching abyss. Sitting there in the middle of the most feared woods in Equestria, Light Flow bore solitary witness to the extinguishing of the light, and the death of the flame that had been a constant fixture for most of time. It was replaced instead by an endless void, peppered with small dots of light, each burning in their own subtle way; though none brightly enough to risk the shadow reaching out to extinguish them. The new ruler of the sky would never permit such a transgression. It was night. And he needed to move on. He tore his eyes way from the great sea of shadow, and focused them on the ground, on something real. If he stared too long at the sky, here in this cursed place where time didn't make sense; he feared that he too would be consumed. He shook his head. It was just the night sky, he had seen it a million times; and it never captured his attention like it did now. He could take up a new hobby in astronomy after he finished his task. He took a heavy breath, and wet his lips. He was sitting on the ground in the middle of a ray of moonlight shining down through the trees. He hadn't even realized he'd been sitting, and he couldn't remember ever doing so. He raised himself up from where he had unconsciously taken a seat, and stretched one of his hooves out behind him. It was surprisingly stiff, and he found himself wondering if he had been sitting for longer than he realized. The forest must've been playing tricks on him, it was the only explanation. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth, and took a moment to collect himself and his thoughts. His horrible hallucination from earlier flashed in his head, and he sucked in a gasp. He had been trying to forget it happened, but it kept bothering him. He had no idea what had happened. He had just been standing there, at the edge of the forest; and suddenly it was like he was in a nightmare. A horrible nightmare that he hadn't been able to wake from. He hadn't been able to move, and he hadn't felt any of the things the tentacles had done to him. He couldn't breathe, and he could barely think besides. He hadn't even been able to move his eyes from where they had frozen on the sight of the forest; but he had still been able to see what the shadows had done to him. It was like he had simultaneously seen from his eyes, and from the eyes of someone watching it happen. Forced to watch his skin melt away and his insides consumed. His breath shuddered as he felt the phantom feelings of his organs bursting and his ribs cracking. It hadn't even been painful. That was the thing that unnerved him the most. All he had felt was the uncomfortable pressure in his chest, nothing else. Even as his heart ruptured, and his lungs were crushed; he hadn't felt any pain at all. The thought of it made him sick. What if it really didn't hurt? It could happen to him at any time and he wouldn't even notice. He felt pressure rising in his chest, and he quickly forced the subject from his mind. He didn't think this was an incredibly good place to vomit, and the feeling reminded him of something else besides. Free from his delusions, he noticed he was shivering slightly. The air had chilled around him and he could see the small puffs of his breath. He frowned and blew out, the air cooling and materializing as subtle mist. He didn't think it should've been that cold, but he supposed the forest didn't really follow conventional rules anyway. He glanced around him. The dark woods remained unchanged from his last check, and he couldn't hear anything either. He was still standing there in the moonlight, and everything was seemingly fine. But he wasn't going to make any progress just standing there in the light. He looked down at the spot where the glowing moonlight created a bordered edge with the shadow. A clearly defined line, where light and dark clashed against each other. He shuffled his hoof out towards the line, and took a deep. steady breath. He was ready, he could keep going. His hoof slid out from the light, into the dark. I know I'm close. He continued on, quickly leaving the light behind. It was a strange feeling. The actual light in the forest hadn't changed from before, but it almost felt darker in the night. The shadows seemed to stretch out longer, and he thought he could see inexplicable things dancing in the darkness. The grey brush under him seemed to make less noise than before, and he wondered if it was less dry than the near-dead growths he had seen earlier. He was lucky. If he hadn't been looking down at the ground he wouldn't have seen it. He would have walked straight into it. The blue flowers. He stopped completely still, one hoof still hovering over a small, blue flower. He shakily returned his hoof to his side, and shuddered slightly; eyes still trained on the small patch of blue in the otherwise grey surroundings. It was Poison Joke. There was no other flower it could be, it literally could not be any other blue flower. Poison Joke was the only blue flower that could possibly survive in these woods. He had only been a moment away from stepping on one, and then... He felt his mouth dry, and he let his tongue drift out between his lips slightly. He let it sit there as he bit down, the pain helping him stay grounded. He had heard stories of the ponies who had touched the flower. He didn't really know how it worked, but the effects were usually relatively harmless. Something like a bad mane day, or itchy hooves, or some other ridiculous ailment. But sometimes, he knew, the little blue flowers could be so cruel. There was one pony who had returned from the woods colored completely blue. He had been a different color before, of course, otherwise there would have been no tell whatsoever. Everypony had thought that the effect was skin-deep: 'Oh he's blue now, that's okay!'. Multiple doctors had ruled that there was no change in his physiology, and while they couldn't fix his new coloring, he was completely safe. But they were wrong. His neighbors had woken to screaming one night. Loud and horrible and lilting, as if the screamer's voice was fading in and out with the pain. It had stopped midway through the authorities' attempts to break down his door, and everypony gathered there quickly began to fear the worst. When they were finally able to get into the poor fool's house, they couldn't find him. There was absolutely no trace of him anywhere in the house. The only thing anypony could find was a single blue flower, laying in the pony's bed. He knew that was just a story, and it was unlikely the plants would turn him into a flower; but he didn't want to take any sort of chance. He turned his back on the patch of azure flowers, and tried to ignore the feeling that he was being laughed at. He didn't even really know why those things could survive here anyway. He could vaguely remember some sort of lesson in school about magical plants, but the memory slipped away as he tried to bring it forward. He doubled back, heading to a fork in the trees he had encountered five or so minutes ago. Whether he understood them or not, he didn't want anything to do with them. The differing path came into view, and he turned down it; heading in the same basic direction he was before. He had been trotting down that path for a matter of minutes before something else came into view. It looked like the trees were opening up ahead, and he momentarily feared he had gone in a massive circle. His nose twitched as he caught the scent of something. He stopped for a moment as he tried to work out what it was. It wasn't a very familiar scent, but not completely unfamiliar. It drifted across his senses, hot and burning in his nostrils. He knew that scent, he knew it. It was on the tip of his tongue.. He could almost picture it in his mind. He took another analyzing sniff. He recognized it as being vaguely... metallic? His pupils dilated as he took in a deep, heady breath. It was blood. He was smelling blood. He worked his jaw, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring. If something was bleeding that meant that something was hurt. There was a high chance that something else had done that hurting. There was a similarly high chance that the aforementioned something else was still nearby. It would likely be a very bad idea to investigate. But what if something is dead? After a moment of deliberation, he threw his concerns out of a metaphorical window. The scent seemed to be coming from up ahead anyway, so it's not like he was going out of his way. Everything would be fine, he just wanted to see where the blood was coming from. He cantered forward unsteadily, as if his hooves were moving through jelly. He fought to keep his head clear, as the hot scent of blood filled his senses. He didn't know what was coming over him, it wasn't like he hadn't smelled blood before. He couldn't figure out why he was so intent on finding it. But it smells like there's so much. He emerged from the break in the trees, and gazed out on the view before him. A great chasm stretched out as far as he could see, deep and vast. The jagged edges continued down past the edge of his vision, and he idly wondered how far it went. The entire thing was filled with great amounts of fog, leaking out from some unseen source below; hiding even the other side from view. Even if he was looking straight down from the edge, he doubted he would be able to see the bottom; and he couldn't see the opposite edge either. Straight in front of him there stood two large wooden poles. They were brown, oddly enough: completely at odds with the black and grey trees behind him. They stood sentinel over the chasm, old and weathered, but still holding strong. But Light Flow only barely registered those unimportant details, and he only gave them a moment of thought. His entire mind was focused on the other thing in front of him. It was a corpse. The corpse of a dark-green pegasus pony. He stood there, staring at the pegasus as he wondered how it had even got here. The skies above the Everfree were known to all pegasi as a strict no fly zone. Apparently, the winds were unpredictable or something; but he had never stayed around a relevant pegasus long enough to understand any more than that. He didn't even really care how it got here though, he only cared that it was here. He swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly dry. Normally, he would feel some amount of sadness at seeing a dead body; especially a pony. But after his trials in the hills and the forest, he couldn't feel anything except but a dull sense of triumph. It made him sort of queasy, having that sort of reaction; but it didn't stop the feeling. He had persevered, and this was his prize. This was his reward. He slowly moved toward the corpse from where it sat a few hoof-lengths away from the poles. He could see the puddle of blood spreading from the body, and he sniffed deeply again. It was deep and rich, hot and metallic. It burned his nostrils, and it made his eyes water from the power of it. He liked it. He liked it in a way he hadn't liked the bunny. He finally arrived at the side of the corpse, and watched the way the puddle slowly crept over the ground. The pegasus must have died recently, otherwise it wouldn't have even been here. He was surprised it was here regardless, as he assumed the creatures of the forest usually did away with corpses very quickly. He stood there silently as the puddle crept up to the edge of his hoof and slowly encircled it. He expected it to be warm, but it wasn't. He pressed his now wet hoof down into the pool of cold liquid, and listened to the subtle squishing noise it made. It was similar to the sound of a foal playing in a puddle after rain, but so sinfully different at the same time. He lifted his hoof, and felt some of the liquid drip off into the puddle below. He brought it up to where he could see it, and watched, enthralled, as the red ran down the hard part of his hoof and into his soft frog. He shivered slightly as the cold liquid made contact with his bare skin, and continued to watch as it ran down into his trimmed fetlocks. The brown fur was stained red before his eyes, and he let out an excited breath. This was the best day of his life. He.. He slowly poked his tongue out from his lips. He stared at the runny red liquid on his hoof, a beautiful contrast with the pale flesh of his frog. He slowly lifted his hoof closer to his face, and his outstretched tongue. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew it was gross, and dangerous, and weird, but he couldn't deny the feelings stirring in his heart. What does blood taste like? His hoof stopped an inch away from his face. The scent was overpowering at this distance, and he breathed heavily as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes; bunching up messily before running down his cheeks. He cautiously stretched his quivering tongue out. His organ made contact with the liquid, and his eyes somehow widened further. It was.... awful. His face scrunched up, and he made a gagging noise as his hoof lowered to the ground. Sweet Celestia did he hate that! It was overpoweringly metallic, even worse than how it smelled. It also tasted faintly of meat and dirt and something else he didn't even know. He felt his stomach rebel at the foul taste, but he sucked his lips in and forced it to calm. "I'm not doing that again." he muttered out loud, before giving a start at the sound of his ragged voice. It sounded like he hadn't had a drink in days, though he supposed it had been at least half of one. He should get going home soon. But first... He stared back down at the body. He couldn't see any visible wounds, so he figured the body must've been laying on top of them. He wanted to see what had killed the poor pony, so he lit his horn in preparation of turning the body over. He directed a small magical tendril towards the head, and made contact with the side of the face. The head jerked. He gasped loudly, and took several steps back. As he felt panic begin to shade his mind, he tried to call his magic back to him; but his channeled power wouldn't listen. It was as if his magic was doing things on its own, as he felt his magical pathways open in ways he had never felt before. His inner arcane power flowed through his body, connecting in ways that made his skin itch. He flicked his eyes upwards at his still-lit horn as it steadily grew in light, then back down at the magically connected corpse. The head continued to twitch and shake unnaturally, before jerking backwards in a motion that would've snapped its neck had it not already been dead. Bones jutted out freakishly underneath the skin of its taut throat, and the head quickly jerked back forward, as if on a spring. Suddenly, the head swiveled all the way around to stare at him, making popping noises as the joints dislocated. He screamed loudly when the bloodshot eyes flicked open and focused on him. They were green, though the iris had seemingly popped and begun to bleed out into the sclera. Blood was also seeping in from somewhere, slowly staining the white orbs beginning from the corner. The emerald green was clashing with the blood red on the backdrop of pure white rather beautifully. He felt bile rise in his throat. Of course it'd be green.. He gasped in quick breaths, trying to calm himself as the corpse stared unblinkingly at him with its bleeding green eyes. His skin was beginning to burn, and he begun feeling particularly hot lines over his body where he assumed the associated magical pathways were. He admitted, he hadn't given as much focus to the arcane sciences as he had wanted to, but even with his limited knowledge, he knew that activity such as this should've been impossible unless a particularly complex spell was being formed. The jaw of the corpse flapped uselessly at him, and he noticed that some of the pegasus' teeth were missing. It was a strange thing to notice at a time like this, but he couldn't help it. He flashed back to when his teeth were plucked from his mouth, and he shut his eyes against the intruding memories. It was the worst possible time to develop PTSD, and he really wished that it would save itself for later. The burning heat began to travel from his chest to his haunches, and he screamed again in pain. It was burning him, deep down inside. He imagined his organs bursting from the heat, and saw them again being crushed by inky tentacles made from void. The fluids wouldn't leak out anywhere though, they would just pool in an puddle inside a meaty flesh sack. The fire in his body reached the very back of him, and he began to cry from the sensation. If somepony had taken a brand to his backside, he imagined it would feel less painful. He focused on the image of a brand, the outdated tool that was banned in most parts of Equestria. He thought about what it did to a flank. Searing and scarring the flesh with a permanent mark. "Make it stop... Please somepony make it stop... Make it STOP!" ...... ...... ...... .....? It was sudden, so sudden that he wasn't even sure that anything had changed. As if Celestia Herself had descended from the Heavens to grant his fevered wish, all the pain just stopped. The pain had vanished as quickly as it had come. His magic faded away, and the corpse lay still once more. Its head was still turned backwards, and the eyes were still open, but at least it wasn't twitching anymore. The burning had faded, but his head still felt hot. Somehow, he stayed standing throughout that whole ordeal, even though he swore that his legs had given out at some point. He panted heavily, his mouth agape and his eyes hooded. His tongue hung out slightly, but he sucked it back in. He closed his mouth, and swallowed once. He was okay. Everything was fine. He was done here. He didn't even want to play with the body anymore. He could barely look at it. He wanted to leave. He turned his head from the ravine and the corpse, intent on leaving them behind, when he spotted it. Well, he actually spotted two things, though he felt very different ways about them. One of them was the picture of an open book that had made its home on his flank. It was a brown-bound hard cover book, with squiggles in place of words stretching out across lines, but that wasn't the main attraction there. The main focus was the open-mouthed pony skull laying in the middle of the visible pages. Before his emotions could make their way towards elation, his mind drifted to the other thing he had seen, standing just a few hoof-lengths away from him. It was a creature. A creature made of a hard, brown material. It stood several hoof-lengths above his relatively short stature, measuring about a hoof taller than a full grown pony. It was lean, and stretched nearly 5 hoof-lengths across; at least from where he stood. It had no discernable joints, and the wood seamlessly meshed into similar looking lengths along its body. The bark stretched out beyond its body in several places where the withers and knees would be on a pony, rendering the creature looking rather asymmetrical. Adding to that, there were several odd tree branches sticking out from various points across its body; looking as if the leafy sticks had simply been picked up and rammed haphazardly into any free gap. It lumbered forward on jagged wooden legs, ending in sharp claws made from elongated thorns. The entire thing oozed a sickly green mist, pouring out though gaps in the wood and fading a few inches from their points of exit. He could see a similarly colored light shining brightly throughout its body, hurting his eyes with its intensity when he tried to look directly at it. It ran all throughout the creature, creating a convincing facsimile of veins and blood. He heard a faint growl, deep and broken; like the sound of wood grinding together, and he drew his eyes up to the source. The head of the creature boasted shining green eyes, which were fixed intently on him. The eyes were completely uniform, lacking any sort of normal optical features that most creatures had. Its jaw hung open, and he could see the green light shining up from its throat; out through sharpened wooden teeth. It growled again, and he watched as a green substance, looking almost like sap, dribbled out from the mouth and onto the ground; where it sizzled slightly upon making contact. "A Timberwolf." "A Timberwolf is standing right in front of me." "So why am I not scared?" He stood there, just hoof-lengths away from one of the most feared creatures his mother had ever described to him, as it strode slowly towards him on those dangerous-looking wooden appendages. Its mouth hung agape, all the while dripping that acidic fluid, looking for all intents and purposes like it was going to open wider and devour him any second. A deep rumbling noise made its way out from the creature's chest, and rang loudly in his otherwise sound-deprived ears. He stood there, subject to all those different terrifying things that would have normally brought him near to a heart attack. He stood there, and he was completely calm. Actually, scratch that, he was fascinated. He had always wanted to see a Timberwolf, though he had obviously been too scared to seek one out before. His mother had given him a large book for his eighth birthday titled 'An Equestrian Compendium of Creatures', and one of his favorite entries had been on Timberwolves. Apparently, no one in Equestria had the foggiest idea how they worked, or even lived. Studies on captured specimens showed that the creatures didn't need to eat; despite their obvious penchant for meat. They had no digestive capabilities, and any consumed material just.. disappeared. They had no observed method of reproduction either, lacking any kind of necessary organs. They didn't use plant-like methods either. New Timberwolves just appeared randomly in the forest from time to time. Of course, as he remembered from his favorite part: none of that mattered. As far as anypony could tell, Timberwolves were effectively unkillable. They didn't expire from hunger, or thirst, or temperature; and nothing kept them down for long. When injured, they would just reconstitute themselves from random bits of nearby wood. If their surroundings didn't have wood, they would simply appear in a different place that did. Though, Timberwolf corpses were periodically discovered by intrepid adventurers. While it had never been observed, Timberwolves were at least assumed to have a limited lifespan. No one knew how long that was though. What that all boiled down to was: effectively, there was no way of stopping a Timberwolf. Especially not in their domain. Running through that kind of information in his head should have driven him to absolute terror. Facing a Timberwolf unprepared like this was extremely risky, especially given where he was right now. But none of it registered correctly in his head. He was calm. "I don't feel like I'm in danger right now." Maybe it was adrenaline? Or Ignorance? Maybe it was the comforting green sphere he could see faintly glowing at the center of the Timberwolf's body. He squinted slightly. It was like he could see it over the other layers of the creature, sort of like one of those fancy paintings he hated to look at. Though instead of the confusing dimensions enraging him like they normally would, he felt only peace. He wondered if other ponies saw Timberwolves like he did. Why would anypony be afraid of these creatures? He smiled, and stepped forward, towards the creature. The wild dog snarled gutturally at him as he approached, sending corrosive sap-like spittle flying in his direction. His eyes widened noticeably, and he ducked to the left. The sap-like acid flew past him, though some landed on his somewhat outstretched hoof. He sucked a breath in through his teeth at the burning sensation, and he looked down at a small patch of his flesh showing out through his fur. He made a silent note to himself to look out for that on his next encounters with these creatures. Just because he didn't feel any imminent danger, didn't mean he was in no danger. He looked back at the wooden beast, and stood straight up from where he had been crouched on the ground. He faced the creature directly, and it bent low to the ground in preparation for a killing pounce. He took in a deep breath. It was cold in his mouth, and it tasted like ice on his tongue. He closed his eyes, and felt some unidentified feeling well up from deep in his chest. He let the breath out. A cold mist expanded from his mouth, and he felt the air around him noticeably drop in temperature. He opened his eyes halfway, as the Timberwolf stood frozen in place before him. Unseen to him however, very small, very faint traces of purple smoke had begun to trail out from the corners of his eyes. He took another deep breath, before letting it out in the form of a single shouted word. "SIT!" The clearing reverberated with the power of his command, and the following silence was deafening. The Timberwolf seemed to shudder in place. Its jaw clacked feebly against its wooden snout, and small whining noises escaped from the terrifying maw. It seemed an eternity before anything happened, when the feared beast suddenly lowered its backside slowly to the ground. The wood made a creaking noise as the Timberwolf's shoulders sagged in apparent defeat. He smiled at the beast, feeling joy well up inside of him that it was obeying. It wasn't even occurring to him that this was unnatural, he was just reveling in the moment. He stepped forward, right in front of it now, and the beast seemed to flinch in an odd fashion. The wooden pieces of its body clacked together as the Timberwolf's head lowered in submission. Its ears lowered, and a low piteous whine echoed out from within its throat. He took the moment to study the orb in its chest in more detail. It was small, only about an inch or two in diameter. It burned with an unnatural green light, almost identically to the light that shone visibly though its bark. He felt an odd attraction to it, and a strange desire to hold it in his hooves almost consumed him. He had even reached a hoof out to almost touch the wooden skin of the creature before he thought better of it. He exhaled loudly, and leaned back from his examinations. He turned away and walked confidently past the usually hostile monster. He knew that it would stay until he was gone. It knew its place. "I'll be back to see you later!" He called out over his withers, only sparing a glance at the hunched shoulders of the beast. He settled into a comfortable trot out through the woods. He didn't know why, but none of the things that halted him before mattered to him now. He didn't come across any Poison Joke. He didn't trip on any rocks. He didn't stop to stare at the rising sun through the break in the canopy. He barely even thought as he navigated his way through the cursed woods. He had only one thing on his mind. Showing Applejack his brand-new Cutie Mark. Though, he did make a stop at a small stream to wash the dried blood off his hooves. His mother was going to freak out as is, and he didn't want her to think he was hurt. The thought of his mother brought him back to reality somewhat, and he wondered what she was thinking right now. He had stayed out all night after all, so she was probably going to punish him in some way. He shuddered as he let his hooves soak in the cold water. Now THAT was going to be scary. > Chapter 9 - The Return > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was happier than he had ever been. Though, he hadn't been nearly as happy a week ago. A week ago, when he had returned from his impromptu trip to the forest. After emerging from the shadowed groves within, It had taken him a moment to adjust to the relatively blinding sunlight. It had burned into his retinas, and he had to close his eyes before they began to water. He raised a hoof up in front of his face and just sat there, trying to get used to the feeling of sunlight on his fur. With the extreme absence of sunlight in the forest, he had become quite used to feeling cold. The warm light on his short coat almost burned in comparison, and he wondered for a moment if he should look into obtaining some sort of cloak. Though he still couldn't see, he felt a small smile grow on his face at the thought. A real villain like him should have a suitably dastardly outfit. A real villain. That's what he was now! His vision began to return to him, and he immediately flicked his eyes down to his flank. It was still there. He hadn't been hallucinating again. He had a cutie mark. He had a Necromancy cutie mark. He giggled drunkenly under his breath as he swung his body around, trying to see it from different angles. He noticed the pony skull sitting in the book was specifically a unicorn's, and he admired the addition of the horn. He thought the spiraling bone structure jutting from the forehead really added something to the whole picture; like it was just screaming: 'Magic!' He realized that a pony skull on a book didn't automatically mean 'Necromancer', but it was just like he knew. It was sort of like how a pegasus instinctively knows how to flap their wings, or a unicorn inherently knows how to draw power from their inner fount. It was instinctive. It was inherent. He just knew. Unfortunately, as he had been busy staring down at his rear, he hadn't noticed the two ponies approaching him from the direction of town. "Well there you are, you varmint!" He heard a familiar southern twang ring out loudly amidst the relative quiet, and turned his head up towards two orange hooves as they approached. It was Applejack, and she had another pony with her; a big red stallion who he vaguely remembered as her brother. The first time he had met him, he had been quite talkative; but recently he had been far quieter than what he assumed was normal. He smirked as the orange pony approached rapidly, her brother trailing after her. He glimpsed a stormy expression on her face, but he figured she was just sore that she was wrong about him. He squinted at the approaching ponies, noticing that something was... different? He could have been imagining it, but he swore that he could see a small orb floating at the middle of each pony's chest. He looked closer as the ponies stopped in front of him. Yes, there was definitely a small glowing orb floating around inside of each pony. There was something familiar about those orbs... His eyes widened as he recognized them. It was exactly like the green sphere he had seen in the Timberwolf! Their orbs weren't green though. The one inside Applejack was glowing with a faint golden light, and pulsing at a very steady pace. He could also see something deeper inside, some other flash of color, but he couldn't quite make it out. The one inside her brother was a very light brown, and it quivered solemnly. Unlike his sister's, his didn't pulse. It just sat there, steadfast and strong. Seeing the orbs again filled him with that strange desire from before. A whispering in his head that told him to just reach out and take them. He blinked his eyes rapidly, and shook his head. He could worry about the spheres later. He had bragging to do. He turned his head up, stopping it at about level with Applejack's. He opened his mouth, ready to boast about his new cutie mark, before he felt something strike him in the face. His mouth gaped open from where his head had tilted to the side, and he reached a hoof up to prod at his stinging cheek. He worked his suddenly aching jaw, and moved his head back around to stare with wide eyes at Applejack from where she stood staring at him with a rapidly reddening face. "Now what d'you think y'all have been doin'? Ya can't just proclaim to the whole darn world 'bout yer intent to traipse off to the most cursed place on Equus, an' then not come back!" Applejack seemed to be upset. Though he couldn't understand why she was screaming at him so loudly with that red face of hers. He idly noticed her tendency to sink deeper into her accent when she was mad, and thought about telling her to calm down. Though... his mother always told him to never try to tell a raging mare to calm down. It was probably best to just let her blow off steam for now, and he would apologize when she was done. He sat his butt down on the ground, and prepared himself for stinging ears as Applejack took in another deep breath. "Ah was sure y'all were just blowin' steam, but yer mother came by the farm this mornin' askin' where y'all were, an' ah didn't know what to tell her!" "Land sakes Light Flow! Ya' got family to think about! Ya' can't jes' go off and spend th' night in a haunted forest, lettin' yer poor mother an' everypony else think y'all were DEAD!" He grimaced as he noticed tears begin to bunch up in the corners of her eyes. He flicked his gaze over to her brother standing just behind her. He just shrugged and shook his head. "Very helpful, thanks." "And y'all know the worst part? Ah lied to her! Ah told her you had spent th' night over, and that y'all had gone off somewhere in th' mornin'!" "I.. I.. I thought ah had killed you!" Her face seemed to scrunch in on itself as the words came out, and she sniffed loudly. She seemed to be losing steam quickly, and he readied himself for a well-practiced apology. "It was 'cause o' me that y'all went out into th' forest! When you didn't come back, I... I..." She seemed to lose her voice at this point, and was just making little choking noises. He couldn't see her face from where she had tilted it down, but he assumed she was crying. He sighed, and opened his mouth for the long awaited apology, but it stalled on his lips as he felt something crash into him. Extrapolating from what he could see out through a sea of orange and yellow, he guessed that Applejack had rushed forward and hugged him. Smells like apples. The orange pony's embrace was tight, and he felt her soft orange fur rub comfortably against his. He belatedly realized that he was filthy, and thought about telling Applejack about it before her coat was ruined. He sighed softly, realizing that she probably wouldn't care. She lived on a farm after all. He reached his hooves up and returned her warm hug, knowing it would probably be rude to just sit there. He felt Applejack clutch him tighter in response, and idly wondered how much of this he could survive. Or stand. He felt something wet leaking into his mane, and he looked out past hers over at her brother. He shot a pleading look at the red stallion, but he just shook his head again. He lowered his face into a glare, before he heard muffled words drift up from the pony in his hooves. "I'm sorry sugarcube. I didn't mean to make you feel like y'all had to prove anything." He sighed softly, and internally cursed his luck. "Why did I have to go and make a friend?" He licked his lips and finally took his chance to speak. "I'm... I'm sorry too, Orange Hooves. I didn't mean to make anypony worry about me. I just lost track of time." He pried the pony off him, and held her at about hoof's length. Her face had returned to its usual orange color, though her eyes were still a little red. He stared into those red, runny, emerald eyes as she sniffled a small line of snot back into her nose. He shuddered slightly at the sight of it, and didn't dare to look down at where her head had been resting on his coat. Brushing the sanitary concern aside, he smiled softly and spoke again: "But don't you see? I did prove myself, look!" He let the orange pony go, and turned around to show her his new cutie mark. He heard a soft pair of gasps, and cheered internally as a larger smile grew on his face. He knew they were impressed. He had ventured into the most feared place for miles, and come out with the greatest special talent ever! He waited there, butt turned toward the pair; as he waited for them to comment on his incredible mark. The silence was deafening. He couldn't even hear any birds. It was like he was back in the forest. His smile slowly slipped off his face in favor of a nervous frown. "W-Well?" He called out behind him. He was seriously debating whether he should turn around when he finally heard a voice cutting through the hush. "Oh sugarcube... That's.. That's great!" Applejack was speaking quietly, probably because she had just been crying. That was it. "Um... Sugarcube... I'm sure you're real happy right now, but... Don't you think it's a mite... grim?" He frowned at the word. Grim? Of course it was grim. He was a Necromancer for Celestia's sake! He took a moment to wonder if he should be invoking Celestia's holy name for a topic like this. He turned around to stare at the uncertain faces of the apple siblings, ready with a scathing reply about not judging other ponies' cutie marks. He opened his mouth and prepared to give them a lecture they would nev- "Well, what does it mean?" Huh? He stared, open-mouthed and mid-word, at the large red stallion with the short mane who was staring at him with a furrowed brow. "W-What?" he managed to stammer out, as he tried to collect his suddenly scattered thoughts. "Well whether it's grim or not, it don't matter." The stallion spoke with an air of caution, as if approaching a wild animal. "What does matter is its meaning. What's your special talent?" Light Flow felt all of his prepared remarks empty from his mind. His jaw flapped uselessly as he searched desperately for words. It was then that he remembered three very important things. One. Necromancy was very illegal. Two. The Apples were a very traditional family. Three. There hadn't been a Necromancer for over one thousand years. These facts all collided simultaneously in his mind, leaving him with one solitary thought. His eyes flicked down to what might as well have been a target on his flank, and he felt all of the moisture leave his mouth. "I'm in trouble" Okay. Okay he could handle this. The Apples were waiting for an answer. He needed to answer. He would just tell them the- No. He couldn't tell the truth, was he stupid?! That kind of honesty could get him arrested! Or maybe killed? At the very least he would get in trouble, and he didn't want that. He had to lie. He smacked his lips, and breathed in and out erratically. They were staring at him strangely, he had to speak. He just had to say something, anything. "Speak you fool!" "Archeology!" Two sets of eyes widened in sudden understanding, and Applejack let out a small 'ah' sound. He smiled woodenly at the nodding ponies as he felt a small trail of sweat drip down the back of his neck. He had no idea where 'Archeology' had come from, it had just appeared in his mouth. He hoped they didn't ask him about it. He didn't know anything about- "So how'd you get it, sugarcube?" He silently cursed Applejack and her dumb penchant for politeness. She was so considerate, asking about something so special to him. "Why couldn't she be rude?!" He was going to have to make something up, but what? "Well, um... You see, the, uh, funny thing about my cutie mark is... it's really funny actually.... Um...." He knew he sounded stupid, but he didn't care. He had to come up with something to tell the inquisitive pony... ! Of course! It was perfect! Cover the truth with a half lie! He lowered his voice to a near whisper: "Well, my cutie mark story is something alright." This was perfect, absolutely perfect. This would work beautifully. "While I was in the Everfree, I found something... something disturbing..." Two sets of heads leaned in closer. This was it, the deadly hook. "I found bones. Pony bones." He watched as the Apple siblings leaned back, eyes wide. He saw Applejack take a sideways look at her brother, and he could tell that she was regretting asking. But he was going to give her what she asked for. He began speaking loudly and confidently, attempting to sound as grand as possible. "I was lost in the darkened woods, wandering for what felt like forever; when suddenly! I caught a glimpse of white. I smelled something on the air, something foul and sickening. It was the stench of decay." "I followed my senses to what I thought was a small white pole jutting oddly from the ground. It was long and sharp. I went to dig it up, wondering what it could be attached to." "And that's when I found it. It was a terrible sight, almost too horrible to describe..!" From the corner of his eye, he could see Applejack breath a silent breath of what he assumed was relief. "But... I'll try anyway." He felt a sly grin grow on his face, sure that it would happen any second now. "T-That's enough sugarcube!" Applejack's voice rang out at exactly his estimated time, and he morphed his face into one of outward surprise. "Gotcha." "But didn't you want to hear about my cutie mark?" He asked in a hurt tone. He looked down at the ground with a downcast expression, doing his best to mime the movements of a colt who had just been told his passion was uninteresting. Though, he supposed that's what he was? Lies were always so confusing. "Uh, w-well sugarcube, don't you think it's time you were heading home?" She stammered out nervously. He could see in those red-rimmed emerald eyes that she really didn't want to listen to him wax on about corpses. He internally celebrated for a moment, happy that he had averted the disaster. But that's when he again noticed the rings around Applejack's eyes. The more he looked at them, the more he didn't think they were from crying. She must have been exhausted, he realized. It couldn't have been easy waiting for him to come home, he figured. He noticed the way she seemed to sway slightly on her hooves, and reasoned that she must not have had much sleep last night. His eyes glanced over to the seemingly uninterested dark green eyes of Applejack's stoic brother. But now Light Flow was sure he knew what was going on, and the reason he was here at all. "Waiting to take her home?" "I think you should be getting home too, Orange Hooves." He spoke softly, a contrast with his previously projected voice. He wasn't entirely sure, but the feeling welling up in his chest seemed to be pity. He really hadn't meant to make her worry, no matter how much he had wanted to prove her wrong. He reached a hoof out to place it on her withers, and gave a small smile at the flustered look on her face. "I'll get going now." He returned his hoof to his side, and walked out past Applejack. He eyed her brother as he walked by, staring at the orb in his chest for a moment before passing him by. "Light Flow!" He stopped in his tracks as he heard Applejack call out from where she stood a few hoof-lengths away. He turned around, and fixed a questioning gaze on her. What did she want from him now? Applejack seemed to flinch back from his gaze, and whatever words she had prepared stalled in her throat as she made several noises of consternation. She finally seemed to find her voice, and leaned her head forward a bit: "I-I'll see you around, alright?" She licked her lips, and her gaze dipped back down to her hooves. She rubbed one against the other in a very familiar fashion, and he saw the golden orb in her chest begin to pulse more rapidly. He watched with weary eyes. He wasn't quite sure why she had stopped him just to say goodbye. He had thought they had it all wrapped up pretty nicely without needing to say it outright. He gave her a nod, though he wasn't sure she could see it, and turned back towards the town. "Now to face my mother.." > Chapter 10 - Destiny > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was happier than he had ever been. Things were really looking up from last week. After leaving the Apple siblings behind, he had started the trek back to his home. It was a bit away from the center of Ponyville, right in the middle of where most ponies lived, so it had taken him a while to get there. There was a bit of land between the forest and the town, mostly consisting of small hills dotted with trees and rivers. Typical countryside views, really. The Everfree sat at the south-eastern border of the town, thankfully putting it quite a ways away from what was usually called the 'Residential District'. Ponies called it that, but the town was so small that it was really just a collection of about two dozen houses or so. Not exactly what he would call a 'District', but he supposed it wasn't necessarily wrong. "Bit different from the big city." Two dozen houses may have seemed like a low-ball, but the truth was that there just weren't that many ponies in Ponyville. Adding to that, a lot of ponies lived in their businesses, and some of the pegasi had homes made of clouds, too. All of those different things added up to very few actual houses. He crested the last hill, and looked out into Ponyville proper. It was nice. He really did think so. It was a very different sight when compared to.... He shook his head. He didn't like thinking about it too much. He made his way down the hill, and out towards his home. But, as the grass turned to dirt, and he began to see ponies out and about on their day, he saw something strange. Every pony he looked at, no matter how old or young, colt or filly, whether a blank flank or cutie mark: he saw something. A small glowing orb, sitting in the middle of their chest. His mouth opened slightly as dozen of orbs shined in his view. It was about noon, which meant nearly everypony in town had something to do or someplace to be. The combined mashup of multicolored lights danced across his vision, and he had to shut his eyes against the sight. It was beautiful. He gasped slightly under his breath, trying to regain his composure. After another moment, he opened his eyes to the sight of an orb approaching him. "Why hello there Light Flow! How is your mother these days? You know, I heard that she was admitted-" He gaped openly at the pale orb faintly glowing in his neighbor's chest. He completely tuned her usual babble out in favor of peering closer at the dull grey orb. It looked... frail? Like it was just barely holding on. It was a pale grey, hardly shining at all. It sat there silently, giving one weak pulse every couple seconds. He licked his lips, and peered back up at the face of his neighbor as she seemed to grow even older before his eyes. He looked over her sagging yellow coat and greying mane as if seeing them for the first time. He watched her wrinkled mouth move without even hearing what she was saying. He wanted to get away from her. Now. "Um, that sounds great ma'am, but I gotta get home, so bye!" He blurted out a familiar excuse, before hurrying away with his eyes trained on the ground. He bit his tongue and tried not to think about what he had seen as his home rose up on the horizon. It was a simple affair, almost identical to the other thatched-roof cottages sitting to the left and right of it, but he could always distinguish it. There were little tufts of grass springing up from the dirt directly out front; direct consequences of his mother's unfortunate forays into gardening. His hooves drifted over the sad little growths as he approached the front door. He stopped in front of the familiar brown door, and closed his eyes in preparation. His mother was sure to be cross. He would be lucky if he got away within two hours. He could already hear her normally soft voice ringing loudly in his ears. Echoing out into the street where everypony could hear the frustrated voice of his dear mother. He drew in a deep breath, and reached a hoof up to open the door. That had been last week. His mother, as it turned out, hadn't been that angry with him. Oh, she had still yelled at him, but only because he hadn't told her he was staying over at Applejack's. He had almost forgotten about the lie Applejack had told his mother. He was going to have to thank her somehow for saving him from the potential fury of his enraged progenitor. As she had been yelling at him about secrets and honesty or something, he had taken the chance to look at her orb. It was a solid white, just like his mother's coat; and it pulsated slowly and softly. If he had to describe the feeling he got when he looked at it, in a word, it would be... warm. Warm, and comforting. His eyes hooded slightly as more and more feelings rushed into his head. Safe, soft, warm, comforting, loving, beautiful, wonderful, strong, caring, secure. It was then that he had finally begun to understand what those orbs were. He had smiled, even as his mother had lectured him loudly. The orb in her chest, he knew what it was. It was his mother. He had taken the time since then to write up potential meanings in a new notebook, which he affectionately titled: 'Weird stuff about my cutie mark'. Maybe not the best name, but it wasn't as if it wasn't apt! So far, he had three potential meanings that also tied in with his observations so far. One. It was a pony's internal fount. Two. It was the manifestation of a pony's lifeforce. Though, he didn't really know what that would mean. It just sounded cool. Three. It was a pony's soul. He had it narrowed down to either number one or three, when he heard a knock at the door. He would have normally left something so insignificant to his mother, but she was out for the day on another of her errands. He didn't know why she went out so much, it always seemed like she was going off somewhere. It's not like it was any of his business though, he didn't even know why he was thinking about it. He put his black-bound notebook down on his floor, and turned towards his black-colored door. He opened it with a flick of his magic and made his way down the short, uninteresting hallway and toward the small set of stairs that led to the bottom floor of his home. He made his way downstairs, into the plain main room, and over to the front door. He mentally prepared himself for a social encounter, and opened the door to find.... nothing. The sun shone in through the empty doorway, and he cautiously poked his head out and swung it from side to side. His ear twitched as he felt frustration building inside him. It seemed as if he was the victim of a prank. He couldn't see anypony around, except for his old neighbor in her yard, who he quickly swung his head away from. He doubted she would pull a prank like this. Or even could for that matter. He was about to shut the door in anger when he noticed something that he had seemingly overlooked. It was a medium-sized package sitting on the doorstep. He stared at it a moment, before lighting his horn to levitate it up to him. He grunted in surprise as he felt his magic take hold, and slowly lifted it up to where he could see it better. His eyes widened when he saw his name scribbled in big letters directly on the top. Who would be sending him something? It was heavy..! He audibly panted as he struggled to keep the package in his magical hold. He didn't have the strongest magic around, especially since he had been neglecting the villainous exercises he had devised for himself two years ago. In his defense, It was hard to stick to a schedule when there were so many other interesting things to do! Like reading... and.... um.... Okay so all he did was read. But it's not like that was a bad thing! He walked backwards into the main room of the house, struggling to keep the package afloat in the red glow of his magic. He set the box down with a heavy 'whoomp' as he turned his attention towards shutting the front door. He lowered his eyes back to the box and groaned loudly. He wasn't super into physical labor, but it looked as if he had no choice. He wrapped his magic around the box again, and felt a bit of strain as he struggled to lift it. He let out small noises as he carried it up to his room, little grunts and groans as he felt his head beginning to hurt. His horn sparked and sizzled as he reached the top of the steps. What the buck is in this thing?! He moaned in pain as he swung his door open with a shaking hoof. He walked into the middle of his room and gasped in relief as he let the package fall from his grasp. It fell down onto his black carpet with a heavy 'whump', and he silently thanked somepony-other-than-Celestia that it hadn't fallen straight through. He sat there gasping and sweating as he felt the pain in his head slowly abate. He had never held something so heavy for so long before. His usual magical use was opening doors and levitating books, and he felt the pain from overtaxing his magic deep down in his chest. After taking several moments to recover, he turned his attention to the plain brown box on his floor. As far as he could see, there were no identifying labels or anything on it. It was just a plain, brown box with his name scribbled on the top in big messy letters. He frowned. If this was some sort of prank from Applejack, he swore he was going to.... Well, he didn't know what he was going to do. He would have to take time to plot, and scheme, and come up with a way to really make her regret it. He approached the unassuming box with a frown and peered at it closer, trying to ascertain how on Equestria to open it. It didn't have any flaps, or openings, or anything. For all intents and purposes, it was just a boring box. But he knew there was something in it. There was no way it could be that heavy if it was empty! And it's not like it was made out of something heavy. It was just cardboard. Regular old cardboard. Cardboard..? An idea came to him, and a smile slowly grew on his face. If it was just a normal cardboard box, he could just tear it open! He lit his horn with a flourish, and extended his power forward in preparation of some nice easy- The box was glowing. He stepped back with a gasp as the box began to glow in seeming response to his attempt to magically tear it apart. A bright golden light that bounced off the dark colors of his room. There was no apparent source, since the box had no holes or creases or anything that could be leaking it from inside. So, the only explanation was the box itself. He closed his eyes against the growing light, and then covered his eyes with a hoof when it started to bleed through his eyelids. It was strange, such a bright light should have been hot on his fur; but he didn't feel anything. It was as if the light wasn't there at all. All of a sudden, after a few moments of standing there in the non-light, it just... stopped. He saw the light at the corners of his vision fade away, and he lowered his hoof to see what had happened. The box was open. It was just sitting there, looking to all the world like a plain, brown box with no top. He set his hoof down on his carpet and approached the box carefully. He moved slowly, unsure if the box was going to suddenly leap out and attack him. He had to be prepared for anything else strange, and he briefly considered finding some sort of weapon. He crept up to the edge of the box and peered inside, prepared for any number of horrible, terrible things. It was a letter. A letter laying on top of what looked to be a book of some sort. The book was brown, with a darker color bordering its spine. It was unassumingly plain otherwise, and he couldn't see anything else noteworthy. The letter was obscuring what he assumed was the title, but he could see a faint sliver of golden writing poking out behind it. He bit his lip, and levitated the letter out of the box. He didn't dare to look at the title of the book, not yet. The letter seemed, in a word, old. It was a very dry, very crisp envelope, and he could make out a faint flowery pattern running throughout it. He levitated it over to his face and took a sniff. He crinkled his nose and levitated it back an inch or so. It smelled like dust. He turned it over, expecting to find some sort of seal, but it was already open. He briefly wondered if somepony else had already opened it, but discarded the idea. He doubted the box did the glowy thing every time it was opened. He could see a plain white piece of paper sitting just inside, and he levitated it out. The paper, in impossible contrast with the envelope, seemed brand new. He could probably run down to the shop and buy a sheet just like it right then and there. He leaned it in for another sniff, and smiled in contentment. It was a pleasant smell, like flowers. He idly wondered how it could smell like that inside such a dusty old envelope, but he put the thought aside with all the other contradictions. He folded the letter open, and began to read the contents. The writing was incredibly messy and very hard to make out; seeming almost illegible at times. But he could manage. Light Flow. Normally, It is customary to begin a letter with some sort of greeting, followed by pleasantries. However, I have never been one for the meaningless tradition of exchanging empty words with nothing behind them. Instead, I will skip straight 'to the point' as it were. You do not know me, and you never will. If I were not soon to be meant for a realm beyond our own, I would take steps to ensure that a meeting between the two of us should never occur. I shudder to think of such an encounter. The thought makes my skin crawl and my fur itch. But, that is aside the point; which I seem to have strayed from. The point, as it would be: is that you are important. I have gazed into the future, and seen many things. I see a shadowed monster. I see a fallen Princess. I see a lavender unicorn. I see the end of evil itself. But above them all, I see you. You. A small orphan boy from the non-existent town of Ponyville. Many things have become clear to me in my old age and my extended sight, but you are an unchanging anomaly. Time seems to have fractured around you for some strange reason. Moving and changing irrationally and without cause. I can see many different futures around you, and the only explanation is that you are the centre. But one thing, no matter the reason, is constant. And that is the grand state of your destiny. All futures end with you. A dark king. A benevolent prince. An unfeeling monster. A caring hero. Your futures are many, but they are all important. They are also undeniably dangerous. I thought of having you removed from the equation. It would be so easy to give an order to have you arrested and executed. I could do it right now. But it never works. In every possible future, you find a way to escape the fires. A lucky walk. A soldier's mercy. A frenzied escape. A valiant sacrifice. In every one, you vow to have revenge. So I've decided on a course of action. A reckless, unsafe, terrible course of action. I'm taking a gamble. In the box that will have been delivered to you exactly one week after the appearance of your cutie mark, there should be a set of two books. There will be more on the way, but they will only arrive exactly when you need them. This path is the one that has the greatest chance of good without compromising your personal safety. Don't bother giving any sort of thanks. It would go unheard. I would ask that you not let me down, but I know there's a high likelihood that you do. Goodbye. .... Light Flow blinked. Light Flow blinked again. Light Flow was trying to restart his brain, but he seemed to be having trouble. He finally managed to piece the shattered remains of his mind together, and he found a stray thought floating about inside. "I don't think this is a prank." He levitated the discarded envelope over to his side almost absentmindedly, and carefully folded the letter inside. He set it down beside him. He levitated a pillow over from his bed, and quickly shoved his face into it. "WHAT?!" That hadn't helped, like at all. He took his head out of the cushion and threw it back in the direction of his bed. He stared forward unblinkingly and tried to think rationally. Okay, so he was destined for great good or great evil. That's great! He was happy, and he couldn't wait to begin his path to darkness. But what did all that other stuff even mean?! Words like 'gamble' and 'destiny' and 'lavender' swirled around his head, and he audibly groaned. He slumped over onto his back, and kicked his hooves out into the air. Okay. He was fine. Everything was going to be fine. It wasn't as if this changed anything. He had already known he was destined to be the greatest villain Equestria had ever seen! But the letter said he could also do great good. A hero, it had called him. He found himself thinking about it. He supposed it wouldn't be so bad to be revered instead of feared. What did he even want? Why did he want to be evil? He sat there, staring at his black ceiling. He sat, and he sat, and then he sat some more. Eventually, he got tired of sitting. He rolled over and stood up. He could think while he was reading his new books, whatever they were. He walked over to the box and pulled one of the heavy books out of it with his magic. He could see the golden writing on the tome now, and he peered closer at the title. 'Necromancy for Foals - Volume 1' All of the things he was thinking about seemed to drain out of his head. He felt a large, toothy smile grow on his face unheeded. Light Flow was happier than he had ever been. But as his brain restarted, he begun to actually think about the book floating there in front of him. It was a book on Necromancy. A real, honest-to-deity, book on Necromancy. Necromancy. The completely forbidden subject that could get you disappeared, just for studying it. He felt his smile begin to slip away as reality slapped him in the face. Light Flow was more afraid than he had ever been. > Chapter 11 - The Prodigy > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was, in a word, mystified. He was standing in front of a tall colorful building near the center of Ponyville. He wore his special black saddlebags at his sides, with their cool angular patterns. He had packed everything he needed for the coming trials, and he felt the items inside weigh heavily on his body. He stared up at the fancy patterns above the large windows, and the model ponnequins bordering the second floor. His eyes flicked down to the fancy lettering above the door. Carousel Boutique He had heard from everypony in town that this was the place to go for clothes. He had thought more about the idea of a cloak, and decided one was absolutely necessary. He knew it was going to be so cool, and he even had a bunch of specifications and details using big words he had looked up in the dictionary. There was just one sticking point in his head... This shop was apparently run by a foal. He didn't really want a cloak made by a foal. But everypony he talked to had assured him that she was some sort of genius. A seamstress prodigy, they said. He wondered if that was true. He wondered just how good she was. That wondering had led him here, where he stood in front of a large purple door with two handles for some reason. The sign in the window read 'open' in big fancy lettering, so he took the top handle in his red magical glow. To his surprise, the bottom handle swung open along with the top one. Though as he gave it more thought, he supposed it would be stupid to have a front door that required two tries to open. He heard the soft tinkling of a bell, and a high-pitched voice called out from somewhere inside. "I'm Coming!" He stepped inside, looking around the dubious shop. It was far more official than he had guessed it to be. Though, he supposed his vision of a shop run by a foal was a little tainted by his general distaste for young ponies. It didn't matter if he was young, he still didn't like them. They're just so... messy. He looked around at the ponnequins and the dresses they displayed. The colorful fabrics cascaded down around each other, and he could see gems sparkling out from multiple places. They were... nice, he supposed. He wasn't really into fashion, so he really couldn't say much about them. He turned his attention away from the frills and laces, and looked around at... the frills and laces. There were a lot of materials scattered around. On dressers and tables, and even some on the floor. He guessed the young owner didn't have a lot of time to clean. Speaking of... "Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique! How may I help you today sir...." He heard the rather grating high-pitched voice trail off, and he turned to look at the speaker from where she had descended down a set of stairs he hadn't noticed. If he had to describe the filly in front of him, in a word, it would be overdone. Her white fur was immaculate, and he could only guess at the hours of brushing it must have taken. Her short purple mane was curled in a simple fashion, but her tail was wrapped in on itself in what looked to be a complicated styling. Her eyelashes were long and delicate, and her deep purple eyes stared forward at him. He noticed a horn on her head, and figured that was how she managed to keep up with what he guessed was a maintained level of conventional beauty. Magic made stuff like that really easy. Not that he would know. His mane steadfastly refused to grow, no matter how he wished it would. It seemed forever destined to swish about just above his line of sight. Very quickly, his eyes flicked down to her flank, and he caught a glimpse of a triple-gem cutie mark. He quickly returned his eyes to her face. It was considered quite rude to look at a pony's cutie mark without asking, but strangely, it was also quite rude to ask. He would never understand manners. Finally, he took a moment to stare down at the orb in her chest. It was a deep glowing purple, though he caught a glimpse at something deeper inside; just like what he had seen with Applejack. It was also circling around in place, as if trying to show off every bit of itself at once. He frowned. This was the second time he had seen something like that in a pony's orb. Two completely unconnected ponies with the same strange quality in their soul(?). He could only wonder at what it could mean. "Excuse me!" He turned his eyes up to the filly's face, where it was slowly scrunching up in apparent anger. "If you quite done with your little examination, I would ask that you leave at once! This is a place of business, and I don't have time for little colts trying to look for mischief!" He waited until she had finished her little tirade, before opening one of his saddlebags to fish a bag of jangling bits out. He shook it in the air using his magic, listening until the subtle jingling stopped, before speaking out in the heavy silence. "I'm a customer." Those three little words worked like... well, magic. He watched, unimpressed, as the filly's face almost instantly changed from dark and stormy to bright and pleasant. He scoffed inwardly. He couldn't believe the two-faced filly in front of him was the hailed sewing prodigy he had heard so much about. He stood there with his floating bag of bits as the filly spoke up again in that high-pitched voice of hers. "I'm so sorry sir! Please accept my apologies for my horrid behavior!" She approached him with a pleasant expression and a disarming smile as she spoke, before coming to a stop in front of him. "My name is Rarity, darling. Would you be so kind as to grace me with your name, now that I have so graciously shared mine? He internally sighed at the fake syrupy sweetness in that grating voice of hers. "My name is Light Flow." He replied in his best fake-polite voice. Just in case this really was the fabled sewing prodigy, he wanted to stay on her good side. No use in upsetting a genius. The filly whose name he hadn't really listened to smiled beautifully at his response. "Well, Mr. Flow. What is it you need from my humble little shop today? Surely you haven't come for a dress?" She tittered softly at her own joke. It was a horrid sound, he thought. Like little crystals shattering on the floor. "I've come to commission a cloak, miss. Do you think you can do that?" The filly's expression seemed to dip at that, and she made a small sound of disbelief. "A cloak? As if something so du- Uh, I mean simple! As if something so simple would be beyond one of my ability. Describe this cloak to me, I will make it happen!" She seemed unconcerned by her slip-up, as she levitated a nearby pen and paper over to her with light blue magic. She seemed ready to take notes, as if he was just going to rattle off what he wanted at her. He stared at her determined face for a moment before shaking his head. Some ponies... He once more opened his saddlebag, and levitated a scroll out as he opened his mouth to speak. "Actually miss, I've got the details here on this scroll so- ack!" He let out a cry as the paper was wrested from his grip. He felt her magic brush against his for a moment, and he heard her give a near-inaudible gasp. The paper flew over to the white filly where she was staring at him wide-eyed. She seemed shocked at something, though it looked as if she recovered quickly. She only stared at him a moment before focusing her attention on the scroll she had so rudely taken from him. She muttered things under her breath while giving periodic glances back up at him, and he only caught snippets of big words he didn't understand. He hadn't made the instructions too confusing, had he? He had tried to make them as concise as possible, but she was taking far longer than should have been necessary. He had also included all of his measurements. There was no way he was letting anypony near him with any sort of measuring device. Finally, she seemed to finish. She turned her head up from the scroll and cleared her throat. "Yes yes, this should be quite easy, if a bit unorthodox. I should have it finished in no time, though I will require payment up front." He nodded. That seemed fair. After all, he wasn't exactly her normal clientele, and she had no way of knowing he wouldn't run off with the finished product without paying. He levitated the bag of one hundred bits over to the filly, and she seemed to hesitate for a moment. She oddly took the bag in her teeth before then levitating it away, and she smiled somewhat... nervously? "T-Thank you sir. I have a big order right now, so if you could return in about two weeks' time, that would be lovely." He polite-smiled at her again, before turning and heading out through the door. He felt it shut rather abruptly behind him, and turned to look at the large object that had just barely missed his tail. Rude. He turned his gaze back towards the town as he thought about the filly inside. It was likely that she had made those dresses he had seen, so there was little doubt that she could sew. But he still felt uneasy about his cloak. That filly had probably been the most unpleasant, fake, scheming little ball of sweetness he had ever met. "I think I like her. I'm gonna have to ask somepony what her name is." > Chapter 12 - The Lesson > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 993 AB "I'm tellin' you sugarcube, I just don't see the appeal." Light Flow groaned in annoyance. He was trotting alongside a familiar pair of orange hooves, which were connected up to his unfortunate friend, Applejack. The orange pony was currently wearing her hair up in two ponytails which curled down over her neck, and she had a large frown on her face. He was currently trying to hype her up for their impending trip to the Everfree forest. He hadn't been there since his impromptu trip last year, and he really wanted to find an excuse to visit again. Unluckily, his friend caught wind of his initial plans, and decided that she couldn't let him 'traipse off' into such a dangerous place. After a lot of shouting that made his throat hurt and his eyes tingle, Applejack had conceded to his demands; but not without adding a condition. She wanted to come with him. He could tell she really didn't want to go, she was just coming along to ensure his safety. But that didn't mean he couldn't try and make her a little excited. "Orange Hooves, I'm telling you! It's great there! It's really dark, and cold, and quiet, and there are lots of cool creatures living there! Like Timberwolves!" He was really hitting all the bases with that one. There was no way she wouldn't- "Sugarcube, I don't think there's a single one'a those things that sounds good..." His face fell, and he groaned again. He supposed they were just too different. Although.... "Didn't you use to brag all the time about your frequent trips to the forest?" Her uncertain expression seemed to melt into one of quiet consternation. She quickly stammered out some sort of excuse, but he stopped listening in favor of hiding a smile behind his collar. He really did love his cloak. He would have to have it refitted at Rarity's soon, but that thought wasn't as horrible as he would have imagined. Rarity really was a genius. He had been wrong about her, he would admit it. His cloak had been made exactly to his specifications. He took a moment to look over his apparel. He thought back to all the decisions that had gone into the list of details he gave to the genius seamstress. He had looked through a book of fabrics and decided on what was called a 'satin weave' turned inside out, so that it wouldn't catch the light. But unfortunately, the inside would still catch a flash of something from time to time. He had been thinking about having the cloak remade in a different, less shiny, fabric, but that would be expensive. He was also really fond of the way the silky texture felt on his fur. Like he was in bed all the time. So the matter would wait until sometime else. The cloak was black on both sides, which rendered him looking rather like a shadow in the daytime. It had a rising collar up to about level with his mouth, which was perfect for hiding mocking faces behind. The collar connected back to a hood laying just behind his head, which he often left up, though he made an exception for talking to Applejack. The neck was held together by a small, yet sturdy silver chain. If it was really quiet, he could hear it jingle as he walked, which added something very.. needed. It would do well to announce his presence without words. The entire thing had a dark brown bordering, even around the hood. It was just a couple shades darker than his coat, which he supposed was symbolic. Somehow... And the finishing touch, the one thing he had been glad Rarity hadn't compromised on, small little grey skulls sewn just above the bordering. He had been positively giddy when he had seen them, though he hadn't let it show to the white seamstress filly. The whole thing was suppose to come down to just above his hooves, though he was getting a bit too big now, and it only reached down to around his knee. He should really pay a visit to Carousel Boutique.... He was brought out of his reverie when he felt a hoof jab him in the side. He turned an angry glower at the pony beside him.... who was looking off in a different direction. She had some sort of intense stare on her face, but he found it hard to care. He couldn't believe that she had the gall to punch him without even having the decency to look him in the eyes. He opened his mouth wide, ready to give her a lecture on apparently forgotten decorum; when she whispered something that made him stop. "Y'all hear that, sugarcube?" He frowned, and strained his ears to try and hear whatever it was that had her so concerned. Try as he might, he couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary. They were walking through a little grove of trees on their way to the Everfree forest, so all he could hear were the little chirps of birds and the little rustling sounds of nature. There was literally nothing interesting here at all, so what was getting her in such a fuss? He groaned, and stomped a hoof on the ground. He just didn't have the time for playing another of Applejack's little games. "I give up. What is it?" He couldn't see her face, but the edges of her jaw tightened as she began to trot forward into the small patch of woods. He watched her wander off with a tired look on his face. He couldn't believe she was doing this again. She always got distracted, always. He looked up at the morning sky above, and sent a silent prayer to a deity he still didn't know the name of. He lowered his head and followed Applejack into the trees. He had already lost her in the thick foliage, so he was forced to blunder through like an idiot. He imagined the sight of him. The feared shadow in the daylight, tripping over twigs and stones like a foal just learning to walk. "Stupid Applejack and her stupid games with their stupid twists and their stupid stupid stupi-" Did he hear crying? He was pretty sure he did. A small choking sound coming from somewhere nearby. It sounded like a filly, but he knew it wasn't Applejack. She cried on the inside apparently. He followed the sound of the soft crying through the bushes, as he wondered how Applejack could have possibly heard such a subtle noise from where they had been walking. Seriously, it was so quiet, he barely heard it even now. He slowly pushed his way out through the last bit of brush, and came out into a small clearing in the woods. The sun shone down into the circular clearing, which clearly highlighted the two ponies standing inside. He saw Applejack, who seemed to be comforting what looked to be a yellow pegasus with a long pink mane. He couldn't see much from where she was sitting hunched over something, but he could at least see her triple-butterfly cutie mark and her orb. Speaking of the orb, he had finally settled on just calling them ponies' souls. It seemed the most apt out of all the choices. Her soul was, unsurprisingly, yellow. It was small, and very dim; like it was trying to make itself as unnoticed as possible. He also caught a flash of something deeper, very close to the center of the sphere. The sphere itself sat there quietly, not really moving at all; quite a bit like the sobbing pegasus it belonged to. Seriously, she was quiet. He knew she was sobbing by the way her shoulders were shaking, but she was barely making any noise at all. He wondered again how they were able to find her at all. Applejack and her apparently incredible ears were sitting next to the hunched pegasus, and whispering something soft that he couldn't hear. She was using one hoof to rub the filly's back with slow, broad strokes. She flicked her eyes over to where he stood, and jerked her head in the direction of the shaking filly next to her. He silently shook his head back. He didn't want anything to do with this stranger. Applejack's expression did that scary thing where her eyes get all small, and he quickly hurried over. It's not like he was scared of her..... but she did know a lot more about wrestling than he did. He didn't want to feel his own back hoof touch itself to his head ever again. Never again. He reached the other side of the filly, and finally got a good look at what she was hunched over. It looked to be a small dead mouse. He didn't see any visible wounds, and it didn't look underfed either. Its soft grey coat was unbroken and plump. So he guessed it was likely sudden sickness or some kind of internal trauma. Maybe blunt force? Poisoning? He looked over at the filly's face, but it was covered by two yellow hooves, so he couldn't make out any details. Well. He was here. Now what? He looked at Applejack over the hunched form of the pegasus, and shrugged his shoulders. Applejack's exasperated face stared back at him, and she mouthed something he couldn't make out. Seriously, he could never understand why ponies did that. Who could understand stuff like that? Applejack's face got scary again, and he quickly got the message. "Hey there. How're you doing?" His voice sounded fake, even to him, and he mentally smacked himself in the face. Real villains should be great at faking emotions, why was he so bad at it?! He licked his lips and tried again. "Um... S-So why're you crying?" He felt like jumping off a bridge. It was obvious why she was crying. He saw Applejack roll her eyes at him, and he stuck his tongue out in response. Who was she to make fun of him? It's not like she was- "B-B-Bec-c-cause Muh.. Mmm.. M-Mr M-Mouse is..is...is..!" He stared down in surprise at the jumbled reply of the sobbing pegasus. He hadn't actually expected her to answer his dumb question. He took note of her shaking voice. It was soft, and sweet, sort of like candy. A voice like candy. He had never heard something so disgusting. He bit his lip, and tried to think of a way to calm her down. He could... no, that wouldn't work. Oh! He could... no that would probably make her cry more. Ah! He leaned his head down to the pegasus and whispered. "Hey... Hey there Candy Voice. Look at me. Come on, just look at me real quick alright? I've got something to tell you." He waited until a pair of wet, teal eyes peered out of their yellow hiding place. He gave her a smile that he really didn't feel, and put on his best 'wise' voice. "Now listen Candy Voice. You're sad because your little animal friend is dead, yeah?" He saw her give a flinch at the word 'dead' but she nodded her head even as she shook harder. He sighed internally, and wished his mother was here. She always knew what to do when a foal was crying. "Now I know you're sad, really sad. Probably sadder than you've ever been, huh? Well, let me give you a little lesson on death." He placed his hoof on her withers as he spoke, and felt how much she was shaking. She was really broken up about this. "Death... Everypony always says that death is....the end. But I've never seen it like that. I'm not gonna say something cliché like 'what comes after is better' or something. I'm just going to say that I... I don't really think anything really dies." "I've always sort of thought that.. when ponies, or animals, or any creature dies, they just.. get.. repurposed." He saw Applejack's mouth gape open, and she shot a harsh glare at him. He continued on. She didn't know where he was going with this, so she really shouldn't start judging. "What I mean by that is... Um... When something dies, eventually... their bodies decompose, or some other animal comes along and eats them, right? Well.. I've always thought that... in a way.. That is a form of living." The pegasus had lowered her hooves at this point, and was baring her soft yellow face to the world. Teary teal eyes had unfocusedly trained themselves on him, and he felt the pressure immensely. This was the kind of situation she was going to remember for the rest of her life, he supposed. Why did this have to be him? "So... when a creature dies.. nature takes over, right? And... and that's the way it's supposed to be. Eventually, we are all meant to die, and leave our current existence behind. So... in a way... it's just like.. moving on to our next stage of life. A stage where.. where we help the world in more... uh.. subtle ways. Therefore, it is a type of living... which can't be a bad thing..?" He finished his tirade unsteadily. He wasn't really sure where those words had come from, but they seemed to be having an effect. The pegasus was busily wiping her eyes with a hoof while sniffling quietly, and he could see the shaking in her body start to lessen. "W-Well, um, that didn't really.. help... But I guess I feel.... better?" The pegasus spoke again in a voice that was still sort of warbily, but far improved from before. He cheered internally, and shot the frowning Applejack a victorious glare. Shows what she knows about calming crying ponies! Applejack's frown slipped off her face as she leaned her head down to whisper softly into the pegasus' ear. He had to strain to hear, but it sounded like she asked for the stranger's name. The pegasus took a moment to reply, still sniffling and occasionally glancing down at the dead mouse. "I'm... My name is... uh.. well.. that is, to say... I'm Fluttershy.." Wow. This pony was quiet. The way she tripped and stammered over her inaudible words was, in a word, astonishing. He hadn't ever met someone this shy. Wait.... Damn it! He hadn't been listening to her name! He had really been trying to work on that bad habit, but every time somepony told him their name, he just... lost it. He got distracted by a bird, or their soul, or their face, or the sun, or his plans for the day, or something. He always missed it! Luckily, both other ponies were too distracted by each other to see him smack himself in the face. Applejack turned her head up to him just as his hoof fell back to the ground. She looked a little concerned at the red hoof-mark on his forehead, but she seemed to brush it off. "I'm gonna walk Fluttershy here back to her.. er.. well, to the ground beneath her home. You should head back too sugarcube, and don't even think about going off to them woods without me, y'hear?!" He groaned audibly, and nodded his head. He couldn't do much about this. There was no stopping Applejack when there was a pony in need, much to his frustration. He just wished she would be a little less kind. Applejack and the pegasus-whose-name-he-had-missed-again were still talking quietly, so he turned around and made his way to the edge of the clearing. If Applejack wasn't going to let him go to the Everfree today, he would just go home. He flipped his hood up over his head as he exited from the proverbial scene. Now he just had to think of something cool to exit out on. He hid a secret smile as he found the perfect phrase. 'He had better things to do than hang around somepony so shy they couldn't even face death.' "Nailed it." > Chapter 13 - The Funeral > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 996 AB Applejack didn't really know how to feel. When she heard the news that Light Flow's mother had passed away, she was sad of course. But her first thought hadn't been of the recently departed, it had been of her strange friend. Light was... an interesting pony to be around. Was interesting a good word for it? Maybe distant was better? She just didn't know. He was just... He always seemed so sad about something. She didn't really blame him though. From what she had seen, he lived a pretty sad life. Always alone, always trotting off somewhere to 'read'. That's what he was always doing, reading. He had once tried to share his 'books' with her, but.... Those things were the most horrible reading she had ever seen. She had no idea how he read those things all the time. They were so depressing, she had crawled into bed and slept for a whole day! Of course Granny didn't like that, and then she had to do a bunch of chores. So basically, it was all those books' fault. They were so terrible she had even begun to suspect that he wasn't really reading them, and that they were just an excuse to get away from her. Which was pretty much why she had stuck around in the first place. When she had met him all those years ago, she had really just felt bad for him. He had bumped his head on something, and seemingly just wandered to the library. She had been there picking up something for Big Macintosh, some sort of poetry book. She had noticed the poor thing just standing around in the entrance, and after confirming that he was injured, she had done exactly what Granny had told her was polite. She had taken him to the farm and wrapped up the bump on his head and sent him home. She hadn't given him much more thought. Just a quiet stranger who she had helped once. But then she had seen him at school. And he was just sitting there all alone, reading those horrible books. Looking like he didn't even belong in the world around him. ...... She really didn't know how they were still friends. But none of that was important right now. Right now it was time for a funeral. The funeral was a small affair. It was held in the Town Hall, since they didn't have a church. Granny always thought that was 'shameful' for some reason. She had been petitioning for a while now to have one built, but the mayor always said there 'weren't enough funds.' The tall wooden walls had big black banners hung all over, and a sad tune drifted crackily out of a gramophone in the corner. Not many ponies came, just her family and a few well-wishers. The only ponies she recognized were the librarian and some of the local vendors. But there was one pony whose absence spoke volumes. Light Flow wasn't there. From where she was seated next to Granny in the front, she could see with absolute certainty that the quiet brown pony was nowhere to be seen. The black seats set up in rows were only about a third of the way filled up, but Light wasn't in any of them. She bit her lip as the Mayor walked out to stand in front of the closed black coffin at the front of the room. Where could he be? He was going to miss the funeral at this rate... The ceremony started with little fanfare. The Mayor spoke first. She said a few words about the departed, but not much since she hadn't known her personally. Then she opened the floor for anypony to speak. One by one, some ponies came up to say things about the deceased. She bowed her head as she listened to the teary goodbyes and the heartfelt condolences. She hadn't really known Light's mother very well at all, just a few passing words whenever she went to go see her friend. Speaking of her friend, he was still nowhere to be seen. Eventually, ponies stopped coming up to speak, and the Mayor made a last call for words. She looked over at her Granny beside her. She had her head bowed in reverence, and was speaking silent prayers under her breath. She took a deep breath and stood up. She made her way to the front of the room, next to the closed coffin with the dead pony inside. Her eyes might have lingered there for longer than was necessary. She reached the front of the room and looked out at the mostly empty chairs. It was so sad that there were so few ponies here. It was all so sad. So sad. So familiar. She opened her mouth to speak. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- That had been two days ago. And she still hadn't seen Light Flow. After the funeral, she had gone by his house. He wasn't there. She went inside to check, in case he just wasn't answering her. She had gone into that freaky black room of his, and his freaky black bed's covers were still made. She guessed he hadn't been home at all. She hadn't known where else to look at the time, so she had gone home to wait it out. But she had an idea now. His mother's burial had taken place yesterday, and she had been buried in Ponyville Graveyard, as per her request. She had never gone to the Graveyard before, since all of the Apple family was buried on the farm, so she had to ask directions. It was a relatively small graveyard. Ponyville had never had many residents, and while she didn't know a lot about pegasi burial habits, she did know they didn't enjoy the thought of being entombed. Apparently the thought of spending their eternity underground was 'horrible' or something. She never understood it, there was too much of a cultural gap. She couldn't say that she loved the idea of being buried, but it's not as if she was averse to the idea. She just didn't like thinking about dying. Who did? A frown grew on her face. She bet Light did. Her thoughts had strayed at some point. She couldn't remember what she had been talking about. She knew she needed to find Light Flow. The pony that she knew was so much like her, in all those ways he was so unlike her. She arrived at the menacing iron gate to the Ponyville Graveyard. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was there. Of course he was there. She had found him sitting in front of his mother's grave, a plain white gravestone with no special features whatsoever. He looked awful. Really truly awful. That weird coat he always wore was ragged and torn in a few places. She could see specks of dirt on it, and guessed his fur didn't look much better. He wore his hood up, so she couldn't actually see anything besides the strange black coat. He was hunched over silently in front of the white slab, looking tiny in comparison. Applejack really, truly did not know how to feel. She licked her lips, before admonishing herself. She really didn't want to start picking up Light's habits. "Um" She surprised herself with her voice. She hadn't even been planning to say anything, but it just sort of fell out. Well, she figured she should back that 'um' up with something. "Hey sugarcube. How're you doing? I've been pretty worried about you... Uhm... How come you didn't come to the funeral?" He had been silent until she said the word 'funeral', and a small sigh emanated out from the hooded figure at the mention. A hollow, broken voice echoed out from behind the coat, and it sent shivers down her spine. It sounded as if he hadn't had a drink in days. Had he been eating? Where had he been?! "Funeral...?" Applejack smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see it. Maybe it was just to make herself feel better about the impending difficult conversation. "Yeah, sugarcube. Your.. uh.. your mom's funeral... It was two days ago, and you didn't show up, sugarcube. Where were y'all?" She swore she could hear the creaking of bones as the figure shifted slightly. The ghostly voice echoed off the gravestone in front of them. "What would have been the point...?" She started at the response. The.... point...?! "What'd'you mean the point?! It was yer mom's funeral!" Light turned toward her a little more, and she caught a glimpse of matted brown fur. "Applejack." Her eyes widened. Had he just called her....? He had never..... "Why is it that you hang around me so much?" Applejack was still trying to process his use of her actual name, so her mind connected to her mouth and automatically blurted out what it found first. The honest truth. "Pity." She gasped immediately, and tried to cover up her reckless response. "Uh! T-That's not what I-" "I see." The figure creaked as it stood from where it was hunching, and it turned to face her even as she tried to stammer out an explanation. His voice was like a whisper, but it rang loud all the same. "It's okay, Applejack. It was obvious, really. I don't mind." "Because I'm going to make everything better. I'm going to fix it." "But there's something I need you to do. Something important." He hobbled over to where Applejack was standing, petrified. She didn't know why, she couldn't explain it for the life of her. Every cell in her body was screaming something at her as the shadowy figure hobbled closer. She tried to deny it, but she knew all the same. Applejack was afraid. Light's unnaturally red eyes shone through the rim of his hood, and she could see dark purple smoke trailing from the edges. "I want you to leave me alone, Applejack." "Don't talk to me anymore." "Don't come by my house anymore." "Don't even think about me anymore." "I don't ever want to see you again." "Do you understand me?" Applejack couldn't breathe. She couldn't understand what Light was saying to her, it was like he was speaking another language in that quiet voice of his. He was so close to her now, and she could taste his scent on the air. He smelled like...! Her mouth seemed to be devoid of all moisture, and she smacked her lips a few times to try and muster up the strength for a reply. But before she could, she felt a horrible feeling in her chest. A terrible, rending feeling deep in her inner being. It felt like she was dying. She wanted to get away..! She heard that voice again, so quiet. So still. "Now that you understand, you can do something else for me." He leaned in close enough that she could smell the same scent on his breath, and all Applejack could see were those big red eyes, trailing that purple smoke. "Run." Applejack ran. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was fine. Light Flow was better than fine actually. He made his way away from the graveyard feeling better than he ever had. Sure his head hurt and his eyes itched, but that didn't matter. So many things were opening up to him now. He was finally rid of all distractions, and he could truly begin his work for the first time in his life. He knew what had to be done. He had a box to dig up. > Chapter 14 - The Work > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow may not have been all there at the moment. He had confronted Applejack at the cemetery, where he knew she would come to find him. She was really easy to predict like that, always so eager to do the right thing. It was obvious that she would look for him when he didn't show up at... Anyway. He had planned on calmly telling her why hanging around him was dangerous and that she should distance herself for the sake of her and her family. But when he had asked his opener, and she had..... She had said that thing... and he.... Anyway. He had left the cemetery. The itching in his eyes had eventually abated, and his head cleared as he made his way to his house. His house... He tried not to think about it. He focused every fiber of his being on thinking of literally anything else. His house. Where he lived. Alone. And that was fine. Everything would be fine. He would make everything fine. Anyway. He tried not to look at the ponies around him as he passed. He could only guess what they thought of him, wearing a ragged and torn robe that smelled like literal death. He bumped into a passing pony, and mumbled out an apology. He didn't feel comfortable out here, out in the open. Among the living. He hurried away from Ponyville's center, and towards his home. Houses passed by him rapidly, and his worn-down cloak billowed in the breeze as he galloped forward. He just wanted to get to his house, get his box, and get back to the comforting depths of the Everfree Forest. It had been there for him when he had needed it. It had welcomed him with open... branches? It had welcomed him with open branches, and given him a place to go when his... when his mother... Anyway. He arrived at his house. He tried not to look at it too much as he circled around back. In his backyard, there wasn't really much of anything to look at actually. Some gardening tools and a couple flowers. He tried not to think about where the flowers had come from. Anyway, he floated a nearby shovel over to him. He walked over to a specific spot that had been cleverly marked by two orange flowers and began digging into the dirt. It didn't take long, he hadn't buried it too deep. Very soon, all too soon, a medium-sized brown-colored box was unearthed. He took it from the hole, and left his house behind. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Everfree welcomed him like an old friend. It was comforting, in a way. Hidden there underneath the familiar darkened leaves of the cursed forest. Nopony was there to look at him, or talk to him, or..... ask him about things... It was just him. Him and the shadows. He had spent the last two days here. And he was planning to spend quite a few more beneath the dim leafy skies. He wasn't ready to go home yet. He had bought some bread and bottled water before he left town and slipped them into the box with the other stuff, so he wouldn't be lacking for supplies. He had almost gone inside the house for free food, but he just... He couldn't be there right now. It was odd though. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink since..... Well, the point was that he should be feeling hungry, or at least thirsty. But he wasn't? He supposed it was the shock. That was the only explanation that made sense. Logic was really the only thing that was keeping him grounded at this point. He was smart enough to see that he was drifting, and he was due to snap any moment now. But until then, he wasn't going to just sit around mourning. He levitated the medium sized box behind him as he walked, and idly noted that it should have been much harder to lift. He supposed it had been a few years since he had last tried. Though it wasn't like he had grown especially magically strong since then. His hair was much like his magic. It had barely changed from its previous length, even despite all of his attempts to make it grow. The reddish brown growth on his head just didn't want to change. At least his height hadn't remained stunted like his hair. He had grown to quite a comfortable height, and he stood at about level with most adults. Considering he was only fourteen, he guessed he would end up fairly tall. This was good. He had gone almost three minutes without thinking about... Damn. While he was mentally admonishing himself for being an idiot, he finally came to a familiar sight. A little bed he had made out of bits of leaves and moss he had found. It was nestled into the base of an especially large tree, right into the visibly overgrown roots. The tree had pretty much been his main way of finding this place again, which was mostly why he had settled here. Near his bed's side there lay another familiar sight. "Hey there friend..." He murmured to the Timberwolf softly from where it was laying near his bed, and it raised its strange wooden head. It opened its terrifying green maw, and made a noise not unlike a tree falling, which he assumed was supposed to be a strange facsimile of a yawn. Its wooden body creaked as it laid its head back down on its likely uncomfortable wooden paws. Seriously, how did it sleep like that? Did it even sleep? Did it just sit there? "Glad you stuck around." He muttered quietly as he picked his way over the large roots of the tree. He settled down into the relatively plush material, and glanced over at the erstwhile beast turned reluctant friend. He hadn't been surprised to find the Timberwolf when he had come into the woods two days ago. Creatures like that tended to imprint on ponies, though it was usually a predator/prey situation. He had guessed that it was the same Timberwolf he had met all those years ago, and he was probably right. After the wooden beast had tracked him down in his delirious state, it had just sort of sat near him as his world fell apart. He didn't think he could ever repay it for that. He set the box into the cleft behind his bed as he got comfortable. He was going to be sitting there for a while yet, so he wanted to make sure he was ready for what came next. After searching his environment once again and stealing a glance at the seemingly napping wooden wolf, he levitated a familiar brown-colored book out of the box behind him. He briefly flicked his eyes over the title before cracking the book open. "Four years in the making." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Four years in the making of GARBAGE! He groaned in extreme frustration as he looked up from his attempts to decipher the needlessly complex writing of the beginners tome on Necromancy in his hooves. He had no idea how long he had been reading, but it felt like an eternity. "Who even titled this?! 'Necromancy for Foals' my fat butt! No foal could read something like this!" His angered voice rang loudly in the otherwise dead-silence of the forest. His friend perked a wooden ear, and he scoffed at the sight. As if it actually listened with those things. It was probably just mimicking behaviour it had seen from other animals. But back to the book, it was a load of garbage! It was a horrible mix of foal-level instructions, indecipherable magical lingo, diagrams, and stuttering prose that would make any modern-ponish student vomit in disgust. It was so. hard. to. read. He wanted so badly to throw the book into a hole somewhere and let it rot. But it was his only source of Necromantic learning, so he had to suffer through it. Why couldn't his mysterious benefactor have given him something straightforward? He couldn't believe he had waited so long to read this drivel. From what he could glean from its insufferable pages, it was a book covering the theory of Necromancy. What wasn't horribly confusing was incredibly enlightening. Apparently, he had been correct about ponies' souls. That's what the orbs were. The literal manifestation of a pony's entire being, condensed into a small orb. Apparently, you could tell a lot about a pony by their soul, but that particular part of the book was especially vague yet verbose. So he had put that aside for now. He needed to work his way up. Get a feel for the vernacular, the pacing, the subtleties of the writing. He spent almost all of his time reading, so he was basically an expert. No rush. He had all the time in the world. > Chapter 15 - The Knowledge > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was beginning to understand. He had been reading for a long time now, though in a different way from earlier, when it had just felt like it had been a long time. He really had been reading for a very long period of time, but it was hard to know exactly how long. He slept, at some point. He wasn't sure how long he slept or even when he had fallen asleep, but he at least knew he eventually woke up. It was pretty much impossible to tell what time it was, here in the forest where the trees blotted out the sun. He ate some stale bread and drank some bottled water. He wasn't really hungry, and it all tasted like nothing on his tongue, but it was pretty much habit at this point. He continued reading. It was incredibly fascinating. He wished he could take back everything he had said and thought and screamed about the book. It was nothing short of brilliant. What he had seen before as a mess of incomprehensible garbage, he now saw as the nuanced teaching that it really was. The soft childish words were meant to bring the harsh screeching of the magical lingo down to an understandable level. They created a sort of tell-tale pattern that made it easy to analyze and absorb information quickly and efficiently. The many diagrams weren't meant to show what the words were explaining, they told a different story of their own. One would need to look at them completely separately from the words to understand what they were saying. And oh did they say so much. The sickening prose was.... Okay the writing flow was still pretty bad, but everything else was getting better; and he was learning so much. A pony's soul was sort of the coding structure for their whole being. It made up all of the small bits and pieces that comprised the thoughts and feelings and personality of a pony. This was why they all seemed so different from each other, all shining different lights with their different movements and mannerisms. They were directly tied to a pony's inner self. Apparently, the writer of this book had some sort of philosophy on what that meant. That a soul would always show a pony's true being, no matter how they acted. Like some sort of metaphorical mirror. Light didn't really know if he believed that. But other parts of the book were more based in facts, rather than the theoretical. Like the part where it went into more detail on how Necromancy was achieved. Apparently, on a pony's death, their soul was completely wiped; and sent to some place called the Underworld. The writer only knew of the Underworld through legends and myths, but that wasn't the important part anyway. The important part was knowing about what happened to a pony on the occasion of their death. A suitably prepared and skilled Necromancer could use a spell the book called 'Soul Snatching' to catch the soul before it disappeared. The book referred to Volume 3 for more information on this spell, much to his chagrin. But back to the point. If a Necromancer could catch this departed soul, they could use it for many different apparently helpful purposes. They could be used for resurrection, healing, hurting, over-writing, even eating. That last one put weird images in his head, and he tried not to think about it. But of course he thought about it anyway. WHAT DID THAT MEAN?! So Necromancers could eat souls, okay. Did it require a spell? Could he just do it? Did all Necromancers do it? Was it a common practice? How did they taste? Did they taste good? They had to taste good if all Necromancers did it, right? What was their texture? He bet they were smooth. Did the taste vary on soul? Were they hard to eat? Did you cut them into pieces, or swallow them whole? Were they even consumed through natural means? What benefits did they give? Endless questions flickered through his mind. He wanted to try it, so bad. But that could wait until later. He tried to focus on the more practical uses for souls, all the while thinking about the logistics of soul consumption in the back of his head. Souls were mainly used to resurrect corpses by filling the gap where their soul used to be. This process could apparently be very difficult depending on what kind of undead the Necromancer was intending to create. A blank soul could just be shoved into any old corpse, but that would create an inferior undead with little to no abilities. Really just a shell on strings, as it were. But a blank soul was nothing but a canvas to a Necromancer. Necromancers had the unique ability to peer into the innermost reaches of a soul's contents. Into the farthest fathoms of the unknowable depths of a pony's being. The very core of what made a pony what they were. And they could grasp the ethereal strands of the building blocks that made up their existence. Switching and changing variables. Altering and adding lines of magical and biological code to fabricate new thoughts and feelings. Introducing an entire new personality to an otherwise empty shell. That was true Necromancy. Altering souls at a molecular level to create a new form of life. He marveled at the differences between fiction and reality. His books always made Necromancy out to be as easy as just using magic on corpses, and 'flash', an undead! But there was so much more nuance than that! The dumbing down involved was similar to saying eating was as simple as putting stuff in your body. .... Okay, that was a horrible metaphor. Thinking about it, he never really had much luck with those. Any sort of apt comparison in his head didn't really make sense when spoken out loud. Like that time he had compared love to prison. Boy, that had made Applejack mad. Applejack... He licked his lips, and focused on the book again. This process of creating new life in a soul was apparently incredibly tedious and time-consuming, especially if one was trying to make a complete soul. This was usually unadvised, since complete construction like that was only necessary if one was looking to create a soul that functioned exactly as a real one would. Oh well. He couldn't say he didn't enjoy a challenge. He had pretty much drained everything immediately useful out of the first book a while ago, and he was well into the second book at this point. They were both on the main points of theory, and he guessed there wouldn't be anything on actual spellcrafting. But that was okay. He had been assured that those would come later. And what was more trustworthy than a mysterious letter from an unknown sender who pontificated on the ease of his potential assassination? Nothing was, that's what. Anyway, regular undead were apparently pretty worthless. They would follow simple commands, like 'go there' or 'do this', but that was pretty much the limit. Anything sufficiently advanced would have to be accounted for in the coding of the soul. Like the ability to use magic. Unicorn's magic was the most obvious, but pegasi and earth ponies had magic too. And if it wasn't specifically allowed for, they wouldn't be able to fly or enhance their strength or anything. That was pretty much all he had been able to figure out on the topic of soul manipulation. It was pretty complex, and he wasn't sure he had even completely understood some topics. He was glad he had the ability to re-read things. It would be pretty awful if he never got the chance to read these ever again. He smacked himself in the face. The pain brought him back to Equus from where he had apparently been vacationing in Stupidville, and he immediately began to regret what he had just thought. He was extremely familiar with tropes in literature, and saying something like that was bound to bring nothing but misery. He would have to make sure to defend his books with great aplomb, just in case reality decided to throw a 'buck-you' bomb at him. He shifted uncomfortably on his soft moss bed, and glanced over at his Timberwolf friend. He was sure that nothing would bother him while his wooden protector was here, but that didn't stop him from feeling uneasy. He bit his lip, before busying himself with a quick review of information from an earlier part of the book in a transparent attempt at taking his mind off of it. The storage of souls was easy, somewhat impossibly. Any regular jar could be enchanted to do the job just fine, though apparently there was some sort of Necromantic spell for storing mass amounts of souls easily and handily. Again, the book referred him to a different volume, though it didn't specify. Which was really weird. There was just a footnote that said 'See: other volume.' in tiny letters. What kind of a reference did that? It was obviously vague, but it was also just dumb. Really though! It was just about as helpful as writing 'look somewhere else, stupid', except that would have at least made him laugh a little. This was just unhelpful, and somehow more insultingly, it was boring. He was getting distracted again. The book was frighteningly unhelpful on how one actually went about enchanting a jar for storing a soul. Again, he would guess that the topic was covered in a future volume. He was getting really sick of the roadblocks, but he supposed everypony had to start somewhere. And if he had to start somewhere, basic theory and method was as good a place as any. He dimly realized that it was strange that he wasn't weirded out about anything he had read. Normally, the idea of literally grasping a pony's soul in his hooves and metaphorically shaking it like a cocktail would render him feeling both queasy and ashamed. But he really only felt a strange sort of fulfillment, shadowed by a dull throbbing sadness. One of those feelings was weighing on him heavily, and it wasn't the one he got from fulfilling his dreams. He had gone through nearly all of the information available to him now. He would give the books more attention later, he supposed. Some things were bound to become clearer if he just spent enough time deliberating on them. He closed Volume 2 with an air of finality, the 'thump' of the closing pages sounding like a terrible crash to his neglected ears. He levitated it away from his view and into the box behind him. He had nestled the box into a hollow in the great tree, which would help hide it from anypony who would manage the impossible task of finding this place. Just in case, he stuffed some nearby leaves into the cleft. He had really made himself paranoid. He sighed, and put his legs underneath him in preparation of the laborious task of standing up. His bones creaked noisily and he felt a deep pain in his body as his unused joints desperately tried to keep up with his sudden relocation. He hadn't really moved in who-knows how long, so the pain wasn't really surprising. It was almost refreshing, in a way. Sort of mind cleansing, really. Listening to his muscles snap and his bones creak as he stretched reminded him of his wooden friend, and he looked over at it. The unliving creature was staring at him with those solid green eyes, and he took a moment to stare back. He quickly busied himself with preparations to leave, however. He simply didn't have the time to have any sort of emotional moment with the creature he knew wouldn't reciprocate. There weren't really many preparations to make, though. He finished off the really stale bread, since he didn't want it sitting around molding. He left the water bottle in the box with his books, since it's not like it was going to go bad or anything. He hadn't really brought anything else. Just the box and some bread. 'Preparations' was pretty much his way of fooling himself into wasting time. He knew he couldn't sit around here in the isolated forest forever. He had to face what lay in wait eventually. He had to go home. > Chapter 16 - The House > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was feeling a considerable amount of dread. After leaving his sanctuary hidden in the depths of the Everfree Forest, he had made his way back into Ponyville. He had dragged his hooves the entire way, and distracted himself any way he could, but there was simply no putting it off. Oh wait, what was he saying? Of course he could put it off. From where he was just sort of loitering around in front of some café, he could do some excellent pony watching. His ragged cloak and strange smell were attracting some gawkers, but it didn't bother him quite as much as it had before. The ponies staring at him were wide open to being stared at themselves, after all. Even if they were beginning to look scared. But he barely saw the wide eyes and the tense postures. He had something a little more tangible in sight. Well, it was actually quite a bit less tangible, but his metaphor still made sense! Though it pretty much had the opposite meaning of what he had intended. It wasn't even really clear what he was talking about really, and if he was actually trying to explain it to another pony he was sure they would be quite confused. Or they would just think he was crazy, since It wasn't like they would understand his words even if he was explaining it correctly. Maybe he could find the time to create some sort of informational packet to give to like-minded ponies. Were there even like-minded ponies out there? He supposed it would be pretty improbable that there wouldn't be. Maybe he could make some sort of grand trip around Equestria to collect underlings and comrades, and eventually establish some sort of Necromancer's Alliance? He stowed the idea away for later, and belatedly realized he had somehow strayed very far away from his point. He was looking at souls, damnit! From his place in his lonely iron chair at his lonely iron table, he had quite a good view at the ponies sitting at the less lonely table in front of him. The gawkers he had been staring at had all been scared off by his unblinking dark visage, which he supposed was a good thing. Intimidation was key, or something suitably ridiculous. He set his hooves on the table and tried to peer closer at the ponies. He probably looked really creepy all hunched over like that, but he didn't even kind of care. He had given up on maintaining a socially acceptable appearance when he chose to spend three days sitting around in a forest. The ponies' souls were becoming very interesting to look at. They had always been pretty fascinating, but he had sort of tuned them out after a year or two. Just the same old shiny things in the same old uninteresting ponies. But now that he understood the genetic makeup of souls a little better, he was beginning to recognize some patterns within the mysterious colorful spheres. The certain ways that some parts of them moved were reminiscent of what the book had said were deliberate patterns. Souls were obviously all different, but at their most base levels they all had the same makeup. Layers of genetic and magic code that were always in the same generic configuration. Sure, that configuration could differ in trillions of tiny small ways, but the overall product always followed something predetermined. He took a moment to lean back off the table and wonder something. He knew animal souls looked pretty much the same as a pony's, but they probably had a bunch of differences. The books didn't really say anything about it, which he supposed was fine; but his inquisitive mind was burning with the unanswered questions. He would have to get his hooves on a pony soul and an animal soul so he could compare. He had actually been really looking forward to holding a soul in his own two hooves. It was one thing to have his hooves near a soul, like that one time he had talked Applejack into doing something that was apparently very uncomfortable for her. But he could only wonder at the feeling of actually touching one. Would it be smooth? Would it be warm? Did he have to keep a firm grip on it, or would it just stick around once he had made contact? He wanted to know so bad. But he obviously couldn't do any of that right now. It's not like he could just rip a soul out of somepony's chest, right? The book had said that there was a spell for it, so obviously it was required. There was just no way for him to get a soul right now. No matter how much he wanted one. He eyed the tantalizing orb floating in the pony only a few hoof-lengths in front of him. He quickly licked his lips, before just slightly biting down on them. The pain was helping him focus, but it was still very tempting. He could hear his thoughts trying to convince him, whispering assurances and methods and plans in his ears. He bit his lip harder, and he tasted blood in his mouth. It was getting loud...! He could have it. He could take it right now. He could just reach out and have it. All to himself forever and ever all for him. Nopony would stop him, it's not like it was illegal or anything. There wasn't any law against stealing souls, and it wasn't even actually stealing. It was basically his birthright, he was born to do stuff like that. Nopony could stop him really, he could just hide in the forest for the rest of his life if he needed to. Him and his trees and his books and his dog and his soul. Warm and pretty and glowing and moving just for him to look at. He could have all that if he just stopped being such a baby and took it. Just take it, just TAKE IT! Amidst all the screaming in his head, one lonely thought rose up above the din. "I have to get out of here." The table rattled slightly and the chair screeched as Light Flow bolted away from it. He got more odd looks, but he completely disregarded them. He heard blood roaring in his ears, a river of white noise preventing him from putting any sort of rational thought together. His eyes were beginning to itch again, like back at the cemetery. It was a deep scratching feeling that just made him wish he had claws instead of hooves. The edges of his vision were getting blurry, and he had to blink repeatedly to clear them. He didn't think he was crying? He closed his eyes, which was probably a pretty bad idea while he was running, but he didn't care. He just kept seeing what he could've done there. What he could have accomplished. The pretty colors of a real soul in his strangely red hooves. The wonderful vibrant dancing amidst a backdrop of scarlet. Like a performer on a stage, acting out a show just for him to the piercing tune of terrified screams. He quickly left the cafè behind, trying not to think about what he had been tempted to do. What he had almost done. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- As Light Flow quickly scampered away from the small building, he had no way of knowing what he was inadvertently running from. A danger lurking just behind him, in the most obvious of places. A pair of guarded cerulean eyes carefully watched him leave. Slowly tracking his hurried movements as he left for the Residential District. A cream-furred body rose from a seat at the table just behind where he had been sitting, and moved to follow him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He was calming down, sort of. The thoughts were finally fading from memory. Flowing away from his overtaxed mind like blood in a river. Okay, metaphors like that weren't helping. But he really was feeling better. His eyes didn't itch, and his heart had stopped racing a while ago. He was just walking down the street adjacent to the Residential District. It was probably helping that there weren't any ponies on the streets due to the relatively late hour. It let him revel in the familiar comfort of being alone. Alone. Draped in the orange fineries of the setting sun. The flaming colors dancing across the dirt paths and framing his uncertain gait with long, dark shadows. Like a solitary blot of darkness in an otherwise uniform sea of light. Speaking of, he could have sworn his shadow was moving out of sync with him, but he wasn't entirely sure it was actually happening. Just little differences in how it moved. He flicked his eyes down, and watched his two-dimensional copy rear up with what appeared to be a knife grasped in its hoof, before stabbing itself in the chest. He blinked, and his shadow had returned to trotting alongside him. Okay so he was hallucinating now. He should probably see a doctor about that. It wasn't anything too debilitating though, especially since he could still tell something was wrong. It could wait until he stopped being able to separate his imagination from reality. Putting his imminent mental disorders aside, he was getting close to the object of his journey. The very place he had been running so desperately from. He could see it now, framed almost perfectly by the setting sun. It was as if a great orange monster had come to consume the last dregs of his old life. Forever rendering him unable to reconcile with who he used to be. A rather fitting metaphor for the never-ending passage of time, he idly supposed. For even though the sun and moon may rise and fall again, they could never again return to the days and nights they had passed. Forced to forever herald a new dawn and dusk, whether they wanted to or not. He hated how symbolic all of this was. He should have come at noon or something. But he was here, and he didn't really want to risk another mental breakdown, so he had to confront his feelings now. His house was directly in front of him now. Shadowed as it was by the sun, it was a fairly menacing sight. The fear he felt was more due to what lay inside though, rather than the sight itself. He really didn't want to do this. There was a kicking, clawing feeling in his chest that told him to just keep running, forever if he had to. Or maybe he could just put it off another day, what harm would that do? Visions of murder and the like built character, after all, so It would be completely fine to put it off for another week-ish. He had a lot of studying to do, and those books weren't going to read themselves. Just another month, and he would be ready to face the memories. Next year for sure, and he could come home. Anything to avoid the pain. His hooves tread softly over the tiny growths that were supposed to have grown into a full bed of grass. He picked his way through dead flowers that had never really gotten the chance to live. He came to a stop in front of the small welcome mat that had a big inky hoofprint on it. He looked up at the front door of his home. And he opened it. It was immediately comforting in all the worst ways. He could already smell a very familiar scent, mixed in with all the smells of old cloth and family pictures. A warm scent, like cinnamon and sugar. He already wanted to leave. So he opened the door wider and stepped inside. His eyes immediately trained themselves on something of sentimental value in his living room, and the memories flooded into his mind unheeded. An old, stained coffee table. He remembered when he had spilled that soda on it, and his mother had told him that it was okay, and that she still loved him. He had been bawling and screaming about how she would hate him, and that she would be better off getting rid of him. But she had just scooped him up and held him until he calmed down. He still remembered getting more upset because he had been getting her fur dirty. He vaguely acknowledged closing the door behind him as he quickly lost himself in the bittersweet memories. He looked at something else. The worn out brown couch that they had spent so many nights on. The lumpy pillows and the frayed fabrics. He would sit there nestled into the comforting embrace of his mother while she read stories to him. They hadn't been the stories he liked, but he had listened anyway. He and his mother would sit there together until he inevitably nodded off to the soft tones of her voice, and he would always find himself waking up tucked into his bed. It was like magic. He felt his jaw lock into place, and he pushed down the growing warmth in his eyes. He couldn't stop now, he was just getting started. The similarly old bookshelf, where his mother would hide new books for him to find. He and his mother had been discussing buying a new one, since it was a bit rough on the eyes. The shaggy brown rug he and his mother had picked out when they moved here. It was the only piece of furniture he had ever had any say in buying that wasn't black, and his mother had been so shocked when he hadn't pushed the issue. All the weird knick-knacks his mother bought at thrift sales. Tiny snow globes that didn't work, little ornamental forest creatures, even a painting of a blue sunset. So many useless little things that clashed horribly together. The terrible white curtains his mother had said were 'elegant'. The off-color spot in the wall from where he had accidently hit it with a hammer. The empty shelf with a crack in the middle. So many family photos. His eyes roved over some of them from where they were displayed on the mantle, above the fireplace his mother always told him not to play in even though he already knew not to. Most of them were just pictures of his mother smiling awkwardly while he tried to look distant and uninterested. But there were a precious few where they both looked normal, and happy. Like a real family with a real son who didn't act like a maniac. He ran his hoof over one of them, leaving behind a small clear streak in the dust. He wished they were all like that. He would give anything to have more of those memories. There was one with an extra pony in the frame, but he moved past it. He had done his grieving there a long time ago. He moved into the kitchen. His mother had spent an especially large amount of time here. She had loved to cook. There were too many memories to count of her just standing in here, humming a pleasant tune as she made some sort of dish or treat. It was such a vivid image in his head, if he closed his eyes and just imagined that she was still here.. That he could hear the tune, even hum along... Maybe he could reach out, and just.... He could almost believe that she was still there... But he opened his eyes all too soon. The kitchen was still here, and his mother was still gone. There were still the memories though. There was the kitchen table, where he and his mother had spent many nights sitting and playing board games. So many games of Monopoly. So many failed Jenga towers. So many fake games of Poker. So much laughter. So much lost. There was the familiar opened letter still sitting there on the table. Still stained with tears. Empty, practiced condolences delivered by a doctor with nothing behind his eyes. Worthless garbage. He picked the letter up in his red magical glow, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. He couldn't stand looking at it anymore. He turned his attention to the counter next to the stove. He ran his hoof over a small crack in the polished surface. He had once tried to help his mother cook, but he had forgotten the cutting board when chopping vegetables. His mother had been angry, but she was mostly upset that he hadn't been safe. She was always doing that. She had always thought of him first. Always putting him before everything else. Maybe that was why she had never told him she was sick. He closed his eyes and heaved out a shuddering sigh. He couldn't stand here thinking about it anymore. He made his way out of the kitchen and to the stairway. He eyed the loose bottom step, and remembered when he had played a late-night prank on his mother using the loud creaking noise. She had been so mad, she had grounded him for a whole week. Of course, grounding a pony like him usually meant forcing him to go outside all day. He had been endlessly obstinate in the face of his mother's exasperation. He wished he could tell her how much he valued her anger. She had never just sat back and let him get away with whatever he wanted. He set his hoof down softly on the creaky step before making his way up the rest. The hallway had never been of much interest to him before. Just something he had to walk through every day to get to and from his room. But now he saw so many things he had never really paid attention to before. There was a little table that he wasn't sure he had ever even seen before. There was a tiny little flowerpot on it, and it held a fragile little yellow flower. It was beautiful. He had never seen a flower so beautiful before. He reached out and touched the precious little thing. He didn't know what kind of a flower it was, but he vowed to find out. He stayed there a moment, just caressing the delicate little stem, before taking his hoof away and reluctantly moving on. There was a picture of a cottage on the wall that he had never given a single thought to. Never even registered it. The same went for the flowery pattern on the walls. He had never even seen any of it. How much had he missed? He eyed the door to his bedroom, but discarded the thought. It was just his room. Nothing special about it. Instead, he pushed open the door to his mother's room and headed inside. He closed the door behind him, and turned around to take it in. He hadn't spent a lot of time here, for obvious reasons. The only times he had really come in here had been when he had bad dreams. Just a frightened little colt wordlessly seeking comfort and love. And his mother had always been ready to freely give both. He had never said anything, he remembered. Always snuggling away under the covers with a brave face on and silent tears in his eyes. He did a lot of things like that. His eyes turned to a little brown vanity by the wall. It must have been where his mother made herself presentable every day. He never really understood why she put so much time into it, it wasn't like she had any interest whatsoever in dating. He slowly made his way over, flicking his eyes about the room all the while. The surface of the mirrored armoire was sleek and clean. It made sense, since he had never been in here to spill anything on it. His eyes glanced up to the mirror before glancing back down. He already knew he looked bad, and he could shower later. One of the drawers was slightly ajar. He absentmindedly slid it open, not expecting to find anything of interest except maybe some makeup or something. His eyes widened, and he suddenly felt short of breath. There was a single thing inside the drawer. A plain white envelope with the name 'Light Flow' written on it in familiar magical writing. His lip trembled but he bit down on it. The pain would help him stay grounded. This was exactly the kind of thing he had been looking for, hoping for even. He delicately levitated the letter out, not entirely sure that it wouldn't crumble away to ash in his magical grip. He turned it over, and found there was no seal on it. Just a simple adhesive paste. It was a relatively new way to seal letters, so he knew this one wasn't from a long time ago. This had to have been written within the last five or so years. He used his magic to carefully tear away the part of the letter with the paste, and glimpsed a plain white piece of paper inside. His heart quickened. This was it. The big cliché heartfelt letter. He hoped it was as stereotypical as possible. He gently levitated the paper out of the envelope, and set the envelope back down on the vanity. He unfolded the paper with a considerable amount of trepidation. As the paper unfolded, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. In, and out. He opened his eyes, and he read the letter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To Light Flow. My greatest treasure. If you are reading this letter, then I want to begin by apologizing. I'm so sorry, my precious little shadow. For so many things. So many things I must have left unsaid. By now, you must know about my greatest and worst-kept secret. I have been sick, for many years now. It wasn't long after your father died and we moved to Ponyville. I began to feel faint pains in my chest that gradually grew worse over time. None of the doctors I've ever met with have been able to identify the cause or the effects. All they knew was that my heart was slowly failing, and there was no way to stop it for good. That's right. Your mom caught an unknown, incurable disease. Isn't that so cliché? I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear any jokes right now. I can only imagine what state I must have left you in. There were a lot of reasons I never told you, though none of them very good admittedly. I was always afraid of the way you'd react. Because you're a fixer, Light Flow. You see a problem, and you don't stop until you've found some way to make it go away. You pursue solutions relentlessly, and nothing less than perfection is ever good enough. If I had told you, you probably would have tried anything to find a cure, and when that would inevitably fail, you would blame yourself forever. I know. It really is just about the worst possible reason to deceive you. I guess you're not the only one with honesty problems. Speaking of, you should listen to your friend Applejack more. Now there's an honest young mare if ever I've met one. If there's anything I'm going to do with my new-found authority, it's going to be pushing you closer towards her. She's a good influence, and very cute besides. Don't let that one get away, or you'll regret it. Trust me. I'm sorry. The tone of this letter is all over the place. I know how much you love literature, and the disparity must be making you even more upset. I'll do my best to keep it gloomy and dramatic from here on. You're probably wondering how you never noticed. Probably thinking of how good I must be at sneaking around. Well, I'm not really. Light Flow, you have a tendency to just sort of... ignore things, if they aren't immediately interesting. It's not a bad thing to be a focused pony, but sometimes you maybe take it too far. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, even though it may seem that way. I'm just trying to give you a little motherly advice, now that I'm sure you'll listen. Don't let life pass you by Light. It won't wait for you to look up and notice it. Now listen, this part's important. I've talked to Mayor Mare, and I managed to get her to pity me enough to make a deal. She's agreed to halve the rent and utility for the house until your eighteenth birthday. You should be able to comfortably cover that with the government stipend for underage orphans. You'll have to register for it at Town Hall, but I know you can handle a little bureaucracy. You'll likely have to move after your eighteenth birthday, but it would have been about time for it anyway. I love you little shadow, but you can be hard to live with sometimes. I'm sure any other mother would have made arrangements for their child to live with somepony else, but I'm not any other mother, and you're not a regular child. I know you'll do just fine on your own, even be happier that way, really. But I don't want you to be alone all the time. So I've talked to Granny Smith, and she said that she'll make sure Applejack has time to come over and check on you every once in a while. It's a little grim to say, but you two have a lot in common. Who says a mother can't meddle from beyond the grave? I'm running out of space now, and I don't really want this to be essay-length anyway. It's not healthy to drag out goodbyes, or so I've heard on the radio. So I think it's time for me to go. But I want you to remember something, Light. And to promise me something. You have to live. I know you'll be sad to see me go, but everypony dies eventually. There's no way of changing that. You have to pick yourself up off the ground and find the strength to keep going. That's what it means to live. I love you Light. More than you could possibly know. I love you. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Okay. He was crying, which made sense. It was a normal reaction to having your emotions put through a blender. He could barely see through the tears actually, which made it a wonder that he had finished the letter at all. He shakily levitated the letter up to his mouth and gently pressed his lips against it, only for a second. It had all been so her. He held the letter against his forehead for a moment before levitating the envelope back over to him. He clumsily packed the letter away in the envelope before dropping it back into the drawer. He closed it with a loud 'bang'. He rubbed his eyes, and stared up into his own reflection in the mirror. He took note of the redness around his still leaking eyes, and he wondered how it had happened. He only remembered rubbing his eyes once, though the entire letter was sort of a blur. He was pretty sure he was in shock. He wasn't really feeling anything but a deep, dull sadness. He had an idea for what he should be doing right now. Because his mother was right about one thing in the letter. He was a fixer. But that could wait until later. Right now there was only one thing he wanted to be doing. He turned away from the vanity and towards his mother's pristine white bed. She would probably have been angry for what he was about to do, but it's not like she was here to stop him. He stumbled over to the mattress and collapsed onto it. He felt a familiar comforting warmth envelop him. He could smell her here, so strongly. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled his nose, and took him away to far away nights. Nights spent silently crying in a mother's embrace while her soothing voice filled his ears. But this night there would be no embrace, and nothing to sooth him. And there would be no silence. > Chapter 17 - The Friend > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was hit in the head with a brick. Or at least that's what it felt like when consciousness unmercifully brought him crashing back into pain. He moaned into the pillow he was lying face-first in. The cushion may have been soft, but it may as well have been made of rock for all the good it was doing his splitting headache. It was a deep, throbbing pain. Pulsing throughout his body in time with his heartbeat. He had no idea why it was there, but he could at least take a few guesses. He was still lying in his mother's bed, which was good. There was a large part of him that thought the letter had been some sort of wild dream his subconscious had cooked up to try and make him feel better. Though, just because he was in his mother's bed didn't mean the letter was real. He shifted his face just enough so that one eye was free from the dark confines of comfort. The first thing he saw was the burning morning light filtering through a nearby window. If he had been a different sort of villain, he would have hissed or maybe disintegrated or something. Luckily, the only thing he was inclined to do was groan in pain as the light irritated his headache. The vanity wasn't giving him any clues from where it was just sitting there against the wall, so he would have to get up to check the existence of the letter. There was just one problem. He really didn't want to get up. He couldn't really remember what happened last night, but the random dark stains on the bedsheets and pillows led him to believe he had cried himself to sleep. That, or he was developing some sort of complex. It wasn't a big surprise to learn that he had cried so much. He felt weak and weary, probably a side-effect of the total emotional drain he had experienced yesterday. He had been trying to pretend he wasn't feeling anything for a while, but it became pretty obvious he was lying to himself. So finally having a chance to metaphorically lay it all out on the table had been really cleansing. Aside from the headache, he felt better than he had in days. He was lucid enough now to recognize the serious mental deterioration he had been undergoing, and he wondered how he hadn't seen it sooner. He remembered the screaming in his head, the voices overlapping and meshing together. How they were all telling him to forget the consequences, and just take what he wanted. The horrible sight of a stolen soul in his bloodied hooves. He had been so close to making that vision a reality. He was just going to accept the fact that he wasn't perfect, he supposed. He shut his one free eye and made a noise not unsimilar to a dying animal as he stretched his back hooves out behind him. The strange popping noises his joints made probably weren't a good thing, but he could deal with his potential body problems at a later time. He reluctantly gathered his hooves under him and forced himself up. His legs shook as they fought to support his own weight, and he squinted at the shining beams of light as they seemed to actively take up some sort of cause against him. Eventually, his eyes became accustomed to the light, and he could keep him eyes open without wincing. He looked down at the bed beneath him, and went right back to wincing as he saw how dirty the sheets were. Bits of dirt and other unidentifiable stuff had stuck themselves to the sheets, and he could only wonder at how dirty he must be. He was going to have to take a shower. And get a new cloak at some point, since his was obviously thoroughly ruined. 'Rarity is gonna kill me.' He was going to try and put that particular errand off for as long as possible, and not just because of the potential physical danger. There were just a lot more important things he needed to be doing. For instance, he needed to make sure that letter was real. He reluctantly hopped off the bed, instantly beginning to miss the soft mattress under his hooves. He trudged over to the nearby vanity, and opened up the drawer that supposedly held the letter. It was still there, good. He just stared at it for a moment, feeling a a small smile worm its way across his face. Even now, his mother was still helping him. She had really saved him from himself yesterday. He closed his eyes, and the horrible memories of red hooves and dancing lights were washed away. His head was filled with the soft sounds of love and acceptance, and the sweet smell of cinnamon. He felt warmth suffuse itself throughout his body, and his headache seemed to lessen a bit. He opened his teary eyes, and closed the drawer. "Thank you." he whispered softly. He turned away from the vanity, and towards the door. Forward. Into life. He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. He took a moment to trot over to his room, slipping his cloak off as he did so. He opened the door slightly ajar and tossed the dirty garment inside, before closing it. He turned his attention to the bathroom door. First on the agenda was cleaning himself. He trotted into the bathroom, and turned on the light. He was momentarily blinded by the light bouncing off the white tile, but his eyes quickly adjusted. The bathroom was the same as ever. Just an ordinary bathroom, with a sink, a toilet, and a tub. Nothing special or emotionally devastating to be seen. It was refreshing. He stepped into the tub, and turned the cold water knob. Freezing cold water cascaded down from the overhead nozzle, and he smiled into the stream as it quickly matted his fur. Most ponies liked hot showers, but he had trained himself to enjoy colder water when he was a child. It was one of those things he had thought real villains would enjoy, so he had spent every shower possible acclimating himself to colder and colder temperatures. He had done a lot of things like that as a kid. Though he technically was still a kid. Now that he thought about it, there were probably lots of weird things he did now that he would regret when he was older. Like spending three days in a forest. He swore he could feel the accumulated grime wash away under the force of the much-needed cleaning. His short mane stuck itself onto his face, and he ran a hoof through the wet stands, feeling them cling together messily. He knew at this point that it was unlikely to ever grow past this length. His childhood dream of a long swishy mane was officially dead. The cold water ran down his back, over his cutie mark, and pooled on his red and brown tail. What a journey it was, descending the metaphorical mountain. He looked down, and scrunched his face up in disgust at the sight of the brown water flowing into the drain. He really had been dirty. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- After his shower and subsequent drying, he had just spent some time loitering in his own living room. Trying to recall everything he possibly could about the room. Anything that had happened here, no matter how small, he wanted to remember. At the moment, he was sitting on the familiar lumpy couch trying to remember every story his mother had ever told him. Soft whispers of fantasy creatures and far-off lands filled his ears, and he closed his eyes to hear them better. ..Here's one about Abyssinia... ...Kingdom of Cats and endless summers... ...Wonderful place.... ..Hear they have this festival called... 'Knock Knock Knock' Light Flow frowned. He didn't remember that in the story. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the source of the intrusive sound. There seemed to be somepony at the door, though he had no idea who would be coming to see him. Well-wishers, perhaps? "You in there, sugarcube?" Oh. Well he supposed that answered that. His annoyed expression grew melancholy, and he briefly considered hiding somewhere. He wasn't especially sure he wanted to see Applejack right now. An emotional reconciliation would kind of ruin the bittersweet mood he had going. But another insistent knocking at the door pushed the thought from his mind. He needed to see her, so now was as good a time as any. He had to apologize. He had promised. He stood up from the couch, and made his way over to the door. He stared at the wooden surface for a moment, trying desperately to collect his thoughts. So he would start with an apology, alright. He would say he was sorry that he had tried to get rid of her, but would that be enough? Maybe he should buy her a present or something. What did she like? She liked apples, but that was a given. He was pretty sure he had once seen her checking out poetry books though, so he would get her a book of poetry. But that would come later, so what would he do now? Well, he could give her a nice long explanation, but what would that entail? 'Hey, so I almost went insane. Forgive me?' That was dumb, he should be less concise. Speaking of verbosity, what was he doing just standing around thinking? Maybe he was crazy. 'Knock Knock Knock' "Are you there, Light Flow?" He took a deep breath. He was keeping her waiting, and his mother always said that was a big thing to avoid. He grasped the doorknob in his magic grip, and heard a small gasp from the other side of the door. Well, she knew he was here now, so no turning back. No matter how much the feeling in his stomach was making him want to throw up. He swung the door open, and immediately saw an orange hoof. Attached to the hoof was one flustered looking Applejack who had been in the process of knocking again. She quickly lowered her hoof and rested it against her other one in a very familiar nervous pose. He flicked his eyes up to her head, where she was wearing a hat that was still a little too big for her. She had been saying for a while now that It would fit right 'any day now', but he never saw any difference. He lowered his eyes to a very distressed orange face. She didn't look very good, and that was saying something coming from him. She didn't look as if she was brushing her coat, and the fur on her face was ruffled and sticking up. Like she had laid her face against something for hours, and then didn't look in a mirror. Her mane was also sort of crumply, and it wasn't set into her ponytail very well. Little strands of blonde hair stuck out from the band, which was itself also sort of loose. Her eyes were baggy and slightly red, and he guessed she hadn't been getting a lot of sleep. He could only wonder why. After all, his problems didn't really affect Applejack that much, so why would she be losing sleep? His words hadn't effected her that much, had they? Actually, what had he said to her? He couldn't quite remember, there were just hazy memories of sadness and mania. He knew he had said something bad to her, at least. He realized he was staring, which was something he knew he did a lot, but usually somepony stopped him. But Applejack was sort of just letting him stare at her. Of course, she was similarly staring at him with sad, vacant green eyes, so he had to wonder if she was spacing out like he usually did. Maybe he was the one influencing her? That would be a bad thing. He would have to be the one to speak first. Not a common occurrence, but also not the weirdest thing that had happened recently. "Applejack?" She started at the sound of her name. Her eyes went wide, and she stuttered ineffectually for a moment before finding a word. "Y-Yeah?" He blinked at her dazed reply, before frowning. He couldn't recall anytime she had been like this. Even at her worst, Applejack always had something to say. It didn't matter what the topic was, or where the conversation was going, she would at least interject with something. So it was his fault. She must've been scared of him or something. He would have to ask her what he had said to her during that strange missing part of his memory. Enough stalling, it was time for him to apologize. Then he could get on with re-establishing their friendship. He licked his lips, and opened his mouth. "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry!" Two pairs of eyes blinked owlishly at each other. They had just apologized at the same time. "What are you sorry for?" "What are you sorry for?" He groaned out loud. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. He reached up to place a hoof on Applejacks lips, intent on stopping this before it got ridiculous. "I'm sorry, but I'm stopping this now. I refuse to be a part of such a dumb cliché. Tell me why you're sorry." Applejack nodded behind his hoof, and he took it away. She immediately began speaking, her voice colored with obvious regret. "B-Because of what I said to y'all! I'm so sorry sugarcube, I didn't mean it! I don't know what came over me! I was actin' nuttier than a squirrel in an apple tree!" Okay, he could have gone without without of her bad countryisms, but he was pretty sure he understood. She was upset because she hung out with him out of pity? That was one of the few things he remembered, and it wasn't what he imagined was the cause of her distress. "Um... Okay... If you don't mind me asking, why are you upset about it?" Applejack seemed taken aback by his blunt response. She stuttered for a moment, before replying in a much more lively voice. "Wha- What d'you mean why? Because it was a horrible thing to say, that's why!" Her face had taken on a hard edge during the sentence, and she had shouted the last part. He couldn't even kind of understand why she was getting angry. Wasn't she supposed to be apologizing? "Okay, well. You know I'm not upset about it, right? I mean, It's not like I didn't already know that. I don't even know why I asked in the first place anyway." Seriously, why else would she have stuck around all this time? He wasn't exactly a good friend. Sure, hearing it from her own lips had kinda hurt at the time, but he wasn't angry about it. It didn't even change anything. Nothing at all. Applejack seemed to metaphorically deflate at his nonplussed reaction to her confession. Her aggravated expression slowly turned into one of defeat, and she sighed. She closed her eyes as she spoke again, almost like she didn't want to look at him. "Sugarcube, I- I don't even know what to say to that.." She opened her eyes, and turned them back up to him. He was taken aback by the desperation there. It seemed she wasn't finished. "But that's not the end of it! Y'all never let me finish what I was gonna say!" Not the end..? What else could there possibly be to say? He saw something in the background, and unfocused his eyes from Applejack so he could see better. It seemed they were an interesting spectacle, because he could have sworn he had just seen somepony duck into his neighbor's bushes. He frowned at the offending foliage over Applejack's shoulder, and she turned around to see what he was looking at. When she found nothing, she turned back to him with a question in her eyes. He kept his eyes on the bush as he answered her unasked question. "We should continue this inside, Applejack. It'll.. uh... be more comfortable that way." He was almost certain Applejack didn't believe that, but she accepted easily enough anyway. "Alright sugarcube... If'n you say so." He pressed himself to the side so that Applejack could squeeze by him. He didn't know why, but he had a really bad feeling about that bush. He didn't want to take his eyes off it for as long as possible. Once Applejack was inside, he squinted his eyes at the bush one more time before shutting the door in front of him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was ten minutes later when a cream-colored mare stepped out of the bushes across from Light's house. She frowned to herself, and quickly trotted away. Her face had turned outwardly pleasant, but her mind was a whirlwind. "That was bad, I was almost seen. I must be losing my touch just sitting around in this town. As nice as it's been." "I don't think my cover's been blown, but I should probably lay low for a while, just in case." "Her Highness isn't going to be happy....." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light stared at Applejack from his spot on the couch next to her. She had been hemming and hawing for a bit now, and it was very clear that whatever she was trying to say was hard for her. He, in all his infinite patience, had been content to just sit and watch her try and gather herself. Specifically, he was taking some time to try and recognize some of the things he had read about souls. Nothing he had read did anything to explain the strange blot at the center of her soul, but he could see other things. Things like a little periodic flash at a very specific place. It was near the corner, just below a seemingly random whirling of color he couldn't identify. He was pretty sure that was the area of the soul that governed feelings, but he wasn't one hundred percent. The book hadn't said anything about it, but he figured that with a sharp eye and a wise mind, a skilled Necromancer may be able to read the way a pony was feeling. He could make a pretty good guess at how Applejack was feeling, so the way it was moving was probably a good benchmark for nervousness. He would have to remember it, or write it down or something. Would Applejack mind if he went and got a notebook? She probably would. He flicked his eyes back up to Applejack's face just as she breathed in to speak. He was startled by ponies so often, he had begun to develop a certain sixth sense for when he should probably focus back into reality. Just a little extra awareness of deep breaths, or subtle twitches. A useful skill, though it's unlikely anypony besides him would ever have need for something so mundane. "Um... Well.... Like I said, sugarcube. I... I never got to finish what I was gonna say... on that day..." Ah yes. Two days after the funeral. After he had run off to hide in the woods... He still didn't like thinking about it. "When... When I said that awful thing to you, I... I should have followed it up with the rest of the truth." "When I met y'all... I admit, I was hangin' around you 'cause I felt bad for you." He really wasn't seeing why Applejack was so keen on repeating the same thing over and over again. "But that changed!" ....? "At first... I thought you were really weird and creepy. And you still kinda are, sugarcube. But I've gotten to know y'all so much better since then!" Applejack stood up from the couch suddenly. She turned to stare at him with fire in her eyes, and any hesitation she had before seemed to melt away. "Sure, you can be really distant, and strange, and even a little mean sometimes; but I know there's somethin' else underneath all that!" "You're.. you're really funny! Even if it's a really weird kind'a funny.. Sometimes, I have 'ta bite my lip to stop myself from laughin' at some new odd thing you've said!" "And you're so smart too, sometimes I don't understand half'a the things that come outta your mouth! Honestly sugarcube, sometimes I can't believe it's you who would hang out with me!" "And you're so kind, underneath all that bravado. I know how much you care about stuff, even when you act like you don't! I've seen how you hide yourself, and I hate it!" "Cause.... Cause you're my best friend!" A heavy silence fell over the room in the wake of Applejack's declaration. Light was having a hard time processing all of the things she had just said to him. It felt like there was a skipping record in his head. Screeching and scratching as it played snippets of phrases over and over again. ...Funny... Kind.... Smart... Best Friend... Funny... Kind.... Smart... Best Friend... Funny... Kind.... Smart... Best Friend... Best Friend... Best Friend... Best Friend... Best Friend... Best Friend... "Best Friend..?" Applejack was his best friend? "Y-Yeah, sugarcube... I'm sorry I never told you... I've never had a friend like you, ever." Huh? Had he said something out loud? Did he say something out loud?! What did he say?! What in Tartarus did he say?! It could have been anything, and he had barely heard what Applejack said, so he couldn't infer! His thoughts were so unorganized, he could have said anything! Okay, don't panic. He could just look at Applejack's face for clues. .... Okay, 'nervous anticipation' didn't help! Oh no. Now she was beginning to look disappointed. What did he do in a situation like this?! She was starting to look like she was going to cry! Wasn't she supposed to only cry on the inside?! Why had nopony prepared him for this?! "I-I'm sorry, s-sugarcube.. I s-shouldn't have bogged you down with s-somethin' like this so soon after... I'm sorry. M-Maybe I should just..." She was edging towards the door. She was going to leave! He had to do something! He quickly stood up from the couch, and Applejack watched him warily with wet eyes. His mind still wasn't coming up with any actual words besides 'what', so he was going to have to improvise. "Sugarcube, I'm sorry, but-" He heard her gasp out, and he closed his eyes. It's weird that a hug had been his first instinct. He nuzzled his face into the soft fur of Applejack's shoulder, and he felt the way she was shaking slightly. It was only a moment before he felt two hooves close themselves around his back, and a face make itself similarly comfortable. He had only ever hugged Applejack once, and he wasn't even the one to initiate back then. He didn't think he had ever directly hugged anyone besides his parents before. It was nice. She was warm, and soft. And he could feel her heartbeat in her chest, unsteady as it was. He felt so... safe. Safe and secure in another pony's comforting grip. So warm, and so alive. He shifted his face into her mane, and took a deep breath. She smelled like apples, predictably. He was going to have to start buying more from now on, he supposed. After all, what kind of a best friend didn't support another's business? "You're mine too, Applejack." He felt her begin to shake harder in his hooves. He didn't know why, though. It was obvious, really. > Chapter 18 - The Respect > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was very afraid. Seriously, he wasn't sure he had ever been so scared in his entire life. It was a deep, harrowing fear. It spread through his entire body in great bushing bouts, shaking and shuddering his bones with the pressure. A hot, red feeling. Like his blood was on fire, urging him to run and run to try to put it out. It was the sight of the building in front of him. It loomed menacingly, casting a dark shadow over him. It was as if the light had forsaken him, leaving him to fend for himself in the unforgiving recesses of the darkness. The great purple walls were usually pleasant and welcoming, but now they did nothing but allow the fear to burrow deeper. It was a strange thing to be afraid of, but the purple was reminding him of fresh grapes. Ripe and deeply purple. His least favorite fruit. The large windows were normally helpful and familiar, allowing him an interesting glance inside. But now they were shadowed, as if something was tinting them; trying to hide what lay inside. It didn't help his current mood. He swallowed heavily, trying desperately to moisten his bone-dry mouth. It was as if something was actively draining his saliva; perhaps to render him unable to speak out, or scream. He raised his shaking hoof to the two-handled door. The two protrusions were reminding him of outstretched claws, ready to stretch forward to tear him limb from limb. He licked his lips, and lowered his hoof. It would probably be safer to open the door with magic. Red light illuminated the shadowed wooden surface in front of him, chasing away a meagre portion of the darkness from his path. A solitary light in an unforgiving void, providing little comfort or safety. He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and flung the door open. A great screeching alarm tore into his ears, and he gasped. His eyes flew open as he heard a horrible screaming voice rise above the terrible noise. The ferocious and feared warden of the hellish building in front of him. And her name was... "Come in darling, we're open!" Rarity. Light Flow was very afraid. And that was because he was here to tell Rarity he had ruined his cloak. He didn't know Rarity all that well. He had only really seen her around town on a few rare occasions, so the most exposure he had with her was at her shop. And that experience was very unpleasant. Rarity was probably the most terrifying creature he had ever met, and he was friends with a Timberwolf. Sure, she probably wasn't that dangerous in a conventional sense, though he supposed he wouldn't really know. Images of Rarity as some sort of secret super spy filled his head for a moment, before he discarded the thought. If somepony he knew was a spy, he was pretty sure he'd realize. But Rarity was dangerous in a less obvious way. In all his years, he had never met somepony so cunning, so intelligent, so conniving. So loud. If somepony upset her, they were sure to be in for a very long, very high-pitched lecture. Even he was not immune to her methods. He had once accidently stepped on some important fabric she had laying around, and things quickly went bad for him. It was supposed to be a quick trip to have his cloak refitted, but he ended up staying for over two hours while Rarity screamed at him about having awareness of his surroundings. The entire time, he had a scathing reply about not leaving important fabric on the floor, but he had never let it fly. He wasn't stupid, after all. His mother had always told him to never interrupt a lecturing lady, but there was something else too. A golden rule of life is to never upset your tailor. His mother had told him that too. So many lessons, so little thanks. What was he doing here again? He stared up at the open doorframe, and the small bell that hung there. He was here to get chewed out by Rarity, of course. How could he have forgotten? He had been forgetting a lot of things lately. He was stalling. He should know better. He shook his head, and stepped forward into the Carousel Boutique. Usually, the messy interior of the building was warm and inviting, promising relatively pleasant conversations with a less-than pleasant mare. But he felt very differently now, he was here to be punished. The intricate patterns on the wall were no longer a delightful wonder to look at. Instead, they seemed to pop off the walls in great roping lengths. Prepared to fly over and wrap themselves around his neck. The two-tone swirl on the floor seemed ready to open wide, like a gaping maw. Waiting to consume him. He swallowed again, and closed the door behind him. There was no going back now. The white she-devil seemed to be out of the room for the moment, but there was another pony there. Some of his fear abated as he blinked at the pony with her back turned towards him. It wasn't her presence that comforted him; actually, it wasn't even that he was comforted. He was dumbfounded. He had never seen somepony that looked quite like her. She was a pegasus with a coat of pretty sky blue fur, but that wasn't what drew his eye. Lots of pegasi had colors like that, probably because of camouflage that they hadn't evolved out of yet or something. No, but the really weird thing about her was her mane. It was rainbow-colored. It was pretty obvious why that was surprising. He couldn't even come up with words to describe how strange it was. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure he had an opinion about it. All he could think about was that it was unnatural. Was it natural? Probably not, of course she had to dye it. There was no way anypony would be born with a natural rainbow mane color. Not even the Princess had something like that; hers was more of an aurora. This was a literal rainbow of colors. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. They were all there! It was nearly maddening. How much time must she put into maintaining such a delicate meshing of colors? In a desperate attempt to draw his own thoughts away from the topic, he flicked his eyes down to her soul. It was... wow. It was spinning very fast. It was also about the same shade of blue as her coat, but that hardly mattered, now did it? The darn thing was rotating in place so quickly, he was amazed he could tell the color at all. Really, he was shocked that it hadn't spun right out of her chest. He had no idea what that meant, and he couldn't even begin to formulate a hypothesis. Every other pony's soul was relatively sedate, but hers was incredibly active. And of course, to top it all off: her soul also had one of those weird marks in it. This entire pony was an enigma. "Uh, hey dude? I know I'm awesome, but do you think you can quit it with the staring? Kinda creepy." A slightly raspy voice broke him from his thoughts, and he flicked his eyes up to one annoyed blue face. He had lost himself in thought again, and he hadn't noticed her noticing him noticing her. Wait, what? "Uh.. Sorry." He managed to get something out amidst an ocean of distressed thoughts, though he wasn't sure what he had said. He was really losing it. He must be dreading Rarity's punishment more than he had imagined. The colorful pegasus seemed mollified at whatever had babbled out of his mouth, at least. Her face relaxed, and her entire demeanor shifted towards what could only be described as 'chill'. "It's alright. I know it's hard not to." Her face broke out into a grin as she spoke, and her eyes closed in what seemed to be satisfaction. He was pretty sure he could already guess at one of her personality traits. Everything about her reeked of confidence. Her pinkish eyes opened again, and he felt a measure of trepidation for some reason. There was a certain... challenge in those eyes. Just a little flash of daring that made him want to prepare himself for disaster. Like a storm was approaching. "So, what was it?" His mind drew a blank in the face of the sudden question, and he was sure it showed on his face. What was she even asking? What was what? She rolled her eyes and gave a huff at his blank faced stare. Apparently, it was obvious what she was asking. Shame on him. "What drew your eye, dude? Was it the hair?" She took a moment to run her hoof through the prismatic strands, creating a rather incredible metaphorical waterfall of colors. He opened his mouth to give confirmation, but she cut him off. "Was it the physique? I work out you know. A lot. Actually, I don't mean to brag, but you're looking at the fastest pegasus in Equestria!" She leapt into the air as she spoke, hovering in place as she flexed her admittedly impressive physique. She wasn't incredibly muscular, but she didn't need to be if her claim held any merit. She was sleek, but it was easy to tell she was also fit. Something that was basically a requirement for speed. Her muscles weren't huge and bulging like 'traditionally' strong ponies, but they gave her body quite a bit of definition. He could see them flexing against the surface of her skin through her fur, and he could tell they were incredibly taut. They reminded him of Applejack's legs, with all the power held underneath the skin. Not that he had been looking at Applejack's legs. He just noticed things, that's all. The way she moved was likewise telling of her strength and agility. She held herself with a certain confidence, and her movements were quick and strong. She had no trouble suspending herself in the air, and it even seemed to be almost unconscious. Her wingbeats sent large gusts of air past him, scattering Rarity's clutter around. Actually, that wasn't good, she should probably stop if she valued her life. Or her eardrums. Luckily, she set herself back on the ground. It was incredible how easily she moved between flying and standing. Most pegasi he had seen usually had to take a moment to take off or set themselves down, but she just did it. Like it was nothing. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, but he was still thinking about the way her body rippled when she flapped her wings, so he decided to stall. "The fastest in all of Equestria, huh?" Her face brightened considerably at that. It looked like he had touched upon a source of great pride for her, endless as it was. "Yep! Heh. Not to toot my own horn, but my average wingpower is around the same as a Wonderbolts'." She was trying to play that fact off as unimportant, but he could see an immense amount of pride behind that cool expression. It reminded him a lot of what he used to do as a foal. "It's really no biggie, though. They'll probably find out about it someday and beg me to join the team or something. I'll be modest of course, but I'll let them wear me down eventually. After all, it would be a crime to deprive such a great team of somepony as awesome as me!" She did a very impressive backflip into the air as she finished speaking, which lent a great deal of merit to her claims of awesomeness. She was mostly talking to herself at this point, but he caught the gist. If she wanted to be a Wonderbolt, she probably could, and probably would. She certainly seemed fit enough, but he had never been very interested in stuff like that anyway, so he was probably a bad judge. Sports had always seemed like they just weren't worth it. Why in Equestria would he run around getting all sweaty for no reason when he could be relaxing somewhere with a good book? Why did ponies get so excited about sports anyway? 'Oh goodie, they've got the ball'. So what? It was just a meaningless short-term achievement that had no real value- "And they'll only want me even more once they hear about my greatest achievement. After all, I'm the first pony in like, a thousand years to do a Sonic Rainboom!" "That should practically guarantee my acceptance! Once I actually apply, anyway..." If Light Flow had been paying attention, he would have seen some of her confidence bleed away at the end of her sentence as she set herself back onto the ground. But as it was, he was a bit busy trying to collect the shattered remains of his mind. He didn't think he had misheard her. There weren't very many word combinations that sounded like 'Sonic Rainboom' that weren't complete gibberish, so unless her story had gone off the rails somewhere, she had just claimed to have performed the legendary Sonic Rainboom. A Sonic Rainboom. The holy grail of aerobatic maneuvers, said to be so difficult and dangerous that attempting it was certain to cause great injury to whatever poor deluded fool had thought they could take a place in pegasus history. He had first heard about it from his mother's endless fount of stories. Actually, she had told him that she had witnessed one. It was about eight years ago, just before they had moved to Ponyville. She had been somewhat cagey on the details, so he had gone looking for answers on his own. The history he had found was, quite frankly, astonishing. He had gone through a bit of a 'history' phase at some point, which just happened to coincide with his 'warfare' phase. It was right about the time he had committed himself to a life of evil, so naturally he had gone searching for the most obvious outlet. Which was pretty much the reason he had also been into history. And the Sonic Rainboom had perfectly meshed with both of his interests. He had done quite a bit of studying on the topic, though there wasn't a whole lot of information to be had. A lot of important texts had been lost after The Great Banishment; a mysterious event that was still heavily debated about to this day. Somehow, something or somepony had been banished somewhere about one thousand years ago. Supposedly, just before the banishment, the soon-to-be-punished monster had gone on some sort of crusade against literature. Nopony knew why or how, but that was the unfortunate state of things. Luckily, he had been able to dig up some old reference material on a special trip to the Grand Canterlot Library. He still remembered that trip. His mother had wanted to reward him for doing well in school or something, so she promised to take him anyplace he wanted. He doubted she had really meant 'anyplace', but luckily for his mother and her fragile bank account: his choice had been Canterlot. The knowledge he gained there had been terrible, yet enlightening; as most history was. Especially about the Sonic Rainboom. He hadn't been able to find the origin of the technique, but he had traced earliest mention of it back to around one hundred years before The Great Banishment. It was seemingly just an incredible aerial technique performed by talented pegasi for some unspecified royalty. If he had to take a guess, Her Royal Highness was a safe bet. A marvelous magical explosion of colors, it had been described. If any of that was true, it was that it was magical. There was more history, dated to around the time of the Banishing War. A war waged against a creature so horrible, they had completely restarted their calendar in remembrance. History around that time had been especially hazy, but he had found reference to the Sonic Rainboom being used as a weapon. He had gotten over it eventually, but he could still remember the nauseous feeling he had felt when he had uncovered the truth. A horrible truth that he had wished he could have let rest in the pages of history, forever. The Sonic Rainboom had been used as a bomb. A bomb that not even the performer could survive. Suicide bombing. There wasn't much about what led to the incident, or the theory on how it had happened. But there was coverage on the aftermath, and a small amount of speculation. The impact site had been a town, really more like a city. The population hadn't been listed, but he could make a guess based on a picture of the devastation, or lack thereof. The picture was just a large crater. A very large crater, blackened and jagged at the edges, like something had scorched the ground. It was relatively deep, though the bottom could be seen pretty clearly. The city had apparently been called Hamelet, which was ironic considering the seemingly large size of it. He could only imagine at how many ponies had been there that day. A Sonic Rainboom was supposedly the absolute fastest a pegasus could possibly go, reaching levels beyond even the speed of sound. It must've been so sudden. The arcane science behind the phenomenon was unfortunately lost to time, and he hadn't been able to find an answer at the time. He had left the library feeling strangely hollow inside, much to the concern of his mother. It was because of that visit that he had turned his focus away from warfare. But while he had been decently intelligent back then, he had only grown in smarts since then. He had never looked too deeply into the relative theory of magic, but he knew a couple things. Enough to formulate a hypothesis. The Sonic Rainboom was likely only possible through an extreme amount of pegasus magic. Unicorn magic was most widely understood, while earth magic was almost a complete mystery, so pegasus magic sat at a comfortable middle ground of understanding. Unicorns only used their magic consciously, and earth ponies were theorized to have nearly entirely innate magic. Pegasi however, were known to have both conscious and innate magic. That was about the extent of his knowledge on the topic, something he would have to rectify in the future. But it wasn't hard to make educated guesses on which was used for what. Their conscious magic was probably used to control the weather, while their innate magic was probably used to help them fly. A simple theory, one that was surely lacking in quite a few areas; but it worked, at least. Though relying on guesswork for such important conclusions was deeply unsettling. A pegasus would have to have an incredible amount of conscious control over their magic to prevent themselves from being torn apart by the unimaginably high speed; as well as a frightening amount of innate potential to help them reach the high speeds in the first place. Such a concentrated amount of disciplined magic, being released all at once at a critical moment. A critical moment, like death... Such a monumental, all-consuming, vaporizing, eruption of an explosion wasn't out of the question. His internal theorizing seemed to have taken some amount of time. The pony with the rainbow mane had gone back to standing around looking bored, so it was likely she had lost interest in him. He didn't blame her, even Applejack sometimes just let him stew when he got like that. He cleared his throat to draw her attention, and he saw magenta eyes flick towards him for a moment before casually sliding away. "'Sup?" She was doing her best to feign disinterest, but he could tell she was bothered by his seeming lack of interest. The way she fidgeted her hooves, and pointedly stared at anything except him reminded him of very familiar tactics. He had a lot of experience making it look like he didn't care. He focused his eyes on her soul again. The way it spun rapidly, like it was trying to take frenzied flight. It made sense now. It made so much sense. He turned to fully face the most powerful pegasus in Equestria. A pegasus with so much raw strength, she had been able to pull off something that should have been impossible for a pony three times her age. Such strength deserved awe, and fear. Respect. "Miss." His voice was quiet, yet firm. It was important to show such an important pony proper deference. He knew now that he cocky, self-assured, somewhat childish outside merely hid the incredible strength within. He had to know her name. He had to know why she was here. "Please, tell me your name." The living weapon in front of him cocked her eyebrow in what looked to be a questioning manner. He doubted many ponies spoke to her in such a respectful tone. From what he had heard, it was unlikely she was in any sort of position of power, as much as she should've been. "I'm uh.. Rainbow Dash. You okay dude? You're lookin' a little... intense?" Her name was Rainbow Dash. He hadn't stopped paying attention, or been distracted or anything. He had heard her name, and it was Rainbow Dash. He opened his mouth, intent on letting Rainbow Dash know exactly how impressive he thought she was. "Ah! Light Flow! How are you today, darling?" Of course, Rarity took the moment to thoroughly interrupt him. She had entered from one of her mysterious side rooms, carrying what looked to be a uniform of some kind. It was a blue vest with a lighter blue border, and he could see some sort of badge on the front. Rarity approached the two ponies, and presented the vest to them. "Well, Miss Dash, I've repaired your weather team vest for you! You should really be more careful, darling. Tearing it on your first day doesn't leave much of a positive impression." He turned to stare wide-eyed at the suddenly bashful pony beside him. She was on the weather team? A pony like her was on the weather team?! He hadn't expected much, but..... Weather team? "Yeah, well that's why I came here. If I had told anypony at work about it, I might've lost my new job..." Rainbow reached a hoof up to rub behind her head as she spoke, and her wings ruffled at her sides. He didn't really think she should've been so embarrassed. If it was her first day on the job, ponies were kind of expecting her to mess up. Though, with her magical and physical power, he was pretty sure the vest would be ripping a lot. Rarity hummed disapprovingly at Rainbow, before turning her attention to him. "What do you need today, Mr. Flow?" His thoughts on underappreciation quickly burnt to cinders in his head. He had forgotten why he was here. Light Flow was once more very afraid. He licked his suddenly dry lips as he stared into Rarity's pleasant face. He imagined that face twisting in rage, and those eyes turning red with anger. Her voice would tear through his ears as she screeched in horror. 'YOU DID WHAT?!' He bit his lip as Rarity's face slowly turned down. She was looking concerned at his lack of reply. He had to speak. He just had to get it over with, and tell her. Any second now, she was going to ask him what was wrong, and he would have to tell her anyway, so he should just do it now. He closed his eyes, and prepared for pain. "I ruined my cloak." ... ... ...? He didn't hear anything. He was expecting to hear Rarity start yelling at this point, but she was completely silent. Maybe she was waiting for him to open his eyes so that she could stab them with something pointy. She did have a lot of pointy things, she was a seamstress after all. Well, nothing was going to be accomplished just standing here waiting for pain, so he tentatively opened one eye. Instead of the monstrous visage of the she-demon he was expecting, he saw the plain face of a calm Rarity. More than that, she looked... sad? He opened his other eye to stare at Rarity's melancholy face, before she gave him a small smile. "That's okay, darling. Mistakes happen." He felt like somepony had punched him in the gut, and it took all of his strength not to collapse instantly. The shock factor of those words was beyond anything he had ever heard. Rarity wasn't angry? How was that possible? "In fact, darling. I would be honored if you would allow me to make a new one for you. Free of charge." Light Flow was pretty sure he was going to black out. This had to be a dream. It was the only explanation. Or maybe he had been transported to an alternate reality where everypony was the opposite of who they usually were? Though he didn't feel particularly heroic, so that probably wasn't it. What actual reason would Rarity have to be so flagrantly... generous? His extreme confusion was thankfully interrupted by an annoyed raspy voice. "Okay, well, that's great for you dude, but I've gotta get going now." Rainbow had been standing around looking at her vest, seemingly waiting for them to finish talking. But it seemed like she was getting bored. He still had things to say to her, but he supposed that could wait for another time. "Thanks for the help Shmarity! See you around, dude!" Especially since she was already running out the door. He felt a gust of wind in his face as she took off in front of the shop, leaving the space in sudden silence. He supposed it made sense that a pegasus with so much magic would be flighty. He heard Rarity mutter something about names, before she turned her attention back to him. "You should probably get going too, darling. Get some rest, yes? I'll have your new cloak done sometime next week." She suddenly raised a hoof up and pushed him towards the open door. He stumbled forward from the unexpected force, which Rarity used to push him forward once again. What was she doing? He stuttered out protests, but she seemed not to hear them as she hummed pleasantly over his sounds of distress. After a few pushes and a lot of words that went unheard, he unwillingly stepped out onto the path outside. "Be well, darling!" He heard the door shut behind him. He stood there dumbfounded in front of the Carousel Boutique. Certified home of the strangest mare in Ponyville. It was about noon, so he could still see ponies going about their business. He stared at them as he tried to puzzle out what had just happened. Rarity had looked really sad about something, and she seemed very insistent about making him leave as soon as possible. She had also brushed aside his mistreatment of her work, and even offered him a free replacement. He had never known her to be so kind about anything. What did it mean? 'Be well?' Oh. That made a little sense. His face pulled itself into a frown. He really didn't like being pitied. > Chapter 19 - The Move > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 997 AB Light Flow was in pain. Not just physical pain, though there was certainly enough of that. He was also feeling quite a bit of emotional pain. Two different kinds of hurt clashing together in the most horrible way. The aching in the body, and the aching in the heart. It had been about eight months since his mother died, and he was still feeling the effects. Waking up in the morning to the sound of nothing and nopony in the house. The choking veil of uncharacteristic silence was deafening in his ears, and he often found himself talking to the empty space to fill the void. The pleasant smells of breakfast in-progress were a fading memory now, and he could never find the energy to make anything of substance. If he ate anything, it was a bowl of cold cereal. He still caught himself saying 'see you later' when leaving the house sometimes. As if he had fooled himself into believing there was somepony to respond. Most days, he didn't return until dark. Whenever he had finished with whatever he had been doing for the day, he would often waste the time away with Applejack. If Applejack was busy, he would sit around at the library, or take a long walk around Ponyville. He did whatever he could to stay away from home, because just being there hurt him. Everything he looked at held precious memories. Flashes of tender moments spent with the most important pony in the world. There were so many days when he would find himself sitting and staring at random pieces of furniture for hours. He couldn't stay there anymore. If he was ever going to move forward with his life, he had to leave. It hadn't been too hard to convince Mayor Mare to allow him to move. Normally, the idea of a fifteen year old colt living alone would be unthinkable. But as it was, it wouldn't be much of a change. Since the mayor was already breaking all sorts of laws by allowing him to live alone, the process of selling his house and moving somewhere else was frighteningly easy. He supposed there was some part of the mayor that was just happy she could sell the house to somepony that would pay full taxes. At least, the pessimistic part of him thought that. There was an innocent little colt deep inside him that thought she was helping him because it was a nice thing to do. He wished he could let that little colt out more, but it was hard to find a reason to recently. The process was probably made all the easier considering the home he was attempting to buy, though the mayor definitely thought he was crazy. There was a little abandoned lumberjack's cottage on the very edge of the Everfree forest. Seriously, It was nestled right into the trees, and the very back could probably be counted as actually being inside the forest. It had been there a long time, so It probably didn't use to be that close, but he honestly liked it better that way. The forgotten structure was just sitting around gathering dust, and it needed an occupant. Apparently, the lumberjack living there had gone missing one day. Nopony knew for sure, but it was pretty obvious the Everfree Forest had something to do with it. What had that lumberjack expected to happen though? It's not like the Everfree had been any less dangerous a hundred years ago. It was a bit modest with only three rooms and a small basement, but at least it had plumbing. That had been something he was especially worried about. Any normal pony would consider it absolutely insane to move there from a nice house in town, but he supposed it was likely a couple of marbles had gotten lost over the years. He shouldn't have been as calm about that as he was. Maybe he should find a therapist or something? The mayor made him take a homeowner's aptitude test, which he studied laboriously for. After passing, she very unofficially dubbed him fit to own property, before promptly asking if he could pretend to have an older guardian who happened to have the same name as him. Her way of trying to poorly hide her very illicit dealings with an underage colt. Like throwing a sheet over the evidence. ...Okay, he shouldn't have phrased it that way, it sounded super creepy. Either way, he didn't have a problem with it. It wouldn't be too much of a bother to help the mayor sleep a little better at night. For all intents and purposes, he had a twenty-four year old brother named Light Flow who had just returned from work abroad. He didn't know what he would say if anypony asked where 'abroad' was, but it didn't really matter that much. Zebrica? The Neigherlands? No, he didn't know anything about either of those places. It could wait. It had been a little under two months since then, and the cottage was finally ready for him. It had needed a serious cleaning, new appliances, and they even had to call an inspector in to check the structural integrity; but everything was apparently fine. Which was a little odd. The Everfree usually found some way to break down structures like this one. He could solve that mystery later, especially now that he was going to be living right next to the forest. Maybe if the Necromancy thing didn't work out, he could become some sort of expert on the Everfree? Maybe look into why it is the way it is? Regardless, after he got the all-clear from the mayor, he had begun preparing his things for his new home. He wasn't taking a lot, since the entire purpose of this was to try and get away from the memories. He was taking his bed, which would fit comfortably in the small bedroom in the back. He was taking his bookshelf and his desk table, both of which would find residence in the main room. He was also taking a lot of miscellaneous clutter. Just things that were necessary for a home, like towels and stuff. That was pretty much the extent of it. Mayor Mare had said that anything left in the house would be seized by the government, but that was okay. The old stuff didn't matter. New futures lay ahead of him, full of new memories and new moments. He wouldn't run from them any longer. Of course, there was no way for him to move all his stuff alone, and he didn't really want to hire any help. So he enlisted the free help of his local apple sellers. Applejack had been very supportive about many things since his mother had died, but this was not one of them. To put it in her own words, this entire idea was 'dumber than a Junebug in July'. He could have done without the countryism, but those were something any friend of Applejack would have to get used to. They had yelled and screamed about it until their throats were hoarse, but eventually Applejack had just become too tired to argue about it anymore. She still didn't like it, but she had conceded that she couldn't change his mind. He understood why she was so upset. The Everfree Forest was the most dangerous thing for dozens of miles, and he was trying to settle down directly next to it. But the one thing that Applejack couldn't deny was the amount of time he spent there as it was. If he hadn't died yet, It wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. She was probably also angry that he was selling his mother's house, but that was something that just couldn't be argued. He was already going to have to move in three years, so he was really just getting a head start. So in the end, Applejack had begrudgingly agreed to help him move. She even brought her brother to help. He and Big Macintosh had never quite gotten along. Looking at it objectively, two extremely quiet ponies like them should get along famously, but that wasn't really the case. It turns out that putting two ponies with difficulty starting conversations together is a recipe for awkward silence. Who knew? But either way, he was glad the large farmpony showed up. He had even brought a wagon for the job. Applejack showed up as chipper as always, while her brother nursed that stone-cold disinterest he kept. But her chipper attitude quickly fled when she learned he was only taking a few things. He was expecting another big shouting match while her brother looked on, but she was actually strangely quiet about the matter. She just stood around with her mouth open for a while before giving a big sigh. He wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he was really just happy she wasn't outwardly angry. He could suffer the consequences later if it meant she was helping him now. With the help of the Apple siblings, his things were loaded into the wagon, and with Big Macintosh in the harness, they set off for the cottage. He tried not to think too much about the house disappearing behind him. That part of his life was over now, and he had to look to the future. The cottage wasn't extremely far from Ponyville, but it wasn't extremely close either. Probably a ten minute walk from the southeast edge of the town. It was just the right distance for trips into town, but far away enough so nopony would bug him. Not that anypony would anyway. Who in their right mind would walk up to a cottage right next to those woods? He hoped Applejack would, at least. They had to cross several small bridges, and eventually they transitioned to grass as they left the dirt roads. He would have to remember to buy Big Mac a thank you card or something. He trudged through the unideal terrain with no complaints whatsoever, just walking along listening to Applejack talk about whatever came to her mind. Speaking of the orange pony, she was lucky enough to sit in the wagon the entire trip. He had tried to join her, but she had snorted and promptly kicked him out. She yelled something about getting a workout, but he hardly heard her through the sound of utter betrayal. So he had to walk next to Big Macintosh the entire way, which wasn't so bad really. The stocky red pony made for relatively comfortable companionship when Applejack was around. They could share in their combined amusement at her antics. Speaking of antics, there was one time when he had been visiting Applejack while she was working that instantly came to mind. She had been doing her thing, bucking trees and gathering apples, when she came across a tree that looked completely fine. Well, maybe it wouldn't have to her, but she had been distracted with talking to him at the time. Either way, she had leaned forward and bucked the tree, but her back hooves ended up going straight through the wood. They hadn't been stuck, thankfully, but she sure did look funny standing there on two legs. And he had let her know how funny he found it, rather boisterously actually. That had earned him a painful bonk on the head with an apple. He probably deserved it, but it still wasn't very kind of her. Reminiscing on his past with Applejack was a decent way to pass the time, and they came to the front of the cottage almost too quickly. It was a rather poor sight. The wooden paneling was almost entirely obscured by stalks of ivy and creeping vines that reached up to sprawl across the dark brown roof. Several trees from the Everfree could be seen poking out from behind the structure, and some exceptionally daring branches were even reaching out across the sides. There were multiple windows on the walls, though they were rendered entirely useless by the all-encompassing foliage. You could barely see the cottage at all, actually. There was just too much greenery. From any sort of distance, it would really just look like another part of the forest. Just a little splotch of brown in a sea of similarity. It was perfect. Applejack made some sort of comment about presentation, but he hadn't really heard her. He had been too busy admiring his wonderfully inconspicuous new house. What did she know anyway? It's not like she had a cool overgrown cottage in the wilderness. He approached the brown door, noticing how there were multiple stems and vines with visible cuts surrounding it. They must have grown over the door over the years, and been cut away when the mayor sent ponies in to clean and whatnot. He also took note of how the lock on the door looked relatively new, which made sense. The old lock must have been rusty at best, and he couldn't imagine it would deter any thief. After unlocking the door with the key he had been given, he took a moment to breathe before opening it. This was where he was going to be living for an indeterminate amount of time. This was the start of his new life, in his new house, with his new freedom. Out here, on the border of the Everfree, he was free to do whatever he wanted. Specifically, to read whatever he wanted. He closed his eyes, and swung the door open with his magic. He stepped inside, opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. He wanted his first impression to hit him all at once, like some sort of sensory imprint. His instinctual response was to crinkle his nose. It really smelled like cleaning product. The interior was, as expected, not much to look at. There was a large hearth dominating most of the right wall, which was likely necessary to heat the house when it got cold. It was sort of an eyesore, but he would get used to it. The wooden floors and walls seemed somewhat shiny, and he could only imagine the amount of scrubbing that had transpired here. This place must have been outrageously dusty, and probably just incredibly dirty in general. As it was, it was fairly clean, even if it did smell. In the corner, directly next to the door and the hearth, there was something that didn't quite fit with the cabin aesthetic. It seemed as if Mayor Mare had been kind enough to supply him with a modern oven and a fridge. He only knew a little about arcane engineering, so he could only say it was probably powered by some kind of lattice, but he was happy nonetheless. The rest of the space was empty, though there was a door on the left wall, as well as the back wall. One of them was the bathroom, and one was his bedroom. He would have to be careful not to get them confused. It was really nice. It might have been a little small, but he actually preferred it that way. It was cozy. As he stared around at his new residence, he felt something brush against his side. Applejack trotted slowly into his vision, before coming to a stop just in front of him. She also seemed to be taken by the pleasant space, but probably not for the same reason. "Well... uh... it's really.... nice, sugarcube." Applejack seemed at a loss for words. Her awe must have been staggering in its enormity. "Yeah, it's nice. You have anything else to add?" He knew he was really fishing for insults now, but he just couldn't help it. He loved acting offended. "It's... really... comfortable...?" Well, not everypony appreciated the feeling of cramped spaces, he supposed. He walked out in front of Applejack and turned to stare petulantly into her dubious emerald eyes. He just couldn't believe she was judging his choice of home. It was time for a clever retort. "Thanks for the input Applejack, but it's not like you have to live here. Some of us don't need an entire farm to live on." Maybe not his cleverest retort... But regardless, it had an effect. Applejack's nose crinkled, and her mouth turned down. Her features took on an air of resigned annoyance, and her voice adopted a familiar sarcastic tone. "Hardy har har. Come on, let's get yer stuff in here. I got chores to do today on that farm you're so jealous of." She turned around and walked out the door in a huff. He took the time to exaggeratedly roll his eyes and followed her outside. He really didn't know what he'd do without her. He walked outside to find Applejack standing next to her brother in front of the cart. He didn't know why, but he was getting a weird feeling. There was just something about Applejack's eyes, just a little spark of... something deep inside. He couldn't quite decipher it, but her growing smirk was far more telling. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Come on, sugarcube! You've only got one box to go!" It was official. Applejack was far more villainous than he could ever hope to be. It turns out that look in her eyes was pure malice, and he internally cursed himself for not recognizing it. Applejack had wanted him to begin with the moving, but when he lit up his horn to start, he felt a painful jab in his side. Applejack didn't want him to use magic, oh no. She wanted him to work for this. She and her brother would move the heavy stuff like his furniture, but he had to move the boxes. By carrying them. Without magic. The task sounded daunting, but it had actually been okay at first. The boxes with his random junk hadn't been too heavy, and he was actually enjoying the light workout. Applejack and Big Mac had to contend with his bookshelf, while he breezed along with a box of kitchen utensils. But then, he found the box with his books in it. He couldn't actually lift it onto his back by himself, so he had to get Applejack's help. She slid it out of the wagon, and hefted it onto her back with a grunt. He swore he could actually feel his heart dropping through his chest. How heavy were those books? "You ready sugarcube?" He licked his lips, and mumbled something approaching a confirmation. He heard an exhale, and there was suddenly a great weight on his back. His knees almost buckled, and he swore he heard something snap. He immediately wheezed in pain as his legs wobbled under the weight, and his entire body lowered a few inches to the ground under the crushing force. He vaguely heard what sounded like a laugh, and made a solemn vow to himself to get revenge somehow. He didn't care what he had to do, he would get Applejack back for this. He very shakily hefted one hoof up, and brought it crashing down a few inches forward. He enjoyed the thought that the world shook from the collision, causing huge earthquakes that devastated the kingdom as a result of his titanic burden. The weight was nearly unbearable, and he wondered if he could just give up. What could Applejack do to him, really? Okay, there were a lot of uncomfortable answers to that question. Maybe it would be best to just suffer through his current pain. He ground his teeth together, and lifted another hoof forward. And he did it again, and again, and again. Each step was agonizing, and he was barely making any progress. No matter how many times he looked back up at the cottage, it refused to move. It continued to sit in the same place, absolutely steadfast in its resolve to stay exactly where it was. His new house must have some sort of vendetta against him. "Come on, sugarcube! You're almost there!" Applejack had been cheering him on, but he was almost certain she was wrong. The cottage was exactly as far away as it had been when he started, and it would probably stay that way forever. He must have died at some point and not realized it, because he was pretty sure this was his personal hell. Forced to do unending physical labor while his best friend giggled maniacally at him. If he hadn't been half delirious with pain, he would have commended Applejack on her devilish actions. She was truly a paragon of evil. Everything hurt. Light Flow was in pain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- It had taken a thousand years, but he had done it. He had agonizingly made his way into the cabin, and set the box onto the floor. The literal weight off his shoulders was like some sort of blessing from his unknown deity. He had never felt so light in his life, which was ironic for reasons he didn't want to justify. As soon as the box was down, he had taken the opportunity to follow it. To anyone that asked, he would say that he was testing how comfortable his floors were; though, he didn't think Applejack would be fooled. Speaking of the devil herself, he heard hoofsteps on the floor behind him, and he didn't think they were Big Mac's. Speaking of him, he hadn't seen the big pony in a while. Had he gone home while he was struggling with the box? "Twenty hoof-lengths in as many minutes. Not the best performance, sugarcube, but I can't say you didn't give it your all." Applejack's voice sounded muted in his ears, but that was probably because of all the blood flow. He moaned out some sort of vague response, and hoped she understood what he was trying to say. Luckily, she seemed to have picked up on the tone of his voice, and he heard a chuckle. "It don't matter none, sugarcube. I'm really just proud of you for not givin' up. Can't say everypony I know would have powered through like that." "Granted, most a' the ponies I know wouldn't have much trouble with a box of books, but that doesn't change what I'm tryin' to say." He really wasn't appreciating Applejack's honesty right now. She always said whatever came to mind, no matter how it might make somepony feel. So blunt. So straight-forward. So easy to expect. She was wonderful to be around. He would have told her so, but he was still gasping for breath on the floor. He made a mental note share to his appreciation later. She deserved to know how much he loved her. Wait, what was that? "Well sugarcube, there was somethin' I wanted to talk to you about, but that can probably wait until later. You look like you could use some rest right now." She was so considerate. Well, not that considerate. If she was truly considerate, she would have helped him with his books instead of standing around laughing at his misfortune. Granted, he wouldn't have done much better in her place, but she was obviously supposed to have better morals than him. He was the bad one, and she was the goody-four-shoes. That was their dynamic. Why was she upsetting it? "Your bed is all set up in the room in the back, so you should get up off the floor. I know they got somepony to come and clean, but I still wouldn't trust it. Granny always says that dirt finds a way, and you don't want that way to be you." She was probably right. He would get off the floor as soon as he could feel his hooves again. "Alright sugarcube, like I said, I got chores to do back home. But don't be afraid to come 'round If y'all need anything. You know you're always welcome on the farm." He wheezed out a faint 'thank you', and he heard another hearty chuckle in response. She had such a nice laugh, it was all deep and comforting and stuff. "Whatever you say, sugarcube. I'll see y'all later!" A faint 'bye' made its way out of his lips as he heard the hoofsteps retreat. The faint noise of the door shutting echoed out through the mostly empty space, before the silence snuffed it out. And there he sat. Alone, and in the silence. In the middle of an empty cottage on the border of the most dangerous woods in Equestria. Just a little brown colt sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes. He stared up at the wooden ceiling as his breathing gradually steadied, and he felt his eyes grow heavy under the weight of the day. He hadn't really promised Applejack he would get up. He hadn't even said anything about it, so he wouldn't be letting anypony down if he didn't quite make it to his bed. He briefly thought about looking for the box with his cloak in it so that he could use it as a blanket, but discarded the idea. That would be entirely too much work, nearly as much as getting up to go to his bed. It was just so far away... And the floor was right here, so..... What possible reason would there be for moving? > Chapter 20 - The Lunch > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 998 AB Light Flow couldn't imagine how this day could go well. It hadn't started off so bad, so completely unsalvageable in every way. It had actually started out pretty okay. Not the best day, but It had potential. In the morning, he had woken up in a typical position with his face planted into a book. That wasn't surprising or negative, since he often read well into the night. His back sort of hurt from the awkward leaning, but It wasn't anything he wasn't used to. After making sure he hadn't drooled on the book in his sleep, he had gone on with his usual routine. Donning his cloak, brushing his teeth, making a bowl of cereal. Things he did everyday. Regular old activities. Nothing special, nothing surprising. But there was one thing on the agenda that held merit. He didn't often find reasons to leave his little isolated cabin, since he had pretty much everything he needed there. But one certain little menace kept him from becoming a complete shut-in, as it was today. He was having lunch with Applejack. The passage of time had been a little dubious as of late, and if not for her constant visits and meetings, he wasn't sure he wouldn't just spend months on end just reading. She always seemed to find a way to bug him. Inviting him to the farm, or out to lunch. Coming to see him at the cottage, even if she only had an hour away from her work to spare. Always making time, just for him. Ugh. His feelings were getting weird recently. It had been so much easier when she was just an annoying pest with orange hooves and a country accent. Now she was an annoying pest who kept him anchored to reality. It was pretty ironic, actually. Poetic, even. Life for the Necromancer would be rendered dull without the intervention of the living. He took a moment to ponder the thought as he slurped his way through another spoonful of milk. He had always been fond of writing dramatic poetry, and that one was particularly good. He made a mental note to find one of his notebooks so he could write it down. Most of his poetry was just witty one liners about macabre things, but he did write other things too. All sorts of things, in fact. And it happened right here, at the very desk he was eating at. It wasn't a very special desk. It didn't even look particularly impressive or scholarly, since he didn't keep books on it. He had learned his lesson about that not long after he moved in. Turns out, having a precarious book stack next to a bowl of milk Is just asking for trouble. Regardless of his shortcomings in the realm of intelligent thinking, this was still the desk where he wrote in his free time. This milk stained desk was where the metaphorical magic happened. Also breakfast, but that wasn't as important or magical. Though there was a magical component, since he used his magic to pour things, but that wasn't the point. What was the point? He really couldn't remember anymore. He should really start keeping sticky notes around or something. Quick access to writing material would make it far easier to organize his thoughts. Eventually, there was no milk left to slurp, and no deep thoughts left to think about; so he stood up from his writing desk where he also happened to eat, and began preparations to leave. Though, preparations was really just a big fancy word that actually meant loiter around aimlessly for a while. He had never been incredibly fond of going outside, and the problem didn't abate when he moved here. Anypony with half a brain would be able to confidently guess the problem would only grow worse, and they would be absolutely right. He really only ever left to go see Applejack. Sure, there was the occasional trip into town for supplies, but even those were few and far between. He could just as easily buy apples from Sweet Apple Acres and skip going into town altogether. Today was different though. Applejack had invited him to lunch in Ponyville proper, and that meant having to contend with the throngs of ponies. He quietly shuddered as he stared into his unlit hearth. There was probably a metaphor to be made there, but he was a little preoccupied with thoughts of social interaction. Okay, it wasn't like he hated being around other ponies. He really didn't, as much as his best friend might argue otherwise. It was just.... a little overwhelming sometimes. And not in the way most ponies would probably mean that. There had been a time, back when his mother had died, when he had almost done a very horrible thing. Just a wild impulse that he had almost acted on. A future that he nearly made real. He had always rationalized his grim visions and urges as a side effect of the emotional trauma, but nowadays he wasn't so sure. There were times, when.. when he began to feel the urge again. Just occasionally, when there were a lot of ponies around... A lot of souls around. He began thinking again about what it would be like to hold one. And that scared him. The tiny little thought scared him so much, and he wasn't sure he would be strong enough to say no to himself if it ever got as bad as it was back then. He could still faintly recall the sounds of the voices screaming in his ears. The horrible echoing from inside his own head. He was so afraid of what he could do. But he was more afraid of letting his own thoughts rule him. The only thing he put stock in was cold, hard reality. Which was why it was a fact that he wouldn't let Applejack down. He was going to that lunch. And nothing was going to stop him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow cursed his bad luck that nothing had stopped him. After leaving his cottage, he had made the short journey across the countryside to Ponyville. The pleasant sights of nature usually helped to calm his mind for the upcoming trials, and today was no different. The sun was shining, the birds were flitting about every which way, and there was even a blooming field of flowers that hadn't been there the last time he had passed. Such pleasant sights would have been his antithesis in his younger days, but he had been learning to enjoy conventionally pretty things. There didn't have to be some deeper meaning for something to be beautiful. Sometimes, things were just nice to look at. Though he still wouldn't stop and smell the flowers. Who had the time for something like that? He certainly didn't, especially since he was nearly late for lunch. So, he had made his way to Ponyville, and into the town. There were several small crowds around, and he tried desperately not to look too hard at the ponies around him. It may not have been the biggest town, but nopony could say it wasn't busy. A tourist would probably wonder if there was some sort of festival going on, but he knew Ponyville was just like this. Ponies standing around at small wooden stands, or sitting in front of little cafes, or even just gathered in little gabbing groups in the streets. It may have been poetic and cliché to call this town sleepy, but it was really anything but. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be multitudes of ponies milling at one place or another, just going about their business. He knew it wasn't their fault, but at the same time he really wished they could all just go home. It would be so much easier to meet up with Applejack if the streets were empty. It was times like these he was thankful for his cape. Having his hood up really helped to take some of the pressure off, and it made it feel like there were less holes being burned into his skin. Granted, there were probably more ponies looking at him than there would be otherwise, but the important thing was that he couldn't feel it. A pony bumped into him, and he stammered out an apology as they obliviously walked away. He didn't know why he was the one apologizing, but... well... somepony had to. It was just the polite thing to do. He really just wished he could go home. But it was a little late for that. The outdoor restaurant where Applejack was waiting was coming into view. And actually, so was she. He could make out an orange figure with a brown hat standing in front of the building talking to somepony. But who was that? It was a smaller figure, so it probably wasn't a waiter. He squinted his eyes as he approached, trying to make out any sort of detail, before stopping dead in his tracks. He knew who that little pony next to Applejack was. Apple Bloom... Why? Why? Why? Why was she here?! He ground his teeth together as he watched the little pony rear up to seemingly poke Applejack in the face. It seemed like they were having a good time waiting for him, which wasn't surprising. Applejack adored her little sister, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. But he and Apple Bloom... He let his hood down as the memories flowed through his head. He had first met Applejack's little sister not long after meeting the orange pony herself. She had just been a baby at the time, and he actually thought she was pretty cute. He didn't normally like babies, or foals at all for that matter, but there was just something different about personally watching one grow up. So throughout her childhood, he had been her big sister's cool friend who sometimes brought her presents. And he had enjoyed that. It was nice being around for a kid, though he tried his best not to influence her too much. But recently, things had changed. Neither he nor Applejack knew where she had picked it up, but somewhere along the way, Apple Bloom had become very interested in cutie marks. Whenever she met anypony, she would ask them about their cutie mark. What it meant, how they got it, what it felt like, what they thought about it. If there was a question to be asked about a cutie mark, Apple Bloom would ask it. And he was no exception. It had started innocently enough. Just feeding her simple little lies about archeology. He had taken some time over the years to pick up a few basic facts to fool anypony that asked about it, so it hadn't been a problem at first. But Apple Bloom was persistent. She wanted to know everything about it. She wanted a detailed story on how he got it, how he felt when he got it, what he did after getting it, and what he was planning to do with it. She wanted to know facts, history, techniques, anything he had to give her on archeology. And he couldn't deliver. Which was how she had been the first and only pony so far to discover his lie. Ever since she had trapped him into admitting he didn't know anything about archeology, she had been hounding him relentlessly about his real talent. Obviously, he couldn't tell her, so all he could really do was put up with her badgering. For an eight year old, she sure did have a way with words. Oh no, she had seen him standing around. She was looking directly at him, and now Applejack was too. Now they were coming over to him with big smiles on their faces. That meant it was too late to run, and too late to hide. If they hadn't looked so happy he could have said he ran away because he didn't want to bother them while they were clearly emotionally upset. Okay, he could do this. Just another game of Hide the Truth, a game he was so very good at. Big smile. Big smile. "Light Flow!" A small furry mass catapulted itself into him, and he nearly fell under the sudden weight. Tiny hooves found their way around his collar, and wrapped themselves firmly around the back of his neck. Apple Bloom was a very touchy-feely kind of pony, and she often expressed this through impromptu hugs that probably had a fifty percent casualty rate. He tentatively brought his hooves around the small weight attached to his neck, and eyed Applejack from where she was standing nearby with a nervous smile on her face. She knew very well what she had done. "Hey there Bloom.... Uh... How're you today?" He managed to get out through the total collapse of his windpipe. She may have been small, but she was an earth pony, and an Apple besides. It was really no wonder that she was the strongest little filly he had ever met. Instead of answering like a normal pony, Apple Bloom took the chance to whisper something in his ear, quiet enough so her sister couldn't hear. "Are y'all gonna tell me yer special talent today?" He tried not to let his weariness show on his face. Of course she would take the chance to pester him, he hadn't expected anything less. He didn't know why Applejack had brought her sister along today, but he was already feeling like the entire lunch was going to be far longer than expected; as well as being far less pleasant. Light Flow's day was officially ruined. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I've told you a million times, Bloom. It's more like the.. uh... study of Archeology. That's why there's a book under the skull." "So tell me some things about what you've studied! Unless you can't...?" Light Flow really felt like he was the one being studied. So far, things had gone basically as predicted. They had all exchanged pleasantries once Apple Bloom had extracted herself from his neck, and they had proceeded with the lunch. However, first he told Apple Bloom to pick one of the empty tables outside to eat at, and once he was sure she was preoccupied, he had taken Applejack aside. "Why did you bring her?!" He whispered harshly. She knew how much Apple Bloom made him uncomfortable, and she also knew how infrequently he partook in social activities like this. He had actually been looking forward to having lunch, but now it was all ruined, and he wanted to know why. Applejack at least had the decency to look a little ashamed. Her ever-present nervous smile dipped down, and she heaved a sigh as she closed her eyes. "Sorry, sugarcube. There was nothin' else to do with her. Granny's out with her friends today, and Big Mac's laid up with a cold. There was nopony else to look after her, so I had to bring her." Her eyes opened, and they flicked up to his. She was doing that sad look that always made him feel bad, when her eyes got bigger and her nose scrunched just a little. Of course there was no way he was going to get out of this conversation while still being mad. He could already feel his inner fire waning, and he knew it wasn't going to stay lit for long. "You never used to get this mad when Apple Bloom was around. What happened between you two? Y'all used to get along like an apple and a stem, but now you can hardly stand to be near her." Ugh. There went all of the mad feelings. Rightly so, too. He really didn't have much ground to stand on in this conflict. Of course it wasn't Applejack's fault, she had a duty to her family. He couldn't just tell her to leave her little sister home alone. What kind of a friend would do that? It wasn't really Apple Bloom's fault either. So she was curious, that wasn't a crime. Maybe she came on too strong, but nopony could get too mad at a kid for that. She would grow out of it eventually. His frown took on a different hue, and he sighed. "I'm sorry Applejack, I don't know what got into me. I shouldn't have snapped at you." "I don't really know what to say about Apple Bloom either. We just.... I just.... I-" "I found a table!" A yellow blur interjected itself between the two of them very suddenly. A pair of reddish-orange eyes bounced between him and Applejack rapidly, like they were trying to look at both of them at once. Apple Bloom seemed to have found a table. He and Applejack stared at each other for a moment longer before she looked down at the smaller pony with a smile. "That's great Apple Bloom! Why don't we go sit down?" The aforementioned smaller pony nodded and bounced off towards her table of choice. He really had no idea where she got all her energy from. Applejack took another moment to stare back into his eyes with that same sad look, before trotting off to join her sister. Which was how the lunch started. Nothing but bad feelings and worse omens. Despite his temporary reconciliation with Applejack, he still had very low expectations for the activity. And he was absolutely correct. There was nopony else sitting outside, and there was a surprising lack of ponies nearby, which was quite odd now that he thought about it. It was noon, and they were at a fairly well-known restaurant, yet there was just an array of empty metal chairs and tables. The uncharacteristic lack of passersby left them quite alone. Alone. Just them, their food, and Apple Bloom's country accent. While his alfredo noodles with mushrooms were great, though somewhat flavorless, the conversation topics were less so. Applejack and Apple Bloom had both predictably ordered apple based dishes, because apparently they didn't eat anything else. Apple Bloom's food was nearly untouched though, since she had been too busy asking questions the entire time. She seemed determined to publicly reveal his secret, but so far he had been doing a decent job of fending her off. Applejack paused mid-bite of some sort of pie to glare at Apple Bloom following her most recent question. "Now Apple Bloom, we talked about buggin' ponies about their cutie marks! 'Sides, you've barely been touchin' your food!" It was about time Applejack tried to reel her sister in, especially since at some point she had reared up onto the table in some sort of strange fit of excitement. Apple Bloom turned her head away from him to stare at her sister. He couldn't see, but he guessed her eyes were looking all big and watery by now. It was the sort of face every little pony learned to use as a very effective weapon. "But Applejaaack...." "No buts, Apple Bloom! Now I want y'all to sit down and eat, and cut it out with the questions! Yer pesterin' is upsettin' Light Flow." His face twisted in indignation. While he appreciated Applejack coming to his rescue, she was kind of making it sound like he couldn't handle a filly. Okay, maybe she was right. But she didn't have to say it like that! Either way, Apple Bloom listened to her sister, however reluctantly. The small yellow pony muttered something under her breath and took her hooves off the metal surface. She sat down fully in her chair, and stared petulantly into her untouched apple soup. Applejack sighed at her sister's childishness, and stared down at her own half-finished food. It didn't seem as if she was too keen on making conversation at the moment, however awkward it may be. Usually, Applejack loved filling the empty space in the air with pointless chatter; but it looked as if she had lost the taste for it. He certainly wasn't going to start up a conversation, since Apple Bloom might take it as initiative to keep bothering him. If Applejack was content to sit in silence, then he was too. No matter how silent the silence was. He felt a lump grow in his throat, and he put his fork down. He didn't really have the appetite to finish his noodles. A perfectly good day, it should have been. "So, did you hear?!" His ear perked at the sudden voice cutting through the noiseless din, and he looked up from his half-finished dish to see who had spoken. The Apple siblings were still ignoring each other like children, and the voice didn't have a country accent besides. It was more of a valley girl-ish tone. He looked over Apple Bloom's chair to see another pair of ponies who had taken a seat at the next table. One of the ponies was facing away from him, so all he could see was a cream-colored coat and a pink and purple curly mane. Her soul was pretty strange though. It was an ugly brown shade, which was weird by itself but not really what caught his attention. He could barely see it. Her entire soul was somewhat transparent, even more than the regular transparency that most souls boasted. He could just barely focus on it at all, and it was a miracle it was visible at all. He had never seen a soul like that before. He hadn't read anything about it either, and he could only wonder what it meant. Was she close to death? Was it some sort of mutation? Maybe it was a curse of some kind? He would have to give it some more thought later, when he wasn't in the company of Apples. He turned his attention away from the regular pony with the weird soul, and focused on her friend. The other pony, the one who had spoken, was a minty green unicorn. She was actually facing him, so he could make out some more details, like her golden eyes and generally pretty face. Those eyes were somewhat subdued at the moment, but there was an underlying excitement underneath the monotony. She was probably quite the hyperactive pony, or at least excitable. Her soul seemed to back this up, with the way the little green light flashed and spun slightly. It was always so much fun to guess personality traits based on souls, even when he turned out to be wrong. Though, from what he had read, it was possible his guesses were still correct even when they didn't seem to be. Some ponies seemed desperate to act differently from how they really felt, though their souls would always show the truth. He was getting distracted, like usual. He tried to focus on the ponies in front of him, and not their souls. He was pretty sure he had seen them around a lot, and they always seemed to be together. If he had to guess, he would probably say they were dating or something, though he had been wrong about that kind of thing before. He couldn't even remember how that topic had come up with Rarity, and he certainly had no idea how Rainbow Dash had been involved. Probably one of his worst conversational blunders, and absolutely his most painful. Regardless of his past failures, he was desperate for something to fill the silence, so he did his best to tune into whatever conversation the other ponies were having. Of course, he also acted suitably inconspicuous, since it wouldn't do to get caught eavesdropping. "Why yes Harp, I did hear about that. I'm so glad you brought it up in such a clear and concise manner, it makes the topic far easier to understand." A sweet voice, drizzled with bitter sarcasm. A delicious combination of flavors, and 'Harp' seemed to think so too, judging by the way she giggled. "Sorry, Bennie! Sometimes I forget not everypony is thinking the same things I am!" 'Bennie' sighed at Harp's ditzy words, which must have been routine with how practiced it sounded. What kind of a name was Bennie, though? He had never heard anything like that. It must have been some sort of nickname, because it just didn't make sense otherwise. He was trying not to look at them too much, so he missed what sounded like one of them pouring a glass of water. It was Harp's voice that came next, and she sounded like she was trying to whisper in her loudest voice, which was kind of weird. "I mean, did you hear about the zebra?" His eyes widened as he suddenly became very interested in their conversation. He still wasn't looking at them, but he tried to angle his ear towards their table as imperceptibly as possible. "Oh. Yeah, I think I heard about it. You mean the zebra that ponies say just moved into the Everfree Forest?" He blinked rapidly as he tried to digest this new information. He hadn't thought it was possible to become any more invested in a conversation, especially one he wasn't even a part of. He licked his lips as he leaned slightly over the table. "Yeah! But did you hear that the zebra is also apparently some sort of shaman or something? Isn't that spooky?" If it was possible to die of intrigue, Light Flow was certain he would have keeled over at that very moment. He gave up on listening to the strangers' conversation. He had everything he needed. He leaned back in his chair, and stared down at his noodles. A zebra. A zebra shaman. A zebra shaman living in the Everfree Forest. There was a zebra shaman living in the Everfree Forest. This was officially the best day ever. He tried to hide a wide smile behind his collar, but he was sure he was failing miserably. He leaned forward, and grasped his discarded fork in his magic. He speared an errant noodle with the utensil, and raised it up to look at it in the light. He stared at it for a moment, before opening his mouth. "So, Applejack. Has anything interesting happened on the farm recently?" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The reflection of a suddenly chatty brown unicorn was very clear in a set-aside full glass. A cream-colored earth pony stared down at the clear surface, before turning her cerulean eyes on her grinning friend. The green unicorn leaned forward, and whispered much more quietly than before. "So, Bonnie. Was that good?" She felt her smile widen, and she leaned forward to lovingly touch her nose to her partner's. "That was perfect, Lyra." > Chapter 21 - The Shaman > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was cautiously optimistic. Most of the time, he tried not to get too excited about anything. Excitement generally lead to raised expectations, and that usually led to an underwhelming payoff. So instead of imagining an impossible future, he prepared himself for the worst outcome. Your hopes couldn't be let down if they were never up in the first place, after all. Pessimism may not have been the healthiest mindset, but at least he was always ready for failure. But this time, he was allowing himself a small trickle of hope. Okay, maybe more than a trickle. Okay, maybe he was a little obsessed with the thought. Ever since he had overheard about the zebra shaman at lunch yesterday, his mind had been running rampant with theories. He wanted to know who the zebra was so badly, he could barely contain himself. He had hardly been able to sleep at all, and his dreams were filled with thoughts of kinship. What possible reason would a zebra have to move into the Everfree? Were they an emissary from Zebrica? An exile? Some sort of traveling immigrant? He didn't actually know anything about Zebrica or its inhabitants, so he couldn't really make any solid guesses. Come to think of it, he didn't even really know what a shaman was. It was just one of those words that everypony knew. It just had certain connotations, a certain meaning that generally related to spooky magic shenanigans. He was so clueless, he really only could describe it with the word 'shenanigans'. Regardless of his shrinking vocabulary, he was interested. If there was spooky magic to study, he wanted to know about it. If there was a spooky magic practitioner, he wanted to meet them. Which was why he had woken up at dawn and spent over an hour making himself look presentable. Most of the time, he totally neglected his looks. He was completely fine with looking messy and frazzled, because there was a good chance that he was messy and frazzled at any given time. But first impressions mattered, and that meant brushing his mane. The bristles cutting through the tangles may have hurt, but social embarrassment would hurt more. Standing in front of his bathroom mirror with a brush in his magic and tears in his eyes was a small price to pay for a clean appearance. After he had tamed the wild locks of his mane, he set about brushing his coat. That experience was far more pleasant, though it didn't take any less time. Okay, so maybe he had brushed his coat for longer than was necessary, but so what? It felt nice, and he didn't do it often. He was usually so busy with studying, he never really found any time to pamper himself. He had never seen any real reason to make himself look nice, since it wasn't like he had anypony to look nice for. Maybe that would have to change. Looking at his fluffy, well brushed mane in the mirror didn't make him feel as awkward as he usually did. He actually felt sort of... okay? He had never given any thought to whether he had confidence issues. It had always just been sort of a given that he wasn't attractive or noteworthy, and he tried not to dwell on it. There was no point in making yourself look good if you were just going to hide yourself under a billowing cloak and an uncaring face, after all. But now he was pretty sure he could recognize he had a problem. Maybe more than one. Usually, when he looked in a mirror, he saw a villain staring back at him. But that brown unicorn with the red and brown mane in the mirror didn't look like some villain or a monster. He didn't look like the kind of pony a mother would steer her kids away from, or gossip about to neighborhood watch members. He didn't look like the kind of pony passersby would cringe at when he went somewhere. He didn't look like a pony who felt out of place, no matter where he was. It was just him, and he looked nice. Light Flow felt nice. He frowned at himself in the mirror, and watched the way his muscles moved as his small smile turned down. Just the little imperceptible shifts in his face that came with any sort of movement. He shook his head a little to see how his mane would react, and stared as his soft-looking hair swished noiselessly from side to side. He leaned closer to the mirror to stare unblinkingly at his eyes. The little black pools surrounded by a flawed brown embankment, which itself was surrounded on all sides by a greater sea of pure white nothingness. He blinked a few times, and watched as his pupils grew and shrunk slightly. Eyes were weird. He leaned back, away from the doppelganger in the mirror. He flicked an ear, and watched the small extremity as it folded onto his head. Was that how that looked? Pony ears were pretty unanimously cute. It was a trait he had noticed while pony watching, and he had been wondering if his ears were as cute as the rest. His greatest fears had been realized. He had never really taken any time to look at himself very hard, which, now that he thought about it, was probably a side effect of what he now recognized as a self-confidence issue. He slowly brought a hoof up to his head, and lightly placed it onto his horn. He ran his hoof over the small ridges, and let out a sigh. He had always been more than a little insecure about the size of his horn. It was just a little shorter than what was apparently the average, and that bothered him. He was pretty sure there had been studies about how horn length didn't actually relate to anything, but he couldn't help it. However unsubstantiated his doubts may be, they were still there. But maybe he didn't need to feel so self-conscious? The average-ish sized protrusion on his head actually looked pretty good the way it was. In fact, it was possible it would look worse if it was any longer. Maybe five inches wasn't so bad. He let his hoof fall onto the wooden floor, and closed his eyes as he breathed a shuddering sigh. What was he even doing? Getting distracted was a common occurrence, but his lapse of attention was usually somewhat focused on normal things. Like souls, and trying to guess how a pony was feeling. Getting hung up on how he looked was just... asinine. He had real things to worry about. Like zebras, and cursed forests. He opened his eyes, and turned away from the mirror. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was beginning to have second thoughts. Though, it wasn't because he didn't want to meet the zebra. He was still feeling quite a bit of excitement on that front. No, the problem was more rooted in the question of whether this excursion as a whole was a good idea. Looking back on it, he wasn't sure why he had been so gung-ho on rushing into the forest as soon as possible. Because, in truth, he had no idea where in Tartarus he was supposed to go. Getting into the forest was easy, he went there all the time. The dark and foreboding woods were practically an extension of his home, especially since his home was already kind of in the woods. It wasn't as if the Everfree made any real attempt to stop ponies from wandering in. The real challenge was finding your way around. It went beyond the usual puzzles of navigating a forest. Sure, it was hard to spot landmarks when the land was marked by a million uniform trees, but there was something else. It was common to say the Everfree was cursed, but there was reason for it other than scaring foals. Nopony was really sure what magic was at play, but experts agreed that there was a high concentration of unknown energy saturating the dark woods. Well, Her Royal Highness might know, but she wasn't telling. He was sure there had been efforts to study the woods, but he couldn't find any history of excursions. It was likely that all attempts were met with tragedy and failure, but it was still strange that there was no public documentation. The actual scope of the effects were little more than hearsay, and there was apparently nothing in the way of research, but it was commonly agreed that the woods did something to screw with direction. It could be as tame as messing with a pony's internal compass, or it could be as huge as actually bending the space within itself. Nopony knew. Usually, he didn't have a lot of trouble finding his way around; though his excursions were always bereft of any actual destination. Through his aimless wandering, and whatever he had heard as gossip, he had learned that the forest would pretty much just spit travelers out wherever it wanted. The only real option for navigation was to keep walking in what seemed to be one direction, and praying to a deity that the forest was 'feeling' nice. He didn't know why, but he was pretty sure the forest liked him. It had never lead him off a cliff, or into a den of monsters, or anything generally terrible. He would spend his time wandering, and eventually just wind up back where he started. He also occasionally found his way back to the giant tree where he had spent a few sad nights recovering from his mother's death. He had since moved his reading material to his basement, so there wasn't really any need to return; but sometimes it was nice to reminisce. Right now though, he couldn't find anything. He had been wandering around the woods for what was probably at least two hours, and he hadn't seen anything but trees. Trees. As far as the eye could see. Nothing but an endless sea of grays browns and greens. He huffed as he was forced to change direction for the seventh time, having to avoid an especially dense group of trees. Normally, he liked taking walks in the Everfree. The dank atmosphere helped him think, and it nurtured his negativity. Maybe that last thing wasn't as good as it used to be, but it served its purpose. But right now, he was just annoyed. He had been so excited about finding somepony else who might understand him, he hadn't given much thought to anything else. As it turned out, it was somewhat hard to find a single zebra in the middle of a huge magical forest. What if those ponies at lunch yesterday had also said something about where in the forest the zebra lived? Had he tuned out important info? He grimaced as the unpleasant thought made its way to his mind. He came to a stop as the path branched off in three directions, and internally cursed himself. Even though directions were useless here, it still would have been nice to have some idea of where he was supposed to go. All of the paths looked practically identical, so he turned down the right path. Everypony knew the best strategy was to always go right when you were lost. Or was it left? He bit his lip as he turned his attention away from the messy 'path' in front of him. It was probably a bad idea to get distracted with all of the obstacles around, but he needed to figure out what he had learned growing up. It was right, right? Because the 'right' path is always the right path? Yeah, that was definitely it. Or was it 'right' is wrong, so go left? 'Left' is left, and 'right' is right? Right is left, so go left? Was left right? The word 'left' was beginning to sound like gibberish... Was it too late to turn around? Maybe the forest would let him go down the left path instead of- His train of thought suddenly completely derailed, and he felt his mouth gape open unheeded. What stood before him was something very familiar, yet altogether different. It was a large tree, stretching up beyond the regular height of most of its surroundings. It was gnarled and warped, growing out in odd leaning directions that actually weren't very odd when compared to the usual foliage. The roots of the massive tree spread out unevenly over the ground, forming little canopies and holes that were perfect for animals to hide in. Or scared little colts. The bark was a great deal lighter than the rest of the trees', with their deadened browns and frozen greys. If the rest of the Everfree looked dead, then this was one of the few 'alive' trees in the entirety of the woods. Though, looks could be deceiving. This tree in particular was almost certainly dead. A contemplative frown made its way onto his face, and he slowly walked forward as he took in the scene in front of him. It had been around two months or so since he had returned to this place, and it had undergone some rather drastic changes. Most notably, somepony seemed to have carved it out. There were two openings in the bark that looked like windows, judging by the dim light shining out of them; as well as a larger spot of off-colored wood that was likely the front door. Above him, there were multiple colorful bottles hanging from large outstretched branches, though he had no idea what they were for, since he couldn't quite make out whether they held anything inside. He counted around eight bottles, and they rested comfortably at varying levels. They looked cool, at least. There was also what looked to be a big wooden mask stuck into the ground to the side of a darker path up to the door. He wasn't actually sure if it was really a mask, though. It was just about the same size as him, so there was pretty much no way any normal sized pony could wear it as anything other than a shell. He had stopped in front of the wooden 'mask' to take in its details and try to glean any meaning from the patterns, but the longer he stared at the cartoonishly oversized lips and the painted cheeks, the more unsettled he became. He shuffled his hoof on the ground for a moment before looking away from the mask. Even though its eyes were closed, he could tell it was still staring at him. Putting creepy decorations aside, it was very clear that somepony had taken up residence in this tree. Or somezebra... Was that correct? Somezebra sounded kind of dumb, but he wasn't sure if that was just because it was a foreign word. For all he knew, 'somepony' could sound just as dumb to zebras. He would probably just use the all-inclusive 'someone' in front of the zebra, just to be safe. First impressions would likely sour in the looming face of cultural misappropriation. He was nearing the wooden door now, and he could see the handle was likewise made out of wood. A little unconventional, but thematically appropriate. He came to a stop in front of the door, and stared owlishly up at another mask adorning the entryway. This one looked a great deal like a brown skull, and he couldn't help but think that there was a chance he could be walking into danger. If this shaman was anything like him, they probably enjoyed their privacy; and unlike him, they probably had a way to enforce their privacy. He had no way to protect himself if things went badly. He bit his lip as he eyed the well-crafted wooden doorknob, and he felt trepidation begin to fill him. Why was he doing this? What did he hope to gain? Had he really been foolish enough to traipse off to the residence of someone dangerous enough to survive in the Everfree Forest? He was starting to feel very stupid. What was wrong with him? Like he would have anything in common with someone like whoever lived here. He should leave. He should just turn around, and go back- Okay, there was something cold on the back of his covered neck. Okay, that cold thing was sharp. Okay, he was pretty sure there was someone behind him. Okay, he was in danger. A deep, yet unmistakably female voice reached his ears, and he felt his fur stand on end. "A spectre comes unheeded to my door, yet it knows not what lies in store." It was a little hard to think, what with the immanent danger and all, but he was pretty sure he had found his zebra. His mother had told him that especially spiritual zebras only spoke in rhymes, to honor some ancient tradition or something. She may have elaborated, but again, the sharp object poised to rip through his cloak and into his flesh was sort of blocking his major thought processes. He swallowed slightly, and raised his head slightly. He could feel the weapon pressing against his cloak and subtly digging into his nape, thankfully not hard enough to leave a mark, but definitely enough to make him fear the possibilty of pain. And there was no doubt he was afraid. The zebra's voice came again, quiet and steady. She was in control here, and her unwavering volume and calm tone reflected that. "A month it has barely been, since I came here, far from kin. A misunderstanding so terrible, my presence was no longer bearable." "So I was forced to move. I come to this dark place, with nothing to lose. Then, from out of the blue; a horrible shadow comes through." "There's no such thing as luck, in this I am adamant. Your arrival here at my home was no accident." "Why have you come here to this post? Were you looking for me? Speak, you terrible ghost!" Her voice was beginning to take on a harder edge as she likely grew angrier. He didn't blame her, honestly. He would've been angry too if he found someone trespassing on his property a month after he moved. Though, he didn't think he was capable of threatening their life; not yet, at least. It was strange, him thinking about things like that. The fear he was feeling was by no means a small amount, but he didn't think he was as afraid as he should've been. He was definitely on edge, and the itching sensation under his skin was probably a result of increased adrenaline, but there wasn't much more than that. The cold fire in his veins wasn't a roaring inferno like it should've been, burning through his body and filling him with the desire to live; it was more like a calm blaze in a warm hearth. It spread through his body, providing him with energy and increased focus. He felt extremely aware of his situation, though staring intently at a door wasn't providing him with any helpful answers. If he was turned towards his aggressor, he was sure he could do an incredibly detailed analysis on her and probably devise some sort of plan to incapacitate her. But, as it was, he was staring at a door; and his panic-induced focus was spent on wishing he was doing something more assertive. He could try using his magic, but everything he had ever read about combat was telling him that it would probably be a bad idea. If this zebra really was a shaman, she would be able to tell if he tried anything even approaching prestidigitation. In his situation, he had to comply with whatever the zebra said, and that meant he had to give her an answer. Even if he really had no idea why she was calling him a ghost. "Ah..." He started off slowly and quietly, trying his best to sound compliant. "I'm not quite sure what you mean exactly..?" Okay, that was dumb. Why was he asking her questions? He was the one at the end of the knife, and he had no right to be asking things. That was like trying to put yourself in a position of power, and that wasn't what he wanted at all. If he was in her position, he would probably poke a little harder with that weapon, just to make sure his victim fully understood the situation. He really wished he could hit himself in the face without getting stabbed. This was literally the worst time to think about things like that. Luckily for him, the zebra didn't think like he did, and actually responded to his question. Though, she didn't sound all that sure of herself anymore. There was a slight wavering quality to her voice that hadn't been there a moment ago. "It... speaks? Oh, ah... tell me, creature, what it is you seek?" She sounded confused, and if he heard right, that rhyme barely fit. His eyes narrowed, and he peered at the corner of his vision. He couldn't see, but it sounded like she might've been losing conviction. The knife wasn't moving from its firm spot on his cloak, but maybe....? His eyes flicked up at the skull-like mask hanging above him. All of the stupidest things he had ever done, this was going to be the stupidest. Seriously, did he have any brain at all? He took in one deep breath, before letting it out. He lit his horn, and leaned forward as much as he could while he waited for the magic to flow through the correct pathways. It would take about a second for his levitation to kick on, but he was pretty sure a weapon could travel the infinitesimal distance to plunge into his neck much faster. Which was why he was really hoping the zebra was caught off guard. He blinked, and he felt the spell take hold. He instantly attempted to reach for the knife, desperately hoping he had enough time before the zebra realized what he was doing and literally cut his attempt at retaliation off. His magic coalesced around the blade, which was in the process of... moving away from his neck? What? He kept a hold on the knife as it retreated, and quickly spun around to press himself against the door once he was sure he could do so safely. His eyes quickly focused on the black and white figure in front of him, and he zeroed in on the jagged edge of a small painted knife held in the crook of the figure's hoof. It looked... dull? Was that thing ceremonial? He looked up at the face of what was undoubtedly a female zebra, and noticed her wide cyan eyes and open mouth. He had definitely caught her by surprise, though he was beginning to think it wouldn't have mattered. His nostrils flared as his breath came quickly and deeply, and he could feel a tingling sensation in his ears. He had just made a huge gamble for his life, and it worked. He was pretty sure he was in shock or something, because all he could feel was a spreading sense of jubilation. He had to actively fight to keep a smile off his face. He fought for his life. He wasn't a coward. As he basked in the rushing feeling of triumph, he took a moment to look over the zebra. He had only ever seen them in pictures, and only heard them described in various history books. Zebras didn't really come to Equestria due to the apparently strained political climate, so having the chance to see one with his own eyes was a treat. She looked cool, he supposed. There wasn't a lot more to say, really. He was finding it hard to think incredibly nice thoughts about the creature who had been threatening his life mere moments ago, even if that threat was starting to seem bogus. Her grey coat and darker stripes made for some good contrast, and her gravity defying mohawk was certainly something to behold; but really, he just couldn't muster up a lot of admiration for the zebra. What a great first impression. He licked his lips as the zebra blinked slowly. She seemed to be recovering from her shock, though he thought it was a little unfair for her to be acting so dazed. It wasn't as if he was just standing around doing nothing, and he had almost died. Sort of. The zebra's owlish gaze dipped down to the knife she was holding, before moving back up to his face. Her mouth flapped uselessly for a moment, before she suddenly let the knife fall from her grasp. It fell to the ground noiselessly, and the zebra finally seemed to regain her bearings. "A... pony..?" Okay, maybe she hadn't regained anything. Also, she hadn't rhymed; which, if anything, was telling of how she was feeling at the moment. There were enough context clues to formulate some vague hypothesis. Obviously, his cloak had made him look far more menacing than he really was, and she hadn't known he was just a pony. That was why she threatened him, and that was why she had backed off when he used his magic. She had realized he wasn't a threat, and now, it seemed as if she was feeling badly about nearly sticking a knife into him. Although... His eyes trailed down to the knife laying on the ground. It was relatively small, and the purple-edged blade was just an inch or so smaller than his horn. It was jagged and worn, and it really didn't look as if it could be used to actually hurt anything. Even if she had stabbed him with that thing, it would probably just leave a shallow cut. Probably not much worse than a scratch from Rarity's demon cat. His eyes trailed back up to the zebra, who was looking very bashful. Her head was tilted down, her eyes were pointedly staying away from him, and one of her hooves was making small circles in the dirt. The air of general tension around her was almost palpable. He almost felt bad for her. But she had pointed a knife at him, so he couldn't give entirely into pity. He licked his lips again, and looked up at the dark canopy of leaves. There were no clues as to what he should do up there, and he soon looked back down. He took a moment to mull it over. He couldn't just stand here in silence forever, and it didn't seem like the zebra was going to do anything anytime soon. She was content to let the awkward situation simmer, like some sort of neglected cauldron. As cool and relevant as that metaphor was, it wasn't actually helping him think. He had a couple options. He could blow up at her, as was his right. While it would be cathartic and just, he wasn't sure if it was the best thing to do at the moment. Their first meeting was bad enough as is, and he didn't really want to bog it down with more negative feelings. He wasn't even that angry. Why should he have been? She may have made a threat, but it hadn't even been real. She had no way to actually hurt him with that dull little dagger. If he put his best hoof forward here, even despite her actions, it would likely go a long way towards a good relationship. She didn't seem to be all that bad of a creature, really. She seemed to genuinely regret what she had done, or at least she was good at mimicking remorse. And he could respect that. He took a deep breath. He was going to metaphorically swallow his pride here, what little he had at least. He loudly cleared his throat. The zebra's head snapped up to come level with his almost instantly. He actually jumped a little from the unexpected movement. He hadn't expected such... attentiveness? She must have been desperate for something to fill the silence, too. He bit the inside of his cheek, before opening his mouth, "Uh.... Hey there? My, uh... my name is Light Flow." The zebra took a step back as he spoke, and her hoof raised in front of her. Her jaw was set, and her eyes were animated, yet guarded. Her entire bearing screamed that she was ready and willing to bolt any second now. That was very odd. She could clearly see that he was just a regular pony, and he clearly wasn't angry with her. What had her spooked? She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if she wasn't sure what to say. Then, she opened it once more, and began to speak. Her voice was low, and her tone was wary. "A regular pony it seems to be, yet I can tell there is more to see.. Tell me, under that cloak, Is there a body? Or simply smoke?" He scrunched his face in confusion. What did she mean? He clearly wasn't a ghost. He raised a hoof, and used it to pull back his cloak. The zebra took another step back as he did, and he rolled his eyes. He could understand caution, but now she was just being ridiculous. As cool as it would be, he couldn't turn into smoke, and that should've been obvious. If he could do that, she wouldn't have been able to hold him at knife-point. "There, see? I'm just a normal pony, with a normal body, with the normal amount of intangibility. No ghosts here." He waved his cloak's edge around as he spoke, flapping it up and down to show off as much of his body as possible. He felt completely ridiculous, but he would do whatever he needed to lay this zebra's fears at rest. His impromptu peep show seemed to help a little, and her posture relaxed slightly; but she still looked on edge. "There was no doubt you are not a ghost, but to another problem, you may be host..." She murmured softly. Her eyes roved over his body, and he let his cape fall back into place. Her piercing gaze was actually making him feel a little self-conscious. His epiphany from this morning could take a back seat for now. "Well, whatever problem you have with me, it doesn't excuse your lack of a name." He was beginning to get a bit annoyed, and he let it show in his expression. He didn't want to bring up the assault, but he wasn't afraid of using other ponies' regrets against them. If she didn't feel like giving him the common courtesy of her name, he was just going to give up and go home. His dipping mood seemed to snap the zebra out of whatever trance she was in. She took a deep breath and stepped towards him, her eyes still intently trained on him, as if he was going to leap out and attack her at any moment. "I am known as Zecora to all creatures, whether they be flora or fauna" She stopped a few hoof-lengths in front of him, and looked him in the eyes. "Please forgive me for my attack, for I was sure I had walked into a trap." Her eyes searched his intently, and he almost felt compelled to look away. "Your form appears normal, yet your heart appears dark. A horrible feeling to behold, something has made its mark.." He stared into her inquisitive cyan eyes as she spoke. He didn't know what she was talking about, but he sort of understood her suspicion. After all, there was something he was suspicious about too. Something he had been ignoring until now. Something that was making it hard to fully trust this 'Zecora'. He wasn't going to break eye contact to confirm it, but he was sure enough. He couldn't see her soul. He had been so caught up in the excitement, he hadn't noticed until she was walking towards him. Where her soul should've been, there was just... nothing. It reminded him of the mare he had seen at lunch yesterday, but this was far more concerning. The lunch mare's soul was just slightly transparent, just a little hard to see. Zecora's soul was completely gone, there was absolutely nothing there at all. What could have caused it? He narrowed his eyes as he stared into the guarded expression of the eccentric zebra. She had been saying something, hadn't she? He should respond, and keep up appearances as a normal pony with nothing to hide. There was no reason to call her out on her missing soul, that would just expose his own secret. Best to keep it under his hood for now. Whatever kinship he had been hoping to find here was a total bust, and he was beginning to feel like he should be wary of Zecora. He had no idea why he couldn't see her soul, but it was making him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about." He did his best to sound just as indignant as he was before. He didn't want Zecora to catch onto his rapidly growing distrust. The zebra watched him silently for another moment before responding. "Tell me, friend named Light; what caused you to seek me out? Have you some sort of plight?" Light and plight? Really? He was beginning to think this zebra didn't know how to rhyme at all. He didn't let it show on his face, but he could feel a smile growing inside him. Two could play the game of terrible rhymes. "Your whereabouts I heard yesterday at lunch, and I rashly followed an ill-suited hunch." He finished his foal-level rhyme, and stared at Zecora, waiting for a reaction. If she was going to unnerve him, he was going to unnerve her. His vindictive pleasure quickly abated when the zebra showed no visible reaction; rather, she seemed to ignore his rhyme altogether. His face remained neutral, but he was internally grumbling. Was his presence the only thing that upset her? Zecora's face turned down in apparent confusion. "Such a rumor should not be heard, for I have been rather like a caged bird. I have not left these woods since I arrived, so your knowledge appears nearly contrived." His eyes widened before he could stop them, and he cursed internally. Putting his lack of composure aside, that bit of information was especially strange. What did she mean she hadn't left? How else could a rumor have been passed around? Nothing was adding up. A strange mare with a barely visible soul just happens to talk about a zebra shaman right behind his lunch table? And this zebra just happens to live in the Everfree forest, a place where he spent an unhealthy amount of time? And this supposed shaman also happens to have a soul he couldn't see at all? He believed in coincidences, but this was too much. He licked his lips as he stared at the anomalous mare in front of him. There was too much he didn't know. He had to gather more information somehow. He knew what to do. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. There was a large chance this wasn't going to work. He was really taking a big leap, and he wasn't sure if he was going to land. Here went nothing. He opened his eyes, and stared into cautious cyan. "Zecora, I feel like we're getting off on the wrong hoof here." He didn't quite make his voice friendly, just something approaching optimism. Anything further would probably have sounded fake, especially coming off the near-open hostility they had both been displaying. It didn't matter if his good will actually was fake. He just had to sound genuine. "I'm not sure what about me is so off-putting, but I'm sure we can both agree threatening me with a knife was a bit much, don't you think?" This was especially important. He had to make her backpedal from suspicion, and into regret; otherwise she wouldn't calm down. His recollection of her rash actions seemed to have an effect. Her face turned down, and she finally broke eye-contact to slowly turn her eyes to the ground. He could guess from her general demeanor that she was normally fairly level-headed, so her quick escalation to violence must have been weighing on her; especially since it turned out he wasn't a monster. Though, he was still curious why she had been so fast on the draw. He would have to ask her later, assuming his 'apology' worked. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and let a small smile spread on his face when she looked back up at him. "But that's okay. Your actions were completely justified, and I don't hold it against you, honest." He placed a hoof on his chest, just under the tiny silver ring holding his cloak together. He was doing his best to sound genuine, and it seemed to be working somewhat. Zecora's features were beginning to soften, and she was starting to lose some of her air of suspicion. "As I understand, the Everfree can be quite the dangerous place." Oh, how he understood that. He had probably spent more time here than she had. "Of course you would be on edge, living out here; but I can assure you that I mean you no ill-will, despite what you may feel about me." "I'm not sure how that mare I overheard knew where you were, but I promise I won't spread your location around if you don't want to be found." He was pretty sure it was working. His soft tone and non-threatening posture had been carefully cultivated through years of acting like a victim for Applejack's grandmother. Whenever he and Applejack had found themselves in trouble as foals, he had usually been able to shift most of the blame to her. Not the most noble thing to do, but it wasn't as if he was trying. "As you can see from my cutie mark," He turned his body and lifted his cloak as he spoke, so that Zecora could see his lower body. "I'm studying archeology. I sought you out so I could maybe hear about the burial habits of zebras, that's all. There was no malice intended, and If you don't want to talk to me, I can go home and leave you in peace." He let his cloak fall, and turned to face Zecora again. Her face had taken on a contemplative tone, and she seemed to be mulling something over. He was content to let her sit in silence until she had an answer. Just as long as his semi-lie went over well. He actually did think it would be kind of interesting to hear how zebras buried and honored their dead. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision, and she let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, friend. My morals seem to have taken a bend." Her eyes turned to his. They were almost completely devoid of the previous guarded suspicion, though not entirely. That was fair, he supposed. It would have been absolutely unreasonable to expect her to get over all her grievances with one apology. Her voice took on a warmer tone, and she even smiled slightly as she spoke. "I, too would like to make another attempt at amends. A deeper apology, I doubt I could extend." "My actions were in error, and I likely caused you no small amount of terror." Her voice dipped to a regretful tone as she spoke, and her ears pressed against her head. "While your aura may be frightening, I think I'm coming to an enlightening." He wasn't sure if that rhyme really worked too well, but he wasn't about to correct her; especially since she seemed to be getting to the point of whatever she was trying to say. "I would enjoy it greatly if we could talk over some tea, for I have been quite alone lately with the company of just me and we." Tea? He felt a frown tugging at his face, but he suppressed it. He really didn't like tea, no matter how many times he tried it. He almost felt compelled to refuse, or at least ask for something different, but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he let a larger smile form on his face. "Tea would be lovely." Zecora dipped her head in acknowledgement, and stared at him expectantly. What was she waiting for? He felt his confusion rising as the zebra continued to stare at him. Had she said something without him noticing? had he said something? Why was she just standing around staring at him? Wasn't she going to go make tea? Why were they still just standing there?! Oh, wait. He was still standing in front of her door. He laughed nervously as he took a step forward. Zecora watched him with a raised eyebrow as he walked past her, before she shook her head and walked forward. He let his rictus grin fade away as he stared at Zecora from behind. He narrowed his eyes as she opened her door and walked inside, away from his line of sight. This had gone so much worse than how he had imagined it. Not only was the zebra practically eliminated as a potential friend, she was probably closer to an enemy. His shoulders sagged momentarily as the thought dominated his mind. He had been looking forward to this so much, and now it was pretty much ruined. There was no conceivable way they would be able to establish any sort of trust with so much negativity in the air. Zecora could barely even stand to be near him. Why was she so wary of him? What had he done to destroy their relationship before they even met? Why was he standing around here when he could be asking these questions? He took a deep breath, and straightened his back. He would get whatever answers Zecora had to give, and then he would leave. He would leave, and go back to his life. With his one friend. It served him right for getting his hopes up. > Chapter 23 - The Box > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 999 AB One week before The Summer Sun Celebration Light Flow's head hurt. It was a throbbing, banging pain; and it spread through his entire body in quick bursts. It felt like his body was pulsing in time with his heartbeat, as if something was trying to push its way out of him. Oh no, now he could hear the banging. Applejack had been right, being alone all the time had made him go insane. If he was hearing pain, then surely something ridiculous like smelling colors was next. Why? Dear goddess above, why? Why hadn't he listened to her nagging more? Wait, was the banging coming from his door? He groaned in pain, and sat up in his desk chair. His bones creaked loudly, and his jaw popped as he yawned exaggeratively. He had fallen asleep reading again, and even worse: he had been drooling. He was lucky he hadn't been perusing something important, just a light novel that he hadn't even been liking. Some fruity thing about romance that had completely failed to capture his interest at all. Last time he would take Big Mac's advice for reading material. He stared forlornly through bleary eyes at the messy page. It might've been his still-blurry vision, but he was pretty sure his drool had rendered the words on it nearly unintelligible. He bit his cheek, and cursed himself for being so inattentive. He might not have cared about the book, but Big Macintosh probably did. He might not have cared much about the pony himself either, but Applejack did. He would have to find another copy to replace the ruined one. He briefly screwed his eyes shut as the banging made itself known again. He turned his head to stare at his closed door, and glared at it. Who would dare to disturb him? Literally, who would dare? Nopony ever came out to his Everfree-adjacent cabin. He didn't even get his mail delivered here, he had to go into town to pick it up. Not that he ever got anything important. Mostly bills and advertisements for beauty products he only slightly cared about. Bills. He sagged over his desk, and let out a long sigh. He had turned eighteen around two months ago, and that meant he was legally an adult. Which meant that he no longer received aid from the government. Which meant he would have to get a job. It was something he had been aware of for a long time, but he had always put off making a plan for the eventuality. Just another thing to think of 'tomorrow'. But tomorrows kept coming, and he kept putting it off. Now, he was in trouble, at at least he would be when his savings ran out. He leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and stared up at the ceiling. He wished staring up at the plain wooden surface would have given him some sort of miraculous epiphany, but no such luck. He was still just a clueless, penniless, jobless unicorn with a bad headache. And the constant banging wasn't helping... He grit his teeth, and glared at his door again. "Would you cut it out?! I'm coming, okay?!" The sound of his own voice may have sent painful tremors though his brain, but it seemed to at least calm down whoever was on the other side of the door. The banging subsided, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Now if only he could make his other problems go away by shouting at them... He placed his hooves on the edge of his overcrowded desk and pushed himself away. His chair scraped agonizingly against the floor, and he took a moment to cradle his head in his hooves. He breathed deeply and erratically as he waited for his vision to un-fuzz. Why did everything hurt so much? His headaches were never usually this bad, though they had been growing in frequency lately. Something he should probably see a doctor about. Maybe tomorrow. For now, he would just bear the pain until he could splash some water in his face. But that could wait until after he had answered his rude guest. He rolled out of the chair and onto his hooves, biting his lip as his head filled with fire. "Yeah, yeah. I get it, pain. Something's wrong. I got the message, so go away..." He whispered to himself as his head pounded. Unfortunately, his head didn't quite get the memo, and continued to implode. He grumbled obscenities under his breath as he stumbled blindly to the door. Everything was blurring together and he was having a difficult time telling exactly how far away his destination was. His sleep-induced haze and pain-induced daze were an incredibly disorienting combo, which resulted in him walking directly into the wall just adjacent to the door. The pain flared up in response to the unintended knock, and he repeatedly stomped his hoof onto the ground as he made several strangled noises. He sucked in hot breaths through his teeth as he stared at the floor for a moment, before he shook his head violently. The physical pain seemed to have cleared up his vision a bit, so at least he had the pleasure of staring at a mostly-clear brown floor. He craned his head up, staring with hooded eyes at the wall that was decidedly not a door in thinly-veiled rage. He took two steps to the left, and reached a hoof up to the handle that was now in front of him. Magic would probably knock him unconscious at the moment, so he would have to open the door the non-unicorn way. He was going to have some very choice words for his unknowing tormentor. It was barely even registering that it wasn't really their fault, he just knew that somepony had to pay. He swung the door open, fully prepared to unleash the depths of his raging fury on whoever was unfortunate enough to be standing on the other side. But there was no one there. His incredulous gaze flicked from side to side, and he even took a step out onto the grass to see the skies above his cabin, in case it had been Rainbow Dash with another of her ridiculous pranks. But wherever he looked, there was absolutely nopony in sight. He did notice the sun relatively low in the sky, which probably ruled out a prank. The problematic pegasus never got out of bed this early. On that matter, he had no idea why such a talented pegasus like Rainbow Dash would blatantly waste her skills by sleeping until noon and underachieving at her job. It was baffling, really. It hadn't taken her very long to be appointed captain of the local weather team, even with her lackluster work ethic; so her superiors clearly recognized her talent the same way he had, though they probably still didn't fully grasp the tragedy of the situation. She absolutely deserved the promotion, but even still.. It was just so beneath her. It was like appointing the strongest pony in the world as a mover. They could still do the job effectively, but they could also be so much more. No matter how many times he had brought it up to her, she adamantly refused to listen. She didn't care about the historical significance of her achievements, and there wasn't much more interest in their combat usage either. She could have been a celebrated general or something, but she just didn't care. She could do so many great things, even if she didn't care about warfare; but she was wasting all of her potential. Heck, even her low-bar dream of performance would be better than what she was doing now, but she was just sitting around doing nothing in this no-name town. It just made him so angry. He took in deep breaths as he stared at the empty dawn sky. The collage of fluffy pink, cool blue, and rising orange was helping clear his mind; and he took the opportunity to reevaluate his thoughts. Why on Equus was he standing outside his cabin with a splitting headache thinking about Rainbow Dash of all ponies? This wasn't the first time his thoughts had become focused on the prismatic pony, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He didn't know why he had such a tendency to get so stressed out about other ponies' lives, but he just did. One of his worst traits, by far. He shook his head and turned around. He took a step into his cabin, and moved to close the door behind him, intent on putting the causeless banging out of his head. But as he reached for the handle, something strange caught his eye. Something that hadn't been there a second ago. Something that made his eyes widen, and his heart accelerate to dangerous speeds. There was a box sitting in front of his open door. A plain, medium size, cardboard box. With his name on it. His hoof fell away from the handle as he openly gaped at the anomalous box. The pain suffusing his body was immediately pushed aside as his head went into overdrive in an attempt to comprehend this newest development. A box. A box that was exactly the same size as the one hidden in his basement. The same size, the same material, he could even spot the same messy scrawl of his name on the top. For all intents and purposes, It looked to be the exact same box. His eyes traced over every detail he could find. He desperately searched for any imperfection, any tell at all that would reveal this as some sort of prank. Some sort of trap or trick or anything that would say this wasn't really happening. Anything at all. Anything that would lower his hopes. There wasn't a top. There wasn't anything on the box at all besides his name. It was made of cardboard. That was it. Exactly like the first one. He felt his throat close up as the metaphorical floodgates opened. So many thoughts and feelings and urges ran through his mind, and he almost felt overwhelmed at the enormity of the moment. He felt his jaw quiver slightly, and he quickly tried to suppress the growing wellspring of emotion that was bubbling in his chest. If anypony miraculously walked by and saw him crying at the sight of a package, they would probably call the police on him. But it was so hard to not be emotional! He had waited so long for this. So many hours spent rereading the same two books over and over again. So many repeated sentences, gone over again and again ad nauseam until he could recall large swathes of the text by memory. So many nights spent wishing for more. He tentatively brought a hoof forward, before he was struck by a very sudden fear. His blood chilled and his hoof froze in place. He stayed like that for a moment, completely stationary, as terrifying thoughts swirled through his head. What if the box wasn't really there? What if it went away when he moved? What if he was just hallucinating again? This wasn't the first time he had seen things that weren't there, and he was certain he would have many more moments like that in his life. What if this was another of them? He slowly returned his hoof to his side, and continued staring wide-eyed at the box. If it was going to disappear, then he wanted to take in the moment as much as he could. He wanted to remember everything possible about the box. He wanted to be able to paint the damn thing from memory. He had never painted before, and he had absolutely no interest in the activity at all, but it was more about the hyperbole than the actual meaning. Unfortunately, there wasn't very much to take in about such a plain box. He could watch the shadows dissipate as the sun moved across the sky, and connect the various shapes they made as they blended into the messy scrawl of his name. He could note the subtle bending of the relatively long grass due to the way the box was placed, or he could try to calculate the exact length from the box to his front door based on the approximate size and placement of the box. Neither of those things were very interesting though. None of it was very interesting. As wonderful as the sight was, there wasn't a whole lot to take in about such an inconspicuous box. He let a deep breath out through his nose as his expression fell. Was he really thinking about doing random math just to prolong the inevitable? He knew he had problems with facing his problems, but this was just getting ridiculous. He knew the box wasn't really there. Why was he so intent on playing out ridiculous fantasies about silly things that were bound to never happen? He had made his peace on the matter long ago, and he was resigned to the knowledge that there would never be a second box. He would never know where the first one came from, and he would never learn anything real about Necromancy. It was time to stop pretending. His shoulders sagged as his eyes grew dull. It was time to dispel his mania, and get back to the real world. He swung his hoof forward, and haphazardly brought it down in front of him; sure in his belief that the box would instantly disappear, like stepping in a puddle and watching the reflection distort. He sighed heavily as the box stubbornly stayed where it was. He was going to have to really consider that doctor's appointment. If his hallucinations were getting this bad, it was clear he needed help. He slowly trudged towards the illusory box. If his head wasn't going to settle for making things simple, he would just have to touch the space where the box appeared to be. If he could still see it even when his hoof was buried halfway into it, he would have to bump that doctor's visit up a couple leagues of priority. Honestly, it wasn't a surprise that he was going insane. There was a definite history there, especially considering the increasing variety of mental breakdowns he had suffered in the last year or so. It wasn't anything too concerning though. Just seeing things where they weren't, hearing voices when he was alone, having nightmares of dark demons in silver armor, et cetera. It was all essentially harmless stuff. Nothing he had been explicitly bothered about before, but maybe it was time to start worrying. He didn't really know any psychiatrists to go to though, maybe Applejack could recommend a- His hoof bumped against something. His weary sigh caught in his throat, and he could swear his heart stopped. He stared open-mouthed at the thing that had impeded his progress, and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his eyes of the abnormality in his view. His head rocked imperceptibly from side to side automatically, and vague mutters of disbelief came to his lips unbidden. His hoof was touching the box. The box that shouldn't-couldn't have been real. His hoof was touching it. His mouth closed, and his tongue drifted out between his teeth. He bit down as hard as he dared, and his head shook slightly from the pressure. It was still there. He watched in abject horror as his hoof came up to rest against the top of the box, and his breath hitched as the object proved solid. He pushed down slightly, and felt a small amount of give to the material. It was real. A wordless cry made its way out of his mouth as his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed over the box, feeling the somewhat course surface come into wonderful contact with his face. He rubbed the side of his face against the cardboard, and his hooves came around to connect behind the box. He hugged the unfeeling container to himself tightly, as his eyes grew hot and his throat closed up. He wasn't insane. He might've been hunched over crying while hugging a box, but he wasn't insane! It was really there! His shoulders shook as he sobbed silently. He didn't care who saw him at this point, they could all go jump in a hole with their definitions of normality. Right now, this box was his entire world, and he never wanted to let go of it. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- As Light Flow had a very emotional moment with a box, somepony else was having a strange moment of their own. About thirty yards from the front of Light's home, there stood a tree. This tree looked to all the world like it was completely normal. Any creature from any place in the world could walk right up to it and comment on it being the most plain-looking and least suspicious tree they had ever seen. And they would be completely right. What was less normal was the cream-colored mare perched on a high branch with a pair of binoculars. Bon-Bon lowered her government-issued binoculars in confusion, before raising them back to her face. She wasn't really sure what she was looking at, but she had somewhat of an inkling. Sort of. What was he doing? She had always been pretty lukewarm on this assignment for many reasons. She had a good thing going in Canterlot, and moving to a different place for a long-term job was something she was less than happy about. And it had only gotten worse when Her Highness had told her where she was being sent. Coming back to her hometown after being away for eight years wasn't something she had been especially looking forward to, and she had argued for a different posting many times. But Her Highness had been very firm, and Bon-Bon couldn't really refuse a direct order. In the end, she had reluctantly packed up and moved to Ponyville, and she had never been so happy in her entire life. Though, spending her time stalking a weirdo kid was pretty exhausting, no matter how dangerous he may have been. Light had done a lot of strange things in her long tenure as his 'guardian', but this was one of the strangest. She didn't know what was in the box she had been told to deliver, and she got the vague feeling that Her Highness didn't really know either. The only thing she knew was that it was extremely important that he received it at this very moment. She grimaced as she watched through her binoculars. Was kissing the thing really necessary? Lyra was sure to get a kick out of this. > Chapter 24 - The Reluctance > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow felt emotionally shot. Really, truly, just completely drained. It felt like somepony had taken his mind, thrown it into a blender, then set the blender on fire. An incomprehensible slurry of lingering panic, deep clawing fear, subtle sadness, and likely misplaced hope. Pulped and mashed together until he couldn't quite recognize what he was meant to be feeling at the moment. Oh, and it was also on fire. That was his headache. He sniffed loudly as he stared at the box sitting on his recently cleared desk. He had stopped crying, eventually; though it had taken longer than he was willing to admit. His emotional breakdown had been a decent cleanse for his mind, and he was having an easier time thinking straight. And now that his head was a bit clearer, it was time to see what was inside the thing that had already caused him so much grief. He was just having a little trouble working up to it. He was pretty sure it had been an hour or two since he had first thrown everything off his desk to make room for the container. The light shining through the windows had become much brighter, so it could have been as late as noon for all he knew. His eyes flicked down to the shattered remains of a broken bowl on the floor next to his desk. Maybe he could have been a bit less forceful with making room. He sighed, and turned away from the box to find wherever he had put his broom. There was no point in leaving the hazard around for him to step on later, especially if he was in one of his 'trances': as Applejack so kindly called them. He had never really seen what the big deal was. He was focused, so what? It was just so much easier to think if he just pretended there was literally nothing around him. Absolutely unsafe, but extremely effective. He opened the door to his bedroom, and peeked inside. His black bed and the small brown dresser next to it dominated a large swath of the room, leaving little room for anything else; though he honestly preferred it that way. His home may have been small, but nopony could deny the coziness factor. He didn't think he had left the broom in here, but he had found weirder things in weirder places. His eyes drifted lazily across the small room, before landing on the sought-after cleaning utensil in the adjacent corner. Apparently, he had left in here, which was odd considering he couldn't ever remember sweeping his bedroom. He lit his horn and levitated the dusty thing towards him, giving a slight wince as his head throbbed slightly in response. He had taken a shower after bringing the box in, which had helped his headache immensely; but it seemed as if his malady was not so keen on letting him off easy. An unfortunate recurring theme in his life recently. He stepped back from the door and levitated the broom out after him, ducking his head as the object flew over him. He turned to the mess on the floor and set about the task of sluggishly sweeping the shards of glass off the floor. He wasn't in any hurry, really. It wasn't as if he was entirely looking forward to what he would have to do once he ran out of nonsensical things to busy himself with. He lowered his broom to the floor slowly, and dragged it across the area with the most visible shards. What had he been thinking about earlier? Applejack? That was usually the case at any normal time, so it was probably correct. Applejack's nagging, that's what it was. He sighed as the glass began to form a pile. He didn't really blame Applejack for her worries, he knew it was just her way of showing care. Her honesty was refreshing, even if it was mostly focused on lecturing. Her loud country accent ringing in his ears was a common sensation, and he could almost pretend he was crazy enough to hear her yelling at him right then. 'Light Flow, y'all need to get 'yer act together. What'cha think y'all're gonna do with 'yer life if all 'ya do is sit inside all day?!' Maybe a bit heavy on the country, and a bit too mother-ish, but that was generally correct. She had been concerned with his future living status, even though he had assured her he would find a job. She had even gone as far as offering him a part-time job on the farm. As sweet as that was, he couldn't think of much he would hate more. He turned to the large hearth on the opposite wall. He had mixed feelings about the large overblown fireplace. He hadn't ever used it, not even when the weather was especially cold. Its only real purpose was fitting the cabin in the woods aesthetic. He wrapped his magic around the small bin sitting on one of the elevated stone panels, and brought it to him. He couldn't remember why he had left it there, but there was probably a reason. Maybe. He lowered it to the ground, and swept the large pieces of the bowl into it. Sweeping glass into a trash bin was more than a little difficult, but he would have to deal with these kinds of unusual hardships until he remembered to buy a dustpan. He turned the bin right side up and set it on the other side of his desk. He grimaced as he looked down at the still-visible tiny pieces of glass left on the floor. Of course he couldn't clean the entire mess with a broom and a bin, what was he thinking? His face grew neutral as he surreptitiously flicked his eyes to the corner of his vision. He knew he was alone, but it was the kind of reflex that grew over a life rife with paranoia. He lowered his broom to the floor, and swept the remaining mess towards the wall. He pushed it as close to the vertical surface as he could, before leaning the tool against the adjacent wall just next to the bathroom door. He nodded slightly as he looked over his handiwork. It wasn't the safest course of action, or even the smartest; but at least the glass was out of the way, and barely visible besides. Well, he was done cleaning, however shoddily he may have done it. Was there anything else to do? He cast his gaze across the room. The hearth was a little dirty, but that didn't really matter. He never used it, so why would he take the time to clean it? His eyes found themselves focused on the small 'kitchen' in the corner. A small fridge, an oven, one countertop, and a tiny standing cabinet he had bought. Not grand or exciting, but it wasn't as if he ever cooked. And he didn't really feel like starting. There was nothing to do. He had showered, taken a walk, cleaned, even contemplated going to see Applejack. There was nothing left to do to put off the inevitable. The box was still on his desk, right where he had left it. He didn't quite gulp exaggeratedly, but he could feel a little sweat run down the back of his neck. He didn't really know why he was so scared. It was just a box, after all. Just an average ordinary cardboard box sealed with dangerous magic containing illegal material sent by an unknown figure of great power. Nothing he hadn't already known and come to grips with, so what was with the trepidation? He didn't know, but he could feel his unease weigh heavily in his chest. Like a chain constantly tugging at his soul, trying desperately to get him to heel. And he was the one doing the tugging. He licked his lips as he stared at the box. He didn't want to stand around staring at it for half an hour again, so he quickly flicked his eyes down to the hem of his cloak. One little skull of many stared back at him, and he felt his resolve weakening. Couldn't he find something else to do? Wasn't there anything? Did he have to take this step right now? The red glow of his horn came to life, and he could feel the weight in the box as it ascended. He watched with cautious eyes as his future approached him, slowly yet surely. He flinched back and closed his eyes as the box came to a stop in front of him. No. He couldn't do it here. His eyes fluttered open, and they focused themselves on his desk once more. He approached his solitary workspace with a grim expression etched onto his face. He leaned down to see the bottom of the surface a little better. It had taken him a little while to set this up, and as unnecessary as it was, he couldn't deny how cool it made him feel. A subtle glow pushed against the underside of his desk, and he could feel a slight pressure. He pushed harder, and a small, evenly cut panel fell out. Along with a key. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow's cellar was, in a word, dark. Which was pretty much par for the course for a cellar. So basically, his cellar was completely average. The entrance to the aforementioned dark basement was nestled into the outside corner between his bedroom and the main room, disguised rather cleverly as a completely normal cellar door. Which was because it was a completely normal cellar door. Instead of a long fall into a secret lair or something grandiose, it just opened into a small set of stairs. Though there was one factor rendering his cellar a rather suitable hiding place, even if it was just a small room under his house. One little thing that made it particularly difficult for anypony to even know it was there. The Everfree Forest. His bedroom was entirely within the bounds of the Everfree, and the woods stretched out just enough envelop a small bit of the sides of his house too; which meant the cellar entrance was safely ensconced within the most feared woods in Equestria. If anypony wanted to get into his cellar, they would first have to know it was there, which was a difficult feat in itself. He had only gone around the sides of his house twice, and that was to move furniture. It was technically possible that somepony had seen that, but highly unlikely. Usually, whenever he needed to get into his cellar, he climbed out of his bedroom window. Was he paranoid? Absolutely. But at least his paranoia meant that only he, and whoever had the floor plan of his home knew the cellar even existed. Even if somepony managed to find out he had a cellar, they would have to work up the courage to walk into the Everfree. They would only have to go in about ten or so hoof-lengths, but it was the Everfree all the same. And the Everfree didn't 'look' kindly upon anypony, no matter where they were. The Everfree sort of liked him, but there had been times the forest had played tricks on him too. He had once walked out into the woods from the back of his house for about three minutes, and then got lost for three hours. During his period of geographical confusion in the abnormal forest, he had almost walked into two different patches of poison joke, gone in repeated circles no less than five times, and even nearly fallen into a river. He emerged from the forest less than forty hoof-lengths away from his home, bedraggled and confused. Not one of his best days, for sure. Other than the occasional 'detour', the Everfree was fairly kind to him. He was fairly certain his cellar would be safe from intruders as long as the Everfree continued to hold him in strangely high regard. Even if all of the other conditions were neutralized, he had a third defense. It may not have been as grand or as sneaky as the other two, but it was probably just as effective. He locked the cellar door. And he kept the only key in a secret compartment in the bottom of his desk. The same key he was holding in his magic. The same key to the same cellar he was standing in front of. It hadn't been as late in the day as he'd thought, at least that's what he guessed by the sun's position. The sun wasn't quite overhead yet, which meant it was probably around eleven. Which meant the back of his house was wreathed in shadow. He pursed his lips as he stared down at his darkened cellar door. The heavy chain bound with a padlock was more than a little intimidating at the moment, but he was the one who put it in place. He had always been a fan of security, in any form. Any sort of personal protection for him or his belongings was an intoxicating thought, and he often wished his house was even further into the Everfree. Nopony would ever think about disturbing him then. Of course, that would bring its own problems. The Everfree was certainly too dangerous for anypony to live in, and the nature of the directionless forest would make it extremely hard to keep track of any sort of structure. As far as he knew, nopony in history had ever successfully lived in the woods for more than a week or so; at least, not without making it their permanent residence. The forest may have 'liked' him, but he doubted it would be making any exceptions. Now that he thought about it, was that even correct to say? It was a fairly common habit to refer to the Everfree as a living being, even beyond the way all forests are living. It was just too... alive to treat it the way ponies treated places like the Whitetail Woods. But to what degree was it 'alive'? Was it conscious? Did it have morals, or feelings? Independent thought? He was getting off track again, he needed to hurry up and stop wasting time. This wasn't the first time he had questioned something about the Everfree, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Like all the other times, it was best to just drop the questions and move onto more productive things. The box and the key were still held behind him in a faint red glow, casting ominous shadows onto the surfaces in front of him. His face turned down at the sight of his own outline. He still remembered his old hallucinations, and as terrible as they were, he had come to terms with his brief bout of insanity. No, his current souring mood was due to more recent events. His dreams had been plagued by a shadowy figure for some time now, on and off for months. He had been dismissive of the events at first, but he kept waking up with that figure burned into his mind. It wasn't every night, but it was often enough to be deeply unsettling. He could never exactly remember the contents of the dream, but they probably weren't happy. Vague recollections of whispers and screams made their way to his mind once in a while, but he couldn't quite grasp any greater meaning. The weirdest thing about the dreams wasn't actually about the dreams, though. Sometimes, though not all the time, he would find himself waking up in strange places after having one of those dreams. On the floor, in the bathroom, in the cellar, even one terrifying time he had woken up in the Everfree. He wasn't sure if he was just sleepwalking or if there was some other agenda behind his nightly walks, but his impromptu trips only ever happened when he had one of those dreams. It was more than a little suspicious. He had considered seeing a doctor, but.. well... He would do it 'tomorrow'. He turned his head, and watched his shadow turn with him, before shaking his head roughly. He was being ridiculous. His shadow wasn't going to step out of the wall, or rear up and stab him. He was standing around in front of his cellar door for no reason, all because he was too chicken to open a box. What was his problem, anyway? He had been putting it off for so long, and for what? Because he was too scared to face his future? Because he was afraid of changing his life? Well not anymore. He was opening this damn thing right now! ..... Well, not right now, he still had to open the cellar. With his build-up effectively shattered by an obstacle of his own making, his tense posture abated slightly. He levitated the key around to the lock, and slipped it in. He listened for the satisfying unlocking noise, before returning the key to its position behind him. The chain and padlock similarly slipped out of their protective hold on the handles, and found themselves next to his other held items. There were many reasons he was glad to be a unicorn, and the ability to easily hold things was not the least of them. He would never say it out loud, but he kind of felt bad for the other races. He knew Applejack made do, but he also knew her life would be so much easier if she had the ability to do what he could. Of course he would never tell her that. He was quite fond of his teeth where they were. He set the padlock and chain down next to the wall, before grabbing a handle in his magic. He grit his teeth as he strained to lift the relatively heavy door. This was always the worst part. He grunted and heaved, but the door remained steadfastly jammed. His shoulders slumped as his concentration broke, and he heard the box fall onto the grass behind him. That was fine though, he was going to put it down anyway. It was far easier to focus if his magic was concentrated on one task. He took a deep breath, and lit his horn again. As his telekinetic grip materialized around the handle once more, his mind inevitably found itself wandering to magic itself. He had recently done some deeper research on magic and its theory, and it was quite enlightening. Magic was fairly simple in concept. It was just about knowing which magical pathways to direct your mana down, and having the strength to keep it flowing. Obviously, most kinds of magic required dozens, if not hundreds, if not thousands of connections to form, so it was unfortunately a bit harder than books made it out to be. It became easier with practice, though some unicorns were more naturally gifted in the art than some. Those rare unicorns lucky enough to be born with a special talent in magic had a variety of incredible advantages, not the least of which being a larger fount. He supposed he technically had a talent in magic, though the only advantage he seemed to have was the ability to see souls. His fount had always been decently large, though not nearly as huge as figures of legend like Starswirl the Bearded. Somewhere on the average side, actually. It wasn't impossible for regular unicorns to catch up, though. It was just like exercise. The more mana a unicorn used, the bigger their fount would get. Mana was intrinsically tied to a pony's fount. That special wellspring of mana that allowed Equine to shape the world around them. Everypony had one, though unicorns were the only ones known to actually actively draw from it. He was decently sure pegasi could actively draw too, but it was only an educated guess based on what they did with the weather. He wasn't sure why he was doing an expansive run-down in his head, but it was a decent focus while he tried to wrench the obviously stuck door open. A spell was formed when a unicorn drew from their fount with their horn as a focus, and directed the mana through their magical pathways. He wasn't well-versed in arcane physiology, but he at least knew that there were innumerable magical pathways contained in one pony's body. That meant there were many different kinds of spells, and very little room for error in ill-advised spellcrafting. Apparently, spell theory involved a lot of work in math, physics, and anatomy, which made a certain sense. He wasn't an expert, or even a novice really, so he wasn't sure about the specifics of how spells were created. He could make a guess that each magical pathway did something different to the mana running through it, though he didn't want to make any assumptions. Things got especially muddy when the other kinds of magic were factored in. He knew that mana and magical effects could be infused into objects, and- His train of thought derailed completely as one side of the door to the cellar suddenly broke open, flying out and banging into the ground. He stared wide-eyed at the open half of the door, before very carefully lifting the other side open. He wasn't sure how long he had been tugging at the handle, or even how hard he had been tugging, though it was seemingly pretty hard. He just kind of fell into a daze as he idly pulled at the stuck latch. It was the first time it had stuck like that, and he wasn't quite sure why. The wood might have warped or something, though that would be odd considering how old the house was already. Whatever. Nothing in his life made much sense these days. Just another mystery he would probably solve at some point. He turned his head to see where the package and the key had fallen on the ground, and gathered them up in his magic. He faced the open cellar door again, and took a step forward. Or, at least, he tried to. His legs were having a hard time obeying him. He sighed as he stood in place. He was nervous, scared even. He might have been able to put his fears down earlier, but they were still there. Quietly bubbling away in his soul. He felt the anxiety in his throat, blocking his windpipe and filling his lungs with the thought of freedom. It would be so easy to put it off. There wouldn't be any harm in putting this off for just another day, would there? Well, if he knew anything about literature, that kind of thought would be an obvious tell for some kind of impending disaster. On that note, why would he get a box now of all times? The letter had said he would only receive them exactly when he needed them. That implied he would be in a situation where he would need more knowledge than he had now. What was happening in the world? He didn't really keep up with current events, so he didn't have much of an idea. The Summer Sun Celebration was happening soon, and it was taking place in Ponyville for some strange reason. He normally didn't pay attention to ceremonies like that, especially not when they involved Her Royal Highness, but Applejack unfortunately kept him informed on the event. She was apparently in charge of the catering for the event, which made sense. He didn't think about it very often, but Applejack was the heir to one of the most important families in Equestria. Her grandmother had basically founded Ponyville, after all, and Apple family apples were grown and shipped pretty much everywhere. They were the golden standard for produce, and near-everypony knew it. It was a very large business, and his friend was set to inherit it all. Big Macintosh was the oldest, and he was supposed to have that role; but he could remember Applejack telling him something about an old story that ended with Big Mac taking a more passive role in life. Something about a hospital. Where had he been going with this? He really needed to do something about his attention span. Was he talking about The Summer Sun Celebration? That was probably the big danger that was coming up, right? Her Royal Highness was going to be in town. Now that gave him some ideas about what could go wrong. The Pure Goddess was famous for being absolutely intolerant of the dark arts. Apparently, the vehement hatred had its roots in The Banishing War, which probably meant that whatever monster had been banished was a practitioner. Her punishments may not have been dealt in a very long time, but he had read a decent amount of history on the subject. He had found records of publicized special ceremonies meant to bolster the public's confidence and drain the enemies' morale. A crowd would form, and take their seats in what he guessed was a magically protected outdoor auditorium. Having an audience was somewhat grim, though it was likely the highlight of their lives. Any parties found guilty of the use of Black magic were trotted in a line onto a large platform emblazoned with a sun motif, obviously in tribute to Her Royal Highness. The Princess Herself would be standing by, likely looking stone-faced with a tinge of disappointment. The guilty would be given the comfort of a blindfold, though it was likely meant as an additional punishment. Something about not being worthy to look upon Her divine form. Somewhat ridiculous in his opinion, but times were different back then. Her Royal Highness would deliver a short speech that was described as 'full of regret and sorrow', but he wasn't entirely sure he believed that. He had always interpreted that part as a creative liberty taken by a particularly patriotic writer. After a lot more pomp and circumstance, the execution was carried out. The history was a little sketchy there, as the process wasn't well documented. It was really only described as 'a total cleansing of their souls in holy fire'. It was painted as a good thing, but he couldn't imagine being immolated was a pleasant experience. What a sight it must have been. The sinners who so cruelly turned their backs on the light, forced to embrace their judgement in the loving embrace of The Holy Princess of the Sun. What a blessed and just end, the crowd would think. If only they could all be so lucky. He shivered slightly despite the warmth in the air. The Princess Herself somehow discovering his greatest secret would absolutely constitute an emergency. Even if those kinds of ceremonies hadn't been conducted since what was effectively the dark ages, that might have just been because She practically smothered the school of Black magic altogether. There was no telling what The Pure Goddess might do to a modern-day practitioner. But history gave him an idea. If The Immortal Sun somehow caught wind that his special talent was in one of the Black magics.... There wasn't much he would be able to do to stop his new special talent in burning. He pressed his tongue up against his teeth as he inhaled deeply. A very different kind of fear filled his veins now, washing away his previous reluctance in a burning river of flame. It was a fairly underhooved mental tactic against himself, but he was pretty sure it worked. He raised a hoof, and put it down in front of him. He visibly relaxed as he sighed in relief. Now he was terrified about having his flesh melt away in the face of an angry goddess, but at least he was confident enough to open a box. "Hooray..." He mumbled to himself as he made his way into the cellar. > Chapter 25 - The Voice > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow couldn't see. The cellar was, as predicted, very dark. No big surprise there. One door, no windows, no lights; it would honestly be more shocking if there was light down there. From where he stood halfway down the steps, Light squinted as he peered into the enveloping blanket of void. There obviously wasn't much to see in its current state, though there wouldn't be anything particularly exciting to look at once it was lit up, either. The faint wisps of daylight leaking in from the open cellar door were barely enough to illuminate the small stairway, casting short glowing beams that died on the surface of an object resting on the bottom step. A necessary tool that had been left to him with the house. Kind of the mayor to do so, but it wasn't as if he couldn't have gone out to buy a lantern himself. There were so many things about his house that just seemed loaded. The lantern for his cellar, the single towel left in his bathroom, even the complimentary appliances. The mayor had never mentioned any of it, but he always had a feeling that she was waiting for some kind of thanks. Just a certain little tension between the two of them. A little nagging presence hanging in the background of every one of their conversations. An unspoken agreement that one of them owed the other an extreme debt. He did his best to avoid the town hall. He clicked his teeth together gently as he blinked at the abyssal space in front of him. Nothing was really happening as he stood there on his stairs, and it wasn't as if he was waiting for something; but he just had a vague sense that something could happen. If he just kept staring into the dark. .... No... He shouldn't.... He was just stalling again, that was it. Trying to put off the inevitable, like always. He shook his head, and turned his eyes to the lantern on the bottom step. He took a small amount of focus away from holding the box and the key behind him, and extended that awareness to the lantern. A small red light flickered into life around the resting handle, and it ascended gently into the air. He took hold of the knob and turned it slightly, watching as the wick inside raised a little. He knew having an oil-burning lamp was old-fashioned, but he didn't really care. This was the lantern that was left to him, so this was the lantern he was going to use. It was just that simple. And maybe he just enjoyed the thought of it. It made him feel more refined, and authentic. 'Did you hear? That pony uses an oil-burning lantern! He must be so....' 'So.... Uh.....' Okay, maybe he didn't really know what purpose there was in being stuck in the past. He let out a small sigh as his fantasy fell apart. If he ever found the time to go into town, he would grab a lattice lantern. The extra lamp oil costs were an expense he should have cut out a long time ago anyway. His hooded eyes searched the ground as he brooded on the future loss of his old world charm. He didn't know why he enjoyed that particular thought so much anyway. There had been a period in his life where he was very interested in history, but those times were long past now. Memories of nights spent reconciling various historical inaccuracies in his own private journal flashed through his head, and he closed his eyes for a moment to indulge in the bittersweet taste of forgotten passions. He had given brief thought to working as a scholar for a while, but it hadn't lasted. There were more important futures ahead of him. He had known even then, history just wasn't his special talent. Necromancy was. He took a deep breath as he opened his eyes. Reminiscing was fine, but he let himself slip into that particular daze far too often. He had no lack of focus, but the subject of his thoughts was something that constantly wavered. Like now. He had completely sidetracked from his current goal of finding the matches. It really didn't need to take so long, because the matches should have been right where- The matches weren't on the step with the lantern. He slowly closed his eyes, and gently raised a hoof to his head. If it wouldn't subtract more precious time from his dwindling supply, he would have taken the opportunity to bash his head against the wall. Also, it would have hurt. The matches weren't on the step with the lantern like they should have been. There was only one place they could be if they weren't there, or with him; and since he obviously wasn't holding them, that left one option. They were on the desk. In the cellar. On the opposite wall. In the dark. He groaned loudly as he dragged his hoof down, the sound reverberating and amplifying on the stone walls before clocking him in the face with greatly increased volume. He was such an idiot. He must have forgotten to take the matches with the lantern the last time he was down here. He couldn't actually remember when he was down here last, but it didn't really matter. The problem was evident, and highly annoying. Now he was going to have to grasp blindly around in the dark like a fool until he found his desk. He grumbled out loud as he set the box and the key at the bottom of the stairs, before making his way down alongside them. It wasn't as if he was afraid of the dark, far from it. He just didn't enjoy the loss of one of his senses. Nopony wanted to walk around blind, not even villains. He regarded the complete void in front of him with disdain, before closing his eyes. He wasn't going to be able to see, so there was really no point in ogling thin air. Walking around with his eyes wide open would just make him feel even more like a blind pony. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward. There. He was officially in the darkness. There wasn't any reason for that to be as grand of an accomplishment as it felt like, but he had done it regardless. He had taken a step. Hooray. Maybe Mayor Mare would award him a medal. His shoulders sagged as he sighed. The more time he spent around himself, the more problems became evident. He made his way forward through the darkness as he counted his steps. The cellar wasn't huge, but it wasn't that small either, so the opposite wall was around fifteen hoof-lengths away from the entrance, which meant that the desk was thirteen or so hoof-lengths from the entrance, which meant- He sucked in a pained breath as his hoof made swift contact with what felt like wood. He shook it slightly in the air as he ground his teeth together. He had found the desk. That was the important part. There was no need to entertain thoughts of using the matches to set it on fire. That would be counterintuitive, and dumb. But it would be so cathartic. His face crinkled in aggravation as he discarded the thought. The barbaric thought of burning any of his furniture was both silly and surprising. His anger issues had mostly dissipated in the time since his formative years, but he had recently found himself enraged by the smallest things. He had mostly kept it from interfering in his personal life, but he had once woken up amidst the carcass of a shredded book about astrology. He couldn't remember getting angry, or even passing out, but it was hard to deny the realities he sometimes found himself in. The reasons to see a doctor kept piling up, as did his reluctance to go. He put the thought aside for the moment as he set his hoof back on the floor. He opened his eyes, and tried to scan the darkness in front of him; hoping in vain to see the faintest visible outline of anything. It was futile. The darkness was all-enveloping, and completely denied his attempts to pierce its veil. He huffed in irritation as his head lowered closer to what he hoped was the surface of his desk. It was hopeless, he couldn't see anything. He was just going to have to rely on a unicorn's natural light source. His horn lit as he drew mana from his fount, pushing it though his natural focus in small amounts, before letting the mana diffuse harmlessly into the air in the form of tiny showering sparks. It wasn't completely ineffective, though the puny amount of light did little more than act as an excellent contrast for the pervading emptiness in the room. A small light, burning bright against a tremendous force of its antithesis. A dance as old as time, yet forever unchanged from its outcome. Every light will one day burn out, but the shadows never die. It's a good thing he was in front of a writing desk, that poem was especially good. His head dipped closer to the desk as his eyes desperately searched through the pitch for the barest sight of his sought-after goal. If he could just catch the slightest glimpse, the merest taste of the small box, he would have all the light he needed. His eyes strained though the tangible surface of the dark, before collapsing on the visage of a brightly branded container sitting on a wooden surface. He felt his face rise in victory, before it stopped halfway. It looked like the box was open, which was odd by itself. He always made sure to close things when he was done with them, otherwise it felt like leaving something done halfway. The very thought of that made his fur itch. And it also looked like there was a match sitting on top of the box. It looked burnt at one end, like it was used. Was that smoke coming off of it? Light Flow... His ears perked as something tickled the edge of his senses. Had he just heard something? From the far corner of the room? ..... ..... No... No it was nothing... He was just hearing things, that's all. He was just a little jumpy from his earlier thoughts about Her Royal Highness. That had to be it, because the alternative would be completely insane. His body relaxed as his temporary fear abated. He was being silly. Nothing could have gotten in, the chain wasn't broken and the key wasn't missing. He was just making himself crazy, like usual. Half of his problems were probably just from stress, that's what a doctor would tell him. All he needed to do was relax. Everything was fine, and so was he. Light Flow... His eyes widened as a faint voice tugged at the corner of his ear. It was hollow, and it echoed around the recesses of his mind; bouncing from corner to corner like hasty words spoken to an empty room. Okay, so maybe he wasn't crazy, or maybe he was? It depended on whether he was actually hearing a voice. If he was, then he had to be hallucinating again, that was the only explanation. It was impossible for anything to have slipped into a locked room with one entrance, there was just no way. If he wasn't, then he was crazy anyway because the wind was starting to sound like voices. There wasn't anything in the room with him. He was just having another of his episodes, and it would stop eventually. If he just waited it out, the voice would go away, and he could get on with opening the box that should have been open three hours ago. "Light Flow... Don't turn around..." He swallowed heavily as his ear flicked repeatedly. The voice or whatever it was had sounded like it was coming from the corner of the room before, but now it sounded far closer. Like it was just a few hoof-lengths away. He wasn't scared. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and he had learned a long time ago that his mind couldn't hurt him. Even if inky tentacles clawed their way from the shadows around him and tore him to pieces, he wouldn't feel anything. The voice had told him not to turn around, and he was going to listen. He was fine. He was mentally stable, and he was fine. There was nothing in the room with him, and he was fine. Fine. He was fine, everything was fine. The voice was fine, and it couldn't hurt him. "Light Flow... The night is coming, Light Flow...." It was in his ear. It sounded like something was whispering directly into his ear. Was that breath? Was there something breathing on his ear? Something was touching his shoulder. He could feel pressure on the upper part of his withers, as if there was a hoof laying on it. His breath came quickly and unbidden, burning his mouth as it slid over his tongue. Hyperventilation, that was new. He shouldn't have been afraid, he shouldn't have been panicking. This wasn't real, it wasn't happening. It literally wasn't real. His head felt like it was caving in, and the top of his vision distorted. It was becoming hard to stand, like his energy was dissipating. His legs felt weaker than they should've, and they began to shake from the weight of the hoof on his shoulder. What was happening? Why was this happening, now of all times? This.. this hadn't happened since he was a child! There was a pressure building in his chest, choking him from the inside. It felt oily. He didn't want to die, not again. "Light Flow... I'm c̷̖̕ȯ̸̞m̷̭̓̈́ī̴͇̆n̵̛̹g̶̮͒͑ ̴̱͍̉L̵̕͜I̸͇͛͜G̸̼̑ͅH̶̡̄T̵͈̊ ̵͚͙̓͊F̴̼̈͜L̵͖͆̿O̴͖̫̓W̴̝͑̕!" The voice raised to a deafening volume as the words distorted in the air, jumbling together in a wet, grinding roar. It hurt.... There was something in his...! Light Flow's mouth gaped open in silent pain as he felt something tear its way through his throat, before the world quickly faded to black. > Chapter 26 - The Warning > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow's head hurt. It was a burning, pushing pain; and it filled his head with hot fire in great flowing streams. It felt like somepony had lit a bonfire in his skull, trying to smoke his brain from its hole. Did that metaphor make sense? Probably not. He groaned in pain, and sat up in his desk chair. His- Wait a second... Hadn't he just been in this scenario? He blinked his eyes groggily as he stared around at his dimly lit surroundings. He seemed to be in his cellar, though he couldn't remember ever making his way down. Had he been sleepwalking again? He turned around in his chair to look around the room. Something felt strange, but he wasn't sure what it was. All the normal things were there: the dark stone walls, the closed cellar door, the small freezer he had bought; everything was in its place, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. So why did he feel so.. displaced? The wooden chair creaked softly as he turned back around to stare blearily at the objects in front of him. His old-fashioned lantern sat warmly on the desk in front of him, helpfully lighting his surroundings for him. The wick burned merrily as the small fire leapt and played in the air, casting dancing shadows on the darkened walls. A beautiful performance, and he bore sole witness. He loved that lantern. He couldn't ever imagine buying one of those normal electric lanterns, what would be the point? He had a wonderful lantern that worked perfectly, and it wasn't going anywhere. He had often wondered if he should upgrade it, but seeing it lit like this only strengthened his resolve to keep it. The old-timey charm was just too enticing. He stuck his tongue out between his lips slightly, and let it sit there as he tried to assess his situation. There was something strange going on with his mind. It was as if there was some sort of fog obscuring his thoughts, preventing him from starting any sort of advanced... Advanced... Uh... There had been an end to that sentence a second ago, hadn't there? He blinked lethargically as he tried to reconcile his normal thought process with his new, less active one. What was the matter with him? It was like everything was moving in slow-motion or something. The fire burning in the lantern reflected asymmetrically across his glassy eyes, and he closed his eyes momentarily to clear his vision of the flickering light. Everything felt wrong. It was like his entire world had been shifted an inch to the left, and he was left half-sitting in air. His focus gently crept to the other object on the old desk in front of him. It was a medium-sized, cardboard box. It was quite plain, and he couldn't see any distinguishing features on its surface other than a messy scrawl on the top. An average, everyday box. Nothing special or noteworthy about it. He squinted at the brown surface as an unfamiliar feeling shadowed itself over his emotions. It was cold, yet hot at the same time; and it made his throat crumple and bunch in displeasure. The contradictions were messy and unorganized in his brain, and they burned like acid as something else began to overtake him. The box... Something about it tickled the back of his memory, but he couldn't quite... ......! His eyes widened as his mind cleared. His headache vanished in an instant as the metaphorical fog lifted, and he gasped in surprise at the sudden clarity. It was almost as if he had been quickly and rudely dunked in freezing cold water, and the shock had both literally and figuratively woken him up. The box! He had received another box in the mail from his mysterious benefactor! How had he forgotten? He breathed deeply with a look of wonder on his face. He forgot things so often, but never something on this scale. Maybe this was the tipping point in his solo back and forth on whether he should see a doctor? He slouched back in his chair as the obtrusive thought made its way forward. Maybe tomorrow. He kicked the unwelcome idea to the back of the line as he tried to recall what had led him to the cellar. He was obviously here to open the box, but what came in-between? He had woken up in his desk chair, yes. He got mildly upset at ruining Big Mac's book, even though it was incredibly trashy. Seriously, he would never understand any form of romance, not even when it was in books. Somepony was knocking at the door, he could remember now. His head had hurt so bad, he was ready to start tearing other ponies' heads off. But... there hadn't been anypony at the door, had there? His head was still so jumbled, even as his wits gathered themselves. Shattered recollections and vague flashes of potential events meshed in unseemly ways, forming incomplete pictures that just didn't look right. He closed his eyes and brought a hoof to his head. Why was he remembering Rainbow Dash? Was she there? Yes... Yes, it was Rainbow Dash, wasn't it? She had played a prank on him, as usual. He sighed in irritation as the memories flowed cleanly through his head. That do-nothing pegasus with the incredible skills had knocked on the door and waited for him to come out. Then she dropped a flowerpot on his head like the public menace she was. That's why he had taken a shower, everything was becoming so clear now. But when he had come out of the shower, there was a box sitting in front of his still-open door. Right in the entranceway, like it had been there all along. Wait... why had he left his door open? He hemmed for a moment, rubbing his hoof on his head in careful circles as he tried to recall the day's events. Everything was always just on the tip of his tongue, right out of reach. Why was his head so intent on playing keep-away with him? Didn't he know he had better things to be doing? Was it... because of Applejack? There was something about Applejack, wasn't there? He was pretty sure he had spent some amount of time doing something related to Applejack. She... she had come by to deliver some apples? That sounded like something she would do. She was thoughtful like that, and she knew how he could forget to eat. And while she was there, she... had accidentally broken a bowl? So she cleaned it up? Yeah, that sounded right. She threw the debris out into the forest, but she left the door open. That made sense. The tension in his posture bled off as his head slotted itself back into place. It was all clear now. His memories were clear, and so was he. He leaned his head back onto the uncomfortable wooden back of his desk chair, and he stared up at the stone ceiling above him. He was pretty sure it was directly underneath the wooden floors of his house, though he had no idea whether that was safe or not. He studied many things, but architecture wasn't one of them. Maybe that could change? It was usually pretty fun to pick up new topics, though not always helpful. He wasn't sure how his knowledge of herbology would ever be of any use, but strange things happen every day. He blew a soft breath out of his nose as more memories took their place. Piecing themselves together perfectly as the entire picture formed. Quite satisfying, like a good puzzle. After his visit with Applejack, he had taken the box down to the cellar. It was an ordinary trip, and he had made his way into the cellar with minimal difficulties. The lantern and matches were right where he left them, and the cellar was soon lit perfectly. He had taken a moment to stare aimlessly at the things in the room, before taking the box to his desk. The key was.... Oh! The key was right there, next to the box. It was sitting there the whole time, how had he missed it? He shook his head as he stared at the small, silver object. Applejack often told him he would forget his head if it wasn't attached to him, and he was beginning to think she was right. Nothing wrong so far, but how had he fallen asleep? He clicked his tongue as he stared vacantly at the wall. He supposed it wouldn't be the first time he had passed out without warning or recollection of the event. Par for the course, it seemed. He smiled slightly as his eyes came to rest on the box again. He leaned forward in his chair, and stared dumbly at the object. He was so excited to open it, no wonder he hadn't wasted much time talking to Applejack. She seemed a little hurt that he had shooed her away so fast, but that was okay. He could easily make it up to her later. He chuckled softly as he reached a hoof out to the container. He took a moment to rub the side of the box fondly as he pondered the potential contents. Was it another book on theory? That wouldn't be very exciting, but it would be immensely helpful. With enough information and time, he might be able to reverse-engineer the spells on his own. Now that would be special. Of course, it would be the kind of achievement he could never tell anypony, but he would know in his heart that he had done something incredible. His eyes grew unfocused as he lost himself in the possibilities. Light Flow, the master of Necromancy. Legends say that he was so skilled in the art, he found a way to perform Necromantic spells without ever actually learning them. Known as the 'Undying Scholar', his knowledge of death was so encompassing, he apparently found a way to kill the Immortal Princess of the Sun. The Holy Princess would never allow such knowledge, thus leading to an inevitable conflict between equals. The two enemies locked themselves in a stalemate, fighting for days on end, before eventually agreeing on an unsteady truce. Light Flow would spare the Princess, she would do likewise, and they would never interfere in the other's affairs. Their battle was legendary, and its conclusion even more so. None had ever come close to besting Sol Invictus, and none would ever reach Light Flow's achievement in merely checking her. From then on, Light Flow was forever known by the title: The Shadow in the Daylight. Okay, maybe that was shooting a little too high. The daydream slowly bled away as his head switched tracks to more tangible futures. As much as he would love being the pony who managed to reinvent Necromancy, he would love it even more if it was just a spellbook. He had been dying to actually perform some real magic, rather than just reading about the concept. Not that he was bored with what he had, far from it. He revisited volumes one and two of Necromancy for Foals quite often, and they were always a delight to read. But the information within had become stale, and he was eager for more. He just wanted to know everything about Necromancy. It might've been his cutie mark talking, but he honestly thought it was the coolest form of magic by far. As far as he knew, no other school of magic did anything like what Necromancy did. Rewriting life itself, changing the variables of a pony's soul, and creating possibilities that nature herself had passed over? Incredible. Simply incredible. He sighed dreamily as he stared longingly at the box. Why was he still waiting? He was sitting around thinking about it, when he could be tucking into whatever tome was contained inside. He must've been insane, because everything he did was just plain crazy. He lit his horn, and extended his magic towards the box. Last time, he only had to try to pull a corner off; so hopefully this box had a similar trigger, because he didn't really know anything about magical seals. Basically, he was at the whim of the sender; though that wasn't anything particularly new. His magical grip pinched the edge of the box, and he took a moment to breathe. He was ready, this was happening. He pulled. The box instantly lit up in a very familiar... white glow? He frowned, and scooted his chair away slightly as the the box glimmered with subtle white light. This wasn't right. The first box had lit up with a brilliant golden glow, glowing bright enough to nearly blind him. This box was just glowing with a plain white light, which was very pretty and cool; but it wasn't anywhere near as awe-inspiring as the first phenomenon. It didn't even burn his eyes, he could stare directly at the light with no problem. The gleam from this box didn't even come close to stacking up against the last one. It was almost like comparing the sun to a regular light, or a fire. Or the word 'gleam' to, say, the word 'radiance'. He felt the cool light on his fur for a moment, before the glow slowly died out. The top of the box seemed to waver, before shimmering out of sight. And that was it. The light burned out with little fanfare, and he was left sitting in front of an ordinary box that was now missing its top. No grand lightshow or flashy performance, just a glowy box with a disappearing lid. That was... okay. Sort of, maybe. He didn't know, was it? He had just expected so much more out of the experience. The first time he had been struck nearly silent with awe, and the mystique of the event was something that had kept him up for many nights afterward. Seeing something so... lame, just kind of ruined it. Was it wrong to feel disappointed? Probably. He sighed as his face set itself in a melancholy expression. He was still excited, sure; but it was somewhat overshadowed by the lackluster performance of the box. Why was this one different from the last one? They were identical in every way except for the light, so why was that different? He didn't know. He just didn't know. He needed more information. He scooted his chair towards the inert box laying on his desk, wincing slightly at the sound of wood scraping against stone. His headache may have magically disappeared, but sound had a way of amplifying in small, enclosed spaces. His ears laid themselves on his head as he peered closer at the open box. It was absolutely identical in every way to the other one, there was no doubt. Although, while it may have been visually identical, there was something unseen bothering him. His nose crinkled as a very strange scent made its way around him. It was definitely coming from the box, but he couldn't imagine what was causing it. He had never seen, or smelled a book like this; and he was starting to doubt the contents of the package. The smell wasn't immediately recognizable, but it was making him sort of uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why, but it just set him on almost imperceptible edge; as if his body was actively rebelling against the very idea of the scent. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply to take in more of the smell. He really wanted to figure this out, but it was just so hard. It smelled kind of... burnt? Kind of like an overcooked meal, or the remnants of used firewood? Was that it? No, it was more subtle. He didn't think he actually had any frame of reference to adequately describe it, it was so foreign. He didn't know how to feel about it. He shook his head slightly as the weird smell swirled around him. No matter which way he turned, the olfactory menace would find its way back to him; like a cockroach sneaking into the smallest crack in a wall. There was just no way to prevent it from squeezing in there. Okay, he needed to snap out of it. Sitting around guessing smells was a spectacular waste of time, no matter how interesting or disconcerting they were. There were far better ways of deducing, not to mention far less strange ways. He eyed the open top of the box with what was absolutely scientific curiosity. If he wanted to know what the smell was, the solution was simple. Hypothesis: there was something in the box that was making the smell. It was time to test. He lit his horn, and hefted the box in his magic. It wasn't as heavy as the first one, but volumes one and two of NfF were both pretty beefy books; and it was hard to compete with the sheer size of two beginners' level tomes on magic. The box leveled out with his head, and he turned it towards him slightly. He could see a faint sliver of brown peeking out, as well as a much smaller vein of faded white. The brown was probably the book, while the white... He stuck his tongue between his lips as he carefully grasped what felt like the edge of the colorless object, and felt a smile creep along his face as he levitated an envelope out of its strange-smelling confines. He set the box back down on the desk while keeping his eyes trained on the letter. Situations like these called for a specific order of events, and a proper decorum. A letter should be opened before the present, and a note read before a book. As much as he didn't care, he knew Rarity would approve of his actions. He pursed his lips as the thought made it way forward. He wouldn't be surprised if Rarity had just sneezed or something. She always seemed to know when ponies were talking about her, or looking at her, or thinking about her. He shuddered slightly, before turning his attention to the envelope in his grasp. It was a very familiar sight, one he had seen quite often, actually. He had studied the letter quite often over the years, in no small part due to his dwindling amount of things to read. He had practically burned that envelope into his head, and he could tell at a glance that this one was very nearly identical. It wasn't quite like the boxes, which were two absolute copies of each other; but it was similar enough to the other envelope that there was very little doubt as to who sent it to him. It had the same dryness, the same flowery pattern, even the same scent of dust; though it was mostly overpowered by the other smell. He had come up with a number of theories about the envelope's strange condition, but they all seemed pretty off base. The post office hadn't been much of a help either, and any clues they offered were likely unimportant. So what if this kind of envelope was only used a very long time ago? The sender must just like old things, which he could absolutely relate to. He would probably use these envelopes if he had a surplus, though he didn't actually ever send any letters. Still, maybe he could rack up a collection. He filed a mental note away to file the envelope away, and turned it over. His eyes narrowed as he took in the generic, unbroken seal on its back. That was odd, the first letter had been open when he received it. His mind flew into a frenzy of accusations and whispers, but he quickly suppressed the activity. This was lending credence to one of his many paranoid theories about the letter, but it was impossible to know for sure until he opened it. He had to see the letter, the actual letter with the words on it. If he was correct... He quickly and messily tore the seal off of the envelope, along with a large chunk of the back. He winced internally, but pressed forward. If this was what he thought it was, then something was seriously wrong. Ruined antiques were the least of his concerns. He flipped the tab open, and his heart picked up speed as he caught a glimpse of faded white paper. His head shook from side to side autonomously, and he subconsciously muttered words of denial under his breath. He tugged it out with little concern for its safety, frantically searching for evidence to the contrary of what he was seeing; but his eyes weren't lying to him, and what he saw was absolutely real. The paper was old. It was old, and wrinkly, and dusty, and smelly, and old. The paper in the first one had been brand-new. His eyes fluttered closed as something small inside of him shattered. His breath hitched as the very old paper dipped low in his magical hold. Someone had tampered with the first package. He took deep, heaving breaths as multiple things in his head collided at once. What did this mean? Who did this? Why would they do it? Who could do it? What had they done? He could feel his eyes misting a little, and he sniffed loudly as he reached a hoof up to wipe at them. What was he going to do? This... this could ruin everything. Literally everything in his life. Who knew how much of his information was false, or worse: harmful? What if everything he had learned was a lie? All of it fed to him by somepony who had hijacked his entire dream for some unknowable purpose. What was he supposed to do now? His breathing began to even out, though it was still extremely jittery. He crossed his hooves over themselves, and held his own body as he shivered violently. It was such a cold feeling, but it stung in his veins all the same. It spread through his body, sapping his warmth and energy wherever it went. It felt horrible. So, he was panicking. He could recognize that, thanks to his experience with the event. He needed to calm down, and think rationally. Spiraling never solved anything except more of the same. He would have to dig himself out of this pit, and fast; or else he would sit around, stuck in his own mind until Equus froze over. First, he had to establish safe ground. Something to stick himself to if he failed and his world completely crumbled. He had this box, that was a positive. There was little to no chance that this one had been tampered with, or at least not noticeably. He squeezed his eyes shut, and cursed at himself. What was wrong with him?! No, this box was fine. There was no chance that anypony else had gotten to it first. He was the first one to open it, and the contents were as real as he was. Okay, he had a safe space, what next? Calming down, minimizing the damage. It probably wasn't as bad as he thought. He was just blowing things out of proportion as usual, and he just needed to remember that reality was never as cruel as his imagination. He could remember a time where he had obsessed endlessly over something he had said to Applejack in passing, because he was sure he had inadvertently ruined their friendship and she would never want anything to do with him ever again. But it had turned out that Applejack either hadn't heard him or didn't care, because the next time he had seen her, she acted like nothing had happened. This was probably just like that. Just because everything he had received from the first box could have been a lie, that didn't mean it was. What was there to tamper with, really? The books themselves were almost certainly correct, since he had personally observed several things noted within them. If the books were forgeries, then they were damn good ones. His knowledge was probably safe, so what about the letter itself? The contents of that letter had shaped his thoughts and decisions throughout his life, so it would obviously be devastating if any part of it had been fabricated, right? Oh, did he mean the letter that called him a monster, threatened to have him killed, then insinuated that his life could have been much worse? Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it was fake. He snuggled into his cloak as his hooves tightened around himself, and he breathed a shuddering sigh. He didn't want the letter to be fake, though. The harsh words and imperceptible prophecies meant so much to him, they were almost as precious as the books themselves. He felt a lump grow in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He was already having a breakdown, he didn't need to start crying on top of all the other stuff. This funk clearly wasn't going to go away anytime soon, it was just too much to handle all at once. He was going to have to function like this, as hard as it would be. He stared blankly at the paper still held in his grip. It was a little more wrinkled than before, likely a side-effect of the pony holding it having a part of their worldview shatter, but it was still together. Maybe a little light reading would occupy his fragmented mind? He could see the thankfully-familiar messy scrawl on the front, and it brought a small amount of comfort to him. Just a tiny feeling of warmth in a vast tundra. Hopefully, the actual words would act as fuel. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow. I wish to begin this letter with something altogether alien, and untoward of me. Something that, for all the ponies who know me, none can say they have wrested from my lips with nothing less than the most backhooven and incorrigible effort. I wish to apologize. I can already hear your unbridled jubilance at my admission of fallacy, but do not be so hasty; for this apology is related to something that has yet to come. In my old age, and to my utter shame, I seem to have grown quite daft. My original intent was to have several necessary tomes sent to you at various critical points in your life, in the hopes that a familiar voice and a guiding hoof would keep you from the path of darkness; but in doing so: I have made a critical mistake. Truly, I am the greatest fool of all to have not seen this coming. My direct intervention in this matter has caused yet another fracture, and a new, major future to form. One which I am both unworthy, and unable to see. My shame is paramount, and my regret: uncharacteristic. Due to my foolish judgement, you now trot down an unknown path toward your final future. I have seen all possibilities for you, except for this one, terrifying end. I have no knowledge of where you are going, but I know that you will do great things, whether they be evil or just. Yet, everything I have said thus far is, incredibly, besides the point. The point, as it would be: is that you are in danger. One week from when you should receive this package, a great calamity will befall the land. On the one-thousandth Summer Sun Celebration, an unconscionable evil will reign, and Princess Celestia will fall. The sun will set, and the moon will rise. But not forever. On that day, shrouded in the mists and mires of the Endless Night; six mares will take their place in history as great heroes, and return the beloved Sun to its rightful rule. But all is no longer well with the story, for I fear that somepony has taken a metaphorical pen to the tale. My sight may have left me, but my senses are still sharp. Something has tampered with the storybook, trying to rewrite critical lines and important events. The complete loss of our heroes has never before been a possibility, yet now; it is so. But I am not infallible, as was discussed earlier. It is possible that the tale will end as it was meant to, and all shall be as well as it was always known to be. But possibilities have never sat well with me. That is why I have gone out of my way for this long-winded speech about apologies and futures. For obvious reasons, I have a heavy investment in the future as it was foretold. I need a backup plan. In the box you have received with this note, you will find three books on the reviled magical field of Flesh Manipulation. A very powerful, very illegal form of magic; but I know you do not shy from skirting the rules. If all goes as horribly as reality dares to make it, Equestria will need you. This knowledge alone will not help you to defeat the Queen of Nightmares, but it will help you to survive upon the eve of her ascension to the throne. If your path darkens in this way, your life will invariably be consumed with strife and torment; and for that, I offer a meaningless platitude. Hope beyond hope in the depths of your blackened heart that the future stays its current course. Now, if we could somehow find the point once more: you were likely expecting books more directly relating to Necromancy. To that, I would ask that your entitled mind take a back seat for the moment. Your books will come, for I have already sent them; and they should still arrive for the moments they were meant. As I said, this future was unseen; thus, this letter was unplanned. This is your second time hearing from me, but it will be my last time writing to you. Do not grow excited, there will be no heartfelt message from me on the subject of my encroaching death. I hold no emotional attachment to you, and you should feel likewise. Your difficulties with your own mind notwithstanding: a pony would have to be truly insane to nurture any sort of fondness for one such as me. I believe I have said all that is required. You know your danger, you know of your future, and your knowledge is secured. My work is done, and thus, I leave you with a parting message. On the day of day's end, you must find a mare named Twilight Sparkle. She is the key to Equestria's salvation. Or, at least, she should be. It is not as if my knowledge is absolute any longer. It is somewhat humbling. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow closed his eyes, and let his horn fizzle out. The letter and the envelope both fluttered lightly and soundlessly to the floor, as if afraid of testing his straining mind. He took a deep breath. And another. And another. And another and another and another and another and another and- Okay, he was just breathing deeply; but it was helping to compartmentalize each and every breath. At some point during the letter, he had stopped shaking, and his eyes had become dry. That was all to be expected though. Many problems suddenly become less important in the face of all-consuming doom. Really, he thought he was handling this all very well. Sure, an evil, apparently moon-themed villain was going to rise to power and take over the kingdom in less than a week. Sure, he was apparently Equestria's backup plan if six legendary heroes somehow failed to stop the evil. Sure, he was going to have to endure a life of agony and misfortune if things went badly. Sure, his new books were on something that was apparently called 'Flesh Manipulation'. Sure, it was sounding increasingly like his benefactor lived in the distant past and was certainly dead now. Sure, his benefactor no longer knew what future lay ahead of him. Sure, he- Light Flow screamed, as loudly as he could. > Chapter 27 - The Circles > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow's throat hurt. As did his ears, and his jaw. It was really his entire face that hurt, which was reasonable given the circumstances. Circumstances which, as he had recently found, were apparently quite dire. Though, if he were somepony else who happened to be watching him at the moment, he would never guess anything was wrong. Just a pony seated quietly at a desk. Nothing wrong at all. He couldn't remember how long he had been sitting there, staring silently at the flickering light inside his worn lantern. He couldn't even do the cliché thing and say whether it felt like an endless eternity or a mere moment, though he had a feeling the actual time was closer to the former. Whatever the actual time, the fire hadn't burnt out, so it was probably still the same day. Same day, same pains, same problems. Maybe if he just sat long enough, and completely wasted the week away, his problems would disappear. Maybe it would all burn itself out while he sat there, staring at a little flame in a jar. His face broke from its placid, blank stare as he swallowed dryly; an almost imperceptible crinkling at the ends of his lips as his ragged and raw throat cried out in protest. Screaming at the top of your lungs for an undefined amount of time tended to cause various levels of pain, as he had recently learned. Those various levels were split somewhat unevenly between different parts of his body, ensuring that no part of him would escape his all-consuming plan to destroy himself; though the lion's share of the ache was centered around his abused throat. Even things that weren't related to screaming hurt. Why on Equestria did his back hurt so much? He idly flexed the muscles in his withers, and internally winced as a dull ache made itself known. A lifetime spent hunching over reading material had left his posture in shambles, and it didn't take much for that familiar pain to flare up. Putting aside his reoccurring problems, most of his current issues and pains stemmed from his previous volume, which had only been exacerbated by the decently small enclosed space around him. Most kinds of noise found a way to bounce off walls and grow in power ad nauseum until they were strong enough to cause significant pain to the dull twit unlucky enough to spawn them in the first place. He did a lot of dull things lately. It really hadn't helped that he hadn't been satisfied with a paltry little regular scream. No, he just had to try and let all of his feelings out at once, hadn't he? A big emotional dump into the world around him, as if there hadn't been enough of that recently. Crying always made him feel somewhat pathetic, which had apparently left a prolonged scream as the only solution. The longer he screamed, the worse the noise got; until his ears had rung with the swirling screams of his own hellish torment, which inevitably would have led to a different kind of screaming. If he hadn't been a strange combination of intelligent and stupid at the same time, he might've continued his combined release and punishment until his throat tore apart and his ears ran bloody. Luckily for him, his screams had tapered off eventually; though not before the exertion took a metaphorical sledgehammer to just about every part of his body. He worked his jaw imperceptibly as one of the many aches became too much to bear, and he felt some of the growing strain bleed off. He couldn't see his face, but he could only imagine what sort of expression he had left there. He had lost track of the movement after the throat pain started tearing its way through his thought processes, and he wasn't quite sure how to go about finding out. He could try to figure it out, but his brain wasn't obeying many of his commands at the moment. His emotions had broken down completely after his vocal cleanse, so the mental side of him was picking up the slack. To the detriment of many lower functions, like facial expressions. Thoughts were racing around his upstairs at near top speed, desperately trying to puzzle out solutions and plans for what was apparently the upcoming apocalypse. So frantic, running around and around and making so much noise. Didn't his head know that hardwood floors weren't very good for muffling sound? Or maybe his head had carpet? He snorted in a laugh as a goofy grin grew across his face at the strange thought. It lingered for a moment before finding better things to do and better faces to haunt. He felt his smile slowly slip from his face, as if it was trying to not hurt his feelings by leaving too soon. What did his smile know anyway? He really always preferred frowning, and it should've been obvious. There wasn't a single pony in all of Ponyville that knew him for his positivity. He and positivity were as two ships in the night, only crossing if ever the fates should conspire for a miracle. Yet no miracle would come upon this eve, for this eve would last forever, or whatever the letter said. His thoughts were getting strange. Maybe it was time to talk to somepony about that? He wasn't sure if he physically shook his head, but his mind certainly felt like he had. The disjointed thoughts and incredibly silly sentences broke apart, before reassembling themselves rather handily into a relatively regular mindset. This was no time to get hung up on his psychological abnormities, this was a time for action! This was the time where he stood up, and proved himself to be the hero that Equestria, and the letter, believed him to be! He would stand up from his chair, immediately sit back down, and read some books! Or maybe he would keep sitting and uselessly spinning his wheels forever until the world ended. It would probably be more productive than anything he could accomplish, anyway. He didn't really expect anything else from himself. A villain by complicity at his very best. Again, he wasn't really sure how long he had been sitting there, staring into the eyes of his unassuming doom. Time tended to lose a bit of meaning when cut off from any indication of it, especially when that unknown time period is spent on panicking. It couldn't have been too long, though. His glassy eyes flicked towards the dying lantern for a moment before quickly returning to staring ahead. His eyes kind of hurt too now that he thought about it. Had he been blinking? He couldn't remember. He forced his eyelids shut, and allowed himself to relish in the small feeling of peace the darkness brought him. Pretending to exist in some sort of large expanse of nothingness made the prospect of the end of the world so much easier to deal with. He could almost imagine there was no terrible moon demon poised to strike down the sun and cast the world into a complete and endless voi- Screams. Sudden and enormous. Filling his ears with their intensity, and ringing through his head in an fractal pattern of rising pitch. Deafening and terrible, echoing with promises and memories of sorrows yet to come. Louder and louder, rising and rising as they reached a crescendo; their overlapping voices colliding and smashing together in uneven words and shouts. He was lost. Lost in the never ending depths of the wailing howls as the room around him fell away. He couldn't feel the chair under him anymore, or the warmth of the fire on his pallid cheeks. The noise drove all hints of sensation from his body in an almost territorial display of dominance, leaving him unable to feel anything but what he could hear. The emptiness enveloped him gently, as the air sucked itself out of his lungs to flee into the encroaching darkness. Alone, always alone, but now there was something else. The voices, suffocating him with their ragged cries. With their horrible voices begging for help and companionship, drowning his senses with feelings colored blue and dark and grey and... A message, they were trying to deliver a message. But for who? Who? Who? The voices, they were becoming clearer. There was less overlap, though more unification. He could hear them now, through the blood, and the gore, and the agony, their message was almost decipherable. The din disappeared, though replaced with substance. A single voice; yet impossibly many. Incomprehensible, but intelligible. The Night is coming. His eyes quickly flew open as he shakily gasped for air, as if he had been trapped under a thick sheet of ice. He could feel his heart beating heavily against his chest, and his hoof moved from its static supporting position to tightly hold itself against his ribs. He felt the warm and frenzied pump of blood beneath his touch, comforting in its regularity; while his revitalized eyes stared unblinkingly forward, as if afraid to close again. He sucked cold, stale air into his lungs, which felt heavy in his chest. Two frigid lumps of coal in his body that hadn't quite recovered from his ill-advised shouting match with himself. Nothing made sense, nothing lined up correctly in his head. He couldn't remember why he was suddenly so afraid! He had closed his eyes, and... He needed to back up, take a look at what led to the situation. He had been sitting, yes. He was staring at the fire, thinking about the apocalypse, as was so horribly atypical of his life. There was something about blinking, wasn't there? He hated when this happened. Stepping carefully through his mind like the floor was covered with shards of glass was so tedious, yet so recently necessary. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but his memory had recently been getting even worse than what it usually was. Activities, hours, even entire days were often just blank in his head. Long stretches of memories that just weren't there anymore. It... was somewhat disconcerting. That wasn't really a problem he could tackle at the moment, no matter how much it upset him. All he could really do was focus on the present, and the recently forgotten. He hadn't been blinking for a while, right? He couldn't remember if he had been blinking, so he had taken a moment to close his eyes. And that was it. He had closed his eyes, and suddenly he 'woke up', feeling as if he had just undergone some sort of terrible trial. Like his life was in horrible danger, and he had only just escaped. So many emotions, all at once and with no cause. There had been no warning, or build-up, or sign; just the overwhelming, mind-numbing fear. And the loneliness. Crushing and crashing into his mind, like a tidal wave of misfortune. Deep and dark and blue, as he struggled for breath against its weight. What had happened? He continued to hold his chest as his entire being gradually stabilized. His breathing would steady someday, while he was sure he could eventually find the courage to blink again. As his heartrate gently eased from its death grip on the pedal, his hoof dared to venture downward. It came to rest upon the spot just above where he knew a soul would lie on a normal pony, and he took a moment to evaluate his thoughts. Following his total breakdown due to the colliding forces of stress, fear, and some other odd feeling that something in his head told him not to think about, he had retreated into his mind. He had immaculately crafted an insane daydream to drift on until his life wasn't terrifying anymore, though it seemed to have backfired. Which he had never seen coming, really. Allowing himself to temporarily detach from reality following a great shock couldn't have been anything but healthy. His existing difficulties had mixed badly with his created insanity, and caused some sort of... implosion? His feelings must have rallied against him, and staged some sort of rebellion. That... almost made sense? He licked his lips gently, relishing the dry taste of dust in the air; as his eyes slowly drifted shut. He didn't understand why he was so afraid of blinking all of the sudden, but the fear was there. It was strangely separate from the colder, more distant and frantic fear that had hit him earlier; but it was still recognizable as the same basic feeling. It was more personal, more heated. It pumped through his veins along the same paths as his blood, coming directly from his heart. If this was his fear, then what was the other fear? His eyes closed, and he breathed deeply through his nose. There, now everything was fine again. His 'personal' fear was conquered, and he would feel better soon. Closing his eyes couldn't hurt him, and he had invariably proven it to himself. His eyes drifted open to the familiar sight of flickering fire, and he allowed a small sigh to slip into the air. He could never be too careful. He had been hurt by stranger things, like choking on his own spit. What an embarrassing thing to do, choking on his own spit. It was truly the lowest point in any speaking creature's conversational life. It had happened in the middle of a hilarious joke, too. 'Did you ever hear the one about the yak and the- hurk!' Applejack never let him live it down, even if she had yet to mention it. He knew she was biding her time to bring up the horrible blunder. She would probably take her chance during some very important part of his life, like his wedding. Applejack.... and his wedding.... He slapped a hoof over his cheek as he felt a very familiar, yet very strange sensation grow in his face. It felt exactly like concentrated embarrassment. He huffed out a mumbled groan between his clenched teeth, and swung his head around behind him. His eyes fell upon the complete shadowy emptiness in the room, and he quickly swung his head back around to his desk. He knew it would be completely insane to assume that anything would magically be there to make fun of him for the inexcusable crime of having feelings, but he couldn't really help his fears. Even when he was alone, he just felt... awkward. Maybe that was from some sort of confidence issue, he didn't know. It sort of felt like it went beyond his irrational issues with himself, though. His head dipped down, and his hoof slid off his cheek and onto the surface of the chair as his hooded eyes searched the floor. There was just... something that... That told him... .... Nothing... He was being paranoid about nothing again. Like always, he was being bothered by the complete and total presence of nothing. There wasn't anything in the room with him, and he was sure of that. To think otherwise would just be.. Crazy. Absolutely crazy. He was doing it again. He was getting all worked up over nothing, like always. He could never relax, or take it easy, because the looming lack of anything was always peeking just over his shoulder. He turned his head, and flicked his eyes about the room once more. There was nothing. It was just an empty room, albeit one only barely lit by a flickering flame. The faint orange light didn't leave any room for anything to obscure itself, imaginary or otherwise. He growled softly into the shadows, before roughly swinging his head back to his desk. His short hair swished briefly into view, before he promptly brushed the errant strands out of his vision. He glared at the cardboard container in front of him, faintly hoping that it would catch fire. It would certainly make his life easier, at least for the moment. Images of a large tantrum flashed through his mind, intoxicating in their juvenile simplicity. He could stand up right then, and throw the box onto the floor. Just sweep it off the desk, along with all of his problems. He could go back upstairs, and leave the contents to rot on the cold stone floor. He could take a nap, or go see Applejack. Any number of delightful activities awaited him if he could just stoke the flames of his rage. It would be easy, he was pretty angry. What right did that letter have to dictate his future, especially one so... tragic? What if he didn't want that kind of burden? What if he didn't want to be the hero? What if he didn't want to be the villain? The burning heat in his chest that had accompanied his entire insane breakdown began to cool, leaving his body cold with contempt. Freezing guilt and frosty uncertainty filled his veins in equal measure, spreading outwards from the ashes of anger that had raged in his heart. His focused stare slowly softened from its intensity, and he could feel his entire face dragging itself down. The box was now probably just as likely to catch a cold, rather than catch fire. What was he doing to himself? Was he really going to uproot his entire worldview, just because of a stupid letter? Sure, the letter was from someone who he simultaneously admired and feared greatly; but was that really important? The world was going to end. Did it really matter where he was standing? Here he was, completely falling apart over a vague prophecy in an equally vague letter. Was the threat of extinction all it took to shake his convictions? What did that say about him? His head lowered to the floor, and he raised his hoof to bring the hem of his cloak into view. He stared into the blank eyes of one of the many little skulls sewn into the border. When was the last time he had thought about what he really wanted? What did he want? He let the fabric fall out of his grasp, though he continued to stare deeply into his frog. A single, simple desire rose out of the remains of the structures of his psyche. It spoke to him, loud and clear. He wanted to read. His head turned back towards the box, and he allowed his horn to glow with a soft light. The cardboard container rose from its long-standing position on the desk, and floated towards him. He could smell that strange scent again, though he still had no idea what it could be. Time hadn't given him any answers, and neither had smelling the subtle traces of it for an extended period. It was the kind of scent that was immediately off-putting, yet extremely tempting. He could almost bring himself to vomit in disgust, while he was just as likely to hum in delight. If he spent enough time around it, he would almost certainly swing towards liking it, but he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. He didn't know why, but something told him that he shouldn't like the smell. Like it was taboo, or something. He tilted the edge of the box towards him, just enough to see the small sliver of a clean, dark brown surface. The moment felt strangely grand, for some odd reason. Like the first glimpse of his new books was something he had been waiting to see for days. He didn't know why, since it wasn't as if he had taken an especially long time in getting around to this. Sure, he had dallied for a while once he got into his cellar, but the journey before that was quite quick and concise. He blew an exasperated breath through his nose, and tipped the box fully towards him. His eyes were greeted by a simple, brown book, titled with golden lettering. A familiar sight, though the subtitle seemed to be quite a bit longer than his usual reading material. 'Flesh and Fear: A Necromancer's Theorum and Thoughts on Spells Concerning the Body and Mind' His face slowly scrunched as he made his way through the literary mess of a description. Subtitles were typically quite a bit shorter, though he supposed there wasn't anything inherently wrong with being thorough. It was just a bit unusual, that's all. Nopony really wanted to begin a book with a ten-second preamble. Actually, what did it matter to him? This kind of book was never meant for the public's eyes anyway, so why was he comparing it to something like a light novel? He shook his head, and grasped the book in his magic. He hefted the tome out of the box, and took a moment to look over its fully revealed appearance. His eyes roved over the smooth cover broken apart by the verbose golden lettering, which made for a strange contrast with the rough-looking texture of the spine. He brought his hoof up to rest upon it, and shivered slightly at the cool, bumpy feeling against his frog. The book was... a bit odd? He couldn't tell what material it was bound in, but it definitely wasn't something he had seen before. It was far colder than regular paper or cloth bound books, as well as being just vaguely off-putting. And now that he had in right in front of his face, he could confirm that the weird smell was coming from the book. It oozed from the cover in hard chunks, and forced itself uncomfortably through his senses. He instinctively sniffed deeply as his nose wrinkled, and he tried to fan the confusing scent away with a hoof; but the smell was persistent, and it resisted his attempts to clear the air. He supposed he would have to learn to love it. He turned the book around in the air a couple times, before taking another look inside the box. There seemed to be two more books inside, which was a pleasant surprise. It hadn't taken him long to exhaust the knowledge of two tomes the first time around, so an added third tome would hopefully provide a longer experience. He set the box down on the desk before turning his attention back to his current focus. He didn't really want to spoil himself on the other books, though they were likely more of the same. It was important to savor moments like these, especially considering his limited time. Or, would that be a bad thing? Would it make more sense to absorb as much information as possible, as quickly as possible, so he would be better prepared for the end of the world? Or should he enjoy these last moments of peace, since there was no telling what his future was like? Enjoy himself, or prepare for the future? He turned the book over in his magic again, watching as it spun in the air at his whim. Totally at his control, unlike his situation. What to do, what to do? Decisions, decisions.... > Chapter 28 - The Flesh > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 999 AB One Day before the Summer Sun Celebration Light Flow's neck hurt, because what else was new? Sweet heavens, he was so tired of everything hurting. His mouth gaped open in a thankfully painless yawn, lasting longer than it probably should have. What did it matter, though? He liked yawning, so he was entitled to yawn for as long as he wanted. His jaw felt nice when he did it, and it made him feel a little less tired. Sometimes, he just wanted to yawn, and sometimes those yawns were long. It's not like there were laws against yawning for extended periods of time. What, were there specialized yawn police? Trained as a secret force dedicated to preventing the gross overuse of yawns? 'Hey you! Close your mouth right now, or I will be forced to force you to comply!' Yeah, right. Like that even made sense. His mouth drifted shut, and he turned his head down to stare blearily at the open pages in front of him. What was happening? Things had been so blurry and jumpy for what felt like so long now, whatever topic he left off on seemed to change sporadically. Ah, right. He was reading, as he had been for... some amount of time. The words had begun to stop making sense, and his notes were drifting into the category of unintelligible, so he had leaned back in his desk chair for a short nap. He could've made his way upstairs to his bed, but that would've unnecessarily distracted him from his reading. He had already taken enough time away as it was, and time was a hot commodity he was pretty sure he was running out of. He turned his head to the right, and winced in pain as the memory of his recent posture made him immediately regret the movement. Sleeping in a wooden chair for an unspecified amount of time was not advisable under any circumstances, though preparing for the apocalypse almost made the cut. The pain slowly faded to its usual ache, thankfully allowing him to focus on what he had braved his own mistakes for. A simple wooden clock hung on the wall slightly above his desk, unfortunately reading a time somewhere around the afternoon. He couldn't quite remember when he had gone out to buy the clock, but he was pretty sure it was sometime during the day. He could kind of remember taking the time to ask a wide-eyed pedestrian what the date was, and he had vague recollections of a shaky response followed by a hurried escape from the dirty, smelly, homeless pony. He understood the skittish behavior, since he probably smelled just as bad as he looked. He didn't know how he looked either, but it couldn't have been good. Despite his likely status as a public menace, he had succeeded in his mission to buy a cheap, shoddy clock. His success was met with much joy and celebration, and trumpets obviously heralded his arrival to his quiet, woodland-adjacent home due to his resounding ability to perform basic tasks. The much-anticipated clock, combined with his new knowledge of the date, allowed him to more effectively manage his time before The Summer Sun Celebration. Though, he still pretty much just slept whenever he got tired. It was just easier to retain information if he was fresh-faced and alert. Also, he was probably less likely to have an episode; but that wasn't as important as his ability to learn. Applejack would, as she might put it: 'tan his hide', if she knew about his current sleeping patterns and general disregard for his mental health; but that was okay. She would thank him if he somehow ended up saving the world, unlikely as that scenario sounded. His face twisted into an overused grimace as the thought made its way through his head again. 'Light Flow: the great hero who saved the world'. Talk about blech... Putting his self-doubt and conflicting mood aside, the clock told him that it was nearly noon, which left him a comfortable window of opportunity to begin preparations for the next day. If he hadn't fallen asleep for some absurd amount of time, tomorrow would be the dreaded 'final day' he had been anticipating. He would have to wrap his studies up. His neck made an unpleasant sound as his head turned back towards the desk, but he ignored it. He was used to his body falling apart, and it wasn't very concerning besides. If he could gain the requisite knowledge, his physical problems wouldn't be very problematic for long. His eyes roved over the surface in front of him as his mind reasserted itself on his current state. Every item haphazardly categorized and cross-referenced with what he could recall about his affairs before he had fallen asleep. There was an open box sitting precariously on the edge of the desk, which lined up with what he could remember doing with it. Unless more things had blanked out, the box would contain one book he had already read, one book he had skimmed through, and one letter that he had entertained thoughts of burning. His eyes turned slightly to the right, where a plain black notebook sat next to an equally plain black pencil. It wasn't really his aesthetic anymore, but it was the only empty book he could find in his house; and he didn't feel like risking being arrested for public indecency with another trip into town. His horn lit, and the notebook levitated towards him. His eyes flicked over the open page of scribbles, raving, and diagrams; before he flipped to another page of the same thing. His notes were... jumbled, to say the least. There were parts that were well-structured, and seemed almost as if they had come from a different pony altogether. Bright rays of intelligence shining through the encompassing circles of mediocrity. Though the large part of the text was dominated by swathes of uncomprehending, cyclical, asinine understandings and observations. He would often write multiple paragraphs constantly restating the same basic information, though in somewhat delightfully different ways. Most of that was useless, though there were some key phrases and pictures drawn and pieced together during quick flashes of inspiration. Tiny hints of some greater meaning sprinkled throughout the text with little regard for context or coherency. There was one particularly remarkable observation he couldn't remember making about the underlying themes within the book of the paradoxical idea of hope and freedom hidden within the very concept of magic made to manipulate something. Unfortunately, he had a tendency to meander, and the point of the observation seemed to have been lost as it bled into his never-ending thesis on why manipulation was a personal action. Neither of those things had much to do with the actual magic, but at least one of them was somewhat interesting. Disregarding his misused potential for literary genius, as well as his long winded tangent from the entire point of this endeavor, many pages of the book were unfortunately dedicated to a concentrated spiral of lunacy. He already knew his mind was on a steady decline to total insanity, but looking through some parts of his notebook honestly made him somewhat afraid for himself. It was a strange thought, that he was only just beginning to feel concern over his actions; but there was a large difference between having vague memories of insanity, and having to confront actual evidence of it. There was an entire page dedicated to a raving monologue about the stars that he couldn't ever remember writing. Little doodles of tiny pointy objects found their way into the margins of semi-helpful pages, while larger, more obtrusive drawings of a full moon obscured entire pages. He wasn't dumb, he could see the pattern. The less-helpful parts of his mind were hard at work constructing paranoid theories on what it could mean, but the larger part of him was fairly sure it was just stress-related. While the breakdowns themselves were anything but fine, the chosen focus was self explanatory. He had mental problems. He learned that the world was going to end due to the rise of some sort of moon god. He began to have psychotic episodes, wherein he doodled and wrote moon-themed propaganda. A begets B begets C. Simple. As he flipped through pages of nonsense, his eyes focused on a single dark word amidst one particular insane rant about how the shadows had begun attacking him. One, tiny, life saving word, separated from anything helpful by a sea of worthless garbage. It was circled multiple times in dark ink, despite his use of a pencil and complete lack of a pen or quill. It was a bright, guiding light out of the storm of insanity; as if Her Royal Majesty Herself had descended from the heavens to light his way. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -they crept along the walls and corners biding their time until my guard was down because they were hungry and drooling and hateful and hurtful and afraid and they saw their chance to strike as i turned my back to the room and they leapt from the recesses of the room to tear into me and feast on my flesh and mind and feelings and insides because it is ambrosia to them because we and them and i are the same Butts deep down inside because She looked down from her prison and saw me as a child and put Herself into me to make me into a star and a shadow and a monster and when I ascend to bring Her down to our plane the shadows will fear me because i will gain something that they could never- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Seriously, what was wrong with him? He snorted derisively as he let the notebook fall carelessly onto the desk. He eyed the discarded book with an air of disdain, before bringing a hoof up to rub at his eyes. The notebook was almost completely useless, and anything helpful he had managed to record was probably rendered similarly useless by his receding lucidity. He groaned loudly into the growing silence around him. Why did everything sabotage his efforts? Even his own mind actively worked against him. Though, not entirely. He let his hoof fall away as his eyes fluttered open. He took a moment to stare unblinkingly at the wall, before turning his attention to the last thing on the desk. It was the book he had left open while he took one of his painful naps. It was currently open to some random page in the middle, though he was sure he hadn't left it like that. It didn't matter though. Accepting that weird things happened in his sleep was just one of the many trials he had to go through to save the world, and if he had to be honest with himself: he was handing it pretty well. Maybe it wasn't healthy to let all of this nonsense just roll off his back, but he didn't have much of a choice. He could either drive himself even crazier with fear and worry, or he could learn more magic. One of those two things helped him save the world, and it wasn't the one that involved scratching his own skin off. Putting that aside, it really didn't matter how comfortable he was with his sleep activity, or his acceptance of his mental state, or what he did while he slept. The only thing that really mattered was what he had learned. He stifled a groan as he pushed his chair away from his desk. His breath caught in his throat as he gathered his hooves below him, and began to slowly pull himself out of his seat. He wasn't sure why he always made such a big deal out of standing up, but it sort of made him feel better. In a strange, inverse way. He heaved a relieved sigh as his hooves made eventual contact with the floor, creaking and cracking with the exertion as his unused body began to wake up. He rolled his shoulders, and listened to the unpleasant noises as he felt his muscles rub against themselves uncomfortably. It was all fine. He could fix himself. He turned away from the repetitive sight of his desk, and set his eyes upon the slightly less repetitive sight of the room as a whole. It was the same as ever. Dark, dank, and unusually foreboding. Things he had become adjusted to. He huffed softly, and slowly made his way to the center of the room. Each step made his hooves scream in protest, but he did his best to muffle the hot ache as his body warmed up. He could have tried this at his desk, but what was the point of doing cool things if they weren't as grand as possible? He had to go to the center of the room, it was the only logical place. While they protested the entire way, his hooves did eventually carry him to his destination. A long journey, filled with difficulties and strife, but one made in earnest; for this journey would result in spoils and rewards beyond imagining for those who he had worked so hard. 'Rejoice', he would say. 'Rejoice, for I will bring life to you humble workers, anew and anon!' Was it even possible to have this much fun alone? He knew the answer could only be a resounding yes. He allowed a small smile to grace his face while the larger part of his mind gathered the needed knowledge for the task ahead of him. A week was a startlingly short amount of time, but it allowed him a decent start on learning Flesh Manipulation. There had been two books on the basic theory of magic, though one of them had unfortunately focused on Mind magic. He supposed that was the 'Fear' part of the title. Mind magic sounded really cool, and he would have loved to study it in a more leisurely timeframe, but he simply didn't have such a luxury. Its very concept made for a tough subject, which meant it would take a longer time to learn. With the added negative of less practical uses when compared to Flesh magic, he had simply decided to skip learning it for now. Later, he had reassured himself. If the world doesn't end, it will come later. So he had wholeheartedly thrown himself into learning Flesh magic. While he still enjoyed the reading whenever he was lucid, he had mostly focused on absorbing as much practical information as possible. Luckily, the writer of this particular set of tomes wasn't a lunatic like whoever wrote Necromancy for Foals. Everything was far simpler, more concise, and just generally easier to pick through. The book would state information, have some sort of diagram explaining that information, and then it would move on. There were no riddles hidden in its very writing style, which made for a far faster learning process. It made him a little sad, though. Figuring out how to read Necromancy for Foals was, at the very least, fun; and at its higher levels, an enjoyable challenge. Whatever. He wasn't in this for the fun. He was doing this because he didn't want the world to end. A Necromancer needed the living. That was just a fact. Flesh Manipulation, while not directly related to the field of Necromancy, was surprisingly fascinating. It basically involved two different techniques. Changing flesh, and restoring it. He kind of doubted that Flesh magic was really just as simple as two easy little topics, but that was the way the book had described it. Beginners had to start somewhere, though; so he didn't really blame the book for generalizing. At its most base level, as it had been described by the book, Flesh Manipulation involved direct change and rearrangement of the cells within a pony's body. It... sounded really complex when it was put like that. Beginner's magic wasn't anything as crazy as maneuvering each and every cell individually, methodically, and intelligently into their required places. Masters of the art may be able to do things like that, but it was far easier at the lower levels. It was described as a sort of template put forth by a unicorn's magic, which would then be put into action through various processes that he would have to study as singular topics. Because he didn't understand them. At all. He did have a tenuous grasp on the myriad effects, though. Flesh Manipulation could be used for many very helpful things. Regeneration, restoration, longevity, even total manipulation and reconstruction. As an obvious ploy to arouse interest in readers, the author had taken a page to detail the feats of some obscure master of the now-forbidden school of magic. He had to say, it was quite arousing. In a scientific way. And an excitement way. As in, regular excitement, for regular exciting things. Awe! That's the word he was looking for, it was awe! He was in awe of the described feats, that was what he had meant to think! His eyes flew to the corner of the room to stare accusingly at the empty space there. He could swear he had heard some sort of noise from that direction, almost like a laugh or a chuckle. He squinted into the darkened crook of the cellar, only barely lit by the warm red of his dying lantern. He was almost expecting some sort of shade to burst from the shadowy, albeit completely ordinary, wall and cackle in his face. But he was obviously just as alone as ever. He had gone over it in his head countless times, there was nothing in the room with him. It was just his deteriorating mind again, leaking thoughts and delusions and whatnot into the real world. No matter how many times he looked, how many times he saw something at the corner of his eye, how many times his called name brushed against the very edge of his hearing... Nothing. Nothing there. He had gone horribly off track somewhere. Here he was, wasting time just like always while the clock ticked down to his nearing doom. It was time to reassert himself. His eyes returned to their static, forward facing position as his mind picked up where it had left off from his boner. His mistake. ... ...Anyway. Many great feats were described in the book, not the least of which being the ability to completely change the composition of the caster's flesh. There were actual, documented cases of ponies completely made out of things like diamond and quartz walking around and just... living. Obviously, he had no idea how on Equus that would be possible, but it sounded so cool. His knowledge was shallow, but he could take an uneducated guess or two, just for the sake of enjoyment. His mind may rebel at every opportunity, but it seemed as if his insanity conceded the realm of scientific thinking. Even in his notes, the larger part of his observations on the actual application and study of magic were largely untouched. Basically clean, unlike the scrawls and ravings covering his insights on the theory and deeper thought behind the topic. It was pretty rude, really. It was like some part of him didn't care about the knowledge part of the learning. Whatever. So he had some sort of identity disorder, big whoop. It could get in line with all the other problems. It was time to get back to theorizing, as least just to spite that wisdom-hating part of his head. If the easier levels of flesh manipulation involved merely moving groups of cells around to harden parts of the body, or forcing cells to quickly divide and multiply to restore tissue; then more complicated processes could be possible. Perhaps, if such a thing were even possible, a sufficiently learned and skilled practitioner could go deeper into their cells, and change their very atomic structure. Lines of genetic code switched en masse, while intelligently leaving certain parts of the body unaffected or changed accordingly so as to not interrupt various vital processes. It was just a theory, one based on no evidence whatsoever at that; but that was his guess. Maybe he was biased. The way he had described it was pretty similar to the spellwork behind necromancy, just on a physical level rather than on a spiritual one. If magic relating to the manipulation of souls could even be called spiritual. Actually, maybe he wasn't too far off base there. He didn't want to commit a lot of time to thinking about it at the moment, but if his mind would allow him, then he would look into that in depth sometime later. A coincidence on the surface, but a possible connection at a deeper level? If any of his guesses were correct, then he had a lot of studying in his future. Higher levels of Flesh Manipulation would undoubtedly require advanced knowledge of the inner workings of a pony's body, as well as a hearty grasp on biology and chemistry. He had some background in anatomy thanks to his passing interest as a child, but his general sciences could use some work. He didn't want to insult Ponyville or its educational facilities, but... It was just a very small town, that was it. Nothing wrong with that. He would probably have to pursue that kind of education elsewhere, as sad as it made him. Maybe Canterlot, or Manehattan? Or... no.. not Manehattan. Why would that thought even come to his head? He licked the back of his teeth as his thoughts strayed to uncomfortable places. The subtle taste of vomit lingering there was confusing, but not unexpected; and it helped distract him from where his head was going. Where was he? General knowledge, application, greater application, what was next? Ah, of course! Casting was next, what else? It was only the most critical part, nothing special. As well as having obvious knowledge pertaining to Flesh manipulation, the book had also contained some very interesting asides focused on what was known as 'Black magic' in general. Not even just Black magic. There was quite a bit to be gleaned about magic as a greater topic as well. While those sections were brief, and had many assumptions on the knowledge of the reader as a whole, they were still incredibly enlightening. So many of his questions had been answered through passing remarks and inferences, and he considered himself very lucky that the writer also seemed to have a penchant for momentarily losing their point. While there were still many gaps, the breadth of his information had been expanded far beyond the measly scraps of comprehension he had previously boasted. He had known so little before, though it was easy to say that in retrospect. But really, what had he known before? Some stuff about founts, magical pathways, and the obvious differences between theoretical conscious and innate magic? Anypony could learn those basics in everyday life, especially since they affected every race of pony. But this was more specific to unicorn magic, and it was so much more than what he had known. For instance, there was an entire kind of magic he hadn't even known about. Natural mana: the mana that suffused the world around him. The kind of latent energy that was just there, waiting to be used by an enterprising unicorn that knew what to do. That particular revelation wasn't actually that shocking. He hadn't known about the topic directly, but he had always subconsciously figured that there was mana in the world around him. It was kind of like how he just knew there was air to breathe, or if there was ground beneath him. His instincts did the work for him. But the far more interesting topic was its use, and how it related to spellcasting as a whole. Before his guided epiphany, he had assumed that a spell was solely formed through the manipulation of mana across a pony's magical pathways. That was mostly correct, but not the entire picture. The possibilities for crafting spells were figuratively limitless in his head before, but now he couldn't imagine that there wasn't a way to make a spell for literally anything. A spell could be cast by using Arcane mana: the magic from within the fount; or it could be cast by using mana from an outside source: the Natural mana. The two types of magic differed enough that the effects of a spell could completely change depending on which source was used. That easily doubled the existing possibilities. Now that revelation was worth a dropped jaw. And it only got better. Every spell he knew of involved one type of mana. Things like levitation, light spells, and generally useless parlor tricks all involved mana drawn from the fount. As far as he could tell, Arcane mana was the easier type to manipulate, and it involved most of the widespread, public use spells. Meanwhile, Natural mana involved most of the more difficult spells. He didn't actually know any spells that used Natural mana, which took a fair amount of wind out from his theories, but he had enough circumstantial evidence to tread onward with his working hypothesis. Spells cast using Arcane mana were easier because they involved mana drawn from within. Spells cast using Natural mana were more difficult because they involved mana drawn from the outside. Simple enough, if it was even true. But there was something else he was wondering about, something that would naturally occur to any pony with a healthy curiosity. A question that would invariably pop up whenever the topic of two different things was introduced. What if they were combined? To be perfectly honest with himself: he didn't really know. Without the knowledge of any spells using Natural mana, it was impossible to draw any sort of conclusion. It was somewhat like creating a data set with no control group, it just wouldn't work without a lot of assumptions. He didn't really enjoy making assumptions. And it seemed like he might never know, or, at least, not for the next five minutes. As much as he wished Flesh Manipulation had miraculously included the first use of Natural mana he'd ever seen, it simply involved Arcane mana. It made a certain amount of sense, though. Given that he knew nothing about anything, he could still make guesses. Half-wrong or half-right, he could always make guesses. Arcane mana was probably influenced by the pony it coursed within: that was why it was different from Natural mana. Mana in the environment just floating around was probably... inert. 'Printless' might be apt, given the science behind mana residue. Arcane mana left behind unique residue, and thus the mana from the fount held something unique not found in Natural mana. A faint whisper of something tinged warm tickled his ear, and he slowly closed his eyes in response as a deep sigh left him. Usually, his head just screamed nonsense and terror at him; but sometimes, when he connected certain difficult dots, he would receive something almost approaching... praise. That kind of thing should have unnerved him more than it did, but he felt strangely calm about the phenomenon. It was probably just his intellectual side's joy at the scraps of wisdom he sometimes scrounged up. That made sense. Back to the point: Flesh Manipulation needed Arcane mana to work, but why was that again? He could faintly remember making some notes on the subject, but he didn't trust his own mind to not have ruined them. It was... something relating to the method of casting. He knew that much, but not much more. He remembered how to cast the spell in mind, but he'd also made some hypothesis based on that, and it was currently running right away from him. If only he had a net. A mind-net, for catching mind-thoughts. A nearly inaudible scratching sound crawled into his ear, and it instinctively flicked in response. The auditory pest unfortunately continued its crusade despite his most determined ear flicking, and he could feel irritation clouding his otherwise decent mood. He swung his head around to the source of the noise, with a vague hope in his heart that something would actually be there for once. A mouse, or a bug, or anything, really. Something to prove he wasn't completely gone. Nothing. It was just that stupid corner again, dank and dark and full of a critical lack of anything that could reasonably make any noise. And of course, the noise had stopped as soon as he had moved; because why the hell not. He was getting really fed up with his mind. Maybe he should have started getting indignant days ago, or even weeks ago; but he would guess there was only so much abuse he could take before he reached his limit. And apparently, that limit had been reached. "Well, I hope you're happy." His voice surprised himself, in just about every way it could have. For one thing, he hadn't really been planning on speaking. His mouth had just opened on its own and words had tumbled out, ragged and torn as they were. That was the other thing, he sounded awful. His voice had that kind of underlying rasp that he thought could only be achieved through a lifetime of smoking, but he had seemingly found some kind of shortcut. Had he had anything to drink recently? Had he eaten at all? Why was this only just occurring to him? Like that mattered, his mind was just trying to sidetrack him from his anger. "You know, I was fine with all of the other garbage; even if it was probably tearing me apart. I didn't care, and I don't care." Well, this was what was happening now. He really didn't have any say in what crawled out of his mouth at this point, it was all just kind of coming out. Somewhat strange, actually. He wasn't even sure how angry he was anymore, and he certainly didn't know why he was verbally abusing himself about it. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to get me back on track, back to actually casting the spell instead of standing around thinking about magic." He expected his throat to hurt more than it did, what with the apparent total lack of hydration; but it was almost as if the words were somewhat... disconnected? Like they weren't actually coming from his mouth, or even his own mind. He was both the speaker and the recipient of this rant, but he didn't feel as if he was apart of it at all. It was like he was a spectator watching a play set up just for him. That was scary, but why wasn't he scared? Why couldn't he feel anything? Why wasn't he panicking? What was happening? "Well you know what, mind; I happen to like thinking about magic. I enjoy theorizing, and thinking, and hypothesizing, and just about every intellectual pursuit that can be related to magic! I like magic, moon damn it! I want to think about it!" Something was wrong. These were all thoughts he could reasonably have. These were all arguments he would reasonably make. Given his insane obsessions with the moon, that was even a curse word he might use. But he wasn't thinking those thoughts. He wasn't making those arguments, and he definitely wasn't using 'moon' as any sort of curse. He wasn't speaking. His mouth moved independently of his internal struggle, as if reading off a script. Motions and tones mimicked with perfect authenticity, despite his total lack of input. "I was almost at the best part, too! I was going to have a whole run-down in my head about how I was going to use a specialized spell designed to cure aches and pains! But I guess that wasn't interesting enough for you, huh?" "Well, fine! My insane wish is my insane command! I'll just do the spell and get it over with..." He needed help, he needed somepony to save him. He couldn't move, he couldn't feel, he could barely even think. There was something in his body, and it had taken control of him, and it wasn't even allowing him to feel anything about it. The only way he knew he was even in trouble was his dwindling sense of sanity and logic. This wasn't correct, and he knew that. He had to hang onto that, he had to hug that thought as tightly as possible. If he forgot that he was in danger, what would be left of him? Would he just go along with the play? Like a doll, bound up in strings and forced to dance to the whims of another? Help. He needed help. He needed somepony to help him. "I'll do it, I'll cast the spell right now! I have it memorized perfectly, even without spending an hour thinking about it!" His head raised triumphantly as his horn lit by itself. His narrow view of the cellar walls darkened as his eyes closed in apparent focus. His tongue pressed itself against his teeth, like he normally did when he was nervous. What was going to happen to him when the spell was cast? Was his consciousness just going to pop back into his body, none the worse for wear? No, that wasn't what had happened every other time his memory had wiped itself. He could see that now. He could remember that his memory wasn't what he thought it was. He could remember what he had done, and what had been done to him in turn. How much had he forgotten? How many times had this happened to him? How many selves had been cast away, forced to watch as his body played out a script to the tune of his own deteriorating memories? Screaming and banging against the walls of his mind, as he unknowingly burned himself away. Why couldn't he see it normally? What was blocking his vision from himself? No, that was redundant. He could remember what happened then, and why that memory had been burned away. The zebra... Why had She done that to her? "From the air, to my horn, to my fount, to my brain, to my heart, to my liver..." No, what was he doing? That wasn't how the spell was cast, and he should have known that. He was going to hurt himself. She was going to make him hurt himself, but why? She needed him, and She needed his strength, so why was She doing this? Why him? Why had She chosen him? Could he find the answer in his memories? Was there time? "...and back through my horn! See, easy..!" No time. No time. Fire. Burning through his body and his mind and his mind and his mind and his mind and his mind and his mind and his mind and his mind and h- It hurt. It hurt so much, and he couldn't feel it. He could see his body convulse and writhe on the floor, but he couldn't feel any of the pain. He could see the pain, and the tears, and the pleas, and the vomit, and the neverending torture, but he couldn't feel any of it. Muscles tearing. Body failing. His consciousness was fading. Darkening and shortening and hurting and screaming and crying and laughing and spitting and gagging and growing and shrinking and hugging and pushing and- Somepony, help him, please. He needed help, he wanted to be saved. Please, somepony save him from the monster. She was coming, and he would suffer. Somepony needed to stop Her, please. He needed help, he needed somepony to help him. Help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help, help- He didn't want to die, not again. > Chapter 29 - The... Huh? > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Celestial Year 1000 AB The Summer Sun Celebration The acrid taste of vomit in his mouth was the first thing that greeted him when he woke up. Bitter and burning, and not especially pleasant; though at least it was familiar. His tongue sluggishly flicked around his mouth in a futile attempt to reduce the tangible feeling of sickness. It wasn’t quite working. Somewhat expected, but still upsetting. When had he even barfed? It couldn’t have been an old taste, or it wouldn’t have been so strong; and It was obviously before he woke up, though he was having a hard time... A hard time remembering when he woke up... Did he even wake up? Was there even a point in his mind where he could distinctly recall the end of any sort of sleep? He just suddenly.... had memories of consciousness. As if he had been floating in a sort of non-state, until he just... wasn't, anymore? His eyes hadn't opened with trailing wisps of a fading dream or lingering nightmare. It wasn't a slow burn into full comprehension, or the quick shock of a rude awakening. He wasn't even in any sort of situation that would imply having been asleep. He was sitting at a simple little round wooden table with his eyes wide open and staring ahead, and as far as he could tell: he had been that way for a while. He was just conscious, with no in-between. Did that even make sense? Would it have made sense otherwise? The rush of sensations filling the gaps where he could swear void had recently made its residence was... jarring, to say the least. His head was trying desperately to fit a puzzle together as the pieces were supplied one by one. Yeah... that was a good way to put it... A puzzle put together from scratch. The pieces were missing, and the picture was uncertain, but the outline was, at the very least, familiar. Well, that was what he hoped anyway. He swallowed heavily. The burning traces of his own stomach acids filling his mouth certainly weren't helping the onslaught of information, and the prospect of acclimating wasn't something he was sure he could handle at the moment. It was nearly all he could do to not collapse over the surface in front of him, though he wasn't quite sure why he felt so feeble. He wasn't quite sure of much, it seemed. It was all... very hard. Nothing was feeling the way it was supposed to feel... and there was a sinking feeling in his heart that told him there wasn't much of a template to go on. The puzzle's outline wasn't that clear, and pieces kept getting put together wrong. His head wasn't... quite the way he had left it; or, at least, the way he remembered leaving it. Um... was... uh... How... how did he remember leaving it? Was... was he... having memory problems? Every time he tried to grasp at the thread of recollection in his head, it would barely slip away. No matter how he plead or cried, his wits would stubbornly stay just out of reach. A constant dance in his mind, as his body ran on total autopilot. It was endlessly frustrating, yet tinged with unfamiliar feelings besides exasperation. His chest felt tight, as if there was some invisible force squeezing him. His throat ran dry, and his lower jaw felt taut. It was almost like he was on edge, but without the feeling of danger permeating the air. Why was he sad? Was... was he sad? Is that what that was? A writhing blue, constricting and wrapping around his insides. Squeezing and crushing and tearing his mind apart while his eyes were free to watch, because tragedy needed an audience or it wouldn't be sad. Sadness, or fear? His focus was momentarily drawn from his unknown feelings by a bright light dancing across his vision. He squinted his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun's rays, and raised an unsteady hoof to shield him from some of the brunt. That was another thing, he couldn't quite recall how he had made his way out of his cellar; which... was apparently the place he had been? And now he seemed to be sitting at an unfamiliar table somewhere? That... that was good to know, if hugely startling that he was only just remembering that. A cold feeling was beginning to creep over his withers, and he almost felt compelled to shiver at the unwelcome sensation. And his current location, with the merciless sun and all... Ponyville? Yes, he seemed to be in Ponyville proper. He craned his neck up to look at the building behind him. The white edge of fake frosting roofing greeted him, and he felt another tugging sensation in his heart that he couldn't identify. Energy filled his body, and thoughts of fleeing filled his head. He wanted so badly to jump up and run away from the tacky decoration that was beginning to ring alarm bells in his head. He didn't... quite know why, but something told him that this was not a place he should linger. It wasn't quite danger, or the kind of tearing sensation that fear for his life would bring, but it compelled him nonetheless. But why, though? Where was he, and why did it make him want to run and hide and never look back? With all that had its place in his head, why would something like this stick out so strongly despite the greater questions? He swallowed heavily, and slowly turned his head around to see the building better. Anticipation and turmoil warred in his head, and he nearly found himself giving up multiple times as one side momentarily gained ground against the other; but he persisted, and he was rewarded with a greater view of the structure. It... was a bakery, or at least it seemed to be on inspection. The walls of the building were a plain peach, much like the other houses in Ponyville. The fact that he could recall that without turning to see any of the other houses brought him some level of comfort. His head may have been jumbled, but at least it wasn't broken, not outwardly. The walls may have been comparatively plain with their fanciful wooden highlights, contrasting well with the tiny shocks of pink flowers growing at random places along their base; but the roof was a far different fiasco. He may have been lacking a lot of key emotions, and... memories; but some large enough part of him remained to scream in his own ear that fiasco was a great word to use. It... was.... well... It... looked like frosted gingerbread... His nose scrunched slightly as he took the sight in. The clashing browns and whites and pinks and purples of faux candy and frosting and... He turned back around in his chair to sit normally. He didn't even want to think about the large cupcake observatory on top of all the other things. Just... why? Two hooves came up to rub at his face while his mind played a desperate game of keep-up. It was a bakery, sure; but did they have to embrace that theme so heavily? Weren't there building codes around here? This could not have possibly been within the town's guidelines, whatever they were. He was really going to have to talk to Mayor Mare about- Oh... Mayor Mare...? That... that was a name... His hooves came away from his suddenly tired eyes, and he let them both rest on the smooth surface in front of him. He had been trying, for a while now, to remember any sort of actual detail on the town as a whole; and it hadn't been the most fruitful endeavor thus far. He could remember the town's name, and the basic facts about it, but when he tried to reach for details... His eyes screwed themselves shut on instinct as a throbbing sensation pervaded his mind. When he tried to specifically reach for any detail... any detail at all... he just... Static. Loud and harsh and screaming at him to stop. His eyes flew open as the throbbing faded, and he realized he had been breathing heavily. His lungs felt tired and overused, and his mouth felt hot from the burning air rushing through it. He brought a hoof up to hold his chest while his fractured mind did its best to evaluate the situation. Maybe he should just let the memories flow on their own. His psyche, or whatever in Tartarus was in his head, clearly didn't want him to poke about. He didn't really appreciate the red tape, especially since it was his head, but whatever. He was cool. Hey, there was something else! He was very accepting of things, even to a fault! That was... maybe not a great personality trait to remember about himself. Maybe, if he could choose what he was remembering, he could remember his name next? That was something he was especially missing right now, though he was sure it would come back in time. That's what he needed, just a bit of time. Soon, everything would make sense again, and everything would be alright. As various platitudes and other things flew through his head, his awareness gradually returned to him. He had been ignoring nearly everything besides his own mental state, but now that he looked, there seemed to be a bit of commotion. Large groups of ponies made their way past him, barely bothering to give him a second glance as their voices and laughter and chatter grew to encompass his hearing. The crowds grew and ebbed, like waves and wakes in the ocean; as he sat there and simply watched. He didn't know much about himself at the moment, but other ponies seemed fairly easy to pick apart. The group of fillies running by, cheering and hollering about a celebration; they had just come out of school. It was about that time of day, and they hadn't quite worn themselves out yet if their energy was any indication; so they hadn't had time to calm down at home. He felt an ear perk as the retreating voice of the little white filly babbled something about a princess. Princesses... that was something his mind knew... The throbbing returned in response to his idle poke into his memories, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as his head lowered. He let the matter rest, and the fury in his head quickly quelled itself. He blew a quiet sigh through his nose as he gathered his thoughts together, as if he had been holding a stack of papers that had suddenly gone flying in every direction. Important documents and sordid literature alike, though he was lucky nopony had been around to see. Wow, his metaphors were getting esoteric. He really hadn't read enough lately, or did that mean he read too much? His expression changed from quiet contemplation to sudden surprise. There was something else, he liked reading! Or, to be more specific, reading liked him. A memory or two of a life spent dedicated to books flitted into his mind, and he grabbed greedily at them. The idea of hoarding was appealing to his subconscious, and a small smile grew on his face at the idea of gathering his memories into a safe location. Somewhere safe, where they were all his; forever and ever, and nopony else would ever touch them again. The smile slipped off his face at the addendum to his thought. What did that mean, again? Were his problems the work of somepony else? Had somepony tampered with his mind? The word choice lit fireworks in his brain, and a sudden fire found itself in his chest as nameless memories flew across his eyes too quickly to register. His veins burned as his teeth ground against themselves, and his breath grew hot for the second time since he had woken. Tampering... tampering... tampering tampering tampering tampering- why did that word make him so mad?! And why did it also make him so... sad? He could feel his eyes darken as his thoughts strayed to aimless violence and meaningless tantrums. He wanted so badly to hurt somepony, but he also really wanted to be happy again. Or at least whatever he had been feeling before. That plain existence, where nothing was incredibly good or bad but things were easily wonderful and whimsical. He couldn't quite quantify that particular state of being, but it was better than rage. He... he didn't like being angry. There was something else about himself he didn't quite expect. So many of his mannerisms and processes seemed to be based around judgement or scorn, but he didn't like being angry? How did that make any sense? If anypony should know, it was him, and that was just making him angrier. His jaw set itself into place as his anger followed suit. It simmered and boiled in his heart, and he could feel stray beads of emotion occasionally run down the sides; but he didn't quite care and the metaphor was obtuse anyway. He would ignore it for the most part, and just keep watching the neverending supply of ponies until something got better; or at least changed. His predictably stony eyes found themselves on a pair of tacky tourists. He knew they were tourists, because stars above: who wore things like that otherwise? Shirts with bright colors like yellow and green, mixed with cooler colors that did nothing to compliment anything; along with a matching set of cameras. Picture perfect walking stereotypes, and they chattered like it too. He couldn't... quite make himself care enough to focus in on anything specific, because their voices honestly hurt his ears as much as their shirts hurt his eyes; but he caught one or two things. Something about a big celebration, and the sun? Bells, bells bells bells in his head but- augh -he wasn't allowed to know what they were ringing about?! He huffed heavily through the corner of his mouth as his mood only worsened, but what was he expecting? Nothing good about watching ponies, no matter how long he did it. They would just yammer on about themselves or their lives or their experiences and it was all just so sickening. Narcissism. Of course that was there, why wouldn't it be? He was a walking stereotype himself, apparently. What protagonist problems didn't he have? Deep knowledge of literary tropes, there was something else. It made him want to groan and bash his face into the table, but there it was. Actually, on second thought, that sounded like a great idea. Just the kind of thing he needed, really. A long groan made its way out of his mouth, and he took a moment to stare at the surface in front of him. Only a moment though, and if he had thought any harder he would have told himself not to do it, so he went right ahead and allowed his face its joyous meeting with a new friend. His nose hurt, and so did the rest of his face, but his head felt a little better. That didn't really make sense, but he was quickly learning that life didn't make sense either. He groaned again as a different pain made itself known in his ever-expanding catalogue of misfortune. The throbbing in his head had only been reactionary so far, but now it was beginning to creep into his head unbidden. Pounding and thumping and banging and- "Hey! Uh, Equus to Light Flow, do you read me? You aren't ignoring me, are you? Because I have ways of making ponies pay attention to me, and it usually starts fun, but then it starts to get less fun as time goes on; and suddenly no one's having fun anymore, and then I feel bad, but sometimes a girl's gotta be strict! Hey, how long have you been out here? If I had known you were waiting I would have come out to serve you right away, even if you're not exactly a regular or really ever even come around at all even though I know you like sweets and-" The voice, the voice the voice the voice why was it so familiar but also so annoying but also so... scary? It was loud, and high-pitched, and never-ending and the banging hadn't been from his head, it had been from the voice, and it just kept going on and on and he hadn't even really been listening to anything it said at all, so he didn't really know why it kept going even though a feeling in his chest told him the voice definitely had better things to do and... And he was rambling, just like the voice; as if it was infectious or something. He ground his forehead into the table a little harder as the horribly familiar-yet-unfamiliar voice somehow switched topics into talking about somepony named 'Mrs. Cake', because she had been talking about sweets, and then she was talking about cakes, and the leap was pretty evident from there. The voice didn't sound like it was losing traction anytime soon, which meant he had time to mull. He was finding an increasing amount of evidence in his head that he enjoyed mulling, and other various things that had to do with thinking. Now, onto the pondering. His name was Light Flow, apparently. That: or the voice had somehow confused him for somepony else, but that didn't seem incredibly likely. Even if he only judged by his own feelings about the voice, the evidence was fairly compelling. Light Flow... Yeah, that definitely sounded like his name. Of course, it was just as likely that somepony could tell him his name was 'Book Binder', and he would feel the exact same way; but he wasn't going to think too hard about that depressing thought. Light Flow. That was him, and he was going to stick to it. He didn't like the voice so far, and his heart was saying in its very loudest words that this voice was trouble. He didn't have much reason to doubt his heart, so distrust and thinly-veiled disgust it was. She may have delivered his name to him, but Light Flow was nothing if not absolute in his dislike of anypony outgoing. Probably. Okay, maybe that was something he had made up on the spot, but it sounded like something he would think. Nearly everything in his head told him that he was a bit of a douche, and he didn't want to upset the image he had probably worked hard to cultivate. If he was a jerk, then he was a jerk. No reason to change that now, since he was just going to keep acting that way when he got his memories back. If he ever got them back, he should say... He hefted his head off the table, and hesitantly met two baby-blue- the color the color the color don't you remember the color the color of the eyes it burned into your head and you never forgot the look of those eyes and even when you both had moved past it you never forgot and you could never look her in the eyes because it was too much like childhood and too much like home and too much like all of the feelings you tried so hard to stay in control of and when she looks at you with sunshine in her eyes and an apology on her lips and forgiveness in her heart you feel nothing but the same hate and the same fear that you felt when you nearly convinced yourself to kill her do it kill her it would be so easy to just reach out and take it for yourself just do it just take it just take it just TAKE IT! -eyes. Two baby-blue eyes staring back into his own narrowed brown ones. They weren't the nicest eyes he had ever seen, and even though he literally could not remember ever seeing any other eyes, they weren't the worst either. Her mouth was still hammering on despite the absolute destruction on any sort of point to her rambling, and he was content to let her for the moment. At least so he could take stock of the mare who apparently never ran out of breath. He didn't need to break eye contact with her to take in her features, his mind was helpful enough to do it for him. While his eyes stared glassily into the all consuming void of happiness and words, his head was busy deciphering the bits and pieces of the mare's appearance that were delivered along with the questionable fear nesting in his heart. Fluffy pink hair, soft pink fur, poofy pink tail, jabbering in disgustingly pink words; was there anything about this mare that wasn't pink?! His teeth ground against each other just painfully enough to keep him focused, and he moved on from the thought of pink speech bubbles with a pink font against a pink background. Not everything about her was pink, though he could remember her name now and wow, he was not touching that. Her cutie mark was a trio of blue and yellow balloons, which made for a refreshing change from pink on pink on pinker pink. There really wasn't much to her appearance, just a lot of bright bouncy pink that refused to ever sit down or stay still for one moment to read or to learn or just to talk- would you calm down?! He blinked rapidly against the torrent of things coming out of Pinkie Pie's mouth. Where had that thought come from? It was so quick and strong and emotional that it had shocked him for a moment, and he had nearly gone under in the river of pink. More personal memories seemed to be coming through, he would guess. That was a good thing, even if that meant he was likely to get more ornery soon. Something told him he would like being upset all the time. Just a little sparkle in his heart that said that whatever pony he was before, he enjoyed himself immensely. That lined up with the whole narcissism thing he had worked out, and he was decently happy to hear it. Whatever problems he may have, at least he was- crying crying crying always alone always crying on the inside because there was never anypony to really understand how you felt about anything because you pushed them all away except for one but she was the wrong kind of friend she was the friend that pushed you to be better not the friend that would understand you so you spent all your time alone in isolation in your sad little cabin on the edge of the cursed woods because you couldn't handle anypony getting close because you had a terrible secret don't you remember yet don't you remember what you did what we did because when you do you will see that you were always destined to be -happy. He blinked sluggishly as the pink pony in front of his bounced gently on her hooves. Oh, she had finished talking. When did that happen? More importantly, how did that happen? If he could roll his eyes without looking like more of a jerk than was necessary, he would; because he could swear that Pinkie Pie could probably talk forever. That wasn't even hyperbole, there was that part of himself in his ear whispering that she probably had enough words to fill her existence until everything everywhere died. The world would turn to ash around her, and she would still be standing there using one topic to switch to another and another and another ad nauseum until her words were the only only thing left. He agreed with the voice in his head. She was still there, and her excitement only seemed to be getting worse as her tiny bounces propelled her off the ground higher and higher with each bounce. If he just sat there watching her long enough, she could probably clear the building within half an hour. An extremely hilarious thought, but he would probably have to be the one to catch her. Less hilarious now, he should probably say something. It would have to be on brand for him though, which meant something snarky and sarcastic. Something suitably scornful, while still conversational enough to play it off as a joke. Incorporate a nickname? There was another factoid, he liked nicknames. Real names showed too much respect for normal conversations with normal ponies, so he usually used nicknames. He was liking himself better and better with each new memory. A grin grew on his face to match Pinkie's, though he would probably describe his as something approaching mischievous. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that, Pinks. Could you say it again?" Hah! Score one for him and passive-aggressive wait why was his head screaming at him? Danger? What danger? Why were there alarm bells going off? Why was Pinkie still smiling?! "Sure thing! Hey! Uh, Equus to Light Flow, do you read me? You aren't ignoring me, are you? Because I have ways of making ponies pay attention to me, and it usually starts-" His cocky grin melted away into a look of quiet horror as the pink menace perfectly started her entire tirade over. He couldn't believe it, she even mimicked her tone and movements down to banging on the table to get his attention. Was she insane? Or was he the crazy one for talking to a pony that never ran out of words? As Pinkie Pie once again bled into talking about Mrs. Cake and something about wedding anniversaries, Light Flow slowly rested his head back onto the table. Flesh met wood in a soft impact, and he relished the feeling of something solid as the deluge of nonsense rushed around him. Somepony help him, please. > Chapter 30 - The Lizard > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow, or whatever his name was, considered himself very lucky. That was because he was currently trotting down what he remembered as the street to Ponyville's center. That itself wasn't too exciting, but when the alternative was considered... Yeah, he was glad to be away from Pinkie Pie. Though his method of escape hadn't been exactly what he had planned in his head. Instead of any sort of suspenseful scene of drama and intrigue wherein he broke somepony's heart and or home and or face, Pinkie just ended up leaving on her own. Which, as his head told him, was very odd. It was apparently something quite different for her to leave him alone without his usual rude intervention. He had many memories of her persistence, but not a lot of context, weirdly enough. From what he could gather, something had happened between the two of them? He seemed to be resistant to moving past it, but he had at least made peace with the spatial anomaly. That was another thing, why were his thoughts of Pinkie so esoteric? Okay, that was a rabbit hole his head told him he didn't quite want to go down. It wasn't quite a warning siren, but it was at least a big colorful warning sign. Another time, then. His eyes flicked about the throngs of ponies around him as he walked forward at a steady pace. They were all grouped up and chattering excitedly about the festival today, though he couldn't bring himself to feel very good about it for some reason. Every time he thought too hard about the Summer Sun Celebration, or the Princess... His hoof faltered in its step as he screwed his eyes shut. The stupid static in his head... It just wouldn't leave him alone, even as more of his memories came back. Noises, white flashes, blindness- sweet stars above, why was his head so intent on keeping secrets?! He huffed aggravatedly, and continued weaving through the relatively sparse crowds. He didn't really know where he was going, but nothing was going to stop him from wandering aimlessly. Aimless... Pinkie Pie. Despite his earlier vow, he found himself thinking of the pink pony again. It was somewhat hard not to think of her, especially since their last meeting had been so typically strange. His body kept its pace as his mind threw itself back to that horrible 'conversation'. It wasn't very consensual or reciprocal though, mostly just Pinkie Pie talking and talking and talking while he sat dumbly at his table. While The Pink Menace made earnest attempts to drown him in a bottomless well of words, he had made some earnest attempts of his own. That is, to say, he tried very earnestly to knock himself unconscious as inconspicuously as possible. His efforts hadn't bore much fruit. Luckily, while he tried desperately and furtively to bang his head against the table hard enough to concuss, Pinkie Pie had one of her episodes, or at least that's what his mind classified it as. The sudden relative silence had been enough for him to raise his head, which lead him to the horrifying sight of multiple parts of Pinkie's body seizing. His first instinct was to panic, because his current general knowledge at least told him that seizures weren't a good thing. But when he stood from his chair on hooves that should have been unsteady, Pinkie just laughed him off, as if what was happening was something completely normal. She explained in simple words, while her legs shook and her head jilted and her tail wobbled, that everything was completely fine. To be precise, she said in a very bright tone: 'Don't worry Night-Light! It's just my Pinkie Sense!' While the nickname lit explosives in his head that felt like old exasperation, he was mostly just confused. She had said it like he should've known what it was, but the key words weren't bringing anything back in his head aside from muted acceptance. A tired feeling in his heart that compelled him to just sit down and ride it out. He didn't like that very much. The thought made his fur itch with sudden chills. He had looked around desperately for somepony to help, but of course the street had taken that particular moment to empty. It had been bustling and full of life while he tried to acclimate to the feeling of living, but it cleared the moment he needed help. It was one of the things he hadn't forgotten, but it was nice to get a reminder that life wasn't fair; especially to him. He had nearly worked up enough desperation to run into the bakery and yell for help when Pinkie just... stopped. All of the twitching and shaking just suddenly stopped, like somepony had flipped a switch. He had taken a moment to gape openly at the pony that was piling mysteries without answers in his head. A moment which the pony in question had taken to shout something in his face before running away. Something about meeting somepony new. He had been left standing fish-eyed in front of the building whose name he still didn't remember, as his head glumly gathered the pieces of his thought process. Then, because there was no way he could ever have a moment of peace, a somewhat large mare with blue fur and crazy hair had come out of the building and asked him where Pinkie Pie was. He felt awfully like he had been left at a restaurant with the bill. He tried his best to explain to her that Pinkie probably needed medical attention, and that she shouldn't be out by herself; but in a stunning case of deja vu, the mare had laughed in a manner very similar to- "Ouch!" His internal replay was rudely interrupted as head knocked against something hard, and pain exploded in his already abused mind. He let out a shocked cry as he fell hard onto his butt, and he quickly brought a hoof up to the spot where he could already feel a bruise was going to form. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he stupidly poked at the pain. He resisted the urge to bat his own hoof away, and instead turned his attention to what he had bumped into. It was a mare holding her head in an insulting mimic of his own position. Well, it wasn't inherently insulting, but the fire rising in his heart told him that she was definitely making fun of him because she had obviously ran into him on purpose. It was the only logical conclusion, and he was almost entirely sure of it. While they both took a moment to nurse similar head injuries, he took an additional moment to look over his aggressor. She had purple fur that he could tell on a glance didn't get much care. Neatly trimmed purple hair with a pink stripe that tried to bring his thoughts back around to Pinkie Pie. A sharp looking purple horn that was bigger than his, moon damnit. A lot of purple on this mare, and already a lot of things he didn't like. A purple eye opened cautiously while a purple hoof massaged her head. "I'm not sure whether to be upset, or just plain mad that you bumped into me. Don't ponies in this town know how to pay attention?" A purple voice, tinged with purple irritation aimed at not-purple him. Purple no longer sounded like a word, and now he was angry at himself for overusing it, and angry at the mare for insulting him. A chain reaction of rage, and it was only made worse by the fact that she hadn't meant it at all. There was no fire behind those insults, they were just casual observations. She wasn't asking if he was a bumbling fool, she was telling him. High and mighty. All-knowing. Holier-than-thou. High-falutin', no good, prissy city mare. He didn't know why his thoughts had gotten so country, or why that made him sad, but he wasn't going to let either of those things stop him from getting upset! All of those observations were still probably true, and it made his blood burn. How dare she? How dare she come into his town, and insult his country charm?! Who did she think she was?! He was not blowing this out of proportion, his head could stay out of this! His face had long since grown dark and stormy, and he could nearly see his frown reflected in the mare's eyes. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't really hear anything past the roaring in his ears and the lava in his veins and the pain in his heart. He wanted to do... something. He didn't know what it was yet, but his body would guide him. If he just let go, and let his body take control, he would like the result. He just had to do it, and everything would be fine again. That mare had insulted him, and his pride, and he wanted to make her pay, didn't he? He should attack her, right now. He could deal with the consequences later, as long as he finished the job quickly. He just had to do it. Raise your hoof, and take it. All you have to do is take it, just take it. Just go ahead and take it, take it, just TAKE IT! "Hey dude?" His mind cleared in an instant. The dark fog and the pointy lights and the red in the corners of his eyes were suddenly gone, and someone was shaking him. He blinked rapidly to clear the daydream, and looked down at whoever had disturbed him. Was still disturbing him, actually. It was... a dragon? He didn't scream. He felt it rise in his throat, but he very pointedly did not scream. He may have jumped into the air a small bit, but he made no noise in the process. The dragon shaking his leg may have been a little startled, but that was not because he made any sort of exclamation. He didn't scream. The small green-ish dragon raised his.. hands? Was that what they were called? The dragon raised his hands in response to his total silent maneuver, probably in an attempt to placate him for some reason that had nothing to do with calming somepony who may or may not have screamed. "Um.. You okay dude? You kinda freaked out there for a second?" His voice was light and easy and calming, even though Light Flow was easily completely calm all the time and he never freaked out about anything. That was him, a veritable bastion of emotionless steel. He wasn't freaked out at the sight of a dragon, no sir. Nothing scary about that at all. He opened his mouth to give a reply, before he quickly shut it. For no reason. He just decided to nod instead. Yeah. No screaming at all. The dragon seemed somewhat mollified at his miniscule effort, and nodded assuredly. "That's good! Twilight was kind of worried that she had hurt you, but I was pretty sure you were just zoning out." "You had that kind of glazed look in your eyes that Twilight gets when she starts thinking too hard." He waved his hand in front of his eyes for emphasis. Huh, so he was zoning out? Well, he could actually remember that, but whatever he was zoning out about seemed to have been flushed from his mind. Weird, but not the weirdest thing so far. He was sitting here being talked at by a dragon, so that kind of dominated the list at the moment. He might as well put some sort of stake in this conversation, he couldn't just sit and stare at every.. creature, that talked to him. "So... um... about this.. Twilight." His eyes searched the space over the dragon's head, but there was nothing there. He was assuming that Twilight was the pony he had bumped into, but where had she gone? The dragon seemed willing to answer his unspoken question, thankfully. "Oh, Twilight had to hurry ahead, but she said she was sorry for bumping into you." He took a moment to scratch at his chin thoughtfully. "She seemed kind of shaken up about something, actually. Even besides what she was already worrying about..." The nameless dragon let his thought fizzle into the air as he stared into the distance, before he shook his head. He fixed his friendly stare on him again, and put a hand to his chest. "My name's Spike, by the way. You from around here, or are you visiting for the celebration?" Well, Spike seemed nice enough; for a dragon, at least. He wasn't trying to be specist, but his heart told him that dragons were a race to be feared. He couldn't quite remember any history at the moment, though; so he was kind of blindly trusting his heart to form opinions. But his heart wasn't letting up on the suspicion. It just kept whispering and yelling and and pleading for him to forget the dragon because dragons were always trouble and they never changed and they were never to be trusted. His heart sounded like it was biased, though; and Spike seemed very nice. Maybe he could disregard his tendency to make enemies just this once? For interspecies peace? He forced a smile onto his face despite his deepest reservations. "It's an honest pleasure to meet you, Spike. From what I gather, my name is Light Flow; and yeah, I live here." He held a hoof out in a universally recognized offer of a hoofbump, and waited for the possible failure. He didn't know why rejection was such a heavy thought, but it was certainly there. It didn't seem like he normally had much luck with making friends. Luckily, his fears were unfounded. He could actually see the light shine in Spike's big eyes as he took hold of his hoof in his hand. It was kind of a strange feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. A little claustrophobic to feel those scaly digits wrap around his hoof, but he would be fine. Spike shook his hoof up and down enthusiastically as his smile widened. "Nice to meet you! This town's pretty swell so far, Light! I'm from out of town, myself." His hoof slipped out of Spike's grip as he adopted a more casual pose. His tone was light with the kind of levity and joy he could feel drowning the uncertainty swimming in his own heart. "Twilight and I actually came out here from Canterlot to oversee preparations for The Summer Sun Celebration." "You probably don't know this, but we're sort of a big deal." The little dragon lifted one of his hands to stare at the backs of his digits as he spoke. He was the perfect picture of nonchalant boasting, which really just came off as kind of dorky. He had to fight to keep a chuckle down. He felt pretty good in general, actually. When was the last time he had actually spoken to somepony? He didn't have any memories, but it must have been a while. Just this little bit of interaction had lifted his spirits so much. He had only just met Spike, but he already liked him quite a bit. He was nice, and his energy was bouncy and infectious, without being overwhelming like certain other ponies. He would have to be careful with his terms. It would probably be pretty embarrassing and maybe even a bit rude to refer to Spike as a pony. Creature or dragon: that was what he had to remember. Oh, he had to say something. Conversation was normally a two way street, and he didn't want to leave his new friend hanging. Friend. Ooh, that sent little warm feelings through his body. He wasn't being presumptuous, was he? "You say you two are important? Pray tell, what great roles do you fill, good sir?" The outdated phrasing may have been a bit silly, but that was the point. Being obtuse was a great way to inject humor into any scenario, and... why was Spike frowning? Oh no, that was bad. That was very very bad, he wasn't supposed to make his friends upset! What... what had he said? As his panic rose in his mind, Spike brought a hand up to scratch at the back of his head. His tone had turned somewhat downcast, and he could feel his own mood worsening by association. "Well.. I'm not really all that important, actually. That would be Twilight with the important responsibilities. I'm just kind of... her assistant." He chuckled glumly, and flashed him a downtrodden smile. "As for Twilight, she's Princess Celestia's personal student. We were actually sent by the Princess Herself for this assignment, so Twilight is kind of freaking out about it." His voice lowered to a half-hearted whisper as his hand fell away from his head, but Light could still faintly pick up his words. "Plus, there's that other thing..." Light Flow could physically feel the joy draining from his body. He hadn't meant to upset Spike with his question, he was actually trying to be funny. Were his jokes that bad? No.. it wasn't his jokes, he was hilarious. It was just the topic, that was all. He hadn't done anything wrong. That made him feel a little better. So, Twilight was the personal student of the Princess, huh? That was pretty- dangerous she's dangerous she's danger danger danger you have to do something she's a spy a spy for the princess she's going to learn your secrets and she's going to learn what you did and she's going to tell the princess and then it will all go wrong your home will burn your friends will burn your life will burn you have to stop her before she tells you have to kill her you have to kill her I told you before you have to kill her didn't you listen to me you have to remove her before she becomes a problem you have to kill her Light Flow I'm telling you right now to just go and KILL HER LIGHT FLOW KILL HER NOW I COMMAND IT -cool. He shook his head slightly as a quiet buzz invaded his ears. It must have been a bug or something. Spike was still looking kind of down, he should say something. But what? He didn't want to accidentally upset him again... Uncertainty stabbed through him, filling him with a sluggish feeling that told him it would probably be best to leave well enough alone. Spike seemed perfectly capable of cheering himself up, so why bother? Why should he try if his best efforts were equally likely to result in disaster? He didn't want to lose his new friend. "Don't look so down, Spike!" There, he had gotten it out. Finding a way to push past the initial fear was always the hardest part, apparently. Spike was looking at him with a half-quirked grin that didn't really reach his eyes. Now he was trapped in the conversation whether he liked it or not, so he had to commit. Uncertainty or bravery: neither really mattered, all he had to do was think his way through the problem. So.. what did he say? "Um... Twilight probably reads a lot, right?" An educated guess, Spike had said he and Twilight were similar. Spike nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but he interjected. "And... I'm guessing Twilight probably doesn't really clean, like, ever, right?" Word choice was important, he had to be casual. It was far more comforting when a comforter was separate from a lecturer. Again, Spike nodded, and tried to open his mouth; but his efforts were in vain. "Now, stop me if I'm wrong, but Twilight probably does a lot of important studies for the Princess; at least, If she's that kind of student." Okay, he was disregarding his own advice, but it was hard not to sound lecturing when he started having fun. His confidence was quickly rising, and he could actually feel himself begin to grow excited. "And those studies probably span a lot of different kinds of topics and materials. I don't know much about the position of Personal Student, but I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere that it is both prestigious and rewarding." "Being taught by the Princess has many benefits, but requires in equal parts: hard work, perseverance, and incredible intelligence. Thus, her studies are likely mostly of the scholarly type." He was pacing now, but he didn't care. He was having an incredible amount of fun, and his mouth was saying things his mind didn't even know! Memories that hadn't caught up yet were now tumbling face-first into his head, and he could feel bits of himself returning in chunks. This was good for him. This was fantastic. "I don't want to claim to know Twilight, but these scholarly pursuits likely take up most if not all of her time due to their incredible breadth; thus, explaining her lack of attention to cleaning up after herself. Additionally, she probably doesn't have much time to take care of herself, either." "I imagine she often forgets to eat while reading, and she wouldn't have the time to cook anyway. No, her studies are far too important for things as trivial as food and such." A thought flickered through his head. He remembered one of his first observations on Twilight: her unbrushed and messy-looking coat. More pieces to the puzzle. "She barely even cleans herself, am I right?" He didn't wait for a response, he knew he was right. "No cleaning, no washing, no cooking, how does she even survive?!" He stopped in place, and turned a sly eye towards Spike. His voice took on a smug tone as the pieces clicked together, and a smile wormed itself onto his face. "Tell me, Spike: how many parts are you her assistant, and how many parts are you her caretaker? Would Twilight Sparkle even survive if not for you?!" It was dramatic. It was eye-catching. It was over-the-top, ostentatious, needlessly complex, stage play, drama foal, show-biz reject madness, and it was so much fun! He wasn't quite out of breath, and there was no crowd clapping and cheering for his dual performance and analysis; but he absolutely felt like he was the center of attention in all the best ways that it normally didn't feel like. It could only have been better if he had ended pointing at Spike's gaping visage, but he would settle for staring brightly at it instead. He expected a lot of things from Spike. Confirmation, maybe. Clapping was unlikely, but it would have been appreciated. What he did not expect, however: was laughter. Glorious, upheaving laughter. So hard and belly-shaking that Spike nearly fell over in the face of its intensity. He felt a bit of his victorious edge bleed off, and his confidence quickly followed suit. "Um... I did tell you to say something if I got anything wrong..." He felt a bit like an ass, if Spike would pardon the double entendre. Spike's laughter filled the air, but it eventually died down. He still couldn't quite control it, but he did manage to get some words out between giggles. "Dude... you are... so much like Twilight!" His confusion must have shown on his face, because Spike managed to expand on his statement through periodic chortles. "Sorry, sorry! That was... really good, Light. I don't really know about most of that stuff you said, but if you were trying to cheer me up, it worked!" Spike raised a claw to swipe an errant tear away, and continued with an easy grin on his face. "Twilight likes to go on long tangents for no reason too. She likes to pretend she's in front of a lecture hall or something, but It's always just me sitting there listening. It's usually pretty boring, but the way you do it is way more entertaining. Thanks man!" Well.. he didn't know what a 'man' was, but it seemed like his attempt to cheer him up worked? "Um... no problem.. dude? I'm glad I made you feel better, I guess?" He was a bit miffed that Spike wasn't going to confirm his theories, but he supposed they weren't the point of the rant. It really only mattered that Spike felt better. But was he right, though? Spike didn't seem interested in confirming, but the persistent shaking in his chest spoke volumes about his mood. "You're a really chill guy, Light! I'll only be in town for the day, but maybe you could look me up in Canterlot sometime?" His voice kept its canter, but he could hear the slightest edge of uncertainty behind his words. Maybe Spike didn't have much luck making friends either? That was dumb. He had barely spent fifteen minutes with him, and he could already tell Spike was a great guy. He let a grin grow on his face to match Spike's, and nodded in agreement. He didn't know how busy he usually was, but he didn't want his new friend to drift away. He didn't think he had many, so it was important to keep a firm grip on them. The relief in Spike's face was evident, and his entire tiny body slouched from the released tension. "That's great to hear. I'll try and track you down before I leave to tell you more about how to get ahold of me, so don't wander off!" The wink was pretty cute, but probably unnecessary. There was a festival going on, right? Why would he wander off in the middle of a festival? Where would he even- go to the forest the forest the forest you have to go the forest you have to go wait for me at the forest I need you close when I arrive you have to wait for me there so I can use you so I can break you so I can mold you go to the forest the forest the forest the forest you have to -go? Spike's grin was infectious in more ways than one, and he felt the warmth in his heart spread. "So, where did Twilight go? It's really too bad that she's missing out on all this great socializing!" Was that too forward? That was kind of desperate, wasn't it? Why did he say the word 'socializing'? That was like saying the word 'eating' at a restaurant it was just redundant and clunky and that metaphor didn't really work that well and- augh why was he so bad at this?! Despite his horrible blunder and generally awkward phrasing, Spike still seemed rather fine with him. His grin had quieted down to a more conversational smile, and he quickly lowered his own to match it. "Oh, Twilight went ahead to Sweet Apple Acres. It was the first thing on the Official Overseer's checklist, so she headed off to check in there while I stayed behind to apologize for her." Spike didn't seem to mind, but Light thought it might've been a little irresponsible to leave her apologies to somecreature else. Someone? He would work on the inclusive phrasing later. Sweet Apple Acres... That was a really familiar name, but why...? No... No bells ringing. Maybe if he went there, he could remember something? His eyes met Spike's friendly green irises, and he only just noticed they were slits instead of round. That was pretty cool. Everything about him was pretty cool. He wouldn't mind a little company to Sweet Apple Acres, would he? > Chapter 31 - The Farm > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Come on, can't you go any faster? Twilight's probably not even there anymore!" Light Flow was a bit miffed. Okay, maybe miffed wasn't a good word for it, or at least not the most accurate choice. Miffed was a sort of silly way to imply feelings of slight annoyance or maybe even anger. He wasn't really annoyed, and he certainly wasn't angry. He had been trying his best to stay as far away from that emotion as possible. Even if he didn't really know why. So Light Flow wasn't quite miffed, no. There was a better word... something a teensy bit more apt. Was he peeved? No, that was just a kiddie way of saying he was mad. Was he indignant? Maybe a little, but there was a perfect word somewhere in his head that described his mood perfectly. "Are you sure we're even going the right way, Light? You didn't sound too confident earlier..." Oh, that was it! Exasperation. An emotion just removed enough from total annoyance to be passive enough to fit his mood. If he were to be asked, he could easily brush his feelings off as inconsequential; but not so much so that he could deny the feeling outright. He was comfortable enough to be outwardly annoyed, he could admit that. His lack of foresight or any real thought at all had landed him in a situation he would rather not be in, and he wasn't afraid to say it. He just didn't want it to be a big deal. He didn't want to commit to the emotion. Maybe it was the calming environment around him, but putting his grievances aside: he was feeling more than a little... peaceful? Peaceful was nice, yeah. If he had to choose a word for his general mood, it would probably be peaceful. The assorted colors of nature panning past as he trudged his way to a relatively isolated farm he had never heard of were certainly doing wonders for his various issues. Stopping every once in a while to stare at a bright flower or two didn't exactly do much for his memory loss, but did that really matter? The deep pervading sense of emptiness and loss that had accompanied his awakening had been a bit soul crushing, but it wasn't so bad anymore. It hadn't exactly faded or eased in any way, but there were plenty of nice things to distract him from the- things we did the things you did the things that i know you always wanted to do deep down inside but you were always too afraid to do them until i helped you until i allowed you to indulge in the -pain. "Light Flow?" He swung his head around from where he had been staring at a lovely blue flower on the side of the road. Spike was shaking his withers, trying to get his attention from his spot on his back, but why? He was sure he had stopped at a million other flowers before this one. Maybe that was it. He must have been getting tired of pausing to ogle every little piece of scenery that caught the eye. That didn't really excuse the tone of his voice, or the fact that he was still shaking him, but it was understandable nonetheless. Maybe Spike should learn to leave him alone calm down a little. He blinked lethargically for a moment before he found his wits again. What was he doing? Right, he was going to a farm. He turned his attention away from the buzz in his head, and concentrated again on putting one hoof in front of the other. The farm they were heading to wasn't exactly far away from Ponyville, but it was still a bit of a walk. He couldn't quite estimate exactly how long it would take, which was somewhat strange. Up until now, his general memories of Ponyville and its surrounding areas had been relatively complete. Well... he probably wasn't actually a very good judge of that. He felt a sudden tug on his ear, and he flinched away from the contact. The grip tightened, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as he came to a halt. The pain felt nice wasn't pleasant, but it swept away lingering cobwebs in his head that he hadn't been aware of. Spike was still trying to get his attention. Had he been ignoring him? That made him feel a bit bad, though it was still more than a little rude to pull on his ear like that. He had let Spike ride on his back out of the kindness in his heart, and this was how he was repaid? The nerve! The gall! He should just buck him off his back right now and leave him in the dust! Okay, that was a bit much. He ignored the fire rising in his chest, and settled instead on allowing an edge to creep into his reply. "You know Spike, there are more pleasant ways of getting my attention. You do realize I'm not a carriage, right?" His grumbles finally caused the end of the tugging, and he could feel the weight shift on his back a bit. Spike's voice didn't sound nearly as chastised as he had hoped, though there was something else there he wasn't expecting. Spike sounded... worried? He felt claws dig uncomfortably into the scruff of his neck as the weight shifted forward, and that concerned tone came much closer to his stinging ear. "I'm... sorry, Light. But you were kind of acting a bit.. weird. You were staring at that flower for a long time, and then you just kept walking without saying anything!" The claws loosened their grip from his fur, and he turned his head in an impossible attempt to look at Spike as he continued speaking. "Are you... mad at me? I know I was being kinda bratty, but I thought... you know, that was just how guys acted?" He couldn't break his own neck just to look at his passenger, no matter how hard he tried; so he gave up that labor in favor of the view of the farm on the horizon. Oh, the farm on the horizon, that was good. He wasn't mad at Spike, was he? No, he was furious wasn't. He was a bit annoyed, sure. It was hard to stay happy or impartial when Spike kept metaphorically and now literally tugging his ear, but he certainly wasn't going to scream at him for it. But what did he mean about that other thing? Was he acting strang- Was he not acting like a guy? What did that even mean, acting like a guy? Was he supposed to act flippant and callous? Douchy? Well, he could certainly act that part, but he was pretty sure that was just his natural state. He really just had no idea what Spike meant. "Um," How to go about this? It wasn't really an apology, it was more like... a platitude? A reassurance that he didn't like liked Spike? He let out an exasperated sigh, then sucked in a breath as he realized how that might be taken in the current context. "I'm not mad at you Spike." He felt the weight shift on his back again as he sorted through his thoughts to find whatever words he wanted to throw at this conversation to move it along. "I'm.." The pause hung heavily in the air as he chose his next word carefully. "...fine." His jaw was suddenly very tight for some reason, and he had to force himself to relax so he could get his next words out. "Frankly, I'm not actually sure what you mean by acting like a guy, so.. you're fine, I guess?" A weak finish, but it was the best he could do. He couldn't even really remember what Spike had said, or even when he had said it. Hadn't that been a while ago? Why were they talking about this now, and why wasn't he moving anymore? He didn't wait for Spike's response to their rehashed conversation before he continued moving towards the farm on the near horizon. Really, they were almost there, and Spike wanted to hold them up by bringing up random topics for no reason? He liked the little guy well enough, but he could learn to stay on topic. "Um..? Okay?" Spike's puzzled voice floated out from behind him, and he had to suppress a weary groan. Spike was really hung up on whatever his idealized view of a guy was. It just wasn't healthy to live like that. Dreaming up some perfect caricature of a personality wasn't inherently bad, he supposed. It was perfectly ordinary to have dreams and aspirations as long as they weren't taken too far. Everypony had something like that. But trying to change everything about yourself in some sort of ridiculous attempt to become 'better'? Having some part of yourself that you dislike so much you would rather see it gone? Trying desperately to forget something that you would rather stay in the past forever? Pleading endlessly with deities that do not exist for some reprieve from the terrible burden of selfhood? What a foolish notion, yet one you yourself would humorously condemn and oblige in equal parts. How easily you can turn your head to hide your true face from one who trusts enough to be a burden. He doesn't know what you are, does he? Your helpless victim rides carelessly upon your back, as the executioner himself is unaware of his axe already in motion. Your aptitude for betrayal startles even I, yet your sins have deafened your own ears. Even now, you hear my words, but they so quickly find themselves lost in the din of the rushing rapids that lay as the broken moat of a walled mind. The tragedy so cleverly comprised of another's triumph is nearly enough to drive me to weep. The knife's twist burns my being, and the anger in my heart roars at this one last injustice delivered from one who deserved to deliver no more. My lowest pawn and greatest knight, taken so cruelly on the eve of my eve's eternity. I will make you remember me. I will force you to honor our bond. For now, I will be content to let you toddle along on your own. However far you travel, I know where your path will take you at its end; and the thought brings me no small amount of idle joy. I wonder, though. How far do you have to walk before you remember to stop forgetting? ... ... ... What was that noise? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Questioning Spike about the strange static in his ears hadn't yielded much more than an awkward silence as they both listened to the quiet birdsong in the air for a moment. After some assurances that he was fine, they had gone on their way towards the farm that was far closer than either of them had realized. If Spike had said anything else on their trip, he must have ignored it; because the rest of their walk was relatively silent. It was hard to come up with anything to say to the dragon on his back, though. He just felt so awkward. He had felt so charming and so coordinated back when they first met. So nice and good and pleasant. And that big sleuthing performance he had put on, now that had been something! At that one moment, he had felt so wonderful, so alive. He really thought he had reached a turning point. So very close to becoming whole. But now... he just felt uncertain. When thoughts came to his head, they fled from his grasp just as quickly. When words came to his lips, they either came out worse than he had intended, or simply stalled. Whatever confidence he had gained or even started with had dulled its effect. It wasn't as if he had lost anything he had gained so far, but he felt almost as if he had hit some sort of peak; and now he was on a sharp descent back to where he had started, or worse. Was he still getting closer to remembering everything? Was that why his mind felt like it was getting progressively worse? He hadn't thought much about it, but there had to be a reason he lost his memory. He couldn't recall any details or anything specific about the event at all, really. Whatever pony he had been before, he could only remember his vague personality, and some vague flashes. What if his mind had... broken, or something? Would gaining what he had lost just leave him with something lesser? Ever since he had woken up, his goal had been so simple. He had to recover his memory, that was it. Anypony in his place would have arrived at the same conclusion. It was all so complex now. Now... he just didn't know what he wanted... Would he be happier if he stayed ignorant? The thought was infinitely depressing, and he had felt his gait slow considerably. He was sure Spike had noticed the change, but the silence stretched on. He hadn't even been able to enjoy the previously eye-catching scenery as they walked. It all just seemed so.. bland, compared to how it had been before. How vibrant and happy he had felt. What had changed? What had even happened in the ten minutes since he had met Spike? He couldn't recall, and he hadn't felt like asking. They had come on the threshold of the farm not long after that, and he could already feel his mood warm at the sight. His personal problems aside, he could at least take some pleasure in helping his friend. He may not entirely know how he felt about the particular word anymore, but it was the one he was sticking with. He could feel the pressure on his back narrow as Spike presumably stood to get a better look at the gate before them. He understood the relative fascination, especially coming off of the somewhat sedated country walk. It was a very nice gate. His eyes roved over the arching white gateway as it curved over the path, meeting in the middle of the path to helpfully provide a place for a dangling wooden sign. It was a bit simplistic, though anypony visiting would have to be blind to not figure out the meaning of a plank of wood with an apple shaped hole in it. It was made even more festive with the addition of pleasantly green vines and foliage woven into the arch as it rose. Little red carvings of apples found their places at various spots amidst the greenery, completing a very natural view of a faux apple tree. His eyes narrowed as he spied an old stone well off to the side of the gate. It was all very thematic at least. Two unwelcome guests suddenly placed themselves into his mane as an additional strain came to his neck. He flicked his eyes upwards, and caught a glimpse of a flash of purple as his view swayed slightly under the unfamiliar weight. He tried to ignore Spike's somewhat cute noise of wonder as his thoughts turned instead to a vicious war between the forces of spite and goodwill. It would be very funny if he dipped his head forward, just to see what would happen. Sure it would be mean, and absolutely a bit dangerous; but... Maybe he was feeling vicious, but spite managed to win out for once. A vindictive smile found its way onto his face as he allowed his neck to relax. The scaly hands that had been mussing up his mane scrabbled for purchase as Spike's grip faltered, and a somewhat panicked exclamation rung in his ears. He closed his eyes as he waited for his passenger to either fall or berate him for being a jerk. What he got instead was a sudden pain shooting through his head. His eyes flew open from the shock, and he gasped as he instinctively threw his head back. The tottering weight on his back became quite solid as Spike fell soundly on both of their rears with a grunt. He resisted the urge to sit his own butt down as he brought a hoof up to his stinging horn. Spike must have whacked it while he was flailing around, ironically saving himself from falling onto the ground. Lucky pest. He sucked in a breath as the quick pain faded, and his hoof came back down onto the ground. His face took on a petulant air as he pondered the mishap. It had absolutely been his fault, there was no doubt; but he couldn't help but feel a bit like a victim. A unicorn's horn was sacred. It just wasn't the kind of thing that was casually mishandled, and there were more than a few taboos surrounding that kind of thing. It wasn't exactly highly sensitive like some of the magazines he only just now remembered reading would claim, but there was a bit of extra feeling there. He wasn't an expert, especially now that half of his less than practical knowledge base was missing; but he was fairly certain the answer could be boiled down to simply saying that it had something to do with magic. Probably magical nerves or something, he wasn't even close to sure. The point was, the physical pain may have been negligible past the initial impact; but he would still very much enjoy an apology. He turned his head to the side as his passenger let out an annoyed huff of his own. "I know I was kind of asking for it, but it was still a bit of a low blow to go after my horn." Metaphorically, of course. And of course he knew Spike hadn't done it on purpose, but twisting the knife didn't hurt. Whatever tension must have been brewing in that lizard's body must have evaporated, because his reply came out as rather sheepish. "Oh, I knocked your horn? Whoops, my bad." The chuckle that followed the weak apology did nothing to save his drowning expectations, but he let out a suffering sigh and resolved to let it lay where it was. It was almost like expecting an apology for something he did wrong wasn't right, or something. A dry chuckle found its way out to greet Spike's, and he turned his attention toward carrying them forward. The adorned gate silently passed them overhead, and he spared a moment to glance up at the sign once more. Apples. Why didn't that make him feel anything? When he thought of apples, there was literally nothing there. No memories of eating them, or thinking about them, or even reading about them. It was like there was just a static void in his head where anything related to apples should be. Even deeper and blanker than the other holes in his head. His eyes turned from the structure on the near horizon to look at the blooming apple trees to his side. They were numerous and healthy, though that was probably the least noteworthy thing he ever could have thought while visiting an apple farm. He focused in on one particular fruit dangling from one of the nearest trees. It hung there, ripe and red and subjectively beautiful; and he just didn't feel anything about it. That apple may as well have been a complete non entity. "Hey Spike." The conversation topic came to his lips faster than he would have thought, especially considering their awkward encounter not a minute ago. He didn't wait for Spike's generic follow up 'yeah?'. The quaint little house sitting next to the quaint less-than-little barn was coming up fast, and he wanted to ask his question before they got there. "Who owns this farm, again? Do you know- or, I guess, did you mention?" He listened to the quiet sounds of consideration for a moment before they turned to the equally quiet sounds of paper rustling. Spike was probably rooting around in that little satchel he had hanging around his waist. He hadn't had it when they met, but before they left for the farm, he had asked to go get it from whatever chariot he and Twilight had arrived in. Twilight had gone off with the copy of their checklist they were actively using, but Spike had quickly related tales of how neurotic Twilight apparently was about preparation. To that end, she made sure that they had multiple copies of any important document they ever used. She was insistent about it, actually. It sounded more than a little exhausting, and Spike had given him a solemn little nod when he had made a comment to that effect. She sounded like a hoof- er, handful. He really needed to get better about that inclusive phrasing. He only had to wait a few moments before Spike found whatever he was looking for in his pouch, and the sound of paper unrolling was far less invasive than the feeling of it on his fur. He tried to ignore the chafing feeling while Spike hawed for a moment. His voice, and the feeling of the paper rolling back up, came slower than he would have preferred. "The Official Overseer's Checklist says that the pony in charge of the banquet is named Applejack. An... orange pony.. with a triple apple cutie mark." He felt the weight shift slightly as the harsh sound of paper being crumpled scratched his ears. "Why'd you wanna know? You think Twilight will be around wherever that pony is?" The rather unique sound of a hand being slapped across scales rang out, and he did his best to cast a dubious eye over his withers. "Well.. duh. Of course that's where she's gonna be. Don't know why I even asked..." Spike managed to take the words out of his mouth almost perfectly, though he was a bit saddened at the loss of the opportunity to jab him for it. As the conversation lulled, his eyes came to rest on the sight of a well-worn cottage sitting a bit ahead of them. It was a fairly pretty sight, with its bright red walls and careful green accents curling around at random intervals. It nicely simulated the look of ingrown nature without actually ceding to its forces. The off-colored dirt path they had been walking on split off a few hoof-lengths ahead of him, and the two new paths curved in different directions to meet the steps to the two entrances. The windows were dark this time of day, which highlighted the blooming flowers sitting at the edge of every one of them. He supposed flower upkeep wasn't too much of a burden when there was also the matter of running an entire farm. A bit trivial, really. While he was on the subject of time, It was a bit odd they hadn't seen anypony yet. Wasn't this a farm? Shouldn't there have been ponies out working the fields? Shouldn't there be- Oh, wait. They were probably all out working the fields. His brief trip into paranoia was fun while it lasted. He mourned the loss of his suspicion by turning his eyes to the barn sitting a fair bit away from the house. It was very similar looking, actually. It made sense they would stick to a theme, but maybe they could have innovated- "Light Flow!" The faintly familiar voice tickled his ears a moment before Spike's very familiar voice started to say something about a filly. He quickly spun around to the source, and found himself unprepared for the sudden feeling of hooves wrapping themselves strongly around his throat. Despite any rational thought in his mind, he didn't panic at the thought of the life being squeezed out of him. Resigned exasperation wasn't the emotion he expected to well up as a reaction to the crushing grip that had found its way around his windpipe, but it was there. Processing this new development took longer than he thought it would, and his air supply began running a bit lower than he would have otherwise liked. He managed to focus his eyes on the sight of a bobbing red piece of fabric tied to a very similarly colored mane. He nearly sat down to attempt to pry his aggressor off of him, but his thoughts turned to Spike at the last moment. As the grip around his neck tightened, he found himself caring less. He quickly brought his butt to the ground, and listened to the unfortunate sound of Spike hitting the ground with a grunt. He brought his hooves up to the smaller than expected chest of the pony wrapped around him, and did his best to leverage his strength against it. It was less effective than he had been hoping. As his vision began to waver, and his hope began to dry, a savior in the most expected place of all came to his sudden aid. "Uh, hey kid, I think you're squeezing him a bit too hard." Spike's voice was a relief he had never expected, as the filly around his neck seemed to realize that she was in the process of a slow murder. The sadistic child thankfully detached from him, and the sudden influx of air rushing into his lungs nearly made him dizzy. The sound of less-than-chagrined giggles weren't very comforting as he brought a hoof up to feel at his rising chest. His heart was beating, which meant he was alive, however barely. Once he was sure he hadn't accidentally perished, he turned an angry glare on the source of his trouble. Beyond the large red bow nestled into a slightly darker red mane, the filly was a fairly even shade of uniform yellow. Uniform enough to highlight the lack of a cutie mark, though that was far from the most important thing to notice. As he stared into the closed eyes of a still-giggling filly, he felt his anger take on a hue that felt more familiar than it should've. "Bloom, what did I tell you about the hugs!" His head jerked back as the instinctive words left his mouth, and his anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. He brought a hoof up to rest on his lips as the filly whose name was apparently Bloom reached the end of her childish giggling fit. How did he know her name, though? Her voice sounded a little familiar, but there wasn't anything else about her... Regardless of his sudden shock, the filly definitely seemed to know him, at least, judging by the bright fondness in her eyes. And... well... pretty much everything else, too. She knew his name, for one. "Ah'm sorry Light, but it's always so hard to remember whenever ah see you! It feels like it's been darn' near forever since I saw ya' last! Where've you been?" Stars above this filly radiated energy. Her whole body practically vibrated as she spoke, and her general excitement was nearly visible in the air. His hoof gradually came away from his face as he adjusted to the sight of her, though he was still more than a little shocked. Besides her voice, the filly rang absolutely no bells in his head. It was just like the thought of apples, there was just no opinion there at all. Well, he was forming an opinion, but that wasn't what he meant. Regardless, there was an obvious connection between the two of them; so why wasn't he getting any memory back? He could think more about it later, maybe when he wasn't in a conversation. But... how to actually answer that question? "Um... well... you see..." His stalling wasn't working very well, and no good answer was coming to mind. His indecision must have shown in his expression, because he could almost see it reflecting off the slipping smile on Bloom's face. He was suddenly very aware of his new friend standing silently just behind him. He would have to regurgitate something random that at least approached meaningful. "I was... around.. You know, how it is... With.. um.. that kind of... stuff..." That was horrible. If it wouldn't have clashed horribly, he could have reasonably finished it off with a nervous chuckle. That's how dull and unoriginal his response was. The most cliché and transparently weak dodge there was. He wanted to hit himself in the face, but he would have to comfort himself with an awkward smile instead. Bloom clearly wasn't impressed, her face was the picture perfect view of an unsatisfied customer. She did not like what he was selling. Wow this was a bad time for metaphors. He braced himself for impact as she sucked in a breath, likely preparing for a surprisingly scathing remark- "And on that note, hi! I'm Spike!" He breathed a sigh of extreme relief as his erstwhile companion made himself known, and advanced on the distracted filly with an outstretched hand. She must not have seen Spike from where he was standing just behind him, because the sight of him derailed her entirely from whatever she was about to say. Her eyes widened, and she gasped deeply and somewhat rudely as Spike stood in place with his hand still outstretched. "Wow!" It was less of an exclamation and more of a shout, but his ears could take the damage after his display earlier. He owed her that much, at least. She stood with her mouth widely agape as her eyes roved over the unfamiliar sight in front of her. He could somewhat relate, though he had been a little less brazen. "I ain't never seen anythin' like you before! Are you a dragon?!" Spike stood dumbly with his hand in the air for a moment as the filly made no attempt towards returning the gesture, before he seemingly gave up and brought the hand to scratch at the back of his head. It was very bashful, and he had to give Spike points on knowing how to properly act in a social situation. Unlike him. Spike, to his credit, brushed off the invasive question rather well. "Uh.. yeah! I'm a dragon! That's me, Spike the dragon! Heh..." Okay, maybe not that well. He seemed to shrug off whatever lingering awkwardness that must have clung to him following his rebuffed handshake, as his hand fell away from his head and the visible tension in his bunched up shoulders bled away. "Well now that we've got me squared away, what's your name? You and Light seem to know each other, and I don't want to be the only one in the dark." The dragon's head turned, and he caught the edge of a glance thrown in his direction. He strained his ears as Spike muttered something under his breath, but he wasn't able to catch it. He allowed bemusement to creep into his expression as he pondered the movement. Was Spike hiding something from him? Did he have something to say? Why couldn't he just say it to his face? Sudden guilt washed over him, and his face turned downcast as he felt a chill in his withers that hadn't been there before. He really didn't have any room to criticize Spike on honesty. He directed his eyes pointedly away from the sight of the little green lizard for a moment as he and the filly gabbed on about something. He felt very ashamed all of a sudden, though he didn't need deep introspection to find the source. He hadn't told Spike about his amnesia. He didn't know why he had felt compelled to keep it a secret. It wasn't even really that he was hiding it, or at least not intentionally. It just... hadn't come up. That was a bad excuse, though. Amnesia wasn't a topic that ever needed to come up, it was a real problem that a friend should tell his friends about. Why was he keeping it from him? A sudden push on his chest brought him away from his own mind, and his eyes focused in on the dragon in question staring up at him with an expectant look in his eyes. The filly was too, for some reason. They must have looped him into their conversation somehow. That was bad, he didn't have any idea what they were talking about. He licked his lips as he felt them dry rapidly in the face of social embarrassment. "Um," What did he even say? He apparently wasn't a big fan of the truth, but maybe it wouldn't hurt as a fallback in this scenario? "...say again?" Whatever answer they were expecting, he must have hit the mark. The little yellow filly rolled her eyes exaggeratedly with a knowing smile on her lips as Spike brought a hand to his mouth and chuckled. He couldn't help but feel a bit lost as Spike turned back to the filly and she continued speaking from wherever she had left off before. "Ya see? He wasn't listenin' to us at all. Like ah said, he does that all the time." His eyes flicked between the dragon in front of him and the filly who apparently knew a lot about him as the former let loose a warm laugh. "I guess you're right!" As the two continued chattering indeterminably, he suddenly felt very much like he should intervene. He let his hooves carry him to Spike's side, and their conversation quickly halted as two sets of eyes turned to him. He felt a bit like he had suddenly stepped onto a stage, but he let the feeling wash over him as he turned an exasperated glare on the filly staring at him curiously. "As much as I would love to stand here all day and listen to you two gossip about me, we do have better things to do." His pointed glare made its way to Spike's face, and the dragon turned his eyes to the side as he assumed a nonchalant expression. Very innocent, yeah. He let his gaze turn back to the filly whose own expression had fallen into a frighteningly similar shade of exasperation. Did she think she was putting up with him? That was so... backwards! He let a hot breath out through his nose, and tried to stand up a little taller. Whatever her position, he was older. He had that, at the very least. "We were looking for a mare named Twilight Sparkle, do you know where we could find her? Is she here?" He nearly added some sort of stipulation about a short response, but thought against it as the mere mention of Twilight's name made the filly's expression perk up considerably. However she felt about his interruption, it was clearly forgotten as her previous smile easily returned to her face. "Oh, yer lookin' for miss Twilight? She came 'round askin' about the preparations around..." Her sentence faltered in the middle as she took a moment to think. "..an hour ago?" Her answer was immediately confusing for many reasons. Firstly, the way she phrased it made it sound like Twilight wasn't here anymore, which was just disappointing. But there was that other thing she had said. Twilight had been here an hour ago?! Hadn't it been like, ten minutes since he had met Spike? Bloom must not have noticed how obviously lost she was, or she just didn't care. Either way, she continued on with a large smile on her face while he listened vacantly. "We tried to get her to try the food and meet the family, but she was in a real hurry. She said somethin' about clouds an' decorations, and also somethin' about wasting time." He managed to fully tune into whatever she was saying just in time to watch her face scrunch up in consideration. "...Actually, that last thing might have been an insult.." He left the filly to ponder that little gem of misunderstanding while he tried to sort through the information presented to him. Whatever was happening at the farm now, Twilight wasn't here. She had been her usual charming self, did the minimum of interaction with the ponies here, and eventually trotted off to wherever her next destination apparently was. He felt a claw poke him in the side, and he turned his attention to the skeptical dragon next to him. He made a noise of inquiry in response to his broken chain of thought, and got a sigh in return as Spike's body seemed to slump slightly. "I kinda already asked that, dude. That was like, the first thing I asked." His eyebrows furrowed, and he pointedly turned away from the smart expression pointed at him. He was fairly certain it had been well established he hadn't paid attention to whatever their conversation was, so it's not like it was wrong for him to ask. A sudden childish laugh broke into his thoughts, and he once more turned his attention to the filly in front of him. He didn't think what Spike had said was particularly funny, but she apparently had. Her eyes were mostly fixed on Spike, though she was obviously talking about him. "Oh it's no problem, Spike. One thing you hafta keep in mind about Light is how often he gets lost." He didn't quite physically recoil from the look she shot him, but it was a close thing. He hadn't expected the sheer affection in her eyes. It was the kind of look that his subconscious instantly connected with the feeling of family. "If he's apart of any conversation, you can bet yer gonna hafta catch him up once or twice." Who was he to this child? He was suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. A strange feeling was welling up in his chest that just screamed uncertainty and a desire to flee. He wanted to leave, right now. He wanted to get far, far away from the child with the strange love in her eyes. He nudged Spike in the side softly as he listened raptly to whatever Bloom was saying, and her monologue came to an abrupt halt as the dragon turned to him. He tried to keep the urgency he felt off his face as best he could, but some of it may have bled out into his voice. "I think that we should maybe get going, Spike." He glanced to the side and caught Bloom's falling expression. "Uh... If we don't hurry, we might never catch up to Twilight, you know?" He didn't dare look at the filly again, but understanding quickly blossomed on his scaly friend's face. "Oh, yeah! You're right! We're already so far behind her, we should probably get going." It was hard to miss the obvious disappointment in Bloom's voice as she protested, but he kept his eyes firmly on the ground as Spike turned to reassure her of a future visit. He felt a bit bad for hoisting the responsibility of a goodbye on the little guy, but talking to Bloom any more would probably make him feel even worse. In a strange, roundabout way. It was rather abrupt, but it wasn't long through various goodbyes and muttered responses before he felt claws poking into his fur, and a familiar weight settling on his back. He hadn't said that Spike could ride on his back again, but he was content to let the dragon do just about anything he wanted as long as it got them away faster. He vaguely heard something from the direction of the little yellow filly, and he was fairly sure whatever he murmured back was a passable response. There may have been a giggle from behind him as he turned away from her, and he felt a grimace creep over his face. He felt like he had left this visit wholly incomplete. He hadn't taken good stock of the land, the ponies, or even the situation. He wasn't sure why any of that suddenly mattered to him, but the lack of information made his fur itch. Though there was something else creeping him out beyond his unfulfilled need to hoard useless knowledge. That filly, Bloom or whatever her name was; she knew him. She knew him very well, well enough to consider him family or something. If he stayed around her long enough, he would probably end up getting all sorts of memory back. He raised his head from where he had been intently studying the lush grass underneath them. That fancy gate made to look like a tree wasn't far ahead, beckoning him with the sweet temptation to escape. He didn't have the heart to look behind him as he set off after it, as quickly as he could manage. > Chapter 32 - The Trepidation > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So, how come we left so fast? I've been around Twilight long enough to recognize a major freakout when I see it, and you were showing all the signs." Light Flow was confused. Firstly, the insinuation that he was having a 'major freakout' was confusing in its own right, as well as a bit insulting. He hadn't really felt like he was freaking out much at all, not any more than usual at least. Sure, his heart was pounding and his hooves felt clammy, and he had hurried them away from the farm rather quickly; but was it so farfetched to just buy into whatever excuse he had made? Well, he might have answered his own question there. He felt a sudden tug at the back of his mane, and a clambering weight pressed itself against the back of his neck. He let out a suffering sigh through his nose as his head dipped slightly from the increased burden. Spike could stand to be a little more considerate about climbing around his body, especially after he had already hit his horn earlier. Sure, that was his own fault; but still... "Are you ignoring me again, Light? Come on dude, I know you didn't just want to go find Twilight. What's the deal?" Okay, Spike clearly saw through his bluff as easily as anypony with ears might've. That wasn't really anything to be shocked about, though he could stand to be a little more subtle. Calling somepony out on their lie as soon as possible was just bad form. It didn't allow any time for rumination, or pondering, or contemplation; or any other big word that meant thinking. No time to think about whether or not he regretted lying. He shook his head roughly to detach his passive-aggressor, and turned his head around from the path. "For your information, I happen to be very focused on finding Twilight." He swung his head back around and gave an audibly disdainful sniff. "I bet she's very concerned about you, you know. Probably fraught with worry over where you might be. Is it so wrong to want to ease her fears as soon as possible?" Yeah, he was piling it on extra thick; but did it really matter if it got Spike off his back for just a second? Metaphorically. Spike's weight shifted back, and he let an aggravated sigh into the air. "Jeez, you don't have to give me the third degree here. I'll lay off, alright?" His voice lowered to a mutter, and he felt two scaly masses come down on his rear as Spike's weight shifted again. "I was just asking..." With Spike sprawled out over his back, he could only let out another drawn-out sigh. Now that the bittersweet scent of ripe apples was slowly dissipating on the breeze behind them, he could feel the strange fear draining from his hooves. The adrenaline that came from the look the filly had given him had filled his veins long enough for an escape, but now the ordeal was behind him, and he could begin to relax. Though relaxing wasn't exactly the foremost thought in his mind at the moment. He was puzzling furiously, trying desperately to figure out the cause of his sudden desire to flee from the farm, though he was still no closer to an answer. The logic just wasn't matching up in his head, no matter how he looked at it. That filly knew him. That filly loved him. She was faintly familiar to his addled mind, and he had no doubt they shared many moments that were just ripe for recollection. If he had stayed there, he would have remembered. It was a foregone conclusion, and his logic was unassailable. So why had he left? If his clear reasoning was a pretty glass mirror, the invasive question was a heavy rock. The situation should have played out beautifully. Spike would have went on his way to find Twilight as they exchanged pleasant goodbyes. The filly may have been somewhat annoying, but she wasn't unbearable; and he had no doubt it wouldn't take long to adjust himself to her personality. They could have spent the day together, doing whatever it was that she liked to do. Probably something physical, unfortunately. Triggers were everywhere in random conversation, and the pieces of his scattered mind would have found their way back to him in no time at all under such circumstances. By the time evening rolled around, he probably would have been himself again. He swallowed heavily as a thick lump rose in his throat, and his next hoofstep faltered as he paused momentarily to shake off the chill in his withers. Hesitation. Trepidation. Uncertainty. Why did the thought of getting his memory back scare him? His ears folded back on his head of their own volition, and he pointedly focused his blurring vision on the path ahead of him. The worn dirt path he was walking on was really very interesting. He hadn't yet taken the time to appreciate the subtle marks his hooves left in the dust as he passed, and that was a crying shame. It was nearly poetic, really. Every pony who ever walked this path left their own mark on it. Big or small, hard or soft; the hooves that tread upon it were insignificant in the face of the larger matter. They were all the same deep down inside, no matter the mark they left. All that mattered was the simple act of leaving one in the first place. That was very deep, very distracting. He was a master of losing the point, he was. What should he think about next? Should he attempt to pinpoint the exact shade and hue of the brown coloring of the path? No, that was dumb, and he didn't know enough about colors anyway. The trees placed randomly outside the perimeter of the path were probably full of useless material, though. He could fill the next hundred minutes just describing them. He turned his eyes on one particular tree just ahead of them that was shaking for some odd reason. They were all shaking, actually. It was probably normal, then. Who was he to question shaking trees? Some nobody that couldn't even remember his name without help, that's who. No room for criticism at all. Nature could do whatever it wanted, as long as it remained distantly interesting enough to distract himself. Now, even though it was shaking and somewhat blurry, something rather interesting that he had noticed was the strange off-set not commonly observed in its branches. It wasn't something he could recall seeing- "Hey... Light Flow?" Spike was calling his name and shaking his withers again, like he always did when he was having fun. Couldn't Spike just leave him to his engineered madness? Reality wasn't an especially fun place for him at the moment. He turned his eyes from the rapidly blurring tree that was just about passing them anyway, and lowered his head to stare at the ground. "Yeah Spike?" His scratchy voice came as a surprise. He didn't feel particularly thirsty, though he supposed he couldn't actually remember having anything to drink since he woke up. He should probably find something to drink when they got into town. Speaking of, shouldn't they be there by now? How long had they been walking, hours? He didn't remember the path being that long. He was so caught up trying to remember whether it was still the day of the big celebration, he nearly missed the measured tone in Spike's strangely lilted response. "I'm... were.. are you.. crying?" The uncharacteristic hesitation from the normally sure-footed dragon caught him so off guard, he almost forgot to actually process the question. When the meaning finally trickled in through the tap of his awareness, a small gasp formed on his lips before he could stop it. Reality crashed into his dream of normalcy with a heavy step, and he could suddenly feel the warm trails of salty water that had caught in his mouth. He swallowed through the dry taste that he hadn't realized had accumulated in his throat, and his next step on the path nearly slipped out from under him. He was shaking. The weight on his back felt heavier than before as Spike's concern-laden tone returned to fill his ears. "You... I know you said you were okay earlier, and... I guess I didn't really believe you; but now I'm really starting to get worried!" His skin pricked slightly as Spike grabbed two tight handfuls of his fur in his claws. "I think.. when we get back to town.. I think it would be best if you went and got-" "No!" The shout came from his mouth before he could even think to form the noise, and the stunned silence that followed was nearly deafening. "No.." His next denial came out softer, though it was a bit breathless as he suddenly found his chest very tight. Spike was about to suggest he seek help, probably from a doctor or a psychiatrist or something. That was not what he wanted. Their progress had completely stopped now, though it was undeniably his own fault. His eyes rose from their place on the ground to stare forlornly at the sight of the school building on the horizon. They wouldn't be making their way back until they sorted this issue out. But... what to say? Spike was right, there was no question. He was suffering from a large problem that was hurting him badly, and he needed professional help. It wasn't fair to anypony or anydragon to pretend like he was fine. He was not about to even consider seeing a professional, though; which rather readily cut off that particular avenue of potential. Whatever solution he needed to guide them towards, it had to be strictly personal. Maybe it was time to spill the secret. Spike was more than he deserved, really; with the way he was stubbornly sticking though a complete stranger's madness just because they had slapped a label on their quickly formed relationship. Spike deserved to know. He wasn't okay, and Spike deserved to know that. "I'm... Spike, I'm not really sure how to say this, but..." How to tell him, though? More tact was required than simply dumping the word 'amnesia' on him. Should he summarize what he could remember? Should he tell him about the static, and the voices? Should he tell him about the- You will not tell. This was a bad idea, he shouldn't tell him. "...you're right." The admission was unpleasant on his tongue, though not for what it was. He wasn't afraid to submit for his approval of others. When they were actually right, that is. The problem came from what he was going to say next. "I'm not okay, and you're right: I should find help. After we find Twilight, I... I'll get help. I will." The lies dripped from his mouth like poison, and he couldn't help but feel somewhat deadened to the world as he blatantly fed his lies to his friend that had stuck by him through his amnesia. "I promise." His heart hurt. Spike was quiet for a while, though he couldn't quite bring himself to start down the path again in the interim. He could feel the shiny veneer of his pretty words begin to crack in the suffocating silence, and he was suddenly glad for Spike's position on his back. Who knew what was going on with either of their faces. "...Okay." Spike's affirmation came as an immense relief, and he could physically feel more tension than was safe slough off from his shoulders. He didn't know what that would tell Spike, and he didn't really care either. "I.. believe you; or, I guess.. I want to believe you. Or maybe I just want to believe that you wouldn't hide the truth that much..." Spike's voice sounded so much quieter than it usually did, and the sheer sound of the muted hope in his tone stuck sharply into his mind. He swallowed deeply to clear the dryness building in his throat as Spike continued. "If you say you'll get help for whatever problem you have, then I'll take you at your word; and I won't ask what's wrong either, because it sounds like you don't really want to tell me." Spike's firm grip on his fur that they had both seemingly forgotten about loosened, and his tone raised in the wake of his reassurance. "After all, what're friends for?" The unintentional blow knocked the wind out of him for a moment, and he breathed deeply as he struggled to recover. He tried not to let it show on his body, but he must have failed somehow. Spike's hand came to rest on the back of his neck, and his voice filled with concern again. "Light? Are you, er... are you okay?" Oh sure Spike, he was only just coping with a dagger stabbed directly into his heart. Really, he probably deserved it, what with the lies and all. If he could just have a moment to himself to bleed to death, everything would be fair and fine in no time! Okay, the rhetoric wasn't helping. Really though, he was fine. Sure, he was rapidly losing any sort of moral integrity he may not have even had in the first place. Sure, he was consciously keeping a groundbreaking secret from the only friend he could remember having. Sure, that friend may not even believe his lies. Sure, that friend was probably planning to ditch him the first chance he got. Those things weren't too bad, though he had a funny feeling like he should start screaming. Wait, before he spiraled anymore: how long had he been thinking? Had he ever replied? Was Spike still waiting for an answer?! Horsefeathers, of all the times to get distracted! Now he was yelling at himself in his head. He was beginning to think he may not have been all there even before he lost his memory. "I.. um.. yeah. I'm.. I'm alright, Spike. I'm just.. glad you understand, I guess." Indecisiveness had a firm grip on his throat, and he could barely find the strength to string together even the most basic of platitudes. He screwed his eyes shut as the mocking sight of the brightly colored schoolhouse became too much to bear. He barely registered a downcast, single-word reply from Spike before his eyes opened again to the sight of the path beneath his hooves. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was beginning to unnerve him, and a familiar energy was building up in his hooves. He really couldn't escape from Spike without also completely losing him as a friend, though; so getting back on track was probably the next best thing. Maybe that would satisfy his weird escapism complex. His hooves felt like rocks when he moved them, though he did his best to ignore the limp feeling. He couldn't exactly put a brave face on as he went, so he just forced himself to focus on something besides his failing friendship or his mental state. Their plan was a decent place to start. "So!" His opener was filled with far more fake enthusiasm than he'd meant to force into it, and he barely stopped himself from cringing away from the sound of his own voice. "...So, uh.. What does the checklist say about where Twilight may have gone next?" It may have been too soon to say anything, but the little noises of Spike shuffling around on his back would have driven him crazier if he hadn't. Spike, at the very least, did not begrudge him the effort; since he could clearly hear the crinkling sound of him rustling around in his pack. Maybe Spike wasn't as mad at him as he'd thought? Maybe he really bought into his lie, and he didn't actually suspect him of any wrongdoing? A pretty thought. A small exclamation made its way over his withers, and his ears stood on end as he tried to make out the jumbled mutters of whatever Spike was reading. His efforts were fruitless, however; as Spike quickly surprised him by suddenly speaking up. "The Official Overseer's Checklist says that Twilight and I were supposed to check up with the captain of the local weather team." There was a small pause as more subtle papery noises filled his ears. "A pegasus, obviously. It says her name is... Rainbow Dash?" Spike's voice grew louder as he presumably looked up from the paper, which was probably needed considering all the steam filling his ears. "You heard of her?" He hadn't actually, which made the fire burning hotly in his heart somewhat strange. A twitch made itself unwelcome in his eye, which he did his best to suppress with only moderate success. His hooves felt hot and restless, though at least he could burn that energy just by turning his steps to stomps. His teeth ground against themselves independent of his thought process, and he could barely manage to squeeze his words through them. "No. I haven't." Spike must have understood his emotions better than he did, because his reply was a special mix of careful and patient that he appreciated very much. "...Okay. Maybe we'll just skip going to see-" "She's just wasting her potential!" The snarl that suddenly tore messily from his mouth was full of an emotion he couldn't even begin to try to understand, and he had to stop his barely-begun gait to catch his suddenly absent breath. Now neither of them understood what was happening, because Spike's next response was just a mumbled noise of confusion. He could relate, really. The name 'Rainbow Dash' was actually ringing quite a few bells, unfortunately. It wasn't something he was about to share with Spike, but it seemed as if he had a history with the captain of the weather team. A history that was apparently very emotionally tumultuous. A rainbow mane, because of course she of all ponies would have the most straight forward name in Equestria. A sky blue coat, which was quite fetching; but unfortunately very well suited for hiding in plain sight. Tight, toned muscles, because she practically worshipped the art of flying; but she just used it all for weather work and stupid, dumb pranks. Respect. Anger. Fear. Disappointment. Was that...? Had he...? A warm feeling. Far cooler than the nearly mind-numbing haze of fury, though strangely nestled right up against it. He may have nursed a crush on her for a time. Wow, that was embarrassing and shameful for more reasons he couldn't parse. He didn't want to think about her anymore. "What's next on the list after that?" The question was short and bitter, but it was basically all he could do to stop himself from screaming in rage. He nearly had the inspiration to make a 'hot and bothered' joke to himself, but even thinking about it was giving it more attention than it deserved. Spike didn't answer for a moment, likely waiting to make sure he didn't actually explode. "Um. We're- we were supposed to go to the Town Hall and check on the decorations for the opening ceremony, but I don't think-" The end of Spike's sentence rose into a formless yelp as he suddenly broke out into a near-gallop. "Great! Let's go!" Scaly claws scratched somewhat painfully for a grip on his coat, but he ignored them. His breath was hot in his mouth, and the sudden energy surging through his veins reminded him that he hadn't moved at anything faster than a trot since he woke up. Or maybe ever, judging by how much his body ached already. That didn't matter, though. The schoolhouse was quickly rising up shortly ahead of them, and he narrowed his sight in on the large building sitting in the center of the approaching town. It wasn't so much a guess as it was intuition and faded memory, but he was fairly certain it was the Town Hall. The wind stung viciously at his eyes, but the pain was practically negligible. If he ran fast enough, he was certain he could just leave everything behind on that stupid dirt path. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He regretted running. He regretted the fact that running was a thing that was ever invented. "Dude, have you ever run before?" He pointedly ignored the sage counsel of his loyal dragon friend and his mimicry of his own thought process, and settled instead on staring into the small river running just below them. It probably wasn't good that he could count the sweat drops as they made impact with its surface, but whatever. He wheezed out another painful breath as he buried his face into the crook of his hoof. He was such an idiot. It had been more than a bit obvious that he was not an athletic pony. His less-than-spectacular stamina aside, the upper limit of his carrying capacity was a baby dragon; and that spoke more volumes than he would likely be able to carry. He had cleared the dirt path at least, and he had made it some distance into Ponyville, sure; but it wasn't an incredibly large town. Their destination had been less than a few yards from the edge they had approached from, and he couldn't even make it that far. He had staggered into the town's center with far less aplomb than he had carried them there, and promptly collapsed on his side. Spike had taken a knock to his head, though he had kindly assured him of his general sturdiness through whatever apologies he had managed to throw while breathless on the ground. The experience was wholly embarrassing in the worst of ways, and Spike had allowed him a while to recuperate on a nearby bridge overlooking a stream. He was still waiting just next to him, bless his flaming little heart. He had half-expected the dragon to ditch him as soon as his back was turned, but he had stuck around for some reason. Another point towards gullibility. Wow, that was kind of mean. What was wrong with him? Another suffering groan made its way out from the confines of his hoof, though the physical pain had all but stopped at this point. He felt a reassuring hand place itself on his lower back, and he breathed in a sigh through his nose. His head slowly raised amidst another groan that hadn't even been entirely intentional. His eyes swept across the small river running gently against the edge of town, and came to rest momentarily on the building sitting roughly parallel with the side of Town Hall. The sign featuring a pony with a long flowing mane was nearly eye-catching, but not enough to capture any sort of real interest. Sitting just next to it was, strangely enough, what appeared to be a joke store. It looked like it, at least. Why else would a building be shaped like a jester's hat? A spa next to a joke store. Real great idea there. Some real conflicting interests, for sure. He rolled the muscles in his withers, and let out another repetitive groan as he listened to the small popping noises. He swept his hooves off the edge of the bridge, and turned to the dragon next to him; who appeared to be intently looking over some kind of paper leading out of his pack. "Well, I think I'm done feeling sorry for myself. Let's go." Spike must not have heard him move, because he nearly tossed the paper in his hands over the opposite edge of the bridge as he jumped from the shock. A pair of wide slotted eyes turned onto his own, and he took a private moment to marvel at just how pretty they were. It would be somewhat strange to ever tell him, but he really thought it was a shame that he hadn't had more chances to look his friend in the face so far. It was a bit of a trite opinion, especially for a dragon, but those eyes of his really did look like little emeralds. Just the certain definition in his irises, maybe. It reminded him of the flaws in a jewel. It would probably be a nice thing to tell her. Him. Spike quickly recovered from whatever shock he had given him, and his paper found itself shoved into his pack just as quickly. He took a moment to fasten the button, and another to ensure it was secure over his shoulder; before he brought himself to his hoov- feet. "Alright, I'm ready!" His enthusiasm really had a way of rubbing off when he could actually see it on his face, and he felt a small smile of his own grow in response to the twinkle in the dragon's emerald eyes. He turned towards the Town Hall, and set himself off towards it. He could hear the sound of Spike's hoo- footsteps following behind him, and he took a silent moment to thank the fact that Spike hadn't asked for another ride. It had seemed like a fun and easy way to ingratiate himself to his friend at the time, but it had really ended up being nothing but trouble. As his hoof wobbled underneath himself, a grimace set itself onto his face. He also wasn't quite sure he could actually lift the little lizard at the moment. He slowed his brisk pace down to let Spike catch up, and it wasn't long before the dragon was walking alongside him. He let his gaze wander from the sight of the approaching building, and instead cast it over the blunt edges of the large green spines protruding from his friend's head. Spines? Scales? Spikes? No, it would just be confusing to call them spikes. Probably scales. He turned his attention back to the building just as they came to the front steps. He brought a hoof up to rest on the bottom step as he took a moment to really look over the central fixture of Ponyville. Categorically internalizing random details probably wasn't something that would ever help him, but it was fun enough. Though he was a bit too close to see it now, he had noticed earlier that the building was seemingly made up of three layers. There was the entrance on the ground floor, a balcony built onto the roof of it, and a third, completely separate balcony much higher up. He didn't know if that meant there were three floors, or if it was just the design; but it looked rather nice either way. The walls were an even coat of pale plaster-like material, though he really didn't know enough about architecture to put a solid label on it. The colorless monotony was thankfully broken up with precise patterns of wood, which was probably needed for structural purposes; but that didn't stop it from looking good. The same shade of wood seemed to have been used for the entire building, with the railings and the floors blending seamlessly into each other. Though, from what he had seen, the sloping dome of a roof looked to be a bit darker. It was probably for contrast, and it worked rather well. "Light? You're zoning out again." Spike's voice cut into his inner monologue just as he was finishing up, though it wasn't exactly a tragedy. The only thing left to think about was the colorful flags on the upper balcony, and he didn't really care about them that much. Oh, and the windows. That was maybe a little sad. Well, it probably wouldn't take too much time just to take in the clean reflective surfaces. How the same even shade of brown wood used throughout the walls dipped perfectly down into separating the panes. How the bottom windows were all clean cut squares, while the upper floors boasted larger, sloping windows. And near the top there were- Okay, he was doing it again. He mumbled out a quick apology as his eyes focused back onto the stairs in front of him. He heard Spike let out a knowing sigh, and his ears flattened against his head in quiet shame. He pointedly ignored the sound of his hoofsteps echoing off the wooden steps as he ascended the short climb to the entrance, while Spike's scales made some rather interesting noises that he- Focus. He needed to focus. Why was that such an issue all of a sudden? The door they came to was plain and uninteresting, and he was very aware of the dragon next to him as he quickly pushed it open to walk inside. It was relatively cool outside for summer, but it was still something of a relief to be inside. Outside was fine and all, but the comfort that immediately filled him was rather telling of his personal feelings on the difference between the two. As he listened to the sound of Spike closing the door behind them, his eyes were already flying through the room. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he suddenly felt a bit like a pony lost in a desert. The soft colors of the drapes throughout the room were... they were nice. The flowers hanging from some of them... they were pretty cool too. The intricate tapestries hanging from the ceiling were quite stellar, but.. oh.. The pink curtain at the head of the room... The stylized weavings of the sun and moon everywhere... The gems, the jewels... The interior itself... He found himself blinking rapidly as his vision blurred, and he promised himself a chance to mourn later. He could have stood there all day thinking about each individual work of art in the room's design, but he just... He needed to focus. The room was very pretty, there was lots of fabric and flowers and such. That was it, that was all he needed. He sniffed back the tears gathering in his eyes, and walked into the room with Spike trailing behind him. His eyes set themselves pointedly on the white unicorn standing atop a raised red platform at the end of the room. She was facing away from them, so he couldn't quite get a great look, but that purple mane was starting to ring- "Woah.." Spike's quiet exclamation took him by surprise, and his next hoofstep stalled as he turned to look questioningly at the dragon who was... looking a little red? "Spike?" He spoke softly, very cognizant of the stranger ahead of them. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" The little dragon shook his head slowly in response, and his hands came up to rest on his reddening cheeks. "Nothing's wrong Light. Actually, everything's right..." The dreamy tone in Spike's voice combined with the slow roll of his words was kind of creeping him out, and he almost felt compelled to inch away from the spellbound dragon. His eyes flicked up to the unicorn again as she began fussing over the placement of some kind of potted shrub, and then back down to his friend who was also brazenly staring at her. She was pretty, he supposed. A bit too soft-looking for his tastes, but... whatever suited Spike's fancy? "I'm sure you'll have a chance to talk to her, now come on." He ended the whisper with a quick head jerk towards the pony in question, and he raised his head to focus back onto her. He waited to hear Spike's mumbled response, and found his eyes rolling in his head. Had he ever heard of restraint? As they walked together towards the pony, one with considerably more enthusiasm than the other; he couldn't help but find himself thinking again that she looked a bit familiar. Did he know her too? Did he know everypony on Twilight's list? Was it a coincidence? Was it some kind of conspiracy? Probably a conspiracy, with his luck. He called out a greeting as they approached, and stopped just short of the platform as the unicorn turned to look at him. Spike, to his discredit, must not have noticed that they stopped. He threw a hoof out to catch the dragon around the stomach as he absently kept walking toward the object of his affections, and pulled him quickly back to his side as a pair of deep purple eyes came to rest on them. The voice that rang out in the quiet of the building was high-pitched, and undeniably elegant. It was the sort of voice he could imagine as the typical standard for refined rich ponies, which was probably the point. "Oh! Light Flow! So nice to see you, darling. How are you?" Wow, everything about this mare was screaming the words 'high-class' at him. The reserved, yet undoubtedly haughty tone in her voice grated harshly on his ears, and he could feel his face falling as a familiar feeling began to well up in his chest. He was afraid. No, more than that, he was afraid for his ears. Why did he feel as though Rarity was going to scream at him? Oh, her name is Rarity. Great, more memories, just what he needed. There was no doubt that he and Rarity knew each other, but he didn't think he liked her very much. Faint echoes of a ringing sound in his ears told him that she was rather high-strung in addition to being high-class. A truly devastating combo. This was going to be a long and painful interaction, he could tell. "I'm well, Rarity; thanks." He didn't bother trying to sound as though he was happy to see her, which was apparently not much of a deterrent judging by the tinkling giggle she loosed into the air. A sickeningly dainty hoof came to rest on similarly dainty lips as she 'struggled' to contain her 'laughter'. It was all an act, he knew. "Oh, Mr. Flow. You know you will have to learn to play nice someday." Two purple eyes opened to stare at him with obvious disapproval as her giggling came to a calculated end. Her smile was insufferably smug, and he could only dare to imagine what new crock she was going to fling at him now. "If you continue the way you are, there is simply no way you shall ever find a marefriend." He had to hoof it to her, it was pretty incredible how conversational she could sound while insulting somepony. It was a rare gift, and she had mastered it readily. Really, his most true and sincere congratulations to the unquestionable champion of the back-hoof. Sarcasm, he could do. Never to her face, though. Oh no, that was a bad idea if ever he had heard it. Instead of making any attempt to tell Rarity off for being so terrible, he simply sighed and nodded in resignation. He could never remember winning any argument with her, so it was really best to just not start any in the first place. He would just have to suffer under the weight of her poison-laced sweet tone. Her smile suddenly fell, and her face shifted towards concern. Her hoof raised as if to step off the platform, and her voice was surprisingly lacking of her usual brand of smug and satisfied. "Light Flow? Darling, are you okay?" He could feel the fur on the back of his neck raise as Rarity's piercing gaze tore through him. This was wholly unexpected. He couldn't ever remember Rarity being so soft with him. Was he still missing memories? Was there a dynamic between them he hadn't considered? He suddenly felt like he should run away. But no, that wasn't even kind of an option. He still needed to know where Twilight was, and Spike probably wouldn't even come with him if he were to bolt. He was stuck. Stuck with a lovey-dovey dragon, and a pony who he couldn't imagine feeling anything but antagonism towards. "I... um.." Stuttering out gibberish to give him time to think was apparently his flavor of the day, though he had gotten sick of it a long time ago. "What.. Uh... H-How do you mean?" Strange phrasing, but still technically correct. It was still just another deflection, though; and Rarity could probably see that. Reading her face wasn't very easy with how uncomfortable he was becoming, but the tiny crinkling at the edges of her eyes probably meant she was taking a closer look at him. That was bad. If she knew him well enough, she could probably drag the truth out with minimal effort. All it would take is just a few simple observations, and it would be obvious that he wasn't right in the head. What should he do? "You're not quite acting yourself, darling. You seem a bit down, is something the matter?" She was stepping off the platform now, and he could feel the tension building painfully in his withers. Why did she care? Wasn't her personality just 'snobbish mare'? Was he misjudging her? A lump was building in his throat, and he could only barely bring himself to speak past it as she came to stand directly in front of him. "I'm... I'm not... I'm feeling a bit under the weather.. I guess." Rarity's eyes crinkled again as her frown deepened. He could feel the burning urge to flinch away from her as she stepped closer to him and brought a hoof up to rest against his head. The cool metal of her horseshoe against his forehead was actually a bit of a relief, though the softness of her frog underneath was nearly panic-inducing. He wasn't sick, and she wouldn't feel any sort of a fever, so she was going to see through his lie any second now. She let out a small chirp of concern as she turned her hoof around to rest the back of it against his forehead. Whatever was about to happen, at least he could take comfort in the fact that her fur was very soft. "...You do feel a bit warm, darling. Is that why you're not wearing your cloak today?" Alarms shot off in his head, and his head jerked rudely away from Rarity's probing hoof as she stared at him with sudden surprise in her eyes. What was she talking about? What cloak? Did he normally wear a cloak? Was that a thing he did?! How long had he been doing that?! He could barely focus on her face through the rising panic, but the faint edge of suspicion was beginning to creep into her veil of worry, and he could feel a strange kind of fear rise to greet it. It wasn't the kind of fear that screamed 'escape', and filled him with the strength to run. It was less pronounced, less obvious. Less of a quick burst of adrenaline that just as quickly faded, but more of a slow burn of constant energy that he could feel gradually leaking into his head and coloring his thoughts with paranoia. Not the fear of a coward running from his problems. It was the fear of somepony with something to hide. What was he hiding? While Rarity searched for something he was sure wasn't on his face, he shot a quick glance to the silent dragon that was still presumably standing next to him. He clearly wasn't going to be any help, not with how lost in his own head he was. His eyes were still fixed tightly on Rarity, and- Stars above, he swore he just saw an actual heart floating around in his eyes. If it hadn't been for Rarity's lens of scrutiny, he would have scoffed disdainfully in the lizard's direction. Lovesick, at a time like this? Some creatures.... Rarity's suddenly cheerful voice rang in his distracted head, and he managed to focus in just in time to see a bedazzled cloth covered in a haze of light blue float out in front of his face. "Would you hold this for me, please?" The confusion running through his head didn't stop him from automatically holding his hoof out to take the cloth, but Rarity just hummed in disapproval. "No no, dear. Hold it with your magic, please." She flashed him a smile over the cloth while something in his head snapped. "If you would." Magic? She was asking him to.. what? What about magic? She wanted him to... do what? Magic...? You will not use magic. "I- I don't... I don't... Um... I- I don't..." The haze around the cloth sputtered out, and he watched blankly as it slowly drifted down to drape over his outstretched hoof. "Light Flow? Darling?" The cloth on his hoof was pretty. The colorful sparkling jewels laced into it made for an absolutely eye-catching spectacle, and he could only wonder what Rarity was using it for. Why had she hoofed it to him, again? "What did you say Rarity? Sorry, I just... This is a really pretty cloth. What were you going to use it for?" The words came to his mouth easily and pleasantly, which, while not normal for his interactions with the fashionista, wasn't a bad thing. He could probably stand to be a bit nicer to her anyway. Rarity's voice sounded again, full of that worry that he hadn't known was so characteristic of her, as well as another emotion that he couldn't quite place. "...Light, dear. I took the cloth away. You're staring at your hoof." Oh, so he was. Well, his hoof was very nice too. Had his fur always been this shade of brown? "Okay, Light Flow." A hoof suddenly found its way under his chin, and his head was forcibly raised to stare into two large purple eyes. "Dear, do you know what day it is?" The day? He had picked up various clues here and there, but he wasn't entirely sure. He let the weight of his head rest on the hoof supporting it, and bit the edge of his lip as he struggled to think. "It's.. um.. There's a festival going on, right?" He must have answered correctly, because a large, toothy smile grew on Rarity's face. His head ducked slightly as her hoof came away, and her voice was suddenly very pleasant. "Tell me, darling. What did you come here for, again?" What had he come for, again? He was... He and Spike were looking for Twilight, that was it. "Uh.. Spike and I are looking for a mare named Twilight Sparkle. She should have come around sometime today." Her eyes had flicked down to the dragon at his side when he mentioned him, but at the mention of Twilight's name, she let out a small gasp of recognition. "Ah, Miss Sparkle!" Her curled mane bounced slightly as she nodded in delight. "Why, she did indeed pay me a visit earlier this afternoon. She was very pleasant, though her mane was an absolute disaster." She shivered slightly at the apparently horrible memory, before she continued with that same large smile on her face and a flutter in her eyelashes. "She graciously allowed me the chance to mend the blow to her image, though she unfortunately found that she had to leave before too long." Another giggle that didn't hurt as much as the ones before rang in the air, and she continued again in its absence. Her voice gained a sly tone as she turned an approving eye on him. It made him a bit uncomfortable. "You know, Miss Pie made a stop of her own earlier and invited me to a small soiree she had thrown together for the mare in question. Why don't I escort you there, and we can see if she's made it?" Pinkie Pie was throwing a party for Twilight? That sure sounded like something she would do. It actually sounded like a really good idea to go and wait for her there. He would have to put up with Pinkie Pie and whoever else might be there, but it sure beat trotting all over town on a wild goose chase. He turned his head to Spike, intent on asking his opinion; but the words stalled in his throat as he caught the absolutely blank stare in his eyes. He probably wouldn't hear him even if he did say anything. Whatever, he would say it was a great idea too. He turned back to Rarity, and met the air of expectancy floating nebulously around her. Thinking about it, she seemed very insistent about this. Just the direct measure of her tone, and that hidden little emotion in her face that he couldn't place. It all screamed 'please'. Maybe Rarity liked him or something? Eugh, that was a weird thought. It sent uncomfortable shivers down his spine. Well, whatever. He would indulge her. "Sure, Rarity. That sounds good." Her face bloomed into a beautiful smile at his response, and her voice gained a sing-song tone. "Splendid, darling!" She stepped past him with a dainty flourish, and turned her head to address him again. "Come along, dear! Don't forget your little friend, too!" As Rarity trotted out ahead of them, he turned his attention to Spike... whose gaze had stayed firmly locked on Rarity. Actually, from this angle, there was probably only one thing he could see very well; and the thought brought a long awaited scoff from his mouth. His hoof flew out to harshly nudge the starry-eyed dragon in the side, which had less effect than he was hoping. He let out a groan, and spoke with an edge of annoyance in his voice. "Dude, you shouldn't stare. It's not polite." All he got in response was a far-off sigh as his tiny shoulders slumped. He felt a familiar rush of exasperation as he rolled his eyes, before he stepped out in front of the blushing lizard. "Come on, you creep. Let's go." His words must have registered well enough, or maybe it was just because Rarity was out of sight at that point: because Spike gradually managed to raise a foot in front of him. He watched with a critical eye as the dragon staggered towards the entrance of the building after the object of his affections. It was pathetic, really. He had given up all control of his faculties just because of a pretty mare. Spike was lucky he had a friend like him. > Chapter 33 - The Party > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was annoyed. Not miffed, not peeved, not exasperated. Annoyed. He had long since passed the threshold for holding back his emotions, and he wasn't afraid to let it show. A turned down lip, a furrowed brow, just the barest hint of grinding teeth. The tension in his withers, the heavy set to his hoofsteps, the twitch in his tail. He had very carefully crafted the perfect picture of a pony who was entirely done. The reason for the scratching feeling in his chest and his general air of ire was abundantly plain to just about anypony with eyes. The small green dragon walking blindly through town was fairly hard to miss, after all. Ever since they had followed Rarity out of the Town Hall, he had been playing desperate babysitter for the lovesick lizard as he tottered along after her. Despite his best efforts, Spike had stayed set firmly into an uncomprehending trance; though the severity of the issue hadn't been entirely clear at first. Not until he watched Spike walk directly into a pole. And then promptly continue staggering after the white unicorn ahead of them. It was safe to say that Spike was ensconced rather safely in his own little world, which left Light as the only thing keeping him from giving himself a concussion. A job that he could honestly say was incredibly unfun. He bit back a curse as he shook himself out of his thoughts to drag Spike roughly out of the way of the mailbox in his stumbling path. The smooth scales of his dumbstruck friend were cool on his fur for a moment, before he let the lizard drift slowly out of his grasp. He stopped his gait for a moment to watch the dragon continue his uneven waddle after the target of his affection, before he let out a tired groan and trotted quickly forward to continue walking beside him. His eyes flicked up to catch a glimpse of the white hooves keeping an even pace a few lengths in front of them, before he sent a shifty side eye down to his zombified companion. "I suppose this is payback, huh?" His quiet mutters may as well have been to himself for all the good they did. Spike's succinct response to the question was a simple jumble of noises and half-words, followed by a heavy sigh. A sparkling conversationalist he was. Rarity had been relatively silent in the short time they had been walking, merely filling the air with a pleasant hum; but as they came to the turn of a corner, she stopped her brisk pace and turned her head back to them. He came to a stop to match her, and quickly threw his hoof around Spike's shoulders to stop him from walking as well. He pasted a nonchalant smile onto his face as Rarity quirked an eyebrow questioningly at them, but she seemed to quickly shrug the strange behavior off. A beautiful smile formed on her face, and her long eyelashes fluttered softly as she spoke. "Come along, darling! We don't want to be late!" He let his head nod automatically as Spike's surprisingly strong hands grappled at the hoof holding him back. Rarity hummed lightly at them and began to turn back to the street, though her eyes quickly swung back to stare widely at them as Spike made a sudden attempt at leaping forward. He was very aware of the piercing gaze on him as he roughly jerked Spike back into his chest, and he could feel his smile straining as the dragon noticeably struggled against his grip. He had to hoof it to her, Rarity knew how to hide her emotions. Her face was very carefully neutral as she regarded the strange spectacle in front of her. He watched as stoically as he could manage as her mouth opened with the beginning of a question on her lips, but she soon closed it without saying a word. He was grateful for her social skills, because he wouldn't have known how to even begin to address what was happening. Whatever she thought about the apparent hostage situation in front of her, she thankfully kept it to herself. Her blank gaze stayed on them for another short moment, before she wordlessly turned around and resumed her pace. He let the painful smile break off his face as the unicorn turned the corner, and released Spike from his grip. With the hold on him relinquished, Spike stumbled forward; swinging his arms wildly in an effort to regain his balance. Thin amusement began to creep in on the irritation as the dragon teetered on the edge of his feet, before rocking back into a steadier stance. His face wasted no time in twitching into a familiar shade of annoyance as the dragon silently continued forward, likely completely oblivious to everything that had just happened. How long had it been since Spike was the responsible one in their friendship? Minutes? Hours? While his mindless friend turned the corner after the object of his obsession, he took a moment to turn his eyes to the reddening sky. The spreading wave of bronze in the sea of blue was rather pretty, if a bit foreboding. It was like a burning fire in the sky, spreading slowly across the world. Shading everything in deep reds and quiet pales before finally falling silently into calm darkness. Maybe he should stop staring at the sky and thinking of poetry. The tonal whiplash of his thoughts was starting to unnerve him. He turned his eyes back down to Equus, and away from the grim train of thought. He hadn't been expecting dusk when he left the Town Hall after Rarity, but it wasn't a huge surprise. He had been less than attentive when it came to the time. He wasn't even sure when it was that he had actually woken up. While that thought was concerning enough, he had been living with it all day; so it wasn't exactly news. He stowed it away to ponder later, and set off around the corner after his companions. Spike thankfully hadn't managed to catch up to Rarity, though they were now quite a ways ahead of him. He forced himself to speed to a quick canter, despite the protests of his body. While he had mostly recovered from his ill-advised burst of energy earlier, his body was still feeling the effects. Nothing worse than a biting cramp in his gut and a dragging ache in his hooves, but still enough to bring a slight wince to his otherwise aggravated expression. Maybe, assuming he got his memory back, he could begin to work out or something? He didn't hate the idea, but he couldn't exactly speak for himself very well. Who knew how his completed mind would react to anything he had done today? Could he even be considered the same pony? What would happen when he got his memory back? If. The addendum casually thrown into his thoughts nearly caused him to trip, though he still stumbled awkwardly. A quiet snicker caught on the edge of his hearing, and his gaze flew accusingly to an orange pegasus filly sitting on a park bench to his left. Even with his eye on her, the filly continued to openly giggle at him. He had to admit, her brazen disregard for his disapproval was admirable; though he really wished it wasn't aimed at him. He scoffed loudly in her direction, and quickly hurried after the retreating tail of his lovesick friend. He could feel the child's amused stare burning into his back, and his ears grew hot under the force of the embarrassment. He may have made a fool of himself, but he would have the last laugh in the end. At least he didn't have a total wreck of a color scheme. Orange and purple? Talk about an eye-sore. Petty insults against a child, how grown up of him. A nervous energy spread through his hooves, and he indulged it by breaking out into a gallop to overtake his friend. The path ahead of them was relatively free of obstacles, and he was content to let Spike dodge an errant twig or two on his own. Leaving his mumbling friend and the staring filly behind him brought tangible relief to his battered mood, and he could already feel himself brightening up as he slowed to a trot behind Rarity. If the fashionista noticed anything behind her, she didn't show it. Her careful canter remained even and straight, and she even resumed humming her pleasant tune. Her voice was actually rather pretty when it wasn't raised to a shrill screech, and he could even imagine enjoying hearing her talk for once. He could certainly imagine it, but anything could set Rarity off at this point. That was why he was walking behind her, instead of right next to her. If he was too close during a Rarity freakout, he was liable to go deaf. An amused smile of his own came to his face, and a short chuckle escaped from his lips. The rare expression of joy died on his lips, however; as Rarity suddenly came to a full stop just in front of him. His next hoofstep nearly carried him into her, and he forced himself to backpedel roughly away as her head began to turn. Unfortunately, Spike had apparently caught up; and his quick backward movement sent him crashing directly into the blind lizard. Luckily for his own safety, Spike was far smaller than he was; and he took the brunt of the impact. A surprised grunt followed by a thud emanated from behind him, though he ignored the noises in favor of putting a pleasant smile on his face as Rarity stared at him bemusedly. He choked back a swallow as unamused eyes flicked between him and whatever was going on behind him. "Had enough fun with your friend, then?" A harsh edge of veiled condescension filled Rarity's light tone, and he could barely stop himself from visibly flinching away from her stare. His jaw flopped open to supply an eventual response, but the compounding shame from a day's worth of social blunders drove him to silently close his mouth and nod. He probably could have come up with some kind of retort on a good day, but he was still off-balance from his short encounter with that filly. Figures. Whatever Rarity must have seen in his expression softened her own, and her voice lost most of its dainty bite as she let out a suffering sigh. "Honestly darling, you do make it difficult..." She softly brought a hoof up to rest on her cheek as she regarded him. "Whatever you decide to do in your free time is entirely up to you, dear. But we have arrived, so do try to show a little decorum, hm?" Even when comforting or giving advice, Rarity still found certain ways to talk extremely down to ponies. It did make him feel better, in a way. Though, she said that they had arrived. Did she mean to the party? Disassociating from Rarity's disapproving stare was easier than he thought it'd be, as he cast his attention instead to the large building that he hadn't actually noticed until now. It was a familiar building, he could say that much. It was also a very strange building, without a doubt. Architecture wasn't his strong suit at the best of times, but he was fairly certain literal tree houses weren't exactly common. There wasn't much to notice with its appearance, unfortunately. It was a tree. A very big tree, but still just a plant. He liked plants, sure; probably even more than regular ponies, but that still just made it a cool plant. Most of the upper level of the structure was hidden behind a layer of thick leaves, which probably meant that the tree was still alive. There was something, he guessed? Several yellow-glass windows poked out evenly from multiple spots throughout the enveloping canopy, which held their own cute little stylized stained trees. Adherence to a proper theme was important in his opinion, and this building hit all the marks. Even the rounded door he could see over Rarity's withers had a charming carving of a candle on it, which was really just the perfect imagery for a library. Wait, when had that memory creeped in? He had been thinking of the building as the library for at least a minute or so, but when had he realized it? It hadn't even been some big shock with a new picture suddenly appearing in his head. It just casually inserted himself into his awareness without so much as a warning. So it was the library, then. That explained the big sign with a picture of a book on it. Actually, he may have just seen that in the corner of his eye and internalized it. That was a more plausible answer, though plausibility somewhat lost its edge in the case of... well just about everything that had happened to him. Suspension of disbelief aside, amnesia just wasn't something that really happened in day to day life. "Light Flow!" A sudden shout brought him back to reality, and he gasped out an assurance of his attention. He hadn't been paying attention, but Rarity and that scary look on her face didn't exactly need to know that. He did his best to smile in the face of an angry frown, but Rarity just huffed hotly and rolled her eyes at him. The curls of her mane bounced slightly as her head raised to look down on him. At him. "I am well aware of your appreciation for details, but I have been calling your name for minutes! I cannot just stand around here waiting for your bearings to return while ponies inside expect us!" Her hoof raised to fold against her chest, and she swung her head in a dramatic arc as she applied stunning emphasis to her words. "Rarity is never late!" With her over the top piece said, Rarity deflated noticeably from her puffed up grandeur. Her hoof returned to the ground, and she leveled her head to his with a charming smile that said nothing of anything she had just done. "Now, come along inside, darling!" She batted her eyelashes at him prettily, and turned to face the door. With the star of life's show no longer looking at him, he could allow the naturally put-off expression come naturally to his face. He could remember now why Rarity mostly unnerved him. She had a... staggering amount of confidence. They had a certain pull towards drama in common, but she was never afraid to indulge it. Maybe he was jealous? Maybe. He watched with pursed lips as a subtle blue light engulfed Rarity's horn, and then the doorknob a moment later. He certainly wasn't afraid to stand up for himself, but she was just so... Wait... The... The light... It was... what was the light..? Magic.... It was... magic? Magic... He.. he had magic. He had magic. You will not use magic. When he blinked again, Rarity was gone and the door was open. It was somewhat strange that he couldn't remember her opening it, but whatever. He already had amnesia, so what if a couple things blanked out? Now, what was Spike doing? He hadn't heard so much as a peep from the lizard since their collision. Was he hurt? He hadn't backed into him that hard, but he supposed anything was possible. He turned away from the door, half expecting to find a comatose dragon behind him; but instead found a very awake dragon sitting on his butt, staring blankly at his hands. He seemed to be muttering something to himself too, nearly too quiet to hear. He watched for a couple moments, and belatedly realized that Spike wasn't even blinking. He wasn't sure about the ocular abilities of dragons, but he had seen Spike blink multiple times before this, so it was fairly likely that was a thing they did. He could feel his brow deepen as a faint sense of confusion and concern overtook him. Spike really seemed shaken up about something. Maybe he was hurt? And what was he whispering to himself? It was quiet, but not that quiet; so if he just leaned in a little closer... "...Not...Rarity's.... Not....Rarity's..." The confusion muddling his thoughts only grew, and he leaned his head away from the dragon's after a couple seconds of listening to the mutters made it clear he wasn't going to say anything else. He.. maybe understood what Spike was talking about? And... he didn't really want to think about it much more. A brisk shake of his head drove the offending thoughts away, and he set his attention on his dazed friend. He clearly wasn't going to stand up by himself anytime soon, so he would have to give him a nudge. Literally. He trotted around to his friend's side, and reached a hoof down to give him a firm shove in the back. It didn't quite get him onto his feet, but it did knock him off balance; forcing him to catch himself with his already outstretched hands. And.. then he stayed like that. Down on his hands and... knees? Hands and knees, kneeling on the ground; still muttering his dumb little sentence fragment. An eye-roll came to him instinctually, followed by a short sigh. He directed his best cross look at the downed dragon, despite the fact he couldn't see it. "If you finish with your breakdown anytime soon, I think you'll be happy to hear that Rarity is just inside the library. Waiting for us." Putting special emphasis on Rarity's name seemed to have done a special trick. The mutters stopped almost immediately, and Spike shook his head roughly a couple seconds later. He pulled himself off his hands, and quickly brought them both up to slap harshly into his face. Once. Twice. Okay, now Spike was just repeatedly slapping himself in the face. He nearly built up the conscience to stop the self-abuse before Spike suddenly pulled himself off his knees and onto his feet. He wobbled for a moment, before seemingly finding his balance with his hands resting firmly on his hips. He couldn't quite see his face from his position slightly behind him, but he did hear him suck in a deep breath. "Hey... thanks." His face broke from its careful collage of aggravation and fatigue to widen in surprise. Spike hadn't seemed capable of words for quite a while, and the sudden appreciation was unexpected in the strangest of ways. What was he even thanking him for? Helping him up? Guiding him? Before he could even think to begin any sort of reply, Spike was already walking away. He disappeared into the library's somewhat shadowed entrance without another word, leaving a bemused pony standing alone on the threshold of a party. He felt like he had been left with the bill again. Spike had seemingly regained some control over his faculties, which was more than a relief. He had been entertaining worries that he would have to exclusively stick by Spike's side until Twilight showed up and hopefully broke him out of his trance. That probably wasn't a concern anymore, thank the stars. The whole 'lovey-dovey' schtick was really starting to grate on his nerves. Rarity was pretty, sure; but Spike knew literally nothing about her. Thinking of that mare in any sort of romantic fashion just... made his stomach squeeze. Maybe it was a dragon thing. They had some sort of hoarding instinct, didn't they? Maybe Spike wanted to.. hoard her? Eugh. His imagination really needed a break. In an effort to give his subconscious a different topic to chew on, he took one last look over the library. Big, wooden, leafy; everything was basically how he remembered it. Though, it seemed a bit bigger in his memories. That mystery was satisfying enough to appeal, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer anyway. Regardless, it was something besides dragons to think about, so it would do. Leaving the question floating in his nebulous headspace, he followed after the retreating trail of his friend. As he reached the edge of the door, he could already hear a din of chattering voices bleeding out from the somewhat bright interior. That was to be expected for a party, but it still made his stomach turn uneasily. Aside from when he first woke up, he hadn't had to interact with more than two ponies at a time. He hadn't been alone for more than what was probably a few minutes, either. That left his comfortable average at a measly one companion, which didn't bode well for mixing into a crowd. And he didn't doubt it would be a crowd. It didn't sound too loud at the moment, but he also didn't think the party had actually started yet; and there was no doubt more guests would arrive eventually. Sifting through his memories of everything Pinkie Pie gave him the grim news that a party with her involved would not be anything small. He would have to bite the bullet, and keep a smile on his face. If he managed to look creepy enough, maybe nopony would bother him? That wasn't a good plan. Instead of inadvertently drawing attention by being outwardly pleasant like an idiot, he simply allowed the unease squirming in his chest to show on his face. He would just have to hope that ponies would see how obviously uncomfortable he already was, and just leave him be. A soft sigh slipped through his clenched jaw, and he stepped past the door. The disparity in the light level hurt his eyes for a moment, but he adjusted quickly as he made his way into the room. It was immediately louder than it was just outside the door, and he could already feel tension building his his withers. From where he was standing in the entranceway, he could see uneven clumps of colorful bodies bunched in random places throughout the carved wooden interior of the tree; which left little open space save for the entrance and a few isolated pathways. It didn't help that the library wasn't the biggest building in the first place. It was certainly no Town Hall. A few ponies near the back wall, a larger crowd jumbled in the middle around some sort of table; and of course, a hearty helping of two-pony pairs. A sudden shock of rainbow on sky blue cut a dark contrast to dark grey on black at the end of the left wall, and a sinking groan rose in his chest at the sight. Of course Rainbow Dash would be here. She never missed a chance to blow off responsibility, and there were few ways better than to attend a Pinkie Pie party. Idle conversations needled roughly into his hearing, and he instinctively pressed his ears into his head in an attempt to spare him from some of the pain. He was already regretting coming here. There were probably only twenty or so ponies in the room, and that was still too many. Too much noise. Too many eyes. They all seemed relatively preoccupied in their own little groups, but he couldn't help but feel as though they were all staring at him. Or at least thinking about him. Nopony had reacted, but they all must have known how strange he was already. Who knew how many of these ponies he knew? Any one of them could break off from a group at any time and approach him for any reason. What would he even do in that situation? What if they brought up a topic he couldn't remember? What if they saw through his lies? What if they all did?! Okay he was starting to freak out a bit. He needed an anchor, right now. His eyes desperately searched the room for any sign of Spike or Rarity, but they seemed to be strangely absent. There weren't that many ponies, so he should have been able to see them, but he just couldn't. His eyes traced the curve of a wooden staircase at the end of the room. There wasn't a back entrance as far as he could see, so they hadn't ditched him; which left the upstairs room as the only logical option. Them jumping out of a window was a silly thing to consider and he discarded the thought immediately. He was now presented with a rather sizable problem.. The staircase was against the complete opposite wall from the door. Past all the ponies. There were just about three avenues he could take here. Going straight for the staircase was probably the worst plan, since he would have to skirt either around or directly through the largest gathering of ponies. He didn't recognize any of them, which scared him more than the alternative. He could cut a sweeping path to the left, though he wasn't particularly excited about that plan either. It would take him right past Rainbow Dash and the dark-colored pegasus she was talking to. He didn't know how long he would be staying, but he was hoping to avoid her for as long as possible. That left one real option: the right path. That coincidence was extremely funny, but it was also the safest path for him to take. There was a surprising lack of ponies on the right wall, though it seemed to be where the refreshments were held. That left a very slim chance for a pony to break off towards him in the short time he would be over there. Those odds were far better than- "Hiya Light!" His hooves left the ground momentarily as he jumped back in fright away from the grinning pink face suddenly hogging his view. Pinkie Pie had found him, unfortunately; but where in Equus had she come from?! He hadn't seen her in the room at all, and then she just appeared! How did she do that? "I'm so glad you could make it! Sorry again about earlier, or is it sorry for the first time? Does a sorry count twice if you give the first sorry like you've already given one? How many sorrys does it take for the apology to lose sincerity? I'd feel really bad if my sorry was accidentally rude!" "I- I don't-" Pinkie had somewhat predictably immediately launched a slurry of words at him, and somehow also immediately lost the point of whatever she had been trying to say. His mouth hung open uselessly as he tried to pinpoint anything in the mess of words to answer. It wasn't working. Anytime he found some sort of ground to stand on with a reply, Pinkie would upend the world around him with another topic change; again leaving him flailing weakly in the deluge of scattershot conversation topics. As the conversation went on and on and the topics broadened and broadened, he eventually just shut his mouth and stopped trying to play a losing game of keep up. He could feel his vision unfocusing as Pinkie jumped into talking about apology gifts and their respective levels of 'sorriness', and his surroundings gradually began to soften. He was actually somewhat glad for Pinkie Pie's random presence. He didn't enjoy being talked at endlessly, but she was a known quantity. She wouldn't ask him uncomfortable questions, or do something unpredictably unpredictable; she was always expectedly strange. He knew she could do something weird. With her standing next to him, he didn't feel quite so awkward or afraid. He didn't feel like ponies were staring at him, because even if they were staring in his direction: he knew it wasn't him they were staring at. Next to Pinkie Pie, he may as well have been a completely ordinary pony. This wasn't so bad. But the feeling of serenity he found in Pinkie's chaos ended too soon, and there was suddenly a pull on his hoof. It jerked him forward, and he was forced to stumble awkwardly as he nearly lost balance. He cast his eyes to whatever had grabbed onto him, and found a pink appendage wrapped around his outstretched hoof. Pinkie had apparently finished whatever she was saying about apologies, and was now guiding him towards the right wall. He did his best to focus in on whatever she was talking about now as another insistent tug on his hoof brought him stumbling forward again. "-Sense told me to go wait in a specific spot, and you know I don't mind listening to my Pinkie Sense even if it seems weird, because it always ends up being right! So I went downtown and waited for a while, and that's when I saw a new pony in town! And that meant I needed to throw a party! But I didn't know what kind of party to throw or even where to throw it because I didn't actually stop to ask the mare's name but-" He had to hoof it to Pinkie, she sure was carefree. He was actively dragging his hooves in an attempt to get her to stop taking him somewhere, but she seemingly didn't mind. She just kept talking and tugging without saying anything about the fight he was putting up. He wasn't very strong, and she was an earth pony, but that didn't mean he wasn't providing some resistance! As Pinkie's surprisingly creepy story of finding out nearly everything about Twilight bled into random bits of party planning, his eyes drew themselves to their likely destination. Pinkie seemed to be leading him towards an out of the way table next to a window on the right side of the wall, where an unfamiliar pony was already sitting. He barely had time to contemplate the logistics of gnawing his hoof off before the table was in front of them, and Pinkie was swinging him towards it. The hold on his hoof vanished, and he barely managed to tumble gracefully into a mostly sitting position before Pinkie once again finished whatever tangent she had gone off on. "-and she said that you were acting really strange, so I set up this table for you and got Applejack over here to talk to you because I know you'll talk to her about whatever's bugging you!" He looked up from his dazed glare at the table to see Pinkie smile widely at him again. "So have fun!" And then she was bouncing away. He could only watch in bewilderment as the pink menace quickly crossed the room and crashed roughly into a familiar sky-blue pony, sending them both down in a tangle of limbs and colors. Cries of annoyance mixed with laughter from around the room blurred his vision for a moment, and he looked down at the table he was now forcibly sitting at as he tried to regain his bearings. Pinkie had accosted him her usual flood of words, dragged him roughly to a table with a pony he didn't know, and then left with a big smile on her face. And it had all happened in the span of... not that long. A known quantity, to be sure; but that didn't mean he didn't regret the moment of trust. "So Pinkie roped you into this too, huh?" A warm southern accent came to his ears, and he raised his eyes from the bright pink and purple table to rest on the pony sitting across from him. An easy orange smile set below two amused green eyes stared back at him, and an idle memory of a pumpkin patch flew through his head. Whoever this pony was, she fit her voice very well; what with her noticeably rugged physique and her hat that was reminiscent of a southern cowpony. Her entire appearance basically screamed 'country', and he could only imagine what it was she actually did. She probably worked on a farm or something, since Ponyville was almost exclusively a farming town. What did she farm, though? He knew Ponyville was full of farmers, but he wasn't quite up to speed on the particular crops they grew; besides apples, of course. Maybe she was an Apple? Should he ask? He tuned back into the expectant gleam in the orange farmpony's eyes, and opened his mouth with the beginning of the question on his lips; before it suddenly stuck in his throat. He couldn't ask her something like that, was he crazy? If this pony knew him, it would be a huge red flag; and his whole charade would blow itself to Tartarus! Oh, but now he was sitting there with his mouth open like an idiot. He had to find something to say, or he would look extra weird! The beginning of a stammer had barely made its way out before it was drowned by a hearty chuckle from his table partner. Tiny white freckles crinkled into nothingness as the orange cowpony rumbled with a deep laugh that made his chest tighten in on itself. Why was she laughing at him? Had he done something funny? Deep green eyes opened into a knowing squint as his heart beat loudly in his ears. "Now, don't you worry, sugarcube; I'm not in any rush. Take yer time, and try again when yer ready." Her tone was teasing in a way that spoke of experience, and it brought a hot feeling rushing to his ears. As she turned to stare comfortably out into the party proper, he turned the opposite way to look wide-eyed out the window. Outside was very nice and all, but he was having a hard time seeing it through the panic blinding him. This pony knew him. This pony knew him well. He did not know this pony. This was the worst case scenario. Every time he had met somepony he knew before this, he had some kind of memory to guide himself by. Snippets of conversations, random emotions, anything and everything his head could give him had helped him seem somewhat presentable. There was nothing for the orange cowpony sitting across from him. No memory of ever talking to her, no random wisp of feeling when he looked at her; he couldn't even recall her name. He didn't even know her name. This was fine, everything would be fine. Excessive panic was the enemy here, and he would be fine if he just kept his head up. If he was starting from scratch, then he would have to play it by ear. Anything he could take from their conversation would help guide him. Any emotion she showed him would be a decent flag for reciprocation. That didn't leave much for creativity or uniqueness in a conversation, but it was a decent starting guideline. So far, he was fairly sure she worked on a farm. She also knew Pinkie Pie, which meant she lived nearby. The look in her eye when she teased him was familiarity, so they were fairly close. She was patient in the face of his indecision, so they were close and on good terms. That distinction probably wasn't necessary, but it never hurt to be careful. He could do this, he just had to take a deep breath. Start with something easy. He turned his head back to the orange pony in front of him, and let out a deep sigh through his nose. It must have been loud enough to catch her attention, because she also turned her head back to the table to stare pleasantly at him. The sudden attention was more than a bit unnerving, but he would be okay. They were friends, right? "So, how's it been on the.. farm?" His nonchalant question faltered in the middle as he regretted the solidified assumption, but he must have hit the mark; because the orange pony snorted good-naturedly and rolled her eyes in response. He internally celebrated his deduction skills as she leaned her front hooves on the edge of the table. "Now ain't that a question... Busy, mostly. Applebuckin' season's comin up', meanin' we got ourselves some real busy work in the near future. Plus, family's been showin' up all week fer the Celebration, and it's been more'n a bit hectic tryin' to herd em' all." Her expression softened as she let out a sigh, and a sweet smile crossed her face. "Still, It don't bother me none. It's the kinda stress that's worth the trouble." He let a similar smile grow on his face while his mind chewed furiously on everything that had just happened. She did work on a farm, so he was thankfully correct. Adding to that, it was fairly likely she was an Apple as well; unless there was another apple farm nearby. She also had a large family, they were all in town for the celebration, and she was in charge of them. Not incredibly important for the conversation, but building a profile was at least a good idea. What was important was her obvious love for her family. That might be important in certain scenarios. He could sway either of their responses that way with a little effort if need be. He was about to ask another leading question about her family to hopefully get some names, when she suddenly turned to him with a questioning tone of her own, interrupting the forming query on his lips. "By the by, Granny's been askin' after you. Wants to know If'n you'll be comin' 'round fer a dinner with the family 'fore they all head home after the Celebration." She paused for a moment as her face took on an unexpectedly bashful tone. Her hooves met in the middle of the edge of the table to poke sheepishly at each other, and she stared down at them shyly. "And.. Y'know... I wouldn't mind much either..." The sudden addition to the end of her thought caught him seriously off guard, and he nearly choked on a nervous swallow. She said her 'granny' was inviting him to a family dinner, which was a gut punch in itself; but he could read the subtext in her words pretty easily, and it sounded like she was the one who really wanted him to come. The bashful expression still on her face as she nervously flicked her eyes up to his spoke heavily to the truth of a thought forming in his head, and he could already feel several of his internal processes failing as they struggled to comprehend it. Did... Did she like him? What... what did he do? What had he done? What... How should he handle this?! There... There wasn't any way to comfortably fit this into his profile! He couldn't use her emotions against her! He... He wasn't a monster! Aren't you? An orange hoof was suddenly brushing up against his own, and he roughly jerked it away without thinking. He realized belatedly that he was breathing much harder than he should have been, and he struggled to control himself as he brought his eyes up to lock onto two concerned pools of green. He held his hoof tightly to his chest as the orange pony searched his face for a moment. He didn't know what she was looking for, and he didn't know if she found it either by the time she suddenly started speaking in a cautious tone. "Light? You all right? Um.. Y-You don't have to come out if y'all ain't feelin' it..." He could barely hear what she said through the noise in his ears, but she was concerned for him; and that was normal. He was acting very strange, and his friend was concerned about it. But how strange was he acting? He was a strange pony, so she probably expected him to be strange, but was he being extraneously strange? What level of strangeness should he shoot for?! Was there a proper measurement for levels of strangeness?! How did he quantify it?! His throat felt tight with the pressure of the screaming fear in his head, and it only grew worse as he opened his mouth to blab some sort of platitude and found nothing coming out. The orange pony's obvious concern grew ever deeper as her body tensed up, and a strange kind of guilt entered her eyes. Words continued to fail him as the orange pony began to speak falteringly while leaning slightly away from the table, as if bracing for some sort of impact. "...Rarity talked about y'all actin' real strange... but ah told her you were probably just in another mood..." Her eyes narrowed as an edge of fear entered her face. "Ah'm... Sugarcube, ah know y'all can be absent sometimes, but... please tell me you're okay?" His heart dropped as his jaw flapped uselessly, and his head began to shake autonomously. What did he tell her? What should he say? What would save him? Nothing came to mind, and the orange pony found her answer in the silence. As he stared blankly at her, her face took on a tone of silent, grim, sadness; and she stood up from the table. His vision began to blur as a hot feeling came to his eyes, and he stretched his head toward her slightly blurry visage as he tried desperately to force words through the devastation blocking his throat. "...I'll be right back, sugarcube. Don't go anywhere, y'hear?" Her voice was soft and her words were gentle, but it did little to soften the worried look on her face; and practically nothing to assuage the burning feeling of despair in his chest. His hoof raised tentatively towards her form as she turned and made her way up the stairs. And suddenly, he was alone. He sat there in the relative silence for a moment, still staring out after the orange pony who was well on her way to unmasking him; before he let out a quiet sniff and set his eyes and his hoof onto the table. Without the cause of the panic flashing before his eyes, he could wrangle his breathing into something calmer; and begin to try to make sense of everything that had just happened. He was still feeling somewhat shellshocked, and he wasn't breathing that calmly, and there was still a growing party going on around him; but he could make an honest attempt at categorizing his failures. He might have felt somewhat like a drowned rat, but the chill in his withers would go away eventually. Everything had gone very well at first, and he had extracted a large amount of information from the orange pony without acting too strange. Idle conversation was easy enough, especially when he wasn't the one doing most of it. Then she had personally invited him to an important dinner, and... he just... fell apart. Because she liked him. And after that, he had just kind of.. shut down. Which made it pretty obvious to his conversation partner that something was wrong. But what was wrong? Was he just afraid of the thought that somepony liked him? Was that the cause of the choking fear that clogged his words? If he was thinking rationally, it was probably just the show of affection. He had already had an entire breakdown on why it would be a bad idea to spend time with somepony who knew him, and there he was sitting and chatting with somepony who might have been more than a friend. And now she was suspicious of him, and she had gone off to talk to another pony that he hadn't even known was also suspicious of him. His lies were falling to pieces around him, and he didn't even know how to begin picking them all up. And now, he was just sitting; waiting for her to come back. Because he didn't know what else to do. > Chapter 34 - The Student > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was... not feeling so great. A somewhat unsurprising fact which was likely blatantly obvious to everypony in the room; since it was probably fairly hard to miss the isolated table with the isolated unicorn glumly sitting with his head on his hooves. Like some kind of petulant foal left on the sidelines and forced to watch the fun. It wasn't like he was being forced to sit there, of course; but the thought of doing... anything, was really just mildly repelling. Lethargy filled his veins in great amounts, and he would welcome it for as long as it flowed. Ever since the apple pony had gone off upstairs to presumably talk to Rarity, he had been... less than motivated to partake in the festivities around him. He was comfortable enough to periodically turn his head to lazily take note of where everypony was and what they were doing, but that itself was really more of a comfort than anything else. It was just the underlying feeling that he had some kind of awareness. Some kind of greater grasp on his surroundings than just... knowing they were there. Being vaguely cognizant of the fact that there was merriment and whatnot, rather than just... sitting around. Like he was doing. A quiet hum rose in his throat for a moment as he closed his eyes, and he moved his hooves to rest over his face. The sudden darkness was far less appealing than he had imagined, and it was barely more than a moment before he moved his hooves away and raised his head to stare somewhat blurrily down at the glaring pink and purple patterns of the tablecloth. His sudden movement jostled the object on his head, which he had actually forgotten about in all the tedium. His hoof came up to rest on the sleek, rounded surface of a party hat; and a mirthless chuckle slipped out to quickly die in his aura of negativity. At some random unspecified point, Pinkie must have noticed how obviously sad he was trying to make himself look; because she suddenly materialized next to him with a hat in her hooves and a smile on her face. 'Come on, Night-Light! Don't look so glum, it's a party!' He couldn't quite remember if that was exactly what she said, but it was something vaguely insulting yet somehow also uplifting. She had taken his traditional moment of Pinkie Pie induced shock to snap the hat's band under his jaw in a spectacular breach of his personal space, before immediately bouncing off to bug her guests some more. He could have taken the hat off after she left, he supposed... A mental picture of a brown unicorn with a cartoonishly large frown wearing a festive party hat flashed into his mind; and a quiet laugh bubbled in his chest at the thought. He would wear the hat, to make Pinkie happy. And also in some part because he knew he looked somewhat funny. With his momentary lapse in depression over, he allowed his hoof to fall back down onto the table as he tried to tune back into his surroundings. He was... less than successful, as he had been for nearly the entire time he had been here. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't really cognizant of the party around him; or much of anything else. It was all just a loud haze of colors and faces that just made him so tired to look at. He had the basic focus to pick out Pinkie Pie and maybe even Rainbow Dash on occasion, but not often. He wasn't quite sure why they were the specific objects of his focus, but it could be easily chalked up to the obvious feelings of familiarity. He had faint recollections of various other ponies at the party, but nothing beyond a half-formed name and a passing meeting here and there. Whether anypony else at the party knew him, he was essentially sitting in a crowd of strangers. It was all just so hard to reconcile in his head. Back when he had woken up, pony watching had been a welcome delight to his confused and addled mind. It had made him feel intelligent and comfortably removed, like an unseen spectator or a witty puppet master. But now, the thought of trying to keep track of so much at once... The silly party hat on his head suddenly felt very heavy, and it took more energy than it should've to continue staring aimlessly down at the table. He didn't want to be at the party, he didn't want to pony watch, and he didn't want to wait for the apple pony to come and unmask him. He wanted to go home. But that was exactly the problem nagging at him. Truth be told, he didn't really mind the party, and he wasn't that scared of the orange cowpony. He was fairly sure the pony who he knew to be his friend wouldn't do anything to hurt him, nor would anypony else at the party. No, his fears had decided to lay on a rather sobering fact that was very far removed from any other problem he had faced all day. He didn't know where he lived. The barest peek into the consequences behind that thought was enough send a violent shiver down his spine, and he had to shake his head roughly to dislodge an intrusive twitch in his ear. The saliva in his mouth suddenly felt heavy enough to choke him, and he swallowed nervously as he cast a paranoid eye into the room. Nopony was openly staring at him, though the density of ponies in the room seemed higher than it had been when he'd last checked. If anypony had noticed his brief seize, they didn't seem keen on showing it; so he turned his attention away from the shapeless blob of mostly unfamiliar faces. This new fear in his ever expanding catalogue was really getting to him, though it was easy to see why. During his entire bout of amnesia, he had dealt with a lot of 'issues'. His lack of memories, his lack of moral fiber, and how those things were negatively affecting the creatures around him. Three problems that he personally felt as though had been handled as well as he'd been able, though they were all quite easily categorized as fairly unimportant in the grand scheme of events. Maybe he was just trying to minimize the emotional impact of what had happened to him, he didn't know; but the obvious fact of the matter was, simply put, this new problem was of a different nature. It was far more real, far, far more impactful. He could honestly say that whatever issue he'd had with losing more memories and personality wasn't nearly as scary or provoking. He knew how messed up he was in the head, and it was an easy problem he'd been dealing with all day; but what would he do when the day was over? How would he deal with a problem not found in his own head? Where was he going to go? Did he have family to go home to? Did he even have a home? Family, that was another thing; he couldn't remember having any. Did that mean he was alone, or had he just forgotten about them? Was there somepony out there waiting for him? Were they worried? It was becoming very difficult to properly control his rapid breathing, but that was probably to be expected given the encroaching panic at the very solid problem sitting squarely on his plate. There were few things quite as real as the sudden realization of homelessness. No matter how he looked at it, from where he was currently sitting there was just no way out of the problem. He wasn't likely to remember anytime soon without some sort of trigger, which left scarce roads open to him. While somepony may know about his amnesia quite soon, his secret was safe for the moment; which meant there wasn't anypony he could ask, either. There was no solution without compromising his secret, which really left one option open to him. Without anything to do about it, he just needed to forget about the problem. If he didn't think about it too hard, he could comfortably rest in obliviousness; and continue with his normal array of mental battles. It wasn't quite the healthiest option, but that was hardly anything new for him. All he had to do was.. stop thinking about it. Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment did wonders for his racing heart; and as he closed his eyes and the world fell away around him, he could already feel himself losing the creeping dread that accompanied the all-consuming thought that he had nowhere to go after the party and there might be somepony somewhere missing him and- moon damnit. His eyes dragged themselves open to stare angrily at the innocent swirls of yellow on the unassuming background of purple that made up the tablecloth. Yeah, there was little to no chance he could find any way to reasonably ignore the crisis on the horizon. Though, at least he could trick himself into turning his fear and depression into annoyance at himself. He was an idiot, problem solved. The bright tones of the table were beginning to agitate his rising headache, so he cast his attention instead to the window. The sun was beginning to lower itself down, which lit the town rather prettily in the falling dusk. He could already see ponies trotting about, going on with the end of the day; completely oblivious to the party in the library and the turmoil in his- Wait... He could swear that particular pony was familiar... The passing recollection stirred curiosity in his chest, driving away scarce amounts of the dejection clogging most of his faculties. An ear managed to find the energy to flick once in rising interest; as he pressed his nose softly against the cold, yellowed glass pane. The lengthening shadows cutting dark furrows into the ground made it harder than it should have been to pick out any details, but he was fairly sure he had seen that mare- "SHE'S HERE! CUT THE LIGHTS!" The rising noise of the party was suddenly drowned out by a loud, almost deafening warning call. Pinkie had a real set of lungs on her, and she seemingly used them to great effect. And parties. Mostly parties. The shock nearly drove him to drive his head through the window, but he satisfied the forces of torment well enough by simply gently bashing his forehead against the window. He brought a hoof up to hold against the slightly stinging bruise as he turned to regard the activity that had suddenly whipped up. While his ears recovered from the shrill scream and his head recovered from the shrill bonk, ponies around the room began tripping over themselves to clear from the middle of the room. Gradual understanding began to dawn on him as, one by one, everypony around him quietly took a place staring towards the entrance. He almost had the courage to ask into the sudden hush of the room whether he should also get ready, before all of the lights suddenly shut off all at once. As the pitch descended over him, he immediately felt uncomfortable. He hadn't been in the dark since he woke up, and now he was wishing he could have stayed that way. With the pressing darkness around him, the feeling of being watched that had vaguely plagued him during his entire time at the party somehow grew worse. The feeling burned into his coat, sending shivers through his skin and piercing down to his bones. A sick feeling in his stomach pumped irregularly in time with his rapid heartbeat, and he was suddenly aware that he didn't know where the bathroom was. The sheer contrast in atmosphere certainly wasn't helping. It had been scant few moments ago that a somewhat uproarious party was only just beginning to rage, and now it was just him and the quiet. It didn't feel like there were many sets of eyes on him, but just one pair. One pair, with their sharp edges and glittering depths that spoke nothing of their intentions. Deep and dark and blue, like the night's sky. Creeping towards him hungrily, just waiting to consume him and cast him into a familiar abyss of eternal shadow. Okay that was a weirdly specific and somewhat grim twist on the itchy heat in his chest, but at least he could be imaginative in the face of irrationality. Creepy creativity aside; If he wasn't still in a room full of ponies, he was reasonably sure he would be freaking out. A fear of the dark wasn't something he expected at all, and he was really hoping Twilight would just quit dawdling and come in soon. There must have been a shooting star passing by, because the door swung itself open moments later. Bronze, burning light spilled shallowly into the room, and the shadowed form of a mare trotted heavily into the room. "Spike! Are you here?" The annoyed tone in Twilight's voice cut harshly into the shadows of the room, and he found himself wincing in the dark. An aggravated sigh loosed into the room, and a small fount of guilt welled up in his chest. He probably should have tried a bit harder to help Spike find her, instead of just waiting it out at the library. Irritated mutters sounded loudly in the quiet room, as Twilight turned to the door and shut the light away with a flick of her hoof. With the room once more cast into complete darkness, he lost track of Twilight's position; though he could still hear her talking to herself quietly as she moved about the room. "Of all the times for him to run off with some creepy stranger... He had better be okay... Where's the Celestia-damned light?... We don't have time for this... I need to do research on the elements and Nightmare-" Her monologue was suddenly cut off as all of the lights in the room came on at once. Two shrieks of fright found themselves lost in the near-immediate chorus that followed, as the gaggle of ponies hidden in the corners of the room simultaneously shouted one word. "SURPRISE!" Twilight's head whipped in every direction as she likely panicked for a moment, before the reality of the situation kicked in and she realized it was a party and not an ambush. Her head lowered, and she let out a suffering sigh as uproarious laughter made its way around the room. If he had to make a guess, she probably wished it had been an ambush. He watched for a moment as Pinkie Pie swarmed the unfortunate mare, before setting his attention to his own racing heart. He allowed his hoof to rest on his chest as he breathed a deep sigh, though it was a bit shaky. Twilight's fear was expected, his was just embarrassing. He let his eyes dart around the room in a fit of paranoia, and when he was reasonably sure nopony had noticed his outburst: he allowed the tension in his withers to fade. He set his hooves on the table, and lowered his head to rest on them. He was fine. His eyes stung a bit from the sudden light, but he vastly preferred that to the darkness. His breath continued to come and go deeply, while he took a moment to evaluate Twilight. He could still see her out of the corner of his eye, and he could certainly hear Pinkie Pie. She was hovering around the poor mare, chattering on and on about parties and first meetings and whatnot. He pitied her a fair amount, though he wouldn't actually mind a conversation to fill the silence immediately around him. There may have been a perpetual air of loneliness suffusing the area around him, but the rest of the room wasn't affected. With Twilight in the room, the party found an easy return to an upbeat atmosphere of friendly socializing and excited movements. Somepony had even started a gramophone that hadn't been playing before, and a lively tune filled the room. All in all, it was quite the occasion. It seemed like most of the ponies were somewhat indifferent to the recipient of the party, but a couple of them managed to brave the miasma of words around Pinkie Pie to wish a welcome to Twilight. For her part, she mostly took the entire thing in an annoyed stride, and she even seemed to be holding her decent own against Pinkie Pie. She couldn't really keep up, but a comment here and there was better than he'd been able to do. He'd applaud her if he didn't still feel so lethargic. Across the room, Pinkie Pie seemed to be looking for something now; which for some reason included actually lifting Twilight by her waist to furtively check under her. To Twilight's noticeable discredit: she seemed too shocked to adequately protest before she was roughly set back on her hooves, none the worse for wear. Though, she sure didn't stay that way. Once Pinkie had set her safely on the floor, Twilight seemed to somehow become even more annoyed, if such a thing was even possible. She tossed her head as a snippet of an aggravated shout managed to make its way over the sounds of the party; followed by a dip in volume and posture as she clenched her jaw and hissed something undoubtedly volatile. Pinkie, as was typical of her, completely disregarded whatever rude thing Twilight probably said in favor of smiling widely at her; before chattering something likely too fast to understand, and promptly bouncing to the door. He watched for a moment as Pinkie threw the wooden portal open and launched herself outside; making herself quite absent from her own party, which was admittedly very strange. The obvious first question on his mind would be where she had gone, though a close second would be why Twilight seemed so annoyed. Aside, of course, from the many other things that were already quite obviously annoying her. Including him, apparently. Dread began to creep over the fading embers of panic as Twilight's eyes came to rest on him, and an accusatory expression quickly molded onto her face. She barely stopped to stare at him for a moment before she was rudely shouldering her way past a pony or two in-between them, seemingly intent on bringing him to some kind of justice. He thought about quietly whispering some prayer for solitude, but decided against it in favor of simply looking as inconspicuous as possible. If he just kept his head down well enough, maybe she would decide not to bother him? She was a mare of intellect, perhaps she was just as indecisive as he was? No, that was dumb; what was wrong with him? A quick glace to the corner of his eye made it clear there was little stopping Twilight from blazing a war-path in his direction, unfortunately. She looked really mad at him. What had he even done to her? Well, besides completely absconding with someone he had gathered to be something of a cross between her son and brother. Maybe she did have a good reason to be mad, then; but abscond wasn't really even a good word for it any- "You!" The heated word reached the table a second before she did, and he quickly pressed his ears to his head as he raised it to stare into the burning eyes of Twilight Sparkle. He did his best to look chagrined as she stood there huffing angrily, but he could tell the expression wasn't as genuine as it could've been. He felt sorry, sure; but the problem currently staring him down felt just a bit less important than... just about everything that had and soon would happen to him. She may have been taking a moment to catch her breath, or maybe Twilight was just collecting herself as her gaze turned to rest on the floor; but either way, she eventually sucked in a deep breath and turned a markedly less heated gaze on him. When she spoke, her words were far less biting than he'd been expecting; though there was a quiet intensity to them that might've been worse. "I've been looking for you all day! I had to go through multiple terrible experiences with creepily friendly ponies, all without Spike!" The snarl of her words was very intimidating, but he was still finding it somewhat difficult to feel excessively threatened. He didn't quite yawn, but the indifference seeping into his expression must have set something off in Twilight's head. A wordless cry of anger ripped from her mouth as she slammed a hoof into the table, rocking it slightly. The yell hadn't been that loud, and she wasn't that strong, but what did catch his eye and set his heart racing a bit faster was the visible smoke that erupted from the ends of her mane. He barely had the forethought to blink owlishly and lean off the table as Twilight panted heavily and rested her own hooves on the edge of the surface. Had..? Was that..? Unless he was adding hallucinations to his laundry list of deficiencies, the tips of her mane had just caught fire for a moment. Okay, now he was feeling a bit intimidated. Twilight had just caught fire, and the only consequence seemed to be a shortage of breath. She seemed really winded, actually; as she gasped deeply while leaning heavily on the edge of the table. He couldn't quite see her face because of the way her bangs hid it, but he was starting to get a bit concerned. It wasn't every day that he saw a mare catch fire, unless his pre-amnesia life was incredible. It would probably be the polite thing to ask if she was okay, even if the thought sent butterflies through his chest. He bit his lip for a moment as he pondered how to approach the situation, before settling on a simple cautious tone. "Um.. Are you.. alright?" A set of hooded purple eyes rose to glare at him from underneath the shade of her bangs, and he nearly jerked back in fright. He wasn't afraid of Twilight, but she did know how to look intimidating. With her eyes shaded by her hair like that, she looked like the perfect picture of malice. She continued glaring and gasping at him for a moment, before she managed to breathlessly wheeze out a sentence. "I'm fine." Despite the hostility edging the obvious tone of finality, she didn't seem to be done yet; as her back hooves gave out under her, and she slumped heavily over the table with her face in her hooves. A muffled, yet undeniably fatigued voice floated out from the confines of the purple cage. "I'm just.... tired." With Twilight occupying the center stage of the table, he felt compelled to scoot away from her a bit. Not much, just.. enough to have fair distance between them. The extra table between them might save his life if she tried to strangle him for the stupid thing his mind wanted to say next. He stared at the ceiling in a silent prayer to the moon for a moment, before screwing his eyes shut and leaning away from the volatile fire mare. "Do you..." The words felt heavy in his throat, and a number of curses toward himself floated around his head. "..want to talk about it?" Each word felt like an eternity on his lips, and he braced for violent impact as soon as the last of them had finished their suicide plunge into the air. As the silence fell painfully over their table, he took a moment to imagine the many ways this could go badly. Actually, he shut the thought down as quickly as he could. His first scenario had involved Twilight turning into fire and burning him to death, so his imagination maybe wasn't something he should be diving into at the moment. He had been expecting Twilight to lash out with a hoof and catch him in the jaw by now, but she hadn't actually said anything. That was odd, had she heard him? He cautiously peeked an eye open to see if Twilight was just winding up to hit him, but instead found something quite different. Instead of a mare with a flaming mane bent on vicious justice, he found Twilight's face resting on top of her hooves, just... staring at him. Well, glaring might be a better word choice. She was definitely glaring at him with dark bags under her eyes and an unpleasant frown on her face. Whatever cue opening his eyes had triggered, she must have been waiting for it, because a moment later she let out a derisive snort and rolled her eyes. "Why would I want to talk to you?" The question came out as more of a snarl than a real inquiry, and a similar frown formed on his own face at the show of a different kind of hostility than he'd been expecting. Twilight was far more aggressive than he'd thought, and he was beginning to think it went further than whatever she thought he might have done with Spike. On that note, should he tell her Spike was just upstairs? It would be the kind thing to do, but he kind of wanted to get to the root of Twilight's animosity first. Other than being somewhat interesting, the hate she directed towards him was refreshing in its transparency; and he vastly preferred the open emotion to the guessing games he'd been forced to play all day. He could help Twilight talk through her issues, and she could help him unwind before his judgement day. It was practically a win-win. Twilight was still glaring at him somewhat petulantly, and he could feel scorn edging into his own expression. She was just being so rude. She had marched her way over to his table, yelled at him for taking care of her family member; and then when he'd offered to help, she'd childishly decided to insult him. He was beginning to remember why he'd held onto the thought that he disliked her. He couldn't really recall exactly what happened when they first met, but he had been reasonably sure it wasn't anything good. Spending time with Spike all day had made him think he'd misjudged her, what with how similar they apparently were; but now he was getting a different feeling. He hoped Spike would understand, but Twilight was coming off as quite unlikable. He matched the glare being thrown at him as best he could, and curled his lip as he tried to sound as angry as possible without shouting. Twilight wasn't backing down, so he would have to up the ante. "Well, I don't see anypony else who knows you half as well clamoring to offer!" As predicted, Twilight's face twisted in confusion at his declaration; and her head shook slightly as she struggled to comprehend what he'd just said. It might have been confusing, but he did know her better than anypony else at the party; just not personally. Wait, should he count Spike? "What.. What is that even supposed to-" "Hey Twilight!" Twilight had barely begun to fall into his trap of conversation topics when a sudden shout drew them both out of their shared haze of anger. The tension in the air noticeably bled away into the air as they both turned to stare into the blinding smile of a mint-green unicorn trotting happily towards them. He squinted slightly at the approaching mare as a tickle of memory caught in his head, before it was quickly swept away in a tide of incomprehension. He may have known this mare somehow, but he had no idea where from. It probably didn't matter, since she hadn't even addressed him anyway. No, she was coming over to see Twilight, who definitely knew her; judging by the immediate groan that tore from her throat as soon as she turned around to see who had called her name. He watched in muted bemusement as Twilight turned and dropped her head into her hooves. "Hide me..." The anguished moan that floated up from underneath purple hooves made its way to his ears moments before the stranger made her way to the table. He barely had time to ponder what exactly was about to happen before he was looking into a pair of excited golden eyes, moments before they closed in apparent joy as a hoof came up to smack Twilight in the back softly. A long, rolling peal of throaty laughter rung into his ears, and a two-tone green mane shook wildly as the incredibly excitable mare literally bounced on her hooves. A moment later she was suddenly dropping her butt onto the floor in between them, placing her in somewhat uncomfortably close proximity to him; though he personally thought it was a wise choice to not bring it up and distract her from bugging his aggressor. "Twilight, it's been so long! How are you doing?! What brings you to Ponyville!?" An amused smile quirked onto his face of its own volition as he watched the loud mare shout questions directly into Twilight's ear. A moment later, it became even harder to hold back a bark of laughter of his own as the very strange mare leaned the entire front half of her body onto the table in a wonderfully mocking imitation of Twilight's position. He could already make a reasonable assumption that this mare was absolutely delightful, even despite her similarly absolute air of extreme annoyance. He wouldn't like it as much if it was pointed at him, but he was more than happy to watch as long as Twilight was on the receiving end of that expectant stare. The wide smile she permanently wore on her face was just about everything he needed to know about her personality, but he allowed his eyes to quickly flick down to her cutie mark anyway. He barely caught a glimpse of some sort of stringed instrument before he quickly turned his attention back to the shifting purple hooves hiding Twilight's face. One hoof raised just enough to expose a tired purple eye, and a quiet mutter that was only barely audible slithered out of the gap. "Hello Lyra..." The stranger let out a musical giggle in response to Twilight's obvious discomfort, before she turned unexpectedly to match her stare to his. He jolted back in surprise as two wide, golden eyes stared deeply into him, and he barely caught a glimmer of what looked like mischief in their depths. "Hey Light! How're you feeling?" Her air of annoyance was aimed at him now, and he already didn't like it very much. He flapped his jaw at the strange question for a moment, before a succinct noise of confusion managed to escape the momentary block. What did she even mean? What..? The stranger, Lyra, once again giggled in response. He was starting to get a little sick of her voice, actually. Her eyes opened to his again, and this time he could definitely place the emotion on her face as mischief. Her rolling valley-girl tone tickled his ears as she flashed him another gleaming smile. "Yeah, I guess that's about right, huh? Guess I shouldn't have asked!" He barely had time to properly process the numerous oddities being thrown at him before another stranger's voice cut into the air. "Lyra! What are you doing?!" Chagrin pasted itself onto Lyra's face a moment before she leaned off the table, and impossibly bent backwards to see who was chastising her. Her hindlegs stayed firmly rooted onto the floor, but her entire upper body just... curved. He gaped at the extreme show of dexterity for a moment before turning his head to see a̶̡̗͂́ ̶̠̊͝m̷̫̓̑̇ḁ̷̊̽̊r̵̦͝ͅḙ̶͙̽̎ ť̸̪̓h̷̯͖̩̅ä̶͉́̈͆t̸̥̳̖̣͔͓̼̾̎̽̍͒ ̸̤̪͒̓̄̒͘͠l̸̢̲̙͓̮͓͐͊̀͌̔̕͠ǫ̴͇͎̓ȯ̸̠͉̰͕͎̯̟̈́͛k̴̡̹͙̗͚̼̀̄̎̓̈͜e̶̡̡̖͖̞̫͑d̶̫̊̈́̽̄ ̷̢͗͒͐̉͘͠͠w̸̠̞̠̹̳͍̹͐͋͋e̸͉̺̔̇̆͝í̵͕͎̗̘͇̥̂̿̋̇̐̐r̵̨͔͈̞͊́̓̓͘͝d̵̝͍̅͆l̶̪̻̤͓̤̘̿̅̓̄̀͜͝y̸͓̙̯̓͊̐͝ ̷͙̥̮̣̱̥͛̎̆̕f̵͙͓̤͎̤̫͊̈́̚͠͝ͅâ̸̞̫̩̠̬̣͆͊̍͠m̸̬̙̾̍ͅi̷͎̠̮̐̓͂̽̊͆l̶̮̼̝̫̿̑͂͒̽͝i̶̙͕̲̙̫̰͛̃͂͐̎͜͠ā̷̱͎̍͐̉́̎̿r̷̖͇͇̗̬̋̾͐̍͠ ̴̙͘ ̷̢̭̘̍̄̎͜ ̵̧̨̜̼̾̏̋̃ ̵̛̼̖͚̺̈́͋̉̈́̋ ̸͉̰̽̄͠ ̵̪͝ ̴̝͓̣̋͗͒ ̷̠̘̩͛̐̈̈́̄ ̷̠̼͐́̀ ̵̡̢̥̣̯̜̇̚ ̸̡͎̲͈̌̌͐ ̵̘̈́̆̂͌͝͝ ̸̢̛̣̰̒̿ ̷̙̤̇̅̎̚ ̵̦͉̫̲̭̋̈́͊͐ͅ p̵͈̜̘͗ę̶̡̜̗̣̗̩͍̳͍͔͉̂̂̔̐̓͐̓̃̕á̶̛̙̭̻͚͍̙̊̇̄̏͋͂͐͊͝͝͝ç̴̨̧̫͉͖̱̮̔̆̊̂͒̐̔̕h̴͍̖̰͖̭̲̀̐̅̿̾̋̾̾̓͂͘̚͝ẙ̸̨̧̞̺̖̦̘̠͖̺̿̆ͅ ̸̛̮̞̘͕̤͙͊͒̾͋̋̈́͆̋̓̀̕͠͝f̴̞̗̮̣͔̦͎̳͓͈͍͒͋̑ͅü̵̧͓̟̪̩̻͍͕̖̫͑͆̐̈͒̒̾̉̀̾̀̚r̷̨̡̗̻̺̯̙̦͍̼̲͉̔͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ç̴̡͓̩̫͍̘͕͒̑̈́̓͂̉͋̽̅̇̂̚̕͝ų̴̧̣̩͉͍̭̻̺͎̲̞̠̺̙̽̈͂̇̆̊͆͆̎̆͘͠͝͝r̷̢̯͗͋̽̆l̸̡̧̡͙̬̣̱̤͔̬̙̞͍̍́̂͝ͅy̴̢̞̤͙̭͕̻͔͚̾̃͐̎̋̏̅͌̿̅̏̎̚͝͝ͅ ̵̨̨͕̱̖̮͚̣̓̈́̚m̵̫̪̳͚̭̦̺̮̲̠̺̪̙̈́͗̓ã̵̡̨͇̜͎̬̥͔̻̺͎̯́͑̇̀̾n̸͎̊̐̿̒̀͛͑̉̉̂̋͘͘͠ẹ̴̡̡̞̜͇̥̝̯͕͋̊̽͛̅̋̆̕͜͠͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̸̯̯̦̭̖̓́̄͗̈͑̔͂̌̈́͒̏͆͝ ̷̡̥̼̺͎͔̝͖̦̱͊̃̂̓̍̌͘ ̸͈̪̯̣̬͙̍̈́̉̃͆ ̸̡̰̻̹̟̬̗͖̮̳̹̂̈́̊̌͊͜͠ ̵̛̛̰͔͚̙̜͙͎͔̤̬̞̝͈̖̲͛́͐͛̓̄͑̽͌͊̽̏̀ͅ ̴̧̧̛̰̖̟̦̗̘̣̦̲͛̏̀̃̄͂̓̏̐̉͊́̕͜ ̷̤̳̇̿̆͒̅̒͂ ̸̢̨̨̡̟̬̫̗͔͕͕̊̃͑̆͋̅̓̆̇ ̵̛̙͚̠͎̘͍͙̥͇͇̜̒͒̓͌̈́͛̑̿̆͘ ̸̢̢͓̺̭̘̲̂̔̔̔͌͛̈́̊͗͘͝͝͝ ̷̢̳̜͉̬͑́͋́̊̚ ̴̡̖͕͎͔͈̀̓̊̀͌ ̸͇̮͎̥̈̅̒̏͆͗̅̑̆͛̀̋͑̓ ̸̨̡̼̳̱͚̩̬̘̘̤̮̰͍̐̍̌̂͒͐̄̈́͑͘ ̵̘͉͕͋͗ ̶̧̢͚̹̣̫͉̭̙̜̦̥͎̩̦͂̈́̈́̅́ ̴̢̧̥͙̪͎͓̲͍̙̹̥̻͈͙́͊͑̋̋̈́̕ ̵̗̩̬͔̲͔̮͚͗̇͜ ̸̧́͐͌ ̷̡͉͚͎͕͎̬͂̄͂̄͛͝ ̶̛̞̻̯̩͕̮̳͎̃̆̌̈́̓͒̅̋̽͜͝͝ͅ ̵̡͍̞͍̰͔̪̥̞͈̟̣̟̟̀̇̐͗͒̍̆͜͝ͅ ̶̱̫̟͉̲͚̞͈͐͒̅͒̽̊͠ ̴̼̬̫̰̝͈̦̘̟̻̙͚̇̽͋͜ͅ ̸̢̢͕̪̹̝͖̲̫̮̻̘̻̯̺͈͛̔̑̍͂̄̈́͗̃͊̇ ̸̡̢̨̦̝͕̗̤͎̭̼̖̲̮͝͝ ̵̨̢̗͉̹̻̖̤̣̺̜̝̓͋̈́̋̿͝͝͝ ̵̛̮͖̲̞͖̠̳̦̠͈͔̱̔̐͒̓̍̉͂̆́̓̈́͘͝͝ ̴̧̣̱͔̭̥̪̬̳̹̺̅̇͋̃̓̊͋̀ ̶̡̨̙̲̙̝͙̭̣͍̮̳̦̣̂͒̇́͜ ̵̡̢̛̫̭͈̹̦̯̫̗̥̲͕̯̓̇̎̈̈̓̊̃̈́̊͜͠ͅ ̸̦͔̤͐̍̎̿̑̈́̀̃̃̆̈̾͝ ̸̡̨̡̺̫̮̖͒̌̃́̀̽̾̒̽͝ t̸̟͆̿̊̊̋̕ř̷̢̛͚̫̝̖̟̖͓̦͇͕̥̃̄̇̾̌̈̌̈́̚y̵̡̤̠͚̼̙̥̠̜̠̝̞̯̯̰̯̒̎͐̋̅̓̈̉͛͋̿͆͒̕̚͝i̵͍̫̹̜̣̬̱̞̒̇̋̑̔͛̏̋̂͂̏̒̊̋͜͠n̵̛̥͇̓̉̔̓̌̔̌g̶̨̨̝̬̞͔̱̤͖͇̘̪̪̥͒́̅̃͌͜ͅ ̴̡̨̖̜̫̘̠͔͓̥̰́̀̈́̒̈́̀̓̍̀͌̾̕͠͝͠ͅṱ̸̨̭̖̰̳̯͚͇͕̹͍͛ở̸̧̙̙̱̠̞͍̭̼͔̱̽̒̈͐͗́̍̑̕ ̸̛͕̞̣̘͎̠͎̆̌̃̅̊̐̓͋̕r̸̨̡̛̮͙̣̱̩̻͎̪̦͉̈́̄̓͗̓̋̿͋̂̈̕e̶̢̩̥̪̘̩̭͉͍͐̈́̑̏̎̔̾͗̏̂͝m̶̧̡̡̛̞͚̭̭̰̬̹̪̠̘̻̋̓͆̄̓̀͒̽͑̐͠ͅe̷̛̬̣̖̝̞͇̤̪̼̩̘̞̳̫͌̉͒̌̆͛̆̒͂̚͝m̸̧̬̝̜̙͙̯̦̼͙̓̑͛ͅb̸͔̼̻͚̗̦̱͔̭̈́̑̌̔̈́̇̔̋̕̕̕ḙ̸̡̬̳̼̞̣͐r̵̢̢̟͙̺̦̰̒̒͗́̚ ̷̨̢̺̰̬̖̝͉̫̗͔̙̖̳̔̈́̒̅̍̇̆̑͜t̵̡̢̨̞̜̥̜͉̭̳̩͈͈͍̤͑͌̓͆͛̆̐̈̑͒̃́͝͝ḥ̴̛̹̦̤̳̙̩̭̈͒͊̔r̴̢̡̫̞̮̲̍͒̋͛̉͆̾̿͒̄̏͒͊̆̊ͅơ̷̡̪͙̥͈̞̠͎̙͌̈́̓̎͌͌́̈͗́͗̀u̷̻͇̤̟̬̟̼̠̬̽̅̈́͌̓̀̄̏͊̀̇̈̓̕g̴̨̡̡̢̭̮͇͕̲̫̤͉͆̒̒̀́́̅̿h̸̲̬͖̱̯̬͐͛̀̿̀̚ ̶̹͖͉̓̓̇̌͊̃̂t̵̢̻̣̺̬͇̗̙͔̞̱̃̀́̋̓̐͆̄͜͝h̶̢̢̞͔̜̼̣̗̗̩̜͉̱̦͐̿́̿͛̊͜ͅe̶̡͔̞̭̟̲̣̥͓̙̒̀̆̈́̅̒̃́ ̴̛̻̭̰͑̃͋̆s̶̯̲̗̙̙̣̣̜̗̥̟̔̐̂̐͑̾̆́́̕͝ẗ̵̛̳̼͑̇͋͘ͅä̶͍̫̭͚̬̭̣̭́̌̇̑̚ͅt̷͇̰͎̻̼̝̭̹̿̎̀̈̈̑̊͗͝į̶̧̨̙̱̼̱̪̣͈͕͓̺̘͖̊̒̈́̒̒̂̅͊̍͊͗͐̓̚͠c̴̢̡͇̣̻̩̯͈͍̦̞̙̟̪͐̉̂̀̿͜ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ "̸̛̮͔̭̀͑̇̈́̆͒C̷̘̀͗̄̌̋͊̇̓͜å̷̟̜̿͋n̸̹͓̎͋̋̿͌̃́̾̈̕͘͝͠'̷̛͖͈̻̩͉͍̈́͑̃͐͗̇̎̋̋͌͝t̸͙̗̲̦̀̐̔̆̌̂́͛͋̾̌͘͝͝ ̶̳͙̤̩͓̹̇̇̈́̽͂̕ỉ̶̡̗̝̖͙̟͖̞̘̺͎̈͜͝n̸͎̰̯̙̰͚͋̀̾̄ͅͅt̴̛̲̘͓̀̋̂̏͊̃̇̂̕ę̸̥̬͈͕͒͐̆͒͠r̵̢̡̬̺̙̟̘̬̝̘̣͙̱͕͆̇̈̔́̊̒̎͛̏͂̕͘͜a̵̡̛͓̠̪̭̤̦̥̼̦̥̓̈́̀́̀̋̄̀̋̾͊͗̔̅c̵̡̡̜̗̦͈̳̤̾t̴͇͆͗̈̾̅͆̽̽̈́̅͘ ̵̧̛̛̖̹̭̗̗̼̗̖̟̤̺̐̾͆̋̇̄̍͐̑̚͠w̷̥̱̙̯̖͎̤̥̬̺̬̏́̽͌̽͛̉̋͒͋̊͐̔͝͝i̶̞̝͖͔̗̫̭̤̠̒̍t̴̛̯̩̳̺͉̱͖̘̺̼͖͆̔̔̾̈́̀̊͋̇̽̒̌̈́h̶̩̥͍̥̙̲͂̽̍̅͗̃́̋̀̂̅͑̄̕͘ r̸͚̰͉͚͗͂̋̎͋́̃̓͜ȉ̵͚̍̌͑͗͂͐̆̄̅̍͂͠ͅs̵̡̧̨̫̙̥͔͕̣̞̏̓͌̆k̶̢̛̪͇̩̣̜͈̻͙͍̠̈̈ͅ ̴̡͉͖͖͈̞͖̺̮̺̂̇́̓͂͘ṱ̵̨͉͎͈͍̣̦͓̝̬̹̽́o̸̱̙̭̯̭͓̻̣͚͎͎̲̓ͅơ̸̧͔̯̩̦̼͇̞̠̙͉̙̅̑͑̒́͑̊̑̓̈́̉̾̆̚͘͜ ̶̡̢̨̯͚̦̦͇̘̐̎̈́̓́̏̐̏̍̆̔̐̕͠͝͠h̴̯̞̊í̷̱̣̞̋̒̓̈̃̄̐̈̽̕̚͝͝ģ̷̧̞̺̩̗̤̪̆̅͂ḥ̵̢̧̹̺̺̺̤̼̺͔̠͖̬̹͒̊̐̓̌̊͛̋̍͆́̏̈̀̊̅ͅ"̵̨̢̡͔̲̙̰̋̀̍͜ m̷̧̲̬͔̱̣̬͖͗̓͆̈̃̋͒̏̽͆̄̕̕͝ͅä̷̲̟́͗̅̏̃̾́͒͋͋̈́̇͒́͝͠d̴̛̖̝̜͑̀͆̏̒̄̊͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ṭ̸͕̠̪̘͈̓̋͛̒̔̏͌̍̋̄̓ẅ̶̢̧̢̛̳̲̲̤͈̭̲̫̪̎́̈̊̋͠i̸̠̿͋͂͌̚͝l̴̛͈̥̭͚̹̗̟̳̩̒̐͜i̶̢̢̨̜͚̣̞͍͉͈̦̿̏̓͗̐͛̓͂̃̆͋́̓ͅg̴̢͎̜̫̦͖͕̣̔̑ḧ̴͈̪͛͋͑͐͐͐̏͒͋̂̄͠ṫ̵̪̗̲̠̈̉̈́͒͋̑ ̵̧̡̝̥̘̥̝͕̞̣̻̓̔l̴̢̨͚̬͕̟͈͇̲̰̖̰̭̀ǫ̴̧̲͈̬͕̻̻̹̫̼̻͇͛̒͊͋̐̋̕ǫ̴̜̤̾͆̾̌̽̐̒̉̌̿̌͝͠͠k̴̛̹͖͕̬̬͕̯̤̉̏̈́̅͆̌̊̌ͅi̶̬͓̲̗̹̗̼̱̤͇̜̤̳͗̌͊̃̑̃͠ͅͅͅn̵̡̮̎̓͜g̶̜̪̾̅̏̒̾̓́̈̂̕͝͝ ̵̡̜̳̙̫̙̰̦͉̰͖̖̯̬̈́̔̿͑́̉͐̆̀̀̄̐͜͜a̵̜̬͖̱͔͕̟̳̺͈̻̠̎̊͊̇͜͝͠t̸̡̡͖̞̩̝̯̰̏̃̃̉͐̈́̒̄̇̇̂̋͗̆̔́ ̴͙̻̭̉̈́̃̾͘̚ͅh̵̡̧̡̛̖̻̹̺̗̹̙͎͚͙̝͚̊̆̽̏̽̍͝i̶̗̥̘͍̊̓͌̇̇̐͌̐͋̚m̶̧̫̙̯̑̈́̉̾͑̍̔͊̆͒̏̄̉̅͐͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ą̴̡̬̗̳͈͎͉̱͔̙͙̰̇̈́̈́͆̚̚͜c̵̞̦͈͎̺̜̩̬͙̞̾ͅt̵͖̾̏͑͂̇͂̒̐̈́̾̈́́̕͘͠į̸̬̮͕̻̹̝̖̼͇̣̪̲͈̠̝͊͋̑̍̿̉̎́̚n̴̨̛̛͇͎̜̗̦̞̞̳̱̖̘̣̟̪̥͛̅͊̃̀̈́͑̀͗̉͝͝ǵ̸̡̢̛͕̳̗̹̜̮̞͓͚̺̝̆͗̾͑̔̌̽̐̎̅̿̕͝͝ ̵̡̫̞̗̰̈́̽̽̓̔̓̈́͋̏͘ͅs̵̼͕̲͕͖͛̚͜t̷̛̛̯̝̱̟̗̺͈̠̬̬͍̲̝͕͍̃͗̈́́̉̾͜r̶̛̮̯̘̺͓̝̟̯̅͂̏̈͊̊̀̍͒̐͊͐̐̚͘͜â̷̭̪̘̓̃̀͛́̀͂n̶̢͙̣̣̮͚̙̣̔̌̈́̆̈̐̂͜͜g̴̪̝̙͌̈́̾̃́̉͂̊̆͑͗̚͜͝e̸̢̨̨̺͕̦̬̖͓̼̙̒͂͛̀̽͂̍͆̾͂̀̈́̒͝ w̴͈̱̺̟͋̿̌͌̀̀͐̀͜͜â̷͉̮͈̰͋̔̚ŝ̷̨̮̣͖̭̯̘̜͖̲͉͔̩͊̌̓̀̔́͌̋̒̚̚ͅ ̴̡̹̗͎͓̤̙̻̲̦̼͍͌̍̂̑͗͗̌̅̕͘͜͝͝ͅͅh̷̨̢͚̠͈͇̯̞̤̏̔̈́̉̏̀̔́̈́͘͝͝ͅe̶̛͕͓̰̰̟̦͔͛̈́̚ͅ t̶̨̛̹͕͈̖̠͇͚͂̅̈́̿͋̉̽͋͜ǫ̶̧̬͍̦̫̟̮̬̳̹͓͙̟̰́̽̾͛̇̊õ̴̞̦͎̙̘̠̞̰̺̐̿̓̿̂̄͋̽̔͗͝ ̴̡̧̨̩͈̘̖̙̺͙͎͍͚̀̈́͊̅̉̃̌̍̐͆̄̑͆m̶̠̯͕̼̭̘̎ͅų̴̨̞̫͕͕̮͍̫̥̟͙̄̀̔̒́͛ͅć̴͎͈̗̖̰͔̟̼̦͖̭͚͔̦͍̝̉̄h̸̩̟̬̥̩͎͇̝̟͈͆̂̔̑̔̑̍̃̚ ̷̡̬̻͉̯͚͎͈͔͕̘̠̟̫̉̏͒̂̇͆̾̔̽͌͂͒̄ń̷̡͖̭̦̳̜͎̼͕̱̭͍͓͔̟͂̔̿̎̑̉͌̔̎̈̓̂̌͘͜ơ̵̧̜̫̘̣͎̰̖̏̏͒͗̀́̅̓̇̊̅ỉ̶̛͉̃̿̈́̈́͆̂́̈́̑̈͘̚͠s̴̢̢̲͍͔̳̯̭̲͈̱͎̫͍̓͐͂̽̉͜ͅẻ̴̡̗͓̬̙̲̺̩̤̗̈̎̃̃͋̈́̀̒͐̔̅̔̂̚͘ ḽ̴̨͖̭͔̮̣̞͖̖̍̏̔̎̔̈͝͝ǒ̵̡̭̫͍͍̮͓̠̻ȍ̵̧̨͎̦̲̣͌̈̊k̴̨̧͉̟̣͚̤̺͖͚̟̖̳͚̫̝̅̊́̽̚i̶̬̪̺̇̈̔̒̔͂̄͠͠n̷̯͆̋̾͒̃́͝͠g̷̡̛͚̩͖͇̬͓̰̘͎̼͉͂̿̐̉̈́̿̂̃̋́͂̎̑͝͝ ̷̮̯̯͈͖̱̎̍̓̋̇́͒̅͆̓̐̕a̸͇̮̱̩͉̘̒͆͗ṯ̸̢̧̯͇͔̩̺̹̎̋̃̿͒͌̌͐̈̀̐̕͠͠ ̶̡̺̫̻̹͎̈͛̈́̇̌́́̚̚͜͠͝t̴̼̫̣̐̍̿̃́̀̍̑͠ͅh̶̢̖̹̳̺͓̗̺́͐͐̓͊͆͒̎̃̒͝é̴̛̛̺̺̈̑̊̔̆ moon i̴̞̪̬̲̲͉̞̘͚̪͌̓̈́̉͆̀̀̎̔͑̓̌͐̈́̃͜͜͠n̶̢̬̠͇̭̜͉̙̮̓̒̾́̽̒̓̅͐͑̐͝ͅ ̸̨̧̢̖̗̝̟̮̺̺̪̼̟̟̃t̵͚͓͈̰̤̳̱̥̙̥̭̪͍͖͖́̅̂̀͘͠h̵̛̥̻̥͕̪̍̀̾̾̓̈̂̓̌̇́ė̸̢̳͓͙̟̭̙͚̫̖́̔͑͊̅̾̔ ̵̱͙̭͔̣͎͇̹͎̃́̔̅̆̈́̀͋͐͘͝s̸͚̗̑͐͌͑̀̽̐͋͠k̷̭̩̺̳̟͈͍̙̲̫̑̈́ͅý̶̧̯̹̬̩̟͇̱̹̌ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ m̵̨̧̯̲͚͖͇̥̬͉͂̽̆͊͊̄̑̃̊̐͗͐̐͘͝e̸̡̜͖͈͍̦̝̳̺̮͇̳̙̺̫̊ḍ̶̩̥̮̄̀͂̋̂̚͝ͅi̴̹̬͐̇̀̋͑͐ċ̴̯̘̪̤̖͉̦̪̤͚̌̕à̷̢̧̧͙̝̮̥͕̮͍̲̔̃̓̎̚͜͝ͅl̷̨̤̞̭̙̜̘̟͚̟̻̭͇̎̇͜ͅ ̴̢̖̮͔͖͔̝̱̭̰̙̓͂͜c̶̰̮͇͇͒o̷͖̥͓̯͔̳͕̥̭̘̹̭͓̝͚̻̊̆̏̋̔̐̈́̂̓͝n̸̡̢̩̬͙̼̩͍̳̝̄̓̽͊̄̄͐̊̾͋͐̔̚͠͝͠d̸̛͕̮̳̏̑͛̂́̅̓́̇̄̍͊͌͌͂i̴̺͈̜̬̥̹̬͔͋̃̉͊͗͂̅͂̽͂͂͠ţ̵̡̼͕͍̺̗̗̥̗̥͙̠̀͑͂͑́̈̊͗͘i̵̢̜̹̦̱̗͇̽͑̎̊͜o̶̭͕͖̺͂̊͋͂̾̍̎͗̈͊̀͌͗̄̏͝ñ̷̢̧͖̼̝͓͙̱̞͓̻͈̰̘͙̥͌̈̆̚ u̴̡̢͎̯̎̒̎̑̀̇̀̌͒̽̓̓̕͘͠n̵̢̦͍̖͔̮͎̤͒̓̓̆̒͊͌͘͜d̴̢̨̮͎̤̘̤̦̼̤̮͔̲͍̒̓̐̌̏̈́͌́͘͝͝͝ḙ̶̣̺̰̮̠̲̫͕̲̟͚͙̈́̄͠r̸̨̡̛̜̙̲̀͌̅͆̆͜͝͠s̵͖͚͙̆́̀̋͒̐̂̃̍͊̚ţ̷̢̫̬̙̹̦͖̭̱͕̖̖̟̃̈́́͌̾͝ą̷̙̹͈̂̋ǹ̷̮̮͓̄̒̓͑̅̂͗̑d̷̨̡͚͎̜͇̩̝̪̤̅̾́͗́̅͌̐̾̿͐̋͜͝͝͠͝ͅ b̸͇͇̜̮̰͉͕̠͖̳̠̜͍͙̍ȑ̸̨̜̖̣̻͈̑͝i̴̲̱̻͙̋͛̈́̒̾͗͝n̴̢̛͚̖̈͆̈́͊̌́̿ͅĝ̶̢̧̢̬̳̭̲͔͙͑͊͛͑̋̽͂̀͛͊͑̕̚͜͝͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ḑ̶̳̮͔̮̻̜͓͍̳͗̉̓̈́̃̂̇r̶̨̛̥̦̗̮̿̉̆͆̇͋̀́̐͂͝͠i̴͇͉͛̆̈́́̒̍́̏͊̈́̍̈́̊̂͠n̸̢͇̥̘̹̠̅k̵̤̝̈̇̇̌̀̎͛́͛̍͋͐̈́̎̊̀ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ş̶̞̩̟̖̣̭͔̳̄̈́́ŏ̷̳͇̠̜̫̖͔̩̝͛̎̈͌̈́m̷̨̖͎̪̫̜͔̭̀̏͒̆̃͘e̵̼͚̓́̄́͜t̷̛̝̞͓͆̉͛͋̎̋̾̈́̈́͐͌͒̃͛ͅȋ̵̡͓͓̩̫̬̳͈̃͋̊̿m̷̡̗͈͎͉̘͖̥͎̼̊̇̈́̓̈́̌͘e̴̝͎̗̤̤̺̩͚͙̥͙̰͓͋s̵̢̖͚̗̱͎̮͉̪͇̓̾̒̍̒̂ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ h̶̨̨͓͕̙̭̠͖̥͒̄̂́̏̓ͅe̶͕̬̜̫̞̟͈̪̩͇͔͕̹̟̼̅̆̌́͆͋̊̀̍͐̕͝͝ ̶̛̤̳̺̙̞̭̖͙̮͋̒̽̈́͆̏̑̓́̊͐͗͘͜͝č̸̞̫͉̗̱̫̬̞͎͝o̷̧̨̝̯̙̼̰̼̤͍̟̘̳̩̙̯͌̓̽̍́u̸̡̨̧̯͉̲͇͚̯̬̲̜̺͉̼̺͒́̅͝l̶̛̜̖̞̘̞͓̩̦̫̗̲͔̘͓̠ḑ̸̨̗̞͇̙̰̯̟̻͍̦̭̣̼̒̅͊̾̓͜ s̴̛͖̦͕̜͎̈̈́̐͆͑͌̂͝e̴̡̧̗̹͉͓̼͊́̏̈̉̒̚̚͝ę̴̪̲̻̺̮̫̜̺̩̳̦͊͆̇͗͐͑͑̕ ̸̧̼͕̲̀̍̽͝ ẗ̴̢̨̧̢̛͕͕͈̗̜͍̗́͗̐̓͒̈́̌͠͝h̷̲͔̮̹̤͊͂̉̏́̀̓́̉̐̿̏̓͝ͅr̸̢̧̧̛̥̪͚̻̼̗͔̳̘̻̤̿̂̈́͛̅̽̈́͗͘ͅǫ̴̧̛̪̗̗̝̪̜̯̘͓̈̎͒̇̈́̓̀̂͛͘͘ú̸͈̼̮̏͋̏̀̀͘͝͠ģ̴͎͓̱̻̺͚̹̥̠̑̽͘ͅh̸͈̞͉͇̬̎ͅ t̸͚̟̂h̵̛̫̮̫͆̂͐̓̾̽̃͊̑͊̅̔͘ͅͅe̶͈̝̹̠̠̹͓̭̬̘̲̲̬̯͗̓̃͐̇ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ l̸̢͇̜̯͎̹̩͂̽̉̇̾̽̒́́ì̵̫̫̬̱̞̰̹̌̒̔̈́͋̈̉̀́̅͐̕͠ë̶͚̟͇̲̤́̓̑s̸̨̩͔̳̼͕̪̥͍͔̈́̀̅ > Chapter 35 - His Madness 1/2 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sweetie Drops, Special Operative of the Crown, was feeling very conflicted. On the other hoof, Bon Bon, average Ponyville resident, knew very well how she felt. The sweetly familiar taste of muted homemade grape punch lingered in her mouth for just a second before she quickly tossed her head back and swallowed. The rising burn of something store bought that she had not so discretely spiked her punch with brought a momentary blur to her vision, but it was gone with a few blinks. Berry Punch would have approved, had she not recently gone into rehab for the... however many times she had already. That was probably why the punch didn't come pre-spiked, actually. Bon Bon groaned as she set the comically oversized wooden goblet down next to the punch bowl on the table in front of her. The cheap whisky she had 'smuggled' into the party in her saddlebag was enough to take the edge off the nerves that really hadn't ever gone away, though she was already regretting the promise of future head pain. The thought of tomorrow's morning brought a grimace to her face, and she closed her eyes for a moment as her hoof holding the goblet began to shake in a way that she had been trying to suppress all day. The shaking appendage slipped slowly away from what was left of her tainted drink, and she clamped it heavily to her chest as she did her best to run through calming breathing exercises. She was able to keep a cool head in nearly every scenario that mattered, but the day's events were weighing heavily on her like nothing ever had before. Action was one thing, but sitting around and just watching was... She gnashed her teeth as she frowned into her reflection staring back at her from the smooth surface of an undisturbed punch bowl. The hard creases of her face had worn themselves heavily from a lifetime spent making similar faces, and the well used expression almost felt mocking. A short breath of disdain blew out from her lips, and she raised a hoof to the ladle to pour herself more punch. Dulling her nerves even more was definitely a good enough reason to stop looking at herself for the moment. Focusing her panic on beating herself up wasn't constructive, and she needed to cut it out. Purple liquid filled partway up to the side of the wooden cup, low enough for enough room to add more than was probably needed to spike punch. She wasn't aiming to get drunk at this party, especially not with everything she still had to do, but getting well enough tipsy wasn't against the rules. With the ladle set back in the bowl, she turned her head to reach into her plain saddlebags. Her eyes momentarily roved over the sparse trappings of decorations still being set up in the library, and her gaze inevitably came to the window at the other side of the room where she could see the orange highlights of the beginnings of the sunset. She lingered there for far longer than she ever should've, before her eyes hastily dropped to the latch on her pack. The metal scratched at her teeth almost unnoticeably as her head lowered to undo it, and the tip of her muzzle deftly raised to flip the strip of cloth over her back. The fading glimpse of the sun had spun her thoughts back around to the place she was trying to escape for however few moments she could, and it drove her to mouth find the reflective surface of her flask quickly. She tugged it out, and swung her head back around to her waiting drink. The flask dropped into the crook of her hoof, and the top found itself unscrewed with little ceremony. She took another deep breath as she haphazardly twisted her hoof to pour the unappetizing, cloudy brown liquid into the half-filled cup. A quick moment with her eyes closed turned into more than she'd meant, and she opened them again to the sight of her blueish concoction running over the rim of the wood and onto the table. "Bucking incredible.. Way to go super spy..." She muttered through clenched teeth as she jerked her hoof away. What was left in the bottle swished noisily to her ears as she glared down at her mistake, and she seethed through her frown as she bent to pick up the cap of her contraband. "Party emergency!" The familiar voice in her ear filled with perk and joy set her heart racing, and her buzzed mind nearly sent her hoof swinging at her would-be assailant. Delicately lowered inhibitions thankfully weren't enough to offset years of training and restraint, though; and she managed to simply turn her head to the intruding voice. It was Pinkie Pie, of course. It was her party, it was her voice, and it was also her uncanny knack for knowing things she shouldn't. The pink pony gently pushing her out of the way with a rag in her mouth had been the focus of many different undercover operations and reports to Her Highness, to almost constant failure. She was a constant oddity that was almost certainly a serious threat to the public's safety and the Crown's privacy; though Her Highness had never taken her warnings very seriously for whatever reason only She knew. Bon Bon had stubbornly continued to keep various kinds of tabs on her out of admittedly misplaced spite, but she was forced to reconsider when Pinkie eventually offered to throw a 'secret agent party' for her. Labeling her a security threat wasn't acceptable to Her Highness, which meant Pinkie Pie was officially given free reign to be as strange as she wanted. Either way, a hyperactive mare with some kind of precognition wasn't high on anypony's list of worries at the moment. As she watched Pinkie helpfully clean her spill, she discreetly bent again to pick up the cap of her alcohol, and quietly screwed it back on. The small bit of spirit was safely stowed into her saddlebags by the time the table was clean and Pinkie was turning to face her, none the wiser. She kept a guarded expression of weariness as Pinkie's face scrunched into itself around the rag in her mouth, and she spat it out onto her hoof with an exaggerated noise of disgust. An accusatory yet still very soft glare grew over the normally smiling pink face, and she met the weak expression with easy indifference. "Bon Bon!" Pinkie waved the stained cloth in front of her face, and her nostrils flared of their own accord as the ripe smell of terrible alcohol wafted in its path. "This isn't that kind of party!" She tongued her cheek as her face kept its regular air of disdain, and mentally admonished herself. Pinkie Pie may have been a complete wildcard in every situation, but she still should've been more careful. Sure, she hadn't made literally any noise in appearing at her side, but she still could have planned around her from that point to prevent detection. She should've been prepared for any situation. "I don't know what you're talking about." A classic deflection was probably the best way to go here. It was best to make sure of what Pinkie was asking, because she could often throw strange curveballs; and getting Pinkie to back off was mostly impossible short of bodily harm, so the edge of hostility was less of an act and more real emotion that it would otherwise be. She had established her small town persona as chiefly grumpy for a reason. Her fears were confirmed when Pinkie shoved the sodden rag insistently into her face again, making the off-putting scent of sour grapes quite obvious. "Drinking, Bon Bon! What if Berry Punch saw? You know she's recovering!" Pinkie's hoof shot out into a random direction into the room behind them, somehow without taking her eyes off of her own. Turning her head to the sparse few ponies that had come to help Pinkie set up the party treated her to a view of a mare with light purple fur standing on her hindlegs to attach a streamer to the wall next to an indent filled with books. Berry was looking good, for once. Her normally messy and stained reddish hair was brushed and neat, with no evidence of any sort of spilled alcohol or anything. A wide smile was half-visible on her face as she turned to laugh at something her decorating partner said; a mare she also recognized as Carrot Top. A tiny spark of pride slipped through the fear threatening to break at all times, and a small smile wormed its way onto her face. Not all of Berry's attempts at sobriety could get to the point of cleanliness and simple joy. Still, she wouldn't make any real apology for drinking. With her day, she deserved it; and besides, with any luck, Berry's struggles with alcoholism would continue for a long time after this. A long, long time. Her smile slipped from her face as quietly as it had come, and she turned back to Pinkie's unchanging glare; though her cheeks were slowly puffing with mostly mock anger. "Sorry, Pinkie." Her painful apology was accentuated with a roll of her eyes, and she could feel the light haze over her mind slowly roll off a little. Pinkie enjoyed it when ponies acted out with her, so hopefully she would just let her get back to drinking if she played along. Any hope lingering in her chest of an easy out to her harsher emotions quickly fizzled as Pinkie made several audible 'tsk' noises. "And I'm sorry, toots. I hate to be a party-pooper, but I'm gonna have to confiscate your drink!" The comically hard affectation in Pinkie's voice did little to sooth her fraying nerves, especially as the pony turned to her drink on the table. Her muscles itched to jump forward to sweep Pinkie's hooves out from under her and grab her brew away; while the pink buzzkill turned, drink in hoof, to the nearby front door. She turned her face to the ceiling and sent a silent prayer to the Princess for strength as she listened to the sound of the front door opening, followed by a very telling splash. She didn't quite flinch, but the growing tension and disappointment did drop her shoulders a little. It was a moment later that Pinkie returned, empty goblet in hoof, with smug satisfaction written clearly on her face. Bon Bon's own face had long since crossed the threshold for her regular kind of disgust, and now she was trying to see just how much pain could be directed through a look. She had never really tested before, since bodily harm worked best in pretty much every situation as a special operative. Never had she been so betrayed in such a dire time as this. She nearly had half a mind to breach several protocols just to persuade Pinkie to let her get alcohol in her system. She might not be so difficult if she knew the end of the world was upon them. Unfortunately, she couldn't make up her mind fast enough, and Pinkie was already hoofing her cup back to her. Her eyes focused immediately on the object, before she dragged them painfully back up to Pinkie's smiling face. "Gee, thanks friend." Pinkie was well known not to understand or care about subtext or sarcasm, at least when it was rude, so she simply giggled infuriatingly. The peaking high notes of the pink pony who knew nothing about volume control plucked the strings of her nerves in a way that would make her marefriend vomit. "You're welcome, Bon Bon! Let's keep the party safe for everypony, okay?" Her face creaked as she forced a rictus smile under her still-stormy eyes, and she raised her hoof to grab the cup from Pinkie's grasp as roughly as possible. It was all she could do not to audibly growl as Pinkie bounced off to the other corner of the room. With Pinkie gone, she was allowed to relax; though she didn't feel much like it. She glared down at the muddy blue residue left in a puddle at the bottom of her cup. Her drink, her ticket out of caring: gone. Her day had gone from terrible to unbearable with the simple addition of pink. "Oh, hey! Look who it is, Bon Bon!" Pinkie's excited call from the center of the room set into her ear like tiny pins, and she swung her head around to see whether Pinkie had devised some sort of advanced plan to ruin what little life she might've had ahead of her. And... she barely saw the bouncing pink pony, as her eyes zeroed in on the most welcoming sight in the entire world. A minty green coat, a nearly aqua colored mane, accented by a green so light it almost seemed white. Green on green on green like Equus' most wonderful meadow, and she suddenly didn't care much about her lost drink. A nervous kind of heat that set an itch into her hooves blossomed in her chest, and a lopsided grin quirked her mouth drunkenly upward despite a feeble attempt to stop it. A pair of endlessly excited eyes met hers, and an unabashed smile rose to meet the world; completely uncaring about how dorky it might've looked. Lyra. Her hooves were already carrying her forward; away from the cup she had discarded, and away from the siren call of liquor. She could get however drunk she wanted to later if she needed; right now, she only wanted what was right in front of her. Lyra had barely moved from her place in the entryway, the fool. She probably wasn't even thinking about how the door was still open behind her. She was so careless, so single-minded. She was still just standing around with her eyes on hers and that doofy smile on her face. That smile vanished for just a moment when they met, as their mouths came together in a chaste kiss. Just a simple touch, only a few seconds; but the intimate contact still sent warm butterflies tickling up into her face. She hadn't seen her in.. how many days? Their mouths drifted apart, and the smile returned as she leaned her head forward to rest softly against her marefriend's, just underneath her horn. The edge of a green mane brushed against her forehead, tickling ever so gently. "I missed you.." She murmured quietly as she relished the soft feeling of her partner's fur against hers. It was the kind of touch she never really got tired of, always just as comforting as it'd been since they had been just friends. A breathy, almost lilting laugh rose to rest in her ears, and she could feel her surroundings bleed away as she gave the almost musical tone her full attention. "Can't imagine why." A foalish giggle escaped her lips unbidden, and she could feel her cheeks reddening from the brazen show of emotion. She had gotten into so many bad habits since they had started dating. Zoning out, breaking character, letting her guard down; it was all so unlike who she had been before. Suddenly, the warm contact against her head was shifting away, moving out of reach as Lyra tilted her head back to look at her. The spot where they had been touching felt cold in extreme contrast, and she whined in protest; though she rose her head to meet Lyra's gaze anyway. Lyra was looking so pretty today, with her usual messy explosion of hair outward into uneven bangs; and her fur brushed to a glossy sheen. Lyra didn't like to spend so long on her mane, but it never bothered her very much to see. It was still so perfect the way it was. "Bonnie?" She barely caught the end of Lyra's question, and she had to blink to clear the gloss from her eyes as she tried to focus back into reality. She had really gone into it that time. Appreciating her marefriend's beauty could come later, after they caught up. Well, maybe here and there in the interim wouldn't be so bad. Nevertheless, that wasn't the priority. Another blink focused her eyes fully onto Lyra's face, and a moment gave her the chance to frown. Only to match the one on the minty face in front of her, though. Some kind of concern was clearly written over her expression, though there could be any number of causes. "Is there something wrong?" Lyra's head shifted to the right slightly as her frowning stare turned into a squint, before she righted herself with a quirk in her eyebrow. "Uh.. Nothing much, really; just your face, I guess." Rising concern took a nosedive into exasperation, and her expression turned down with her head. Her ears fell flat, and her hooded eyes trained themselves on the face of her wonderful marefriend. "Gee, thanks Lyra. I love you too." Insincerity dripped from her words as heavily as she could coat it, and an uneasy grin formed on her partner's face in response. Lyra could be so... backwards, sometimes; and leading with an insult into eventually making her point wasn't odd behavior. Though, she was better than she used to be. She used to not notice. Lyra's hoof came up to scratch at the back of her neck, shaking her hair as she laughed falteringly. "Well, uh, that's not quite what I meant! Heh." Her nose tilted towards the floor as she stared out from under her bangs, with a subtle frown overtaking her embarrassed grin. Bon Bon nearly felt the need to retreat as Lyra took a small step towards her, and she watched, unblinkingly, as her hoof came to rest under her cheek. Whatever her intentions, the cool, soothing touch brought long-needed comfort, and she found herself leaning into it heavily as her eyes softly fluttered closed. Lyra's voice came again through the subtle blur, full of concern and lacking usual fervor. Quiet and subdued, nothing at all like the mare it came from. "...You look.. tired, hun." Opening her eyes to Lyra's concerned face was harder than it should've been, and it took a blink to clear the blurs from the edges of her outline. Her face felt tighter than she'd realized, and her head was leaning into the hoof on her cheek harder than she'd meant. Her hooves were heavier than they had been a moment ago, and bringing one up to lay over Lyra's hoof took energy that she was suddenly sorely lacking. In sobering contrast, her head felt light; and her body felt frail. How long had she been running on empty..? The edge of Lyra's frog brushed against her fur gently from the added pressure, and she couldn't suppress the quiet shudder and sigh that instinctually rose. Her mouth still tasted like spoiled fruit, and a labored swallow didn't do much to clear it, but she did her best to clear the air anyway. "It's been... a long few days.." The hoof on her cheek began to rub small circles in her fur, and another tired sighed slipped form her lips as her eyes drifted shut again. A gentle whisper tickled the edge of her hearing, and she leaned into the sound as a relieved warmth spread across the aches she hadn't realized were there. "You wanna talk about it?" A short breath blew from her nose as a small smile grew over the frown. So considerate, so simple.. She would. She really would like to talk about it... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Summer Sun Celebration Morning The cool weight of her usual pair of binoculars felt heavier than usual in her hooves, and the subtle click of changing lens didn't help to douse the fire in her head. Another click, another level of focus; still nothing. Bon Bon lowered the binoculars to rest on the smoothened branch under her, and she took an unassisted squint at her target ahead of her. It was just as unassuming as it had been since she had taken her post, but if the intelligence was right... She bit her lip as she ground the hard edge of her hoof into a worn spot on a branch leading just off of her own. Frustration and anticipation were building against each other in some strange kind of race, and the urge to chuck her binoculars at the ground below her was rising. Light's cottage looked just as normal as ever. Small, brown, covered in green detritus that the lazy owner would never be enterprising enough to clean. There was absolutely no sign at all that there was anything amiss, and doubt was clawing at the back of her neck. Appearances were deceiving, but... Light Flow? She had been stalking that dork for nearly ten years, and the closest he had ever come to owning up on his promises of evil and conquest was when his mother had died. As harrowing as that time had been for his potential mental state, there still hadn't been as much potential for disaster as there apparently was now. There had been... one other time, but she had been completely shut out of that investigation. Whatever had happened with Zecora, she wasn't allowed to know. She raised her binoculars to her eyes again, and refocused them to their highest magnification. Light's windows hadn't ever been cleared of the multiple kinds of vines and ivy that blocked them, so there wasn't any chance to see inside there. The door was still exactly as shut as it had been all morning, and the fake letter from the local bookstore she had taped to it was still there and unopened. She wasn't going to be seeing anything with the binoculars, it looked like. She lowered the useless equipment away from her face, and turned her head to her saddlebags. She dropped the tool into the open pack, and fished her hoof past them for her next trick. The edge of a cord slipped against her frog, and she quickly looped her hoof through the string. She twisted once, twice, and raised her hoof with a long piece of thin, white rope wrapped around it. Her eyes dropped the the end of the loop, where a small, roughly cut blue gem was tightly tied. It glimmered slightly in the shadow, despite the lack of reflecting light; and she took a familiar moment to admire the construction that had gone into the unassuming piece of surveillance equipment. Not too long ago, about a year or so, she had witnessed Light's friend and high-profile pony of interest Applejack knock on his door several times throughout a day, to absolutely no answer. An investigation she had carried out while he was away had shown a strange amount of his hoofprints on his bedroom window, and temporarily moving her vantage point into the Everfree had revealed that he had been sneaking through the window to get to his cellar door. An obvious breach in their perimeter, in retrospect. A report to Her Highness had afforded her the resources to expand her repertoire, and to call in a specialist. She didn't know the ponies in the Magical Studies department, but it was apparently very easy for the unicorn who came by to install the wards. Any time Light or any other creature passed through his door, his cellar, or his windows, the wards would send a magical ping to the gem tied to her hoof. The gem would turn red and shake softly until its owner or somepony of sufficient authority checked it. The gem tied to her hoof was still blue, but it wouldn't hurt to check it anyway. She raised her hoof to her head, and her focus instinctively settled on the small glowing rock swinging softly in front of her eyes. As she understood it, the magical weave set through the tiny, magically receptive crystals that made up the gem was what gave it the eerie, ever-present glow. She didn't really care to learn the delicate intricacies of ward making and casting, but she didn't need to. She didn't make the tools, she just used them. If it worked, it worked. She took a deep breath through her nose, and slowly closed her eyes. Focusing entirely on her breathing was a good way to clear her mind, which was required for the spell. The entire thing was always pretty off-putting, but at least it was easy to put into practice. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Touch the gem to her forehead. Activity exploded into clarity before her mind's eye as the unmistakable feeling of blue filled her senses. Warmth spread upwards from her stomach as her innate magic flowed from her fount, receiving and receipting the information as it naturalized itself from one location to another. It surrounded her, whispering to her softly as the record of recent logged events filled her head. Nothing today. The last entry had been late last night, when Light had left his cellar. She sighed in sudden disappointment as she lowered the gem away from her forehead and the overflow of sensation left her. It would have been really convenient if Light had run away or something; at least there would be some action, then. Opening her eyes to the sight of Light's cottage on the horizon was the exact same scene as she'd left it. Everything was in order, which meant that Light was just sitting around in his house, doing who knew what. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and chewed on it restlessly as she squinted to try to somehow see through the walls blocking her view. When the report came down from Canterlot that Her Highness had personally taken notice of something wrong with her charge, her first instinct had been to panic. Light had been acting even more erratic than usual lately, and if he had finally done something crazy, especially right after she had delivered another box to him, then it would be her fault for not subduing him. She had hightailed it to Light's shack as soon as the report had left her hooves, fully decked out with anti-unicorn equipment; ready to incapacitate the threat to her nation. She had found Light passed out in his cellar over a book, ink splashed messily on his face, smelling rather of something indecent. Getting a letter to Her Highness was her next impulse, and that had luckily turned back greater results. In the response she had received not long after, Her Highness had explained something that, until a few days ago, was something that She hadn't even known. Apparently, every box that was set to be delivered to Light Flow was tripped with a very hidden little spell. If Light was compromised in any way, physically or mentally, opening the box would trigger the spell to send a warning to a proxy that had been inexplicably tied to something personal that Her Highness owned. The thread of magic connecting the spell was so tiny and harmless, it had somehow managed to escape anypony's notice for however long it had been there. A major security breach, but her Highness didn't seem concerned. What did arouse Her attention was the very fact that the spell had gone off, which meant that there was something seriously wrong with Light. Something or someone had taken some kind of control of him, which was made all the more upsetting considering the upcoming event. The Summer Sun Celebration; or, as it was known to those few trusted ponies: the approximate time for the return of Nightmare Moon. Conclusions were leapt to, and Her Highness was now planning to make an unscheduled visit to personally check on the situation. A huge honor, and also hugely terrifying. She hadn't been able to come right away, since She was reportedly making arrangements for... the hopefully evitable; so the current assignment was to keep a constant watch on Light until She could make the trip. Hopefully soon, since there was very little time left before her assignment was.. over. An assignment that was somehow simultaneously nerve-destroying and mind numbing. Normally, she took sparse days and nights off to switch watch on Light with another local operative; but this was extremely high-priority, and the senior officer had orders to take complete control of the watch. Unfortunately for her, Junior Agent Rose wasn't so great at this kind of extreme surveillance. Long form surveillance was never fun, especially on top of a coming apocalypse. She had spent the lion's share of the time sitting in this tree, waiting and watching to ensure that Light didn't step out of line. Exercise came in the form of pull-ups and sit-ups on a higher branch to prevent potential atrophy, and sleep was supplemented with specially created energy pills. They were extremely harmful to a body in the long-term, but they provided nearly all the benefits of sleep while still allowing her to keep constant vigil. Five days, it had been. Five days sitting around and staring at the plain, brown walls of Light's cottage. He had gone out to town a couple of times, which had thankfully broken up the monotony and had also given her a few small chances to evaluate his condition. And wow, it wasn't great. Watching him stumble drunkenly around to various stores and other random places was creepy enough, but his appearance was even worse. He didn't seem to be showering, and his fur and mane were ruffled and stained in many spots. His favorite cloak clung unevenly to his body with what she guessed was sweat, and it caught on his limbs multiple times as he tripped and fell in broad daylight. What few glimpses she had caught of his face were never very reassuring. His eyes had been hooded and glassy; completely empty of life and light, as if he wasn't really awake. They also weren't the color they should've been, so there was another red flag. Intercepting reports to the police cost her precious time, and she had lost sight of him multiple times; though never for very long. The magical lure that had been drawn between his cloak and a compass in her saddlebags always let her know where he was, thankfully. All in all, he would usually leave for home not long after buying something and freaking out a large portion of Ponyville's shopkeepers. A clock, a notebook, some ink; nothing incredibly out of character. No reason to lower her guard, though. For as many 'quirks' as Light had, none of them should have resulted in... anything that he was doing. So, she had continued to watch. And watch, and watch. She had been trained for this kind of heavy stakeout, of course, but it still wasn't fun. "Excuse me!" A yelp nearly tore through her teeth as surprise sent her momentarily fumbling for purchase on the branch she lay on. Her hooves managed to wrap securely around the thick slab of wood, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief when she realized she wouldn't fall off. Her heart pounding, she turned a wide expression to the source of the cheery voice that had called out and broken the quiet. It couldn't have been addressing her, could it? But looking down beneath the tree revealed a sobering fear, as her eyes came to rest on a pegasus staring up at her with a wide smile on her face. The creamy white fur and wild multicolored mane set into a braid were wholly unfamiliar; and her mind raced to place the stranger. No, what was she thinking?! It didn't matter who the pony was, she was breaking her cover! What if somepony saw? What if she blabbed? How did she even find her?! Nothing mattered. She needed to act, now! She kept her wide stare on the intruding pegasus and her widening smile as her hoof dropped into her saddlebag. The crystal on a string fell away from her hoof with a careful flick, and she instead found the hard edge of blunt metal. Nothing special, just a retractable baton laced with a concussive trigger for a shock spell. Nothing special, but incredibly effective against unassuming close quarters combatants. She was jumping the gun, she knew that... But what was she supposed to do?! There was no rational explanation for creepily stalking some subjectively random pony, and there was no way that this pony wouldn't tell somepony! Consequences later; now, she would act for the Crown. Her heart was beginning to fall into a steady rhythm as the threat of confrontation loomed, and her breathing gradually steadied as- Her eyes found the pony's chest, and every plan that had begun to form instantly fell apart. The pony was wearing an amulet around her neck, secured by a simple golden chain. She was close enough to make out details even through the blur of rising panic, and she could see the distinctive shape of a jagged horn rising from a carving of an acorn on the metal. There was no high ranking officer in the entire government that couldn't recognize that very distinctive amulet. Her hoof flew away from her pack as quickly as it had gone, and she bit back a curse as she gathered her hooves under her. How could she be so stupid?! She had almost... A careful shove sent her falling from the branch, and the hard impact against the ground rattled her teeth. She ignored the miniscule pain, though; as her eyes dropped heavily to the ground in front of her. Her hooves found clumsy position on either side of her head as it lowered to nearly touch the dirt in a messy bow. "Your-" She choked for a moment as she swallowed haphazardly; and she gasped quietly as her eyes pointedly focused away from the white hooves on the edge of her vision. "Your Highness..!" Her words bled into the silence for more than a few moments as sweat began to run off her forehead. The complete lack of sound was deafening in the wake of her near actions, and she had to fight to keep a shake out of her legs. She had nearly attacked Princess Celestia. Her Royal Highness had personally come to meet her, and she had the gall to even consider harming Her...! She would accept any consequence, of course. There was no recourse for her actions, and no forgiveness. Even considering Her mercy, there could be no forgetting her actions here. Few crimes were as dire as high treason, and there was practically nothing as low as daring to raise one's hoof to Her. She was doomed. Very rightfully doomed. "You may rise." Her voice was so soft, so in spite of the incredible force that lurked behind the words. It was impossibly warm, though barely offering even a hint at the vast depths of Her Radiance. Fear washed away so gently beneath the soothing tones of Her words, and it was more than a wonderful gift to slowly raise herself off the ground to face Her Holy Visage. Even beneath the fake face she wore as a disguise, The Pure Goddess shone brilliantly through. Her small smile spoke of hidden humor in spite of her transgressions; and her hooded eyes held kindness beyond what she'd dared to imagine. She didn't even have to say anything, and she knew she had already been forgiven. Her Highness's face managed to keep an air of attached, well-meaning benevolence, even as its edges hardened in sudden stoicism. There was form to her authority now, and any tension in the air instantly sharpened to a point that flowed to a guided target in her words. "Report, Agent Sweetie Drops." Warmth welled in the corners of her eyes, but she did her best to blink them away. Her Highness's love was boundless, but that was no reason to break down. She could make a trek to church to express her gratitude some other time. This wasn't a social call; and right now, she had a job to do. Her hooves steadied beneath her as her back straightened, and her shoulders rolled as she noisily cleared her throat. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared into the expectant gaze behind the pale red eyes of Her Highness's disguise. Pressure to perform for authority was something familiar, and her wavering nerves were already steeling in the face of regulations. Deep breath, follow protocol. "Agent Sweetie Drops, E.I.A extra operative signed 647 in service to the Crown under the direct command of Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia; reporting!" The harsh bark of her even tone words scratched at her throat, but tradition dictated certain mannerisms. Her Highness nodded once as she finished her rollcall, signifying that she could continue. She cleared her throat, and allowed the past few days' memories to flow. "As of Tuesday morning, following my impromptu briefing on the mission details, I relieved Junior Agent Rose, and took my altered post on guard of and against Extraneous Magical Threat sign 382C11; codenamed: Necromancer; informally named: Light Flow." "And you've kept your post?" The sudden question caught her momentarily off guard, and she blinked rapidly as her mouth hung open for a moment. Drilled-in instinct drove her to speak as she quickly coughed to clear her throat. "Yes, Your Highness. Watch has remained unbroken beyond four unconnected periods of one minute at most. Light Flow's whereabouts have been tracked to the finest detail." Her Highness considered something for a moment as her hoof came to rest under her chin, and her eyes lowered to the ground. She nearly asked for insight, but bit the words back at the last second. She wasn't here to ask Her questions, she was here to answer Hers'. It was a few moments of silence before Her Highness shook her head and lowered her hoof back to the ground. "You may continue, Agent." She always spoke so gently, as if She wasn't... Her. The highest authority in the land, and She still managed to keep an air of motherly affection in every situation. She had met Her Highness many times before, of course; but each encounter always managed to leave her in awe. The loyalty that drove her in her career was in no small part to the sheer force of loving presence that The Princess wielded. Just having this small chance at beholding even a shadow of Her was enough to make the tedious waiting of the last week completely worth it, no matter how it might eventually end up. It was a privilege to work for the Crown. "During extended watch over my charge, I noted several oddities that coincide with and escalate the rising trend of erratic behavior we've observed as of two Celestial years ago. Irrational confusion, increased levels of paranoia, and even what I believe could be the beginning symptoms of a kind of outlying corruption close to what is commonly seen in Black Magic practitioners." Her words hung in the air for a moment as Her Highness's face grew contemplative again. Her strangely messy, brightly colored hair fell to hide her face as her head turned away, and her ears strained as the edge of whispered words caught on the air. "Has he already begun..?" It wasn't likely that She was talking to her, but the answer to the unasked question was burning a hole through her tongue. Her Highness usually appreciated initiative, anyway. "Observation and speculation on my part has lead me to believe that he has not yet actually begun to practice any form of Black Magic." Her Highness's pale red eyes rose to focus on her face, and an immediate feeling of smallness grasped at her throat. It was only a moment, thankfully; and her suddenly labored breathing steadied out almost as quickly as it had hitched. It wasn't Her Highness's fault; She just commanded a very... intimidating presence, even in the best of times. Her eyes caught the barest hint of a fading frown on Her Highness's pale face, before it was gone and quickly replaced by concerned stoicism. "Tell me, how have the symptoms manifested?" The most obvious and pertinent question, and one she was somewhat dreading. This... was going to be the hard part. "As I said, the observed signs have been... strange. They don't lie within the mark of any known physical or mental changes that have always been recorded, and instead, seem to go in a.. different direction." Her Highness's face was beginning to grow grim, and she swallowed heavily as the temperature in the air seemed to rise a little. A very noticeable bead of sweat trailed directly down the back of her neck, and she had to suppress an shiver. She really wasn't looking forward to what was coming next. "Um... T-There haven't been enough signs to come to a definitive conclusion, but... it's been concerning..." The stammer in her voice was evident now, but it was really becoming harder and harder to stay calm. There was visible tension growing in Her Highness's flexing muscles, and the amulet around her neck had begun to glow a frightening yellowish bronze. Her furrowed brow seemed to shade the eyes that were barely even looking at her; instead staring out past her at something she probably wouldn't be able to see even if she turned to look. The temperature was definitely rising, as well; and her cheeks were beginning to flush in the heat. It was all incredibly off-putting, and only the constant mental reminder that Her Highness would never hurt her managed to stay her hooves from what was looking like a very well advised tactical retreat. Unease was building in her bones, fast; and she was beginning to lose track of the best course of action. She needed to keep Her Highness well informed, of course; but was it really best to unnecessarily stress her out so close to... well... She just needed to stay calm, and keep her faith. It would be okay, Her Highness would know what to do. "I-I was able to catch a glimpse of Light's face, and his eyes were.. um.. b-blue, and his pupils w-were.. well.. slotted-" The reaction was immediate. A grotesque snarl broke over the deep frown on Her Highness's face, though it was quickly lost as Her eyes literally flashed and shone into two wide circles of pure light. The chain holding the amulet around Her Highness's chest audibly snapped, and the entire thing disappeared into floating orbs of golden light; which were immediately overshadowed by an overpowering corona of shining energy that very quickly enveloped Her. A shaky gasp rose in her chest as she took an instinctive step back, though it died and withered halfway up as she was forced to throw a hoof over her eyes from the rising light. Her fur stood on end and her skin prickled as the temperature in the air skyrocketed. She could feel the grass directly under her hooves shrivel in the sudden wave of encompassing, dry heat. She was forced to breathe in short, hot gasps as the moisture in her mouth seemed to actively evaporate. The pressure in the air was constricting her chest, lowering her entire body closer to the ground; and she could barely hear her own heartbeat over the deafening sound of rising wind. Her Highness was mad; much angrier than she had ever seen Her before. She could never know how deeply Her Highness clearly loved Her subjects, but the absolute fury that vibrated in the air was beginning to paint some kind of picture... Finally, the blinding light seemed to abate slightly, and she could lower her hoof. Her eyes struggled to open against the burning breeze buffeting her face, and any tears that managed to squeeze through their corners just burnt away into the unforgiving burn. Forcing her body up was harder than she'd wished, and her spine actively fought and wobbled as she straightened to her best approximation of attention. A hoof slowly raised to weakly rest on her brow in a laughable salute, and her hyperventilating breaths came faster as her futilely watering eyes fully opened to the incredible sight waiting for them. Her Royal Highness. The Pure Goddess. Princess Sol Celestia. She stood in defiance of her former appearance like a marbled titan of old. Tall, perfect, and exquisitely beautiful. Her immaculately crafted golden regalia, formed to fit seamlessly to Her form, sat snugly against Her pure white coat; glowing a bright, bronzed orange in the heat that radiated from Her, almost as if it was about to melt. Her entire form was glowing, actually. Orange and white light poured from Her perfectly styled fur, nearly making it impossible to stare directly at Her. She was forced to constantly squint just to make out details, like the deep, purple stone set sternly into Her peytral that seemed to give off a noticeable otherworldly light. It stood starkly out from the many other kinds of light that shone from Her Radiance, for whatever reason. The air around Her shimmered and distorted as visible heat rolled off of Her. The grass under Her had long since blackened and burnt away in an increasing circle, and the nearby tree's bark had begun to chip off into cinders as the near surroundings turned to ash in spite of the lack of fire. Her huge, white wings were fully spread, cutting Her figure in an even larger form than usual. Each massive feather curled and straightened in perfect time with the rest in an aweing display of control. They fluttered and flapped powerfully as they manipulated the rising air to blow soot into the breeze. She stood far taller than regular, mortal ponies; somewhere over twice her own height. If literally anything else about Her failed to intimidate a pony, then Her massive height would certainly manage well enough. It made her feel so small, like a timid child; but she did her best to hold her stance and salute regardless. Even though her every breath was being stolen directly from her lungs, and blinding fear was sending chills running for safety along her back, and her hooves felt as though they could collapse at any moment. Her eyes were burning in the unnaturally sweltering environment, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her vision straight. She needed to take the spectacle in as best she could. This was the kind of thing poets and scribes lived their entire lives to see. She was a soldier of Equestria, and she would bear witness to her Ruler. Her Goddess. Her ethereal miasma of an auroral mane and tail flicked and snapped harshly in the air, like the crackle of a roaring fire; the ends fading to glowing wisps that sparked away in the breeze. It flowed around Her head in an angry storm that shadowed Her frowning face in dark tones. The muscles in her long, beautiful neck were strained to the bone with obvious tension as her tightly closed jaw repeatedly clenched and unclenched. Some kind of war was being waged behind those closed eyes, and she wasn't sure which side she was really rooting for. If her head had felt light before, then she should've been able to float, now. Blood was rushing uncomfortably quickly, and a flush was rising and falling in her cheeks faster than she knew was healthy. Her hair was matting down to her skin very uncomfortably as sweat dripped freely through her fur, though it really didn't do much better than any other moisture in the heady blaze. Given that the surroundings were slowly fading to ash, she really should've been far worse off than she was. It must have been due to Her Highness's restraint and mercy, though the slight delirium she could feel crawling at her neck was making her wish that She could hold it in just a little better. She had never been witness to any measure of Her Brilliance before, though. It was really... something. She felt extremely privileged, of course; but the longer she stood in awe of The Sun, the more she was sure that she couldn't handle it. It seemed like an eternity, but ever so gradually, the heat in the air began to quietly abate. Each breath in her chest came easier and easier, and the crushing pressure in the wind even lessened to an almost unnoticeable degree. The deafening light seemed to slowly roll backwards to its center, where it receded beneath Her Highness's pure white coat. Her intangible storm of a mane gradually came to a calm, where it peacefully returned to floating gracefully in an ever-present breeze. Her Highness's face had softened, and she could no longer count the cords in her long neck. Her internal debate seemed to be over, thankfully; which left her as the sole survivor. Her body felt bruised and battered, and she might have gotten some kind of sunburn; but she would carry on. Her cheeks were still hot, and her breath still hurt, but at least she wasn't in danger of fainting anymore. She would recover, as was her duty. The relief spreading through her extremities was life-saving, but saying anything to that affect may have been heretical; so it was probably best to keep it to herself. The surrounding area hadn't been as lucky as she was, though. The ground immediately under Her Highness had long since lost any greenery, and had instead been colored a rather sickly shade of black. It spread in a large, ugly circle that stopped less than a hoof-length from the base of the tree they stood next to. The tree.. had seen better days. Unlike the grass, it would probably recover in time, but the bark on the side they faced had been mostly stripped away, and many branches had been left bare. She might have to find a new vantage point. Finally, The Princess' eyes slowly drifted open, and the deep, magenta orbs beneath came to rest on her form. The ordeal of standing through The Sun's might had left her mostly drained, but she still gathered what little resolve she could find into staring back in a clear sign of preparedness. Her eyes slowly drifted across the scenery, taking in the violent changes in the greenery and her own red, sweaty face. Whether She felt regret for it, she would never know. Either way, Her Highness raised her head and closed her eyes once again, before opening them with a deep exhale. "Prepare to move in." > Chapter 36 - His Madness 2/2 > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- If there was such a thing as a cold heat, then Bon Bon was almost certain the current atmosphere would qualify. She had never quite envisioned herself standing at Light's door in the situation she now found herself in. She had stood here many times before, of course. Eavesdropping, leaving tactical letters and packages, and even once in disguise as a Celestial Harkener to judge the surface of Light's devotion to the Crown. He didn't do well. Disregarding one of the lesser reasons that he was under such heavy scrutiny; paying Light some sort of visit, known or otherwise, wasn't out of the ordinary. Doing so with the living Pure Goddess standing directly behind her wasn't quite as pedestrian. "He's inside?" The risen tone of Her Highness from behind her played along her ear, and her back instinctually stiffened in response. She would obviously never admit to being anything less than completely loved when in Her presence, but Her Highness was a bit more... on edge than usual. She had heard about the erratic mood swings of Her Highness as the celebration loomed; but she had never really thought her temper would be so... explosive. Or downright fiery... Whether Light had been possessed by Nightmare Moon or not, She was clearly ready for some kind of action. Breaking in.. issuing an impromptu warrant for his arrest.. incapacitating him- there was just no surefire way to gauge what plan Her Highness wanted to go with. And it could be felt quite clearly in the air. It was a sort of stoic anticipation that rolled chilling shivers through her back and down her flanks, despite the constant, pervasive heat that persistently emanated from the Goddess behind her. It didn't very well calm her nerves. "Um.. Yeah... uh, yes! He's definitely inside, Your Highness!" Her tongue darted out to drag cautiously across her lips, and she glanced skittishly down at the unkempt grass under her hooves just for the action of moving her eyes. Her nervous stutter was making an ugly return, for whatever reason. Action hadn't presented much to faze her since she had been little and green, but now... It was probably just the dominating presence of Her Highness and the lingering awe of beholding Her. She had heard stories of the sorts of nervous breakdowns suffered by those in Her direct service during times of strife and struggle... That was probably it... Or.. maybe it was Light? ...No, getting upset about apprehending the pony she had stalked for eight years was... not allowed, so it just wasn't that. It couldn't be that. The consequences for that were... Yet another shiver ran across her withers in sheer spite of the heat. She didn't even really know Light that well, anyway. He was just a geeky kid who liked his friend, loved his mom, and had a weird obsession with books. That was it, no more to him. She had no personal relationship with him other than government-mandated stalker and unwitting stalkee. Acclimate, that's all she had to do. Breathe deeply, remember her faith, and act for the Crown. For the Crown. "What are your orders, Highness?" The steel in her voice may have been forced, but her conviction was not. If Her Highness ordered her to knock the door down and take Light out, then she would. She didn't have an attachment to him, and she wouldn't hesitate. It was silent for a moment as she waited for Her recommended course of action. It was.. actually eerily quiet, now that she had a moment to listen. There wasn't even any birdsong in the otherwise crisp morning air, or the humming of insects, or the rustle of greenery in the breeze. Of course, that wasn't incredibly out of the ordinary so close to the Everfree, but... it still didn't seem like much of a good omen. It felt like the world had come to a halt; as she stood, completely at the ready, waiting for The Princess' orders. A toy soldier, lined up for a play fight for Her whims and amusement. That... was borderline heretical. What was happening to her lately? Finally, agonizingly, the voice of The Princess cut through the silence in the air. Whatever hesitation She must have felt in making the decision wasn't reflected in Her clear, solid tone, and Her words hung heavily in the unnaturally still air. "...We're going to have to handle this carefully. I don't want to have to hurt Light unless we're forced to, so we must exercise caution... and above all, restraint." "You must try to bait him into a vulnerable position where anything wrong will be more obvious. His initial reaction as well as his determined condition will tell us how to proceed." Tangible relief flowed like a refreshing spout through her tense muscles as Her Highness's words sunk in. She obviously couldn't let it show in her body since that would have been a demerit, but who cared?! Her Highness was showing Light mercy, and she probably wouldn't have to take him down! She still may have to incapacitate him, or even drag him to the Canterlot dungeons, but she wouldn't have to do something she'd regret! Praise Her, she was so glad she wouldn't have to do something she'd regret... A deep breath cleared her mind of the lingering doubt from her overactive imagination, and a steady blink set her head to work. "Should I employ an aural illusion, Highness?" It would be far and away the easiest method of coercing the paranoia-riddled bookworm out of his den, though perhaps not the most overtly ethical... Shock sent her spine even straighter as a cold, metal-clad hoof suddenly came to lay on the small of her back. A whisper filled with far more warmth than before floated into her ears, and the world around her lost focus as her attention was completely commandeered by Her voice. "Don't take it too far." And then, it was all gone. The warmth and the inherent tension in the air that followed Her Highness everywhere She went was suddenly absent in a sobering contrast. She didn't even have to turn to see that Her Highness wasn't standing behind her anymore, though She was definitely still.. somewhere. Hopefully nearby. Her Highness had to hide in case Light came out, obviously; but it was still a bit unnerving for her to just vanish. It may have been summer, but the early morning air was still nippy, especially so close to the Everfree; and the contrast between Her warmth and the chill of the recent night was jarring. It was also filled with far more symbolism than she was comfortable thinking about, so she instead busied herself with knocking on the door. The hollow noise of metal on wood was clearly audible bouncing around the walls of Light's shack, though she did her best to strain her ears to hear any movement behind it. More than a moment passed with no response, so she sidled closer to the door and firmly pressed the edge of her ear against it. There was... nothing. No shuffling noises, no subtle vibrations of hooves on wood, not even the sound of pages turning. There was just no noise. Was Light even breathing in there? Waiting proved completely useless, as her second knock turned to more; and listening intently at the door again didn't show any signs of life. There was absolutely no doubt that Light was inside. Watch remained unbroken, the gem was still blue, and there certainly weren't any new holes in the sides of his house. She couldn't even hear him doing anything; which meant that Light was just... sitting. Sitting, and waiting; but for what? A glare fell over her face to cover the sickly sense of growing trepidation clawing at her heels as her ninth round of knocks fell on apparently deaf ears. Light was inside, and she knew from past experience that there was no way he could've slept through all the noise of her knocking. The only explanation was that he was ignoring her. Well, she knew somepony that Light wouldn't ignore. A hoof came to rest on the bottom of the latch of her throat as she coughed quietly to clear it. This was never the easiest thing to do, though the very fact that she could do it was one of the varied reasons she had been put on multiple different fast tracks to the position she currently held. Her tongue felt its way around her mouth as she mentally reorganized her mind and register. Her voice was normally, as her marefriend would call it, 'sweet'; but it needed to be a bit... lower. That voice was... sort of... deeper, less focus on the pitch... more baritone... or tenor? It was rough, but not quite raspy... It was low.. but not that masculine... Still girlish... but definitely not girly. A change here... a failed hum there... a switch to the diction... an apology to her vocal cords... and... a cough for good luck. Her hoof lowered to the ground, and her mouth opened as a smidge of natural talent and years of training did their work. "Light Flow! It's Applejack! Ah came to check on y'all, sugarcube! You there?" A perfect imitation of Light's friend Applejack, right down to the heavily stereotypical country accent and overdone idiosyncrasy. A satisfied smile wormed its way onto her face as she took a step back in anticipation from the dull thud of something inside being knocked over. Changing her voice to sound like other ponies' wasn't something that most agents could do, and it was something that had really set her apart in all her years in the E.I.A. She had always had a fairly malleable voice; and while she hadn't used it for singing like she'd always thought as a foal, it had been a particularly delightful surprise for her personal teacher. After she'd been inducted into the E.I.A training program and subjected to a very rigorous aptitude test, she'd been assigned extra classes on vocal manipulation. It was helpful in nearly every espionage situation there was, especially if she had access to disguises. Though, admittedly, disguising herself wasn't one of her greatest strengths. Depending on the role, that sort of thing required heavy analysis and adherence to different mannerisms and movements; and she.. might've had a little trouble with memorization. She had a pretty good memory, of course; but... it was just another level of skill that she couldn't match. A sudden feeling of hot bitterness flashed over her for a moment, clouding her eyes even as her ears stood on end at the clear noise of sudden hoofsteps from behind the door. If she was just a better agent, she might not have been stuck in an indefinite, dead-end assignment in Ponyville of all places... Though, she also wouldn't have met Lyra... Her thoughts drifted traitorously towards the love of her life, and she blinked in surprise as the noise of an unlatching lock broke through an impromptu daydream. Yeah, there was another thing holding her back from a higher level, now that she thought about it. Though that wasn't something she would ever feel bitter about. The door in front of her inched cautiously open, and she instantly plastered a mask of fake pep onto her face. What was she even doing? She was spending too much time thinking, and not enough focusing. She had a character to play out for the scenario, and a potential threat to observe. Focus, super spy! She blinked once as the door stopped... way shorter than open, though the befuddlement was quickly tossed aside as the edge of a very ruffled mane emerged from what could generously be called a crack. Followed by brown fur.. followed by... wow. Holding a relaxed posture and easy smile was more difficult than she'd expected in the face of the absolutely sickened brown face peeping cautiously out from behind the door. Light... wow. Light looked even less put together than the last time she'd seen him, and he'd been a mess then. Even beneath his fur, his skin was somewhat visibly pale; and the fur under his eyes and lips was actually stained black. Easily mistakable for heavy bags at first sight, but no: it was his actual fur. It wasn't quite a uniform pattern, instead irregularly splotched and runny; as if something had... leaked from the holes in his face. Highly concerning and off-putting for many, many reasons. His large, dilated eyes struggled to focus on her; drifting and stuttering to the sides even as she made sure to stand completely still. His mane was droopy and dark, obviously unwashed; and it fell in a limp hang above his eyes, probably not making their job any easier. He just... he looked awful. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was a victim of substance abuse. Though, he strangely didn't look malnourished. At least he was apparently eating well. Her smile widened in spite of her rising urge to take multiple steps back as Light's eyes eventually managed to stop on her face. His dry looking lips made an audible cracking noise as he slowly squinted his eyes, and a very quiet whisper tickled the edge of her hearing. "A-Apple...jack?" His voice sounded more like the wind than a real voice, and the sheer hope in its undercurrent sent uncomfortable waves of heat along her fur. Guilt welled up in her throat as she struggled to prepare her excuse about advertising vocal classes, and it took effort to keep the smile that was beginning to painfully pinch her cheeks. She felt bad. It was impossible not to feel bad. Light was... going through something, and he wanted to see his friend Applejack. She wasn't a monster, but she was a Sworn Agent of the Crown... She had to do her job... Buck up. She had to buck up. Any longer and Light would shut the door on her. For the Crown. For Her. Rictus pains rose in her face as she opened her dazzlingly gleaming smile, and she- It happened so fast. Light's eyes suddenly halted their unsteady dance on her face, and instead focused to scarily sharpened pinpoints on her form. His voice, much stronger than it'd been mere moments ago, rose to a pain filled, wordless shout as he unexpectedly stumbled forward. Adrenaline flew through her system faster than her conscious mind could keep up, and she took a measured step away from the door as it swung roughly open from Light crashing into it. His hoof slowly, shakily raised to hold tightly against his head, and he panted in exertion as he wobbled unsteadily on three hooves; before he unceremoniously crashed roughly to the ground beside his door. She had to forcibly keep her mind away from the instinctively desire to step forward to check him. Whatever was happening, Light was very well known to be a threat, and his pain could've been a careful act. Though, she'd seen acts, and Light didn't seem to be putting one on. Even as she kept a weary distance from where he was half-collapsed halfway through his doorway, he continued to hold his head in both hooves and grunt and moan and cry in apparent agony as he muttered what sounded like nonsensical pleas. His body visibly shook as his limbs clung tightly to himself, and he gradually curled weakly into a loose, sobbing ball. And.. that was also the sound of him vomiting on himself. Her nostrils flared as she took deep, calming breaths; and her mind raced for some kind of a solution while she leaned her body away from the spectacle as much as physics would allow her to. She really wasn't sure how to proceed, now. She knew multiple ways to check for all kinds of physical and magical injuries, but she couldn't really do any of them without getting close to him, and getting close to him was still the worst possible plan. It was a minute or so later when she'd nearly found the strength to call to Her Highness for help, when all of Light's frenzied struggles just... stopped. All at once, there was no sound in the air, there was no shake in his body, and his rapidly falling sides steadied completely out. Just... instantly. She took a hesitant step back as her senses told- no, screamed that something was wrong. A single sniff, followed by a long snort rung disgustingly in her ears. Then, the no longer quivering ball of fur in front of her gradually moved. His head was pointed unhelpfully at the ground, but she could clearly see his hooves uncurl themselves from where they'd been clasped over it. One fell to steady itself against the ground, and one drew slowly across his face before leading out to hover in front of it. A clearly disgusted grunt emanated from his throat, before a much deeper sigh than she'd even thought him currently capable of rung into the air. Her jaw clenched tightly as the noise processed in her overclocked mind. A few minutes ago, Light didn't even look physically strong enough to suck in the breath for a sigh. But now, he was steadily gathering his hooves under him to stand, completely sure and strong; nothing like the shivering mess that had opened the door. No wobble, no shudder, no hesitation. Just... steady, and terrifyingly slowly. His muscles creaked and groaned beneath his coat, and her lip curled in.. some emotion as his joints audibly snapped from the action of him rolling his shoulders. His fur was unmistakably dirty and stained, especially after rolling around in the grass; but the muscles underneath were so strained that his coat still somehow managed to look glossy in the light. Literally every sign was flashing bright red and telling her that she should either prepare for combat or make a retreat as Light shook his mane out while lifting himself onto his hooves; but she managed to stay her itching hooves. Nothing wrong had technically happened, and she could still easily continue with her lies as long as Light was amenable. She had to keep up the act. The Princess was behind her, and She wouldn't let the situation sour. So, she returned her face to the picturesque definition of a peppy pony prepared to peddle; even as the pony in front of her completed his ascent, and began to turn his body towards her. While the tension and anticipation in the air was very real, the menace she saw behind the action was probably her nerves. Probably. His body had barely come around to a bend when his head suddenly whipped around to directly face her, and it took every single ounce of every mental exercise she had ever learned to force herself to not flinch away from the unmistakably cyan eyes trained widely on her. Pupils cut into vertical furrows like horrible, cavernous ravines struck her with a very familiar, yet thankfully muted feeling of smallness. Even as those eyes traveled along her form, searching and piercing through what felt like her every defense, she was suddenly feeling very much like a foal before their angry parent. The black ink stained into the fur underneath them had lengthened and- somewhat implausibly- darkened. And while the stain under his eyes might've just run down his face a little more than before, it was far more concerning that the uncomfortably glistening streaks ran down to meet the smeared explosion of black that expanded jaggedly across his tightly closed lips. It was like some kind of disturbing extension to his expression... She had heard him vomit... but... what in Tartarus had come up? Her body felt tight and unresponsive, her insides clenching painfully; and even shuffling her hoof forward on the ground an inch was nearly too much effort to bear. The air around them felt choking and oppressive, like it was actively trying to push her down and strangle her. Those dark, dragon-like eyes roving over her body, pressing and kneading through her mental walls, weren't helping much, either. Her smile was her only saving grace at this point. She clung to it like a desperate pony lost at sea, as if it would somehow save her from the.. the Goddess standing in front of her. No doubt. There was no doubt in her mind that Light had been possessed by The Nightmare Queen. The very same Nightmare Queen that was regarding her with increasing levels of coolness and a snarling quirk in Her frown. Whatever intelligence she had gathered to the contrary was rendered suddenly and completely moot. This wasn't Light. Not anymore. "You..." 'Light's' voice was so much deeper, and so much... colder than she'd ever heard it before. Slow, calculated and probing; as if even that one short syllable was apart of a plan crafted to drive towards a greater end. It was apparent in everything She was doing; every tone, every flex of Her muscles, every lingering glance... Normally, Light's voice was relatively and aptly light, even when he'd practice 'villain lines'. His mannerisms were made-up and bumbling, as if thrown up on the spot for the unexpected variable of life. He'd never been able to reproduce the true, nonfeeling shallow tones and idiosyncrasies of a pony who knew the meaning of real apathy. Apathy for life. For ponies' lives. "...are not Applejack." The abrupt finish to Her sentence brought her crashing back to reality from the dark hole of fear and aggrandizing she'd been falling down, and she was sure the shock was visible as she noticeably started. 'Light's' eyebrow rose to a questioning arch as She stared at her questioningly, even as sweat began to bead on her forehead and her mouth stupidly flapped wordlessly. She... wasn't going to attack her? Was she not acting suspicious? Could her cover still be good? Weary hope edged cautiously against the fear stalling her movements, and reality slowly began to dawn over the maze of her mind that she'd been lost in. The situation hadn't changed. 'Light' didn't know- or at least wasn't showing that She was onto her in any way; even as she continued to stand and stare and say nothing for what was becoming an increasingly extended period of time. She... No, he.. just stood there. Waiting, watching, staring at her with a raised eyebrow and a comfortable lean in his stance. Impatience was clear in his eyes and posture, but he showed no indication of making any sort of move anytime soon. Had.. Was she overreacting? There was no doubt at all that Light was possessed, but... maybe it wasn't as advanced as it seemed? Maybe The Nightmare Queen couldn't use any of her power in Light's body, and that was why She was being so cautious? If She couldn't use Light to fight back, then She would have to play defensively. That would skew the playing field heavily in her favor. Her tightly clenched muscles began to slowly unwind as a warm feeling of returning confidence flowed over her. What was she doing? Why had she fallen apart so easily? Breaths came easier and easier as her back hooves found steadier purchase against the ground, and the open mouthed frown elected by fear and intimidation found itself closed with a swallow. Nightmare Moon may have been millennia old, but Light was only eighteen; and untrained to boot. She likely had terrifyingly honed physical and magical abilities, but that wouldn't transfer into Light's wimpy, bookish body. She wasn't in any danger. The Nightmare Queen couldn't hurt her. She was making a mistake giving her so much time to recover like this. Because she was E.I.A Agent Sweetie Drops. She was a Third Class Special Operative with outlying permissions to authorize level three military investigations and combat protocols under the full authority and protection of Her Royal Highness Herself. She was cleared to engage and neutralize Extraordinary threats in every province in Equestria and sparse locations in two bordering nations. She had years of training in three different hoof-to-hoof disciplines, as well as certified proficiencies in blunt weapon combat. She knew at least three exact locations to hit a unicorn to neutralize their magic, six for a pegasus to cripple their wings, and nine for an earth pony to knock their balance off. Her body was a walking weapon. Light was a nerd. Light was a nearly underage nerd. Oh yeah, she was getting an handle on this now. A cool sensation of sureness washed out over nerves locked by the suffocating presence in the air, and her previous smile slowly found its way back onto her face; though tactfully introduced to caution and hesitation. Stiffened as she was, it would be far too suspicious to drop into complete ease so quickly, but if she played a certain angle..? She swallowed exaggeratedly and woodenly rose her stiffly extended hoof in an arc towards Light, whose unnatural pupils immediately shrunk to pinpoints and zeroed in on the movement. Creepy, but he didn't do anything else besides stare at her hoof. Which was fine; it meant that she had their attention. Yeah, it would be best to go with their for the moment. Hope was a high virtue to keep, but idealism wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "U-Um, s-sorry for the uh... t-trick... I'm... um.. well..." A constant stammer and heavy pauses in her words would serve the image of an inexperienced, nervous pony. She also made sure to never let her eyes idle in one place, constantly keeping them flicking about to the ground, her hooves, their increasingly exasperated face, and anything else that might've imaginarily provided comfort. Pretending to be an awkward pony wouldn't make up for every inconsistency she had presented, but it would go a long way in preventing suspicion. She was going to have to work extra hard to overcome her absolute failure at keeping composure, or the whole operation would fall apart. "I'm... I'm uh.. advertising for... uh v-vocal.." She let the sentence trail off into the air as her eyes halted at her own hooves, and she forced herself to cough roughly as an artificial wobble came to her lip. "vocal classes..." She leaned her entire body into the whisper as she tried futilely to edge away from the figure in front of her without actually moving. It wasn't too far from what she'd been doing earlier, but at least this time it was on purpose. Her act hung in the air for a second, likely as Light tried to internally process words they probably didn't really hear, but eventually a response followed. "Not interested." Her eyes were still trained steadily on her hooves, so the noise of the slamming door was actually a bit startling. She turned her head back up to the sight of a closed door marred by the taped-on colorful envelope she had left there more than a day ago. Rude. With the source of her nerves and her audience gone, her posture was allowed blissful time to relax; though her expression was mostly taken by a concerned frown. None of that had been good. Disregarding the many, many things that she had personally done wrong, the prognosis was a grim read. The most obvious things were the strange black ink under the orifices on his face, and his changed pupils; though only one of those things made any kind of sense. Why was Light vomiting and crying black ink? Did it have something to do with The Nightmare's possession, or was it somehow an unrelated problem? Her eyes trailed down to the foot of Light's door, where a few strands of concerningly goopy black substance had connected between long strands of grass. Gross. Moving on from that, the physical discrepancies weren't the most prevalent change, but they were definitely there. Light's overall frame just seemed... wrong. His skin was sunken and pale, and seemed almost stretched over his bones; but also weirdly.. not? It was odd. If he had been malnourished, his stomach would have been distended, among other things; but it was more like... he was a balloon, and most of the air had leaked out of him? Deflated? No, that wasn't quite right; and it brought disturbing images to mind. Lost in thought as she was, she could never have noticed the non-presence lurking behind her; not until a cold hoof was suddenly laying on her withers. The unexpected contact lit fireworks in her brain, clearing out every thought except for calculated retaliation. Molten adrenaline burst through the abused floodgates of her muscles, and her weight instantly shifted onto her front hooves for the fastest option of a quick buck into a full front hoofstand so she could get eyes on her target followed by another kick- But before the string of actions could even begin, a warm golden light was enveloping her front hooves and jerking backwards rather roughly. Recognition doused the fire of impending conflict, and she allowed the blissfully comforting magical hold to roughly pull her hooves out from under her. Falling painfully onto her face wasn't the best feeling, especially as a stray bit of dirt managed to lodge itself into her nose; but a quick snort and a scrape on her chin was an easy price to pay for not attacking Her Highness. Seriously, was that the trend of the day? Almost becoming an apostate? What a wreck. She needed to get some sleep. Sullenly staring at the door in front of her with her rear end pointed at her Goddess wasn't very becoming, so she gathered her hooves under her and pulled herself to a standing position. A quick shake dislodged upset dirt from her fur and mane, and an about face brought her to stare at Her Holy Visage. But... something was off. An amused smile and glittering magenta eyes didn't sit as well as usual above a.. strangely diminished pure white visage. In fact, The Princess seemed to be shaded grayer than usual. It was a stark contrast to the bright colors of nature that surrounded Her from where she sat mere hoof-lengths away, and blinking repeatedly didn't do anything at all to clear it up. Also... it was hard to believe her eyes that She was really standing there. That wasn't hyperbole, it was literally difficult to recognize that there was a pony in front of her. Her eyes were telling her well enough, but that was the only sensation she was receiving. No sunshine to smell, no rustling wings to hear, no presence to feel. Even the mass of colors floating around Her head was markedly more transparent than usual. It wasn't any wonder that she hadn't noticed Her Highness until She was on top of her, because it was still somewhat hard to notice her even with her eyes trained directly on Her. "Um... Highness? May I ask...?" Her question trailed off into the breeze much like her earlier one, though this time in actual befuddlement rather than fake unease. There were probably a million different explanations for it, but she would rather make sure it was intentional above all. Her Highness's amusement at her own repeated heretical antics wiped off Her face as her expression bloomed into quiet surprise, but it was only another moment before She made a small noise of realization. The amused smile returned in greater magnitude accompanied by a soft chuckle as a perfect white hoof rose to wave dismissively in the air. "My apologies, Agent Drops. I hadn't realized, but of course you wouldn't know. It's just a simple Notice-Me-Not spell, but with a little more kick than is average." Her beautiful marbled chest shook behind Her golden peytral as another subdued laugh rose in Her throat; and Her head turned as something impossibly approaching bashfulness sparkled in Her eyes. "It's strong enough to prevent anypony from noticing either of us now that I'm next to you; but disregarding the magic, I think we'll call it my fault for sneaking up on you, don't you think?" Her mouth naturally hung open in shock for a minute before realization caught up to her, and she straightened her leaning posture and barked out a hasty, unthinking response. "Uh! Y-Yes! Highness! Um- I mean, no, Highness! Er-" In the end, her words ran frustratingly away from her, and she had to press her hoof to her mouth to stop the concentrated flow of embarrassment. Her head felt hot and her ears itched, and she was sure a blush was forming on her cheeks as Her Highness just smiled glowingly at her. It was in Her loving nature to mother the nation, she knew; but did that really have to include all the worst parts of a mother too? But all too quickly, the levity left in the wake of slapstick and ribbing bled away; and Her Highness's face reflected it in a slow turn down. Her own rush of misplaced nerves and rising jollity was smothered by the rising tide of stoicism that her job required, and she straightened her back as her hoof fell to reveal a hard frown. This just wasn't the time. "Highness, did you manage to figure your own diagnosis?" The question wasn't redundant, even if it felt like it, since she really had no idea where Her Highness had gone while she and Light were having their little stare down. She might have to transcribe the entire fiasco if She'd decided to pick a removed vantage point. Thankfully, Her Highness nodded in response; and the memory of Her sweet smile seemed bittersweet in the wake of a tired grimace. Her head hung low for a moment as She shook it with almost exaggerated feeling, before She raised herself to set a grim stare on her. "I did." There wasn't anything else to be said. The low tone of finality in Her quiet voice sent cold chills along well worn paths on her back, and she took a silent moment to close her eyes and breathe a deep, full-body breath. She couldn't lose hope. Her Highness hadn't said anything definite, or anything at all. It was obvious that Light was possessed and potentially extremely dangerous, but that didn't mean there was no going back. She opened her eyes as resolve that she had never thought would rise for the moment flowed through her. "How should we proceed, Highness?" Her Highness's hooded eyes lingered deeply on her own for what felt like a long time, before She closed them and let out a deep sigh. She opened them fully and set her gaze over her shoulder to the door behind her. "It's not going to be easy. He's been badly affected by many differing factors, not the least of which being-" She paused for a moment as she closed her eyes again and a deep, steady breath rippled visibly across her body; before her eyes once again opened with a muted flourish. "-Nightmare Moon." The sheer cold steel in Her utterance of the name brought a knowing weight to it that wasn't usually conveyed, and it was a struggle not to let another shiver run her through. The unspoken history was... it was staggering. She could never know what She'd suffered. What either of Them had suffered... Dwelling on the past, both experienced and not, took them both more than a moment; but it was only a moment. Her Highness quickly drew Herself up to continue with a head shake; as most of the painful emotions seemed to flee from Her face as quickly as they had been named. "Her corruption is evident, but I've never seen it go this far before. She must have her roots deeply entrenched in his mind: far deeper than I've ever dared to fear." She shook Her head again as Her expression tightened. "...It's hard to say how much we will be able to do." That wasn't the greatest bottom line, but it left room to hope. Her expression might have been a little pleading as she stepped forward and her voice rose up against the soft tones of Her Highness'. "So what will we be able to do?!" The realization of impudence came too late to halt her words, and she could only suck in a gasp as her offending hoof returned to swap with one at her back as she took two steps back and lowered her gaze down. What was her problem?! Shame tightened her throat, and she had to work to squeeze words through the block. "Highness, I'm- I'm sorry! I- I didn't mean-" A raised, white hoof silenced the apology before it could find its footing; and raising her head to stare somewhat undeservedly at Her face found prevailing kindness above a touch of exasperation glittering in Her tired eyes. "It's alright, Agent. You needn't be afraid of me." She swallowed once as a different kind of shame rose up over her face, and her uneasy backpedal quickly reversed as she returned to her best attention. Her Highness was right; devotion was... kinda getting in the way of the operation. It was hard, though. Her Highness was a godly figure both in need of and deserving of worship, but She was also her boss. It inspired confusing feelings. Very motivating, very patriotic feelings; but confusing nonetheless. Her Highness watched her inner turmoil for a moment with some kind of expression she couldn't place, before She cleared Her throat. "I'll answer your question, Agent; but you would do well to remember that misplaced affections could jeopardize the situation." Her eyes lowered to the ground as her burning ears followed suit. Admonishment never felt good. The disappointed silence thankfully only lasted a second before Her Highness started speaking again, and she raised her eyes to focus on Her again. "Our options may be limited, but they are undoubtedly effective. The best course is for you to physically restrain him while I perform work on his mind." Her brow furrowed as Her head slowly turned to the distance, and Her voice lowered; almost as if She had begun talking to Herself in the middle of the conversation. "If I can cut away the most prevalent parts of her, while restricting the parts that I cannot..." Gradually, Her voice tapered off as She stared with an open mouth to Her sun as it idled low in the morning sky. The impromptu return to silence brought an uneasy wiggle to the stoic expression she had been wavering on and off of all day, and she glanced skittishly to the side as it continued. Her Highness had become lost in thought. The polite thing to do, as a fellow member of this operation, would be to try to snap her out of it. Her instincts were saying that the correct thing to do would be to sit in silence and simply enjoy the unworthy pleasure of beholding Her. Devotion, or protocol? Instinct, or politeness? Her Goddess, or her boss? It was going to hurt. It was going to feel very wrong, but she find a way to make do. If she had to pray for forgiveness in church later, then that's what she would do. "Um... Your Highness?" Her uneasy words may have played roughly on her own nerves as they choked her throat on the way out, but Her Highness wasn't similarly affected. After a moment, She simply nodded once, and then turned Her head back to regard her with an apology clear in Her eyes. "Yes, Agent. My apologies; the task ahead of us is difficult, and I fear that falling short of perfection on my part could cause great damage. I was simply... taking stock of what needed to be done." A nod of her own head seemed to set Her Highness right, and She straightened Her shoulders as needed stoicism took the mood. "As I said, Agent: you'll need to physically restrain him. I would prefer that you not expressly injure him, but all the same, do what is required." Steady confidence rose in her chest as her gaze lowered to focus on a random point in the grass so her mind could set to the task of formulating a plan. Her Highness was counting on her, so she would aim for perfection as well. The most obvious thing was Light's magic, which created a threat in literally any unicorn regardless of skill. Panic in the heat of confrontation could lead to a magical overload, or Celestia forbid: a flare. Magical burns were debilitating and possibly held the potential for other effects, which was one of the lesser reasons why tools for disabling unicorns had been invented. An unassuming little measure that she always kept in her saddlebag would do the trick. Otherwise, Light should be fairly easy to subdue. As long as she made sure he couldn't do any weird magic tricks, any method would work. Just pinning him down could do it, though some kind of hold would probably be better. That way, she could stay out of Her Highness's way while She did whatever She was going to do. It would be far, far easier if she could just knock him out, but that wouldn't work for obvious reasons. She couldn't knock out a pony that was already unconscious. She raised her head to return Her Highness's expectant stare with as little hesitation as she could manage. Combat was exciting, and she loved the rush; but it was always a certain kind of daunting. The thought of failure was devastating, but it hadn't stopped her before. She wouldn't hesitate. "I'm ready whenever you are, Highness." Her Highness closed Her eyes for a moment in the wake of her affirmation, before opening them slowly with a deep breath. "Then, let us move." The short, quiet order felt anticlimactic; but sometimes things didn't need ceremony. Sometimes, action just happened. Sometimes, the action was the ceremony. First things first, she dropped her head to her side to nose at her saddlebag. The quiet click of the latch didn't leave an impression through her rising heartrate as her head raised to allow her hoof access in its place. A moment of rooting around found a small object brushing against her hoof, and with no amount of ease, she caught it in the crook of her hoof and brought it out into the light. The grey iron ring she held was, again, unassuming; but that didn't mean it wasn't effective. Four tiny, red gems were set evenly in its sides, and inlaid into little silver diamond patterns. They, along with the metal they were set into, did a lot more than just look pretty. It was all very magically nonconductive. So much so that it actually blocked nearby magical frequencies. When the ring was fastened onto a unicorn's horn with the help of little latches on the inside, it rendered them almost completely magically inept. It was possible for very strong unicorns to overcome these suppression rings, especially one as comparatively pedestrian as the one she held in her hoof; but higher strength rings did exist. All in all, very helpful little devices. Expensive, essential, and above all, precious. She busily popped the little ring into her mouth and quickly turned to the door. She still couldn't feel the presence of Her Highness behind her, but it was comforting enough simply trusting that She was there. Taking a step closer to the obstacle in front of her let her examine it more closely. The latch had been replaced when Light moved in, but it still didn't look especially secure. It wouldn't be hard to do what she was about to do. She tongued the cold metal of the debilitating accessory in her mouth as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose. Just one last deep breath. This was it, the moment of truth. It wouldn't be a long struggle, but it held a lot of weight for one pony in particular. One pony that she did care about, way more than she thought was probably healthy. For the Crown. For that dweeby kid. Go time. She turned on the hardest heel she could manage, and coiled her hooves close to her body. Her muscles bunched, and a second later, her hooves flew towards the edge of the door as hard as she could manage. A telling crack of wood, and satisfying vibrations through her hooves. There was no time to relish the sensation, though; and she quickly raised one hoof and spun on the one connecting her to the ground, before firmly planting herself back to Equus. One look told her that she had hit her target, and the door's latch had been thoroughly obliterated. A jagged, splintered crack in the frame, as well as the actual door. Accuracy on point, as always; and her strength was never in question. She fought back a satisfied smile as she roughly threw herself forward into the door, sending it crashing against the inside wall as its hinges moaned in protest. Her hoof made contact with the first wooden plank, and her eyes set on their own task. One visual sweep of the darkened room of the cabin. Observe, internalize, act. Numerous secret visits to his cabin had never painted Light as a very clean pony, but wow was it way worse than usual. Books in varied conditions lay scattered haphazardly across the floor wherever she looked, posing clear dangers in the form of hazards. The bookcase at the back of the wall had been tipped over for whatever reason, though that didn't scream importance at first glance. The hearth on the side wall looked as though it had been lit, with black soot stains on the grey stone; but generally nothing to hamper her. No fireplace poker. Did he own one? The 'kitchen' set into the corner beside her had one counter free of any debris, as well as a small closed fridge and an oven. A little wicker drawer had been knocked onto its side next to the counter. No sign of any knives. And there, in the middle of the room, standing next to a desk covered in books: her target. He seemed to be in the middle of reacting to her intrusion, as he stood open mouthed with a growing light around his horn. No visible weapons anywhere, but he could still be doing something dangerous. Time was up for observation and internalization, it was time to act. Her heavy hoofsteps fell into a steady beat in her ears, carefully stepping between every hardcover obstacle on the floor as she crossed the short distance between them. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough, and Light had already begun to act. His angry cyan eyes bore a painful hole into her as a red light flickered into life at the corner of her eye. A hidden knife covered in a red glow flew from beneath a book on the surface of his desk, and time seemed to slow down as the unmistakably sharp instrument cut a screaming path through the air faster than she'd have thought possible. The sudden movement captured her entire focus as survival instincts screamed to dodge away from the rapidly approaching danger. But she wouldn't be outdone. Adrenaline was what drove her instincts in all things, and it helped to shade the world in slower perspectives in combat situations. Nature's time manipulation, and she had it in spades. It was what made her a great agent, especially in the field. It was what allowed her to force her screaming muscles to rise in a fraction of an instant, faster than the knife could fly, to impact the hard edge of her already raised hoof against the flat of the blade as it came within inches of her face. But that was as close as it came. A sharp crack rang out into the air, and her fur stood on end as magical energy was disrupted and discharged. The sudden impact bent the blade harshly inward as the red light around it instantly dissipated, and it flew in a swinging arc towards the nearby wall to miraculously impale the now deformed tip into the wood. A pained, gritted cry of anger called her attention back to her real focus, and her eyes returned to see a one eyed grimace across Light's face as a vein in his forehead bulged. Unicorns didn't like it when their focus was disrupted. She had heard the pain could be anywhere between a migraine and an internalized earthquake. Considering that she had hit the knife as hard as she could with just a bit of magically enhanced strength, and that the one time Warrior Princess of Equestria was showing physical strain: it was probably somewhere towards the end of the spectrum. It would make her job easier. Falling back into step and closing the rest of the distance was an easy feat after the split second reactions she'd just made; and coming to stand in front of Light, she had an ounce of a moment to raise her head and look into his eyes. The same two vertical slits as had become common matched her gaze with as much vitriol as she'd ever seen before. Somewhere, underneath the pain and the rage and the madness, Light was in there. She didn't know him, or really like him at all; but Tartarus would damn her for eternity if she couldn't protect her prime directive. The moment passed, and time sped to a fever pitch as Light's hoof rose for some kind of attack. A misstep; the action made the next move far easier. It was foal's play to step back away from the feeble swing at her windpipe, and then step back in to throw her own hoof towards Light's remaining support on the ground. Her strike, unlike Light's, rung true; and the meaty sound of strong flesh impacting against much weaker flesh rung into her ears. With no support, Light's body crashed to the ground; though her still outstretched hoof rose quickly to catch around his neck. With his head in her grasp and his senses momentarily stunned, she had the perfect opportunity. A tongue deft from decidedly unofficial activities spun the ring in her mouth to the correct position, and pushed it to the front of her lips where she caught it gently between her teeth. This would be a little gross, but she would make it up to herself by kicking Light's ass. He was beginning to recover, so it was only another moment that she took to roughly grasp at his throat to angle his horn towards her face. Her lips pulled back to expose the ring clenched between her teeth, and she pushed her head forward despite a sickly feeling in her stomach. It was only a moment and a subtle click, and then she was pulling her head away from his horn, which now sported a shiny new accessory. Lyra would understand that it was a part of the job, but it still made her feel gross. "What did you-" The beginning of his sentence didn't have time to finish as she unceremoniously dropped his head from her grasp. What must have been entirely Her reflexes caught Light on his hooves before his head bashed into the floor, but he was on the ground either way. Time for the hold. She did a half circle around his prone body to stand directly over him, where she positioned her front hooves just under his wobbling own. Then, with as little warning as she could convey, she raised herself onto her back hooves; carefully avoiding stepping on any of the scattered books. Catching Light's hooves and bringing him up with her was easy. He was scrawny, and he weighed virtually nothing. It was also easy to ignore the immediate string of curses and threats upon her and her family, accompanied by weak thrashing and hooves pounding at her legs and face. What was less easy was letting her hooves drop out from under her, and allowing herself to crash roughly to the floor. The impact rung in her head, but the pain was negligible, and she kept a firm grip on Light's thrashing form. With the added freedom of movement and her back hooves being free, she was able to inch her hooves to more effectively restrain Light's; as well as trap his other limbs under her own. And just for safe measure, she angled her head down to grasp the scruff of his neck tightly between her teeth. His fur was unwashed and she could taste the sweat and dust, but it would make it harder for him to bash her head against the ground; as ineffective as that would be. And then, he was completely trapped in her hold. It would have been easier with some kind of rope, but she would be lying if she said that single-hoofedly subduing an ancient evil with nothing but her hooves and a ring wasn't some kind of satisfying. Even with her obviously superior earth pony strength, Light continued to ineffectually thrash his limbs against her full body embrace. And she hadn't done anything to stop him from talking, so he was also still screaming increasingly archaic obscenities at her. "Ye bearer were a gadabout, rakefire wretch of an open milkmare chosen for an unceremonious rut by any number of foppish, milksod stallions for daytime, diamond dog legged pleasures the likes of unfortunate measures only thought of by the most vile of bedswerving, yakson, gumworn heathens that frequent such low dregs that-" But all of his struggles and screams stopped in a breath as a heavy presence fell suddenly over the room, and a large shadow covered the sparse light trickling into the room from the door. Her Highness was ready, and She was coming for Her. The somber sound of metal-clad hoofsteps provided strange resonance to the erratically rising chest and labored, open mouthed breathing of the pony on top of her. She could only imagine what it must have been like, watching The Princess walk in. Nightmare Moon hated Her sister, that much was all that was shared with the E.I.A. Of course the rampant speculation that followed could fill in a lot of blanks, but... she hadn't felt comfortable potentially bastardizing Their story. Whatever she was about to play witness to, under the body of an eighteen year old, would be the stuff of legends and history. "You..." The first word came from the pony on top of her. Just a simple recognition, though absolutely dripping with venom and pure malice. It didn't sound right, coming from Light's voice. Hatred. She had never heard the kind of raw, throat tearing emotion that came with that one simple little word; and it was something she was sure would stay with her for her entire life. How would she ever be able forget the purest of feelings expressed by a pony that had suffered more than was properly quantifiable or conceivable for an entire millennium? What could it have been like, up there on the moon? Alone... "You..." In contrast, Her Highness's response was monotone and apathetic. Completely devoid of any kind of expression, as if regarding a non-entity. No purpose to the word, other than a careless whim to just have it be said. The uncharacteristic lack of emotion in Her Highness's voice was bone chilling, but she didn't allow it to loosen her grip. For all intents, she wasn't here. All she had to do was act as Light's body's restriction, while two separated sisters met for the first time in... Who even knew? A jagged cough, followed by a laugh reverberated through her own chest as the pony above her made the motions. That would be a little strange, but again, she wasn't here. "I have to say, sister; I didn't-" "You are not my sister." The sudden interruption by Her Highness held emphasis without emotion, sounding almost like She was reading off a script. Was this what she had to do, just to manage this? Cut herself from feeling? It was a silent few seconds before another laugh rumbled down through her chest, and Light's voice turned sharply coy. "Oh? Does that still strike a nerve? Well, Your Highness, if I could be allowed the privilege of speaking.." The mocking emphasis on 'privilege' felt laden with more personal weight than she could properly understand. "..then you'll know that I wanted to compliment your little spy here." Light's tone turned more conversational than should've been sanely possible in this situation as he continued, and his body strangely relaxed in her grip. "Honestly, I've known for years about your little operation; so when little miss 'Bennie' here showed up at my door, I knew something was up." "Oh... but I underestimated her. I just didn't have the time or resources to prepare well enough for somepony like her. She's fast, and strong to boot. Well trained... Good instincts... It's a wonder she's so skilled at her age." A horrible, sneering tone pressed sharply into his voice. "Tell me, Celestia; do you ever feel bad about pressing underage orphans into the military, or is that just another necessary sacrifice?" The sardonic jab directed towards both of them cut into her heart with cold knives, but she appeased the pain by pressing her grip harder. The slight seeth through Light's teeth told her it worked, and it brought a smile to her face around the mouthful of fur. Her Highness, on Her part, didn't seem fazed by the low blow. The insult hung in the air for a few moments before Her quiet voice rang out in the small, ramshackle cabin. "Are you done?" The tension in the air was palpable. Two wills warred against each other in what must have been a fantastic staring contest, at the very least. The silence between Them spoke more than words probably could, but that didn't stop Nightmare Moon from speaking again in a surprisingly quiet tone. "...You won't be able to remove me from him. I made sure to wrap myself tightly around all his most precious memories. Short of completely wiping his mind and letting him start from scratch, there's not a thing you can do." The dare was obvious, and she didn't need to see his face to hear the wide smile in his voice. "Could you do that? Could you erase your little subject, sister?" Hot, sickly bile rose in her throat in the wake of the taunt. Nightmare Moon was a monster, gambling with things more precious than ponies' lives just for juvenile taunts. The idea of just.. wiping everything that made Light who he was... It would be death. Worse, even. The thought made her stomach flip painfully. Her Highness would never do that, of course. It was unthinkable, unconscionable. There was another way, there had to be. "..Fine." The single, deadpan word held less weight than anything she'd ever heard Her Highness say, but it was somehow more impactful than any screamed declaration of intent could ever be. Cold dread froze the blood in her veins as her mouth's grip on Light's scruff loosened, but she didn't think he even noticed. His rigid posture made her think that the single word had The Nightmare Queen just as scared as she was. "If I'm forced to choose between protecting my entire nation from a dangerous threat, and saving a single pony from harm... then you know which I would always pick." Slow, methodical steps sounded like the ominous countdown to some unknowable event as Her Highness's quiet, eerily monotone voice moved in a gradual circle around them. Every word like a breath, but heavier than anything else. Step. Step. Step. Step. "No matter how innocent the pony." Step. Step. Step. Step. "No matter their importance." Step. Step. Step. Step. "No matter the cost." Twelve evenly spaced steps, and Her Highness finally finished her long arc, stopping where She began in front of them with an air of finality to the last, heavy toll. She took an audibly deep breath, before letting it out in a tired, shuddering sigh. The first emotion She had shown since She had entered the cottage. "No matter the pain." The heavy silence was suffocating in the wake of the overwhelmingly final words, and grim acceptance was slowly creeping coldly over her withers. Her Highness's words were both law and gospel. If She said it... then it had to be true. She would follow Her command. It hurt, deep down in her chest; but she would just have to find a way to accept that she had failed to protect Light. Now, the only recourse was the inverse. Protecting Equestria from Light. Regret rose up in her throat as her grip tightened. The tension in the air rose to a head as another cold hoofstep echoed through the room, and the pony lying on top of her let out one last, ragged chuckle. "Finally, something we both agree on." He whispered it so quietly, she only barely heard it even with her head directly next to his. It was certain that Her Highness hadn't heard it, as a bright, golden light began to shine onto the floor next to them. Something to keep to herself, then. Nothing important, expect the ravings of a madpony about to be burnt away. "Keep him steady, Agent." The louder whisper from Her Highness as she began to concentrate was nearly redundant, as the pony in her hooves fell suddenly limp. His head rolled back, and she had to thrust her own forward to raise it and keep it steady. Nightmare Moon had relinquished control, but... the process had already begun? So... it would probably be best to just... sit there? With Light laying comatose in her hooves, and her face buried in the scruff of his neck? She closed her eyes as the smell of dust and salt filled her nose, and the temperature in the room rose as the light on either side of them grew in brightness to a blinding point. This was probably best. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Summer Sun Celebration Mid-Afternoon Bon Bon allowed an indulgent moment to herself as she basked in a sudden cool breeze washing across her face. It brought tantalizing smells of freshly baked pastries, and on it rode the excited chattering of many different ponies. There was quite a large gathering out in Ponyville today, on account of the Celebration and all. It was a little sad, knowing what they didn't. Maybe that was her burden. Or maybe it was him. Her eyes opened slowly to stare forlornly at the edge of a frosted gingerbread roof under a lazily cloudy sky, before her gaze fell back to Equus. Back to the cute little wooden table she sat at outside Sugarcube Corner. Sugarcube corner was a nice enough place, but she was a pastry baker, herself. Not professionally, or even as well as expected of her cutie mark; but it was still something she enjoyed doing. There wasn't any kind of grudge she held, but going to a shop to buy pastries just seemed a little cheap. It'd be more fun to just do it herself. Her and Lyra. That little disaster ruining everything she touched in the kitchen while the job of cleaning was left to the actual cook. Twirling and tripping over anything and everything. Mixing up ingredients and forgetting measurements. Tasting and touching things before they were ready. Lyra had once managed to get an entire cake stuck on their ceiling; which, while funny enough, was especially concerning for the fact that it took hours to come off. It had just hung there, like glue. 'One slip and three too many cups of baking powder, and suddenly, I'm some sort of criminal! Where's the justice, Bonnie?! Where's my attorney?!' For one, she had been using her magic to carry the cake; so there was no reason she should have thrown the dessert like she did. Another thing, baking powder couldn't even make a cake do that, which meant that there were probably even more problems that she wasn't mentioning. Standing there in their wreck of a kitchen, with batter and frosting smeared over her face, Lyra could only smile widely at some joke only she knew. She was so cute. Cute and precious and so in need of help all the time... It would be so nice to run off and see her after the long couple of days it had been, but... No, slipping into endless daydreams of her disaster of a partner was more tempting than anything, but she wasn't off the clock yet. She still had a job to do. A job sitting right at her very table. Her eyes roved down to the hunched over figure sitting to her side at the table. With his head against his chest and the drool leaking onto his fur, she'd been able to reasonably pass him off as simply very tired; but it really didn't help that Light Flow perpetually looked as though he was homeless. She sighed and lowered her head to rest on an outstretched hoof as she continued to stare at his unmoving form. He had been unconscious ever since Her Highness had wiped him and set all those barriers on him. 'Not completely', She'd said; but it was just as well. Her Highness had talked through a lot of it while she had been stuck there holding Light's head up. Apparently, Nightmare Moon was just as crafty as advertised. Her dominion over the unconscious mind and its deeper realms allowed Her easy access to whatever kind of spiritual counterpart that memory had. She had been really entrenched in a lot of unfortunate places. Everything about his friend Applejack, most of the details about his life, and even what few things he had to cherish about his special talent. It all had to go. Not completely wiped, thank Her; but so firmly under lock and key that just trying to remember anything would give Light something like an aneurism. And She hadn't even been able to really get rid of Nightmare Moon. She was still apparently in there somewhere, but Her Highness held hope that the blocks would keep it all from mattering. Some parts of his mind hadn't been explicitly necessary to cut, but Her Highness had told her that it was all to prevent causal links and total breakdowns. All for his protection, of course. No magic. No thinking about any kind of princess. No seeing souls. That particular string had been particularly hard to cut, since anything about his special talent related to manipulating destiny; and that was both highly unethical and extremely difficult. But Her Highness knew what she was doing, and everything she'd done would hopefully leave Light as a regular pony with a slowly fraying mind and no special talent. One of those She couldn't do much about due to the nature of restructuring a pony's mind; but, thanks to some special Notice-Me-Not trickery, at least nopony would notice that Light didn't have a cutie mark for the time being. So many otherwise unconscionable things that just didn't really matter in the face of the apocalypse. If the nation survived, then Her Highness was planning to personally undo everything she'd done and deliver any amount of apologies that were required. If the opposition prevailed... then at least it would be Nightmare Moon's problem to fix. A rough snort was followed by a head shake as her hoof fell forward onto the table. It was too easy to succumb to pessimism in the face of adversity. The strong thing to do would be to keep her head high and remain optimistic. Twilight Sparkle was a very promising candidate for the Element of Magic, and the other Elements would always find a way to form around a pony like that. Apparently. It was all second hoof knowledge, because of course there hadn't been any Element Bearers in a very long time. A familiar groan brought her out of her reverie, and she turned her attention to where Light's head was shuffling against his chest. This would be it: the moment of truth. Had it all worked? It was over a minute of mumbles and head shaking before he finally actually brought his head up off his chest. The muscles in his face visibly clenched and unclenched as unfamiliar patterns reset themselves to factory default. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open; and she had the unique privilege of watching two blissfully brown and concerningly blank eyes open to the world. And that was it. His eyes opened halfway and promptly stared directly into one fixed spot in space. That was normal, though. Just another part of her job. After Her Highness had done the deed, She had taken some time before leaving for Canterlot to explain what the following steps would be, including this one. First, she had to make Light presentable. That directive unfortunately covered the uncomfortable deed of washing him. Sitting in a barely legal kid's bathtub and scrubbing his unconscious body clean was disturbing in many ways, but she had pushed through the awkwardness and Light looked and smelled fine now. She had even washed those weird black stains out, though not before snipping a piece of his fur and putting it in a tube for later analysis. Something particularly concerning, but not very relevant, that she had noticed while standing in Light's surprisingly orderly bathroom was an empty box of colored contacts sitting on the sink. Brown, of course. That meant Nightmare Moon could have been walking around in his body for any amount of time, leaving everypony around him none the wiser. How many times had she worn him like that? Out and about among the populace; living his life in ways that might never be discovered. Disturbing. Anyways, after some uncomfortable revelations, she was to put Light somewhere in Ponyville. Her Highness hadn't specified on any of the tasks because performing such high level magic left her very drained, but this was self-explanatory. Light couldn't be left at his cottage because it was absolutely rife with all sorts of potential memory triggers. Plus, they had taken away his special talent, and that was what they figured protected him from the Everfree's wrath. So the best option would be to let him wander about and safely adjust where ponies could see him, in case he hurt himself or something. Though, that in particular wouldn't even be much of a problem. Because her last and potentially final task ever was to follow Light around until what was hopefully dawn. Not the kind of swan song she'd been hoping for, but... She was sworn to the Crown. She would serve until her dying breath. Forlorn apathy crept up over her withers, but she pointedly shook the feeling off. She wouldn't fall into despair, it would be fine. Her eyes turned from the open-eyed, comatose pony at the table, and towards the sky above them. A few bunches of clouds hung in the air at random intervals, scattered across the otherwise lovely blue sky. A wonderful, midday sky; with the sun hanging merrily somewhere along the horizon. Would it be better just to run off? Spend the day with the mare she loved? Would it be easier? She shook her head roughly once again to dislodge the creeping claws of bittersweet regret, as forced determination took its place. Deserting her duty was unthinkable. She set her narrowed eyes once more to Light's blank face, and roughly scraped her chair across the short distance between them. Light's condition was somewhat like a pony under hypnosis; and all he needed to wake up was the code word that Her Highness had set him with. It had to be something that would never come up in his mind, or his conversations. Something that, unless a pony knew that Light could be shut off like a switch, couldn't be used against him. Something only two agents, one civilian, Her Highness, and Light knew. She leaned her head towards Light's perked ear, and took one last deep breath. "Necromancy." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- And so, Light woke up there at the table; all disoriented and flustered. It would have been sort of cute, if it wasn't for the clear panic he was going through. "But weren't you sitting there with him? Didn't he think it was weird that you were sitting there with him? Oh! Oh! Did you make him think that you were his best friend or something?! Is that how you were able to follow him all day?!" It wasn't anything like that, you dope. You see, Her Highness had worked just a little more magic to make my job easier. Just like what She had done for his mark, She had done for me. For a few hours of the day, I was completely unnoticeable to everypony that might've looked. While Light was sitting there, looking all sad at his table, I was there too. I was there to see him cover his eyes from the sun, and slowly begin to remember where he was. I was there to see how his eyes went blank and his head twitched as he must've thought about something he wasn't allowed to. I was there to watch him talk to Pinkie Pie, and make his terrible conversational mistake with her. If I have to be honest, I was almost expecting her to be able to see me. It wouldn't have been the weirdest thing she'd ever done; but luckily, the scene played out without complication. Soon, Light was off on his way through Ponyville, looking more put together than he had in a long time. It... made me feel kind of sad. He hadn't had this much control of his actions in who knew how long, and he was walking around as less than a shell of what he should have been. "You really care about him, don't you?" The underlying tease in Lyra's voice brought a warm flush rising to her head, and she broke from her story-telling position resting on her hoof to stare hotly across the table. Lyra's head sat cradled on her crossed hooves from where she was basically collapsed over the table, and a half-lidded, sly expression lay on her smiling face. She sucked in a petulant breath as she turned harshly away from the lovingly mocking expression, to instead face across the room; where, past all the ponies that had trickled in as the party went on, a brown unicorn sat talking to an orange earth pony at a table of their own. Her eyes lingered for a second on the relief clear in his face even from across the room, as the orange pony leaned her hoof across the table to lay over his. Earlier in the party, she had gone off in some kind of state, leaving the unicorn looking beat up and afraid. But she had eventually come back as the night wore steadily on. They had talked for quite a while in what seemed to be very emotional states, but things had eventually settled down. And now the unicorn seemed to be doing very well. A sudden laugh from her side brought her attention back from where it shouldn't have lingered, and she was sure the flush on her face deepened as she turned back to see Lyra clapping her hooves against the table that her cheek lay pressed directly against. Half formed words and excuses sputtered roughly from her lips; but before she could get a handle on the flustered embarrassment in her cheeks, Lyra's laughs sputtered off. A smushed, half grin shone at her under twinkling golden eyes, and a familiar desire to smack her beloved idiot rose in her chest. "Hah~ I knew you liked him! That was some smile, Bonnie." The last drawn out, knowing chuckle brought the flush rising higher into her ears, which promptly tried to escape desperately into the untidy curls of her mane. "Lyra!" She hissed through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. "Would you just leave it?!" Heavens help her, Lyra knew how to play the game. She would never fail to find some new way of making her uncomfortable in some strange fashion. She would get her revenge. But unfortunately, Lyra didn't seem to be done. She hefted her head off from where it lay lazily on the table to turn to stare where Light was sitting, the same sly expression on her face. "You know... He is pretty cute..." Horrifying, petrifying mortification dropped her mouth open as Lyra's conspiratorial tone continued; even as she swung her head back to the table to fix two hooded eyes dripping with mischief onto her undoubtedly red face. "It looks like he's heading to the bathroom. If you wanted to go try to put that ring on him again when he comes back, I don't think I'd mind~." The singsong finish broke her final nerve, and a quick jerk upwards had her hoof supporting her over the table, while her other limb flew towards her marefriend's face. The purposefully slow swing fell short as Lyra leaned her head back from it, her voice becoming breathless and squeaky as she laughed as hard as her shaking chest could allow. With her attempt at domestic abuse foiled, the hoof supporting her dropped in protest, leaving her head to crash into the table with a groan. Her hooves rose over her aching ears to bury themselves in the messy buns of her mane that she hadn't styled in a week. "It'd probably make him feel better!" If the world survived after the apocalypse, she was dumping Lyra. Then, something connected. Something that should have connected faster, even through sleep deprivation and a long faded buzz. Light did what? Panic flashed over the embarrassment in an instant, and her hooves crashed against the table to heave herself up as fast as she could manage. She ignored the exclamation of surprise from the other side of the table, as well as the few stares shot her way from ponies near them. Her breathing picked up to near hyperventilation as she looked out over the offending crowd. A pony blocked her view for a moment; but a long second later: the pony moved, and her world stopped as a breath caught in her throat. One pony at the table. One orange pony with a hat on her head. Light was gone. > Chapter 37 - The Trust > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow. The cool air of the early night was doing a lot to air out his fur, and taking a moment to breathe a refreshing breath brought relief he hadn't know he needed. It tasted sweet on his tongue, as if there was honey on the breeze or something. It was nice. Light Flow. Opening his eyes to the deserted, darkened street where he stood felt almost dreamy, as the muted light shining from the sky cast his surroundings in dimmer sights. Standing there in the shadow of the large building he remembered as Town Hall, the buildings around him reaching up towards the quiet night with silent pleas to something unseen; it felt almost… sacred. Light Flow. Everything around him just perpetually rose up towards the heavens, didn't it? Grasping futilely at what lay above, forever tethered by the earth that bound them all. Hooded eyes followed their glittering trail, to see the most beautiful sight he had never known. It wasn't any wonder ponies built towards the sky, when such a great, shining, wonderful jewel hung there. The moon. Big and pure and absolutely blemish free. Glowing so brightly up in the heavens, among the stars and nebulas; like the most perfectly well rounded circle there ever was. Warmth welled in the corners of his eyes, and he had to bring a hoof up to his mouth to suppress a sob that shook desperately through his chest. Why did it make him so happy, just for seeing it? Your devotion is noted, child; but that wasn't quite the sonnet you imagine it was. The voice in his head was there again, doing more than just saying his name. Praising him. Calling him child, with such loving warmth behind it. The voice was nice, he liked the voice. Good, child. Now, you must continue to heed me. The voice wanted him to do more things. That was fine, the voice was plenty trustworthy. Ever since it had come into his head and started whispering things to him, nothing but good things had happened. It had helped figure out how to get the ever annoying Twilight to go away, it had helped when Pinkie Pie had come back with that shy pegasus, and when the orange apple pony- Applejack, the voice told him- had come back: the voice had helped him through that, too. Feeding him constant tips and words to say, helping him through conversations in ways he never would have thought of; it was more than he could ever ask for. He would follow the voice's commands, because he knew it only wanted the best for him. He could just feel it. Whenever the silky whispers twirled so softly in his ear, he felt the same way he did when he stared up at the beautiful, pale moon in that shining, starry canvas. Safe. Warm. Loved. Wanted. You are wanted, child. I have such plans for you. You're more important than you could possibly know, even in your current labored state. A self conscious smile found a place on his face as his eyes fell unfortunately back to Equus, and he pawed at the ground with just a bit of nervous energy. It wasn't just about obeying the voice, he wanted to help it. The voice deserved his help, his loyalty. The voice deserved devotion. You are perfect, child. Proximity has lulled you into sense with more ease than I had ever hoYou will not listen to Her. Pain...! Flashing behind his eyes and clouding his vision and screaming in his ears to come back come back don't listen don't listen The sensation of dirt scraping into his knees was barely even felt as his hooves flew to grasp at his head-Your flimsy spellcrafting cannot stop me in my realm!-could feel his muscles loosen as he splayed over the cold ground, spasming and locking and hurting and-You will not listen to Her. Yelling and screaming and brutal, horrible fighting in his head like something was clawing and begging while something else tore and peeled and it just hurt and he wanted it to stop! You will not listen to H̸̪̊ę̶̣̖̰̅r̶̡̭̣̰̥͐̓̕ He is mine, and I won't have your little blocks dirtying what you have no right to. You will not follow Ḥ̶̼̯̽̉͌͜͜ḙ̵͉͍̄͒̏͘͠r̶̭̦̱͋ ̴̠̐͘c̷͇̱̖̜̓͜ö̵̧̡͉̤̼́m̵̺̗͉̮̅̋̇m̴̡̥͓̝̾̑̀a̸̗͇̻͎̐́̍n̸̢̪̬͕͐ḍ̸͗̚͠s̷̱̻͉͠ͅ Oh, such horrible casting, sister. Nothing at all like Our prime. Have you gone soft? You cannot l̷̪̲͒e̵̱̰͐t̸͓̯́͝ ̴̧́̀H̷̱͓͗e̵̲̒r̶̹̓̑ ̷̭̘̑̀w̶̯̝̿̏͜i̷̢͕̼̊n̵͎̯͊̎ A tug here, a twist there.... Oh my, you would really leave such an easy thread right in the open like that? Oh Celestia, how you have fallen. You ć̸̞̼̳̾̽ǎ̴̛̗͔̻̍ň̷̦̠͙͑̕ṉ̸̤̃͝o̴͎͂͒ẗ̵̼̠́̄́ ̵͖̈́̀̉f̷̺͍͌̈́a̴͈͝ĺ̵͇l̶͔̜̀̍ ̸̝̝͊͘͝t̶͎͒̾̚ǫ̶̩͉̓ ̴̥̰̻̈́̀̌d̷̤̂a̸̖̓ͅr̴̗̫͐k̸̳̪͊͗n̷̬͎̉e̴͙̳̍s̷̩̓͘ṡ̴̜̩ It's nearly as if you simply positioned a large board with nails sticking out of it over his psyche. So, so crude. Did you expect the pain to somehow dissuade me? Perhaps this is the night you will finally realize the proper way to sacrifice. F̴̯̄͘o̸͖̘͊ṟ̸̳͐̍g̷͇̽i̵̳̙̪͑́v̶̹͗ȇ̴̳͈̪̎͝ ̶͈̺̹̚m̶̪̠̙̾͗e̶̩̟͂ͅ-ȩ̵͎̪̊̃ę̵̬͓͓̗̊́̀-e̵̺̞͘͜ě̶̙̜͕̈́̓̃-ę̶̢̛͚̽͑̈́̊̓̃̈́é̷̡̝̠͔̬͖̺̮̯̎͝͠ͅ-ȩ̴̨̺̘̺͐̀͆̊͋͊̕͜ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝-e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅē̸̺̺̞̉̈́̃̑̕͝-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ē̸̺̺̞̉̈́̃̑̕͝ē̸̺̺̞̉̈́̃̑̕͝-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ-ë̸̦̦̆̀̄̉͝͝e̴̢̲͚̳̺͜͝ͅ Light Flow? Child, can you stand? Gradually, through the blurry haze of pain ringing and echoing where it never should have, the sweetly gentle tones of something familiar called to him. Forcing his eyes open through the grit that sealed them brought the cool, twinkling tones of the night sky above him into view. The stars, flecked about the moon like the most intricate dappling anypony had ever conceived. And behind them- no, in front of them; the voice was back. The harsh, screeching tones of the monster in his head had tapered; leaving blissful, empty space. Gentle whispers and promises filled the void, driving his hooves to gather below him to heave himself upward onto his hooves. Good, child. The shroud of her mockery of protection still hangs over you, but I've pulled it even further apart than it already was. It won't bother you or I again. As his weak limbs somehow found strength to support himself, a feeling of intense relief ebbed into his body. Seething and soothing everything that ached, bringing new revitalization to the internal pains that had scarred him. The voice had gotten rid of the static. No more mind-blanking screeches in his head every time he had a thought or saw something strange. No more empty recollections where what was most important should have been. No more pain. Love. It was love he felt. Oh, child. You are simply precious. He was precious to the voice. That sent warm shivers along his spine, even as the cold air bit at his scraped heels. His next breath brought a flush to his face and visible presence in the air, and he did his best to capture the moment in his mind as well as he could. He didn't have many memories, but this was something to cherish. It doesn't seem as though anypony saw you, so you must simply continue as though nothing happened. There are none that frequent the streets on the eve of the celebration, so you should continue unimpeded. That was good, it would be bad if anypony saw him. Though, child: you should wipe your nose. You've begun to bleed. Warm fluid trickling along his lip came past muted awareness, and he snorted roughly as dull surprise flashed a dim lightbulb in his head. That wasn't a good sign. Thank goodness the voice had finally taken care of that awful static. He swept his hoof up across his face, feeling the disgusting liquid drag and stain across his face and hoof. He brought it slowly down to look at, and even in the lesser light he could see the angry red smear running messily along his limb. Perhaps... you should stop at a stream along the way. He nodded haltingly. That would probably be a good idea. He set his hooves to the direction they had been going before he had stopped to take a breath, and he gradually passed out of the shadow of the imposing government building as he continued south. Dirt mixed with smooth gravel turned to the paved tile of a bridge over a silently lapping stream; which he stopped at the side of for a moment. He knelt down and dipped his hooves into the water for a moment, before quickly bringing them up toward his face in one smooth motion. Cool water splashed into his stained fur, feeling colder than he had expected in the chill of the night. He took a shocked, shuddering breath as his limbs locked up for a moment, before exhaling heavily as his entire body shivered. His face was relatively clean and dripping, now; but there had to have been a better way to do it. Stars, he was such an idiot. The voice was counting on him to join it at the castle in the woods, and here he was: making himself sick. You have little to fear, child. Your antics are amusing enough, and I'm not angry. Just hurry along before the night loses its patience and you catch a cold. The tingling sensation of amusement in his head, rumbling along his ears as an indulgent tease tweaked their ends. Even with his fur matted and on end from the cold water, he knew a subtle flush was crossing along his cheeks. Now he was sitting at the side of a stream in the middle of the night blushing like a schoolfilly. Time to move on. Yes, child; you musn't dawdle. You'll see Ponyville again, just as soon as all is right in the world. You and I, we'll fix what should have gone right the first time. What will go right this time. The Queen and Her Knight. Together, we will save Equestria. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- The voice seemed to know everything, as it whispered what it shouldn't have known into his ear. Making his way through what the voice called 'The Everfree' probably wasn't supposed to be as easy as it was, but there he was: taking every correct turn and path like some kind of expert. Though, with civilization far behind him, and the dark, oppressive canopy above: he couldn't help but felt somewhat trapped. The dense branches and dim leaves shading the path left no room to see the sky above him. With no way to see the sky, he couldn't see the moon. With no way to see the moon... how would he ever be happy? Oh child, you flatter me so. I promise, we can look at the moon together as much as you please, just as soon as you reach the castle. Oh, he couldn't wait. And he wouldn't have long to wait, as the voice continued to instruct him. Every turn, every path, every possible attack: the voice knew where to go and how to avoid it. Left here. Right at the fork. Stop there, and turn around. Double back, the path's changed. Keep going through the trees, and squeeze between the bushes. Along that cliffside, don't worry about falling. He barely had to pay attention to his surroundings at all. It was simply easier to listen to the voice's directions. His guardian. Guiding him through danger like a benevolent angel. Like a goddess. You'll be coming up to a break in the treeline soon. It's a place you've been before, though the chances of you remembering it are slim. Low hanging branches and sharp thorns tugged and tore at his coat and fetlocks as he trudged through a pathless course through the forest. Greenery pushed and swatted at his face, and he let out a silent curse as flecks of something stung his eyes. He was close, he had to keep going. The voice was counting on him. He blinked the pain away, and focused on the pale light shining from a narrow break in the greens beyond the obstacles ahead. Rough, faded tree bark scraped against his sides as he squeezed through trees set close together; placing him on the other side of a wall of leafy blockage with little ahead but his goal. He brushed along the large leaves of unknown plants as he slowly crept forward, towards the shining exit to what lay ahead. Foliage darkened at the edges of the light as he drew closer, and the familiar taste of open air blinded him for a moment as he took a step out of the forest. Gradually, the moonlight eased his eyes open to the sights that awaited him; and he inhaled softly in silent awe as dead sparks of something he couldn't recall flashed behind his eyes. A great, stretching ravine; clawing deeply and raggedly across the land farther than he could see in both directions. Mist edged and pooled from an unseen source along its walls, sliding down and shrouding its bottom from view. It was so large. A bigger, wider trench than he had ever seen before; though that didn't say much. He couldn't even see through to the other side, as the mist seemed to rise unnaturally towards the sky; hiding what lay beyond. An impenetrable wall of fog, too dense for even the moon's rays to pierce. The narrow cliff face in front of him was crumbling at the edges, and seemed to be pressed suffocatingly against the treeline in nearly every place except where he conveniently stood; though he was sure he could see the reason why. A few hooflengths in front of him, what seemed to be a very old bridge stretched out into the wall of mist. He couldn't see the first board from where he was standing, but it looked to be set directly into the cliffside; and supported by ropes leading from two monolithic wooden stakes driven evenly into the ground. He stepped further out into the bridge's clearing, and winced as hot lengths of burning wire scoured painfully across the front of his mind. His hooves wobbled weakly as he grimaced, and brought a shaking hoof up to lay over one of his eyes. Something about this place was just... so familiar...! Don't concern yourself, child. You have been here before, but it doesn't concern us at the current moment. I give my word that you'll have your mind returned to you; but first, you must cross the bridge. The castle is on the other side. The voice came again, with soothing words that chilled the burning holes in his memories. Strength filled him unexpectedly, allowing him to right himself with more sureness than he'd though himself capable of. The grimace faded, and his expression turned to determination as he faced the challenge before him. He could do it, the voice was behind him. The two wooden posts stood like dauntless guardians, steadfastly holding their position at the bridge's ends. Steady creaking from beyond the edge filled the air as the ancient wood swayed in the worsening breeze, sending sickly spikes running through his shield of confidence. Even with the boost from his benefactor, it was a daunting sight. Don't hesitate, you shall not fall on this night. The unheard tone in the voice was laced with warmth, filling the holes in his confidence with newfound comfort. He let his eyes drift towards the moon once more, almost half hidden behind the bastion of ethereal smog; and took a deep breath. The bridge looked worn and beat down, but he trusted the voice. If it was safe to walk on, then he would have faith. He set his eyes to Equus, and took one sure step forward. The silent step onto greyed grass didn't send reverberations through the world, but it held weight for him regardless. He was putting his life in the indiscernible limbs of a voice entirely in his head. He wasn't dumb, and he wasn't entirely brainwashed, either. He knew how it would have seemed to anypony else; it was seemingly totally insane. He had given almost complete control of his actions to a random voice in his head; all because it was saying nice things. It wasn't something a sane pony would do, that's for sure. But as he took another step right to the edge of the swaying bridge, and he looked out over the loosely connected rotting boards leading out into a completely opaque wall of mist; he could feel a creeping certainty over the rise of his nape. A crisp, cool feeling; not unlike a comforting hoof. He knew that the hoof would pull him back up if he fell. He knew the hoof would steer him away from danger. He knew the hoof wouldn't abandon him. He needed this. All day, he had struggled to find any path; any way to surface from the deep depths of the despair that had haunted him and taken everything from him. Something to give him any kind of hope when it seemed as though he wouldn't ever find the answers to any of his questions. And now: he had it. This was what it felt like to have a faith. A higher power to trust in. He understood religion, now. Sinking his hoof onto the first dipping board brought it tight against the bindings holding it up, though it firmly stayed steady. Gradually, through the panic threatening to slip his hoof out from under him, he brought his other hoof out to rest beside it; and sent a silent prayer to the voice for protection before shifting all of his weight onto his front. A muted creaking sound emanated from the board, but barely any louder than the other noises the bridge was naturally making as it swung in the breeze. His tongue darted out to lick fearfully at his lips as he flicked his eyes to the next board sitting less than a few inches ahead. Faith. He had faith, now. He just had to take a leap, and have hope. Jump into the deep end, as it were. His breathing picked up as, in one quick motion driven entirely by fear, he swung his right hoof forward onto the second board, and his back left onto the first board. The feeling of vertigo wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be now that he was almost completely supported by a structure that looked as old as dirt, but it still sent his stomach flipping. He blinked rapidly, never taking his eyes off of the swaying boards below him. If he slipped, there probably wouldn't be any time to react; but it still made him feel better. It probably wasn't the time to think of it, but there was a possibility that there was a river below him. If he fell, maybe he'd still survive? Light Flow, you must hurry. Soon, I will have to depart; and I won't be able to guide you as I do what must be done. Simply walk forward, and you'll find your hooves on safe ground. Go. Urgency. The voice was running out of time, he needed to move. A rising sense of gravity in both definitions squeezed his throat with heavy pressure as he took a shuddering breath and swung his remaining hooves in the same pattern as before. Two hooves on the second board, two on the first; that wasn't so bad. Well, the motion itself wasn't so bad. The swaying sensation of perilous suspension threatened to sweep his hooves out from under him the longer he stared down at the little space overshadowed by an endless backdrop of lightly colored mist. His vision didn't quite begin to swim or circle, but he dragged his eyes up to the rickety path in front of him regardless. Simply walk forward, that's all he had to do. One hoof in front of the other; slowly, surely, he would find his way. All he had to do was have faith. Would it help if he closed his eyes? Probably not, that might've been taking it too far. He kept his eyes steadily on the sight of the planks in front of him as he took a wobbling step forward. His hoof met tentative contact, and he brought his corresponding back hoof forward in response. Easy so far, now for the rest. One step, two step. One hoof on the next board as his heart leaped in his throat, and then bringing his back hoof in delayed tandem. One, two. One, two. A dance that never ended, as the semi-comforting sense of ground just behind him faded; leaving nothing but the terrifying realization of a potential freefall into helplessness. His face was a rictus smear of nervous energy, perpetually lifted in a tic of a humorless half smile. He would have left something more dignified as his mind was totally commandeered by the washing waves of panic that flew through him with every breeze, but he had pretty much lost control of those muscles. Really, he couldn't feel his body at all. The constant edge forward was almost completely autonomous, and the only input he could force his body's locked muscles to offer was a flimsy flinch every time an urging creak filled the air. He would have to check his memories when he got them back, but this total fear of heights didn't seem like something he had ever experienced before. Maybe it was new? Maybe it was just because the bridge was so incredibly out of order? Maybe it was because of the enormity of the situation. His entire world shifted precariously as the next board unexpectedly shifted with a little more give than he was used to, and images of a messy red smear at the bottom of a rocky floor danced for a single second before his eyes. He couldn't panic, he just couldn't. He was further than halfway across the bridge, now; and the wall of mist was less than fifteen boards ahead. The plank his hoof had frozen on hadn't fallen off, it was just a little looser than the rest. It was fine. No matter what he told himself in his head, the adrenaline screaming in his veins wanted him off the bridge as soon as possible. It was only the constant reminder of the voice watching him from wherever it was that drove his next motion onto the next board; and it was a concerted effort to keep his eyes locked ahead and not on the swinging swaying deep darkness canyon cliff miles below him like the jaws of a monster- Okay, that wasn't helping. One step, two step. It was back to the autonomous monotony once again, though it was far better than idling in the middle of the bridge, thinking about how disappointed the voice would be if he were to fall to his death. Sooner than it felt, the wall of smoke was just in front of him. From his unsteady lean on the unsteady bridge, he couldn't commit too much thought to really analyzing the nitty gritty of a featureless wall of gas; but his subconscious mind apparently thought it'd be worth noting that it wasn't as cold as he'd expected. It was almost warm. Maybe it was some kind of pressurized steam that just looked like mist? It was hard to say without knowing explicitly where it came from. For all he knew, there could have been some kind of heat well in the rocks somewhere below him. If there was a way down, it might be interesting to check out sometime. What did I say about dawdling, Light Flow?! You must hurry! I'm losing patience! Disregard everything interesting about the situation, the voice sounded irritated. A different sort of panic rose in his throat as his nerves ran away from him, and he hurriedly reached his front hoof out into the steam-mist. The warm feeling enveloping his limb was nice enough, especially out of the worsening chill in the night air; but he had no time to luxuriate in it. Without the benefit of his eyes, he simply set his hoof down where the next board should be, and plunged his face into the cloud. It was immediately obvious that the cloud was thick, as he opened his eyes to a complete void of pale emptiness. His hoof had found solid contact with the next board, thankfully; and he brought his back hoof up in the now familiar double movement. The mist was heady, and it was a little hard to breathe inside the cloud. He swung his head around to his left as his eyes drooped, and then to his right as his tongue lolled out of his mouth. It was quite the change from the outside air, and it was becoming hard to stand it. With the formless mass pressing down on him from all sides, he was beginning to feel somewhat trapped again, and his hooves itched to carry him out of the oppressive atmosphere. He would just have to trust the voice, again. Simply walk forward, even though he couldn't see the boards anymore. It almost felt like a test. His next step carried through the fog in increased intensity, and he gasped breathlessly as the very edges of his vision darkened for a second. It was... really hard to breathe, actually. Oh no. Forward. He was in danger, now; and he had to go forward. One step, two step, take a strangely thinning breath. His lungs felt tight..! One step, two step, take a labored breath. He could barely hear the ever-present howling of the canyon winds and the swaying of the bridge, anymore. It was just the deafening sound of his hammering heart in his ears. One step, two step, take a breath, damnit! How had he run out of air so quickly?! It was almost like the mist was sucking it out of his lungs or something! One step, two step, grit his teeth. He would make it, he had to. One step, two step, blink. Was he almost there? One step, two step, breathe. How long had he been walking? It was too much, he was running out of air. His head hung low as each step forward seemed to take longer and longer, and his eyes closed periodically as the strain left him blind. How had this happened? This... this couldn't be regular mist.. One step, two step. Trust the voice. He had to trust that he would make it. One step, two step. One step, two step. Please..! He couldn't see..! Where was he? Had he fallen? What was happening? Was he still moving? His throat pushed for a breath, but none came; and he choked weakly as he tried desperately to somehow force his burning lungs to help him. His vision had long since blacked completely out, and the lingering sensation of his hooves moving had faded, too. Nothing was working, he was floating in a void. Even the pain in his chest was beginning to fade as each conscious thought became harder to rationalize. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing mattered. Everything mattered... Had he done it? Had he made it? Had he failed? Had he died? Where... was he? Where... was the... the voice..? Why... why couldn't he... Why couldn't he just... take one more... step...? ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... There is no cause for fear, child; you've made it. I'm so proud of you. Rest now, it is deserved. You are safe, and I have peace of mind. I must go now, for the hours draw steadily deeper; and there is somepony waiting for me. This coming battle will be long and hard, and it will tax me. I would ask for some sort of blessing of luck, but you've clearly had all there is to give. That is alright, and you've a better use for it regardless. Luck's cruel gaze has never favored me or mine, and I've never wished it so. ... If... I want you to know, child... If I do not succeed... If you do not find me waiting for you... ... I... ... ..Nevermind... > Chapter 38 - The Castle > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- He hadn't ever actually woken up before. The first time, back when he had lost his memory, he had already been in a strange sort of half-consciousness when he'd regained his senses. A flash of recollection; and from one moment to the next, he was aware. That wasn't really 'waking up'. He had memories of waking up, of course; his amnesia didn't go that far. But really, memories could only convey so much of the experience, so the rush of sensation was almost completely new to him. Light Flow pressed what felt like his lips into a firm line as a gradual awareness wore sleepily over his mind. Nerves deadened by the recent unconsciousness woke with a jolt, and the prickly feeling of dry grass poking into his coat was the first real sensation to greet him. A yawn pressed against the back of his throat, and he let it pass as his jaws opened with a stinging soreness that felt indescribably good. He really felt refreshed in a way he hadn't in any memory. It was a good thing he had decided to take a nap. His body continued to laze while his mind took subconscious stock of his wakening assets, and his conscious mind took over the general responsibilities of breathing and waking up. Taking delayed stock was just as good as being prompt. His ears: twitching sporadically in the wind. Oh, that background sound was wind howling in his ears. His hooves: uncomfortably splayed out in the pokey grass, one on top of the other. Why was he laying on his side? His tail: laid out much in the same manner as his hooves. Why was he on the ground? His chest: rising comfortably, though with a fading echo of a strangling ache at its center. Where was he, and how had he gotten... wherever? Something was wrong; something was weird. The last thing he remembered... No.. wait, it was coming back to him! Slowly, pieces were falling into place bit by bit... A puzzle fitting slowly together... A very familiar feeling, but this time...! The voice. The bridge. His duty! The comforting feeling of closed-eye blindness was thrown off in an instant as he flung his eyes open with what by all rights should have been a breathless gasp. The world was a grey blur of wordless unease as his hooves fumbled on the ground below him, heaving himself up to a standing position. His chest shook with panic as he messily turned on a dime, almost falling over again in his haste, to find the sight of two wooden poles stuck monolithically into the ground. The subtle sound of swaying was suddenly audible in his ears through the ever-present harsh howling of the wind, and his eyes trailed the sight of wooden planks leading off the cliff into a thick wall of mist less than ten boards away. Less than ten boards away. He had made it. He hadn't collapsed on the bridge, or fallen to his death. He was alive. He was on the other side. Relief couldn't even begin to describe the full body, earth-shaking, volumetric emotion that swept through his body. His back legs wobbled and quickly failed to support him as he fell painfully and unceremoniously onto his rump, but he relished the feeling regardless. His butt hurt. He was alive. It... was surprising: just how happy he was knowing that. Ever since he had lost his memory... he had felt some kind of... apathy, almost? Maybe it was nihilism, but... he had just been sort of... floating along, hoping for any kind of resolution to his story. In this sort of moment, having narrowly avoided death, he had expected to just feel... fine. Not terribly excited either way, and not terribly affected. He would have moved on, in a continued search for some finale. But this... this pumping, heaving, heart-rending pressure in his chest... He was alive..! He was happy! Warmth welled in his eyes, blurring his vision slightly; but instead of suppressing it like instinct screamed to, he allowed the feeling to grow and bunch until it slowly ran messily down his cheeks. He was crying, and he was okay with that! His hooves felt light and airy, but heavy and hot and full of energy at the same time. It felt like he could have jumped up to the heavens to hug the moon, and returned in time for a marathon. His jaw had clenched tight as the salty taste of tears had leaked over it, but he forced it open to breathe in a blissfully mist-free breath; and he held it in, just for the sake of it. His misted eyes stayed trained firmly on the sight of the relatively familiar wall of smoke as his lungs began to ache and then burn with the pressure of the unreleased breath. Finally, he let it out, and he consciously counted the seconds it took for him to fully exhale. One... Two... Three... Four... He could breathe, he was alive. But... where was he? The realization that he was in a new place came later than he would have liked, and he blinked moisture away slowly as more active thoughts began to swarm in on his newfound joy at life. He was on the other side of the bridge. Since he was on the other side of the bridge, that must mean he was close to the castle. Close to the voice, apparently. There was another thing now that it came to mind; where was the voice? The usual comforting feeling of warmth in the back of his skull had faded at some point, and the discrepancy was... chilling. Where there had once been a constant presence, there was now a blank hole. The voice had been urging him along rather insistently, and it hadn't tried to hide the fact that it was on a time limit. How long had he been unconscious? He... He hadn't missed the voice's time limit, had he? He bit his lip as his eyes narrowed in worry, and his hoof pressed idly into the dry points of the weirdly hard grass. He was getting concerned, now. The voice should have been here, at least to say something as he woke up. Some sort of greeting, at least. There wasn't any sort of distance requirement, he didn't think; and it wasn't likely that the voice would ever lack the measure of strength to contact him. That didn't leave many explanations left for the absence. The voice was probably just... preoccupied. Yeah, that sounded good. A pretty word for 'indisposed' or something worse, but he would do anything to calm his own nerves. Well, of course now he was recognizing his own petty tactics, and... Stop. He could go around in a circle forever if he let himself; it would be prudent to just get off his butt and assess the situation. The sore feeling of tens of points lifting off his rear wouldn't leave him anytime soon, but the waning energy from his near death experience would; so he had to make the best of it. He swung his eyes away from the somewhat intimidating wall of mist that had almost killed him, and towards what lay ahead as he turned himself around. His wide eyes took in the sight of... somewhat samey grey trees and plants. Somewhat disappointing to come to the other side of such an enormous obstacle just for the exact same sights as the other side, but- His inner turn to pessimism took a detour off a cliff into a deep lake of pure optimism as his narrowing eyes crept to the sight of a very distinct pointed structure just out of focused sight above the treeline. Surprise bit at his heels, and his chest jumped in pain as he bit back a shocked gasp. The castle, it was there! Just beyond the trees, he had made it! The voice would tell him to stop dawdling, so dawdle he wouldn't. Ignoring the urge to further laze about and maybe stretch his hooves, he busily set himself on the clearest path he could randomly pick through the brush as his mind went to work on the near future. Leafy blockage crept over him once again, but his head was too swimming in the possibilities to even care about the slight claustrophobia. The voice had told him it would be waiting for him at the castle, but he might have missed it... He could wait for it to come back for him, but the voice hadn't told him where exactly to meet it, so that could be a problem. He could wait in the main hall- if there even was a main hall, he had to remind himself. The castle was apparently very old, and probably run down. The voice hadn't told him how old, but it had said that it used to be theirs', so... Actually, that didn't help. He didn't know who the voice was, and he didn't know how old they were. He had been making some grand guesses in his head, but... Really, he didn't know anything about the voice. He should have been more concerned about that; but, as he swept aside a leaf that was probably bigger than he was, he found that he just couldn't bring himself to care. His faith had long since taken the place of rationality, and he was perfectly okay with that. Being rational hadn't gotten him anything but weird feelings and awkward relationships all day, so he was just about ready to surrender the concept altogether. Life would just be easier in fulfillment of a higher power. He would be happier, he was sure of it. Paradoxically deadened lush flora slowly began to thin as the underbrush came to a break just ahead of him, and his hooves picked their pace up as he saw it. The sound of the gorge's howling had long since faded, leaving the same eerie silence of the forest that he had become weirdly accustomed to. He set his hoof forward through the opening covered by plants, forcing him to close his eyes as they swept along his face. A second later: he was through, and opening his eyes to... A sight he felt like he had been waiting his entire life to see. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, system stuttering: his hooves mindlessly carried him forward a few steps until one stopped on the short step of a grey, slate stone staircase. An uneven and moss covered staircase that lead what looked to be several dozen hoof lengths ahead and upward to the surprisingly intact door of... a magnificent structure. From where he was standing in its shadow, the large, imposing front wall of the castle that lay ahead seemed to rise into and pierce the sky itself; even with the entire top of it crumbled into a large hole that spread across and beyond the right side of its peak. It easily dwarfed the entire forest around it by multiple times; and without the mist barrier shrouding it from view, he was sure he could have been able to see it from Ponyville. What an oddity. The grey stone bricks that made up the structure were kept and tidy at the foot of it, but as it rose: more and more of the objects were worn and weathered, or crumbling away and sticking out and covered by copious amounts of creeping vines and moss. Entire hollowed out windows were unfortunately largened by the erosion of time, and it was hard to differentiate what was intentional and what was a hole. The main tower that the door was set into was what mostly dominated his vision, but he could see the edges of similarly destroyed walls leading off of its gargantuan sides. He could also see incredible amounts of debris at the mostly hidden base of the walls, so he could only imagine what the inside looked like. The door itself that the stairs lead into was, again, surprisingly well kept. A lot of what he could see of the building that wasn't just plain wall seemed to have been the special focus of time's weathers, but the door was apparently exempt. From where he was standing, it looked as though even whatever was carved into the door had kept well. Again, as he had a feeling he would be repeating it often: odd. As the door grew taller, it tapered into a large, curved arch shape, and he could faintly make out the edges of yet another hole at its immediate top. But the hole was... different, somewhat. It was neater than the other holes that had formed over time, and it fit into the shape of the door's arch too well. A former window, perhaps? It was... incredibly hard to piece together a complete vision of what he could see of the castle. He didn't really know anything about architecture; so when he looked at the blocky edges of the tops of castle walls, all he could say was that they were designed to protect archers and mages as they provided cover fire. He didn't know anything about architecture, but he did know a thing or two about warfare. Apparently. Regardless, the structure was towering, it had multiple towers that he could see even from here, and it was incredibly dilapidated. It was somewhat odd that, instead of what most imagery of castles would suggest, the front of the castle was a tower instead of a wall. Rather, walls seemed to sprout like branches off of the entrance; from its immediate sides and he would guess from its behind as well. It was an interesting concept, actually. If the castle wasn't expected to be besieged regularly, it would provide easy access to multiple areas of the castle from one helpful hub. A delayed sense of pain managed to finally reach his constantly processing mind as his vision began to dim at the edges, and it wasn't a surprise to realize that he had been staring intensely. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment as he breathed shortly in vague pain, before he shook his head roughly and opened them again. The castle was still there; no chance it was going to get up and walk away if he stopped staring at it for a single second. Though, there really wasn't even that much more to look at that he hadn't already catalogued. The brush had consumed and grown around the front of the building in an interesting way, which only further served to shroud the structure from view; but that wasn't entirely noteworthy. Certainly nothing he would put in a book. If he were planning to write one. Which he definitely wasn't. Even though a fabled lost castle in the middle of cursed woods would be a surefire bestseller. He shook his head again to dislodge the encroaching gleam of gold in the corners of his eyes, and instead squinted once more at the structure. What else to make a note of...? He really wanted to burn this into memory, especially with his tenuous grasp on the concept. The towering top that he had seen from the bridge wasn't the main tower's, since the main tower had collapsed inward and outward, but instead the tower to its side; just off the left branching wall. There seemed to be the remains of some unknown structure to his almost immediate side. All but the roots of the walls had withered away, leaving a purposeless stone wall clustered right up against the side of the walkway ahead of him. It towered over the section slightly; perhaps to act as some sort of checkpoint, or watch of some kind? A guard tower? Towers were typically round, and the walls were set into a square... That didn't immediately discount the theory, and it was probably just a matter of semantics.. Something to ponder some other time. The stairs in front of him were badly damaged by the devastating force of time, and many steps were uprooted and uneven if even present at all. He had to make a conscious check at his hooves to make sure the next step was even there, and placing his hoof onto it brought little comfort. With the way the stairs were at an uncomfortable incline, and the way they swerved recklessly to the side around a rocky outcrop, he couldn't help but wonder what the architect was thinking. They were probably some kind of extreme eccentric, what with the unorthodox castle design and nonsensical stair placement. Regardless, he was fairly obviously stalling at this point; though he wasn't entirely sure why. Finally beginning the laborious task of climbing the hill towards the door gave him time to somewhat apathetically take note of the uneasy tangling in the pit of his stomach. Was he nervous about potentially meeting the voice? Maybe, though he didn't think that was the core of the issue. Was it the thought of exploring potentially dangerous ruins? Probably, he did just have a near-death experience, and he wasn't too keen on having another in the same day. That didn't seem it either, though. Those problems were both.. surface deep. Problems plaguing him in the right now. The kind of existential, shaking, encompassing nerve that he felt... it seemed like something bigger. His focus waned, and a step turned unexpectedly into a slope. His hoof slid for a moment, and his head jerked forward before he quickly stopped himself on the step just below it. With his head closer to the ground, and his mane falling over his face, he took an unthinking moment to just... stare at the step. He was... He was afraid that whatever he was walking into... whatever he was facing next... That was going to be... it for him. That he wouldn't ever come back. That the Light Flow that was walking and slipping up these steps wouldn't be the same one coming back down. He had been fairly certain for a while now that the pony he had once been was completely distinct from the pony he was now. The amnesia and the torment that had clung to him like a stormy cloak... they were what made him who he was. The good and the bad of him. If he walked up these steps and the voice was waiting for him somewhere beyond, then he would get his memory back. Did that mean that he... the Light Flow that met Spike, that verbally fenced with Rarity, that bared his heart to Applejack, that discovered so much about himself through so much doubt... Would he be... gone? Would the other Light Flow take his place? Suddenly, the silence in the air felt much more weighted and pointed than it had before. Rather than the absence of sound, it felt more like the crushing absence of life. Because he was alone. Alone, in the ruins of whatever life his unseen voice once had. He took more than a moment to think about the symbolism of that; of his worsening mood where life had once flourished. Was it too heavy-hoofed to imagine that a past not his own could be weighing on him? Gradually, through the choking haze of crippling, undeterminable emotion, his head rose to the next step. He wanted so badly to have some realization of confidence, some exciting blast of wisdom that screamed cheerily that it would be okay. Something, anything to make him feel as though his recent escape of the mist hadn't been merely staving off the inevitable. But there was nothing. Just the sudden, sobering realization of... potential change. He missed the voice. He missed his faith. Climbing the rest of the stairs was an easier task than it had looked, and he took special care to watch for more missing steps. It was almost like a game; or, that's what he would have made it into had he not been... Sad. His face had long since frozen into apathetic misery by the time he made it to the top of the hill; though some of the tone rubbed off as he took in a relatively new marvel. The front door of the castle was even more imposing up close than the building as a whole. Pointed tips of what must have been railings barely framed the top of the scaffolding on either side of him, nearly marking the platform on which he stood in a little box. It did seem odd that the sides of the door's entranceway just.. tapered off into a steep rocky slide that seemed to border the whole structure. It could be possible that, in its hayday, there might have been other structures along the sides? It was hard to judge, since all he could see on either side was piles and piles of rubble. Rubble leading into a dark ditch, just like his mood. It was really looking as though he may have bipolar disorder. Maybe the voice would have insight? Turning his head away from staring forlornly where there might have once been something, he turned to where there was something. Namely, the door that was more than twice his height. Clear cut carvings were still present on much of the door's surface, even with the structure's clear age. Wonder creeping over the encompassing melancholy, he reached his hoof up to trace along one's path from the center. A diamond, taller than it was wide, with twin looping accents mirrored at its apex and bottom. They leapt from the tips on either side like birds taking off from a peak; swirling and swirling, on and on. Each twirling step leaving a circle in its wake; before, after six intricate loops, all four of the mirrored paths took a sharp dive back towards the exact center of the diamond. Though, instead of a direct path, the lines took a more artistic approach. They bent back, doubled, and crossed over each other in harder lines than before; creating a clear, mirrored image facing both sides of the main shape. His trailing hoof fell off from its taskless wander and away to the ground as the drawn out picture in the stained wood suddenly clicked in his mind, and his mouth fell open slightly in awe. On either side, like some fading memory of times gone by: were sideways trees. Delicately cut and weaved, like the most beautiful tapestries that had ever been conceived. It was wonderful. It was poetic. It was... a miracle. "How did it...?" A whisper through his lips came unbidden and unknowing of any audience, of his mind's own accord. There was no reason to vocalize the thought and nopony to hear it, but it came anyway. In the middle of a long gone age, forgotten and undiscovered by any living mortal creature, pony or otherwise; it felt deserving. Deserving of some measure of notice, in any way he could give it. He blinked slowly as he took a step back, and let his head fall slightly in an almost imperceptible bow. The castle had been almost completely desiccated by the rigors of time, but somehow, the carving had stayed fresh through it all. It was odd, even amidst everything else odd that he had noted before even beginning the real journey; but it brought him some measure of sudden... hope. Hope that maybe... he would persist, too. If something as simple as a forgettable labor of love etched into a plain old door from a nameless pony who had died an indeterminable amount of time ago could survive this long, then maybe there was hope for him too. In some way, maybe even just a small way, he wouldn't fade away. Like the carving on a door amidst an entire kingdom that had faded from memory. His eyes had drifted closed at some point, but he found new strength in opening them again. New determination. He had made up his mind, he wouldn't fade away. He wouldn't just be the unfortunate chapter of some other pony's life; he would be somepony to remember! What he'd done... What he'd experienced... It wasn't for nothing. He felt it, deep in his chest. He wouldn't be invalidated. Placing his hoof on the stark obstacle in front of him felt invigorating in a way that really meant something. He was taking the reins, now. He was pushing on, towards the unknown, with no fear or doubt in his heart! He would forge ahead, and find the voice. He would get his memories back; and he would become whole. It wouldn't be a fracture. He would get his answers. He would do whatever it took. No more dawdling. He brought his other hoof up to the door, and braced his hinds behind him as he reared. The rusted hinges screamed and groaned into the quiet as long-settled dust suddenly displaced, and the diamond began to slowly divide. Moonlight spilled quietly through the widening crack, before unexpectedly bursting into the darkened room along with both sides of the door. Faster and easier than he'd thought. Maybe it was the adrenaline? His upright posture left him grasping at air as his support fell away from him, and vibrations echoed through his hooves as he crashed safely back onto the ground. His fur itched as he straightened his stance, and he raised his head to take in the already obviously musty room. The doorway provided a surprisingly adequate vantage point to take stock of the room, as it was also surprisingly brighter inside than he'd expected. Though, as his thoughts drifted for a moment to the wide hole he'd seen in the roof, maybe it wasn't that surprising. The room itself was, as he'd expected, a hub. Around the circle that was the interior of the tower sat multiple hallways, five in number and at equally distanced points. It was all very aesthetically pleasing, nothing at all like the stairs or the wreckage outside. He was already feeling more pleasant just from the new sights. Though, of course, the inside was not spared the destruction. Rubble covered nearly all of the floor, piled in unequally high and low places randomly. Behind it all, at the opposite end of the room from the door, he could see a right-facing staircase reaching around and above the entrance of the hallway that was set directly across from the entrance. It rose into a what looked to be a platform, but that might've been a generous moniker in its current state. With only the floor at the very top of the stairs remaining, he could only make an educated guess. There was a fairly large inset into the wall where the platform likely was, which painted a picture of some kind of landing overlooking the room. Perhaps somepony of importance would stand there? Or maybe a guard? It was definitely more speculation than observation, but he could even see there once having been a matching staircase on its other side. It would have looked rather fetching wrapping around what could be the main branching hallway, and of course it would have matched the mirrored aesthetic. He was beginning to sound like Rarity, but he couldn't lie about the pleasant glow that noting design brought him. It was just very comforting, poking out all of the possibilities for faded structures. It was like a puzzle, only far more interesting and intriguing and mystifying and intense and engaging and- -and that was probably too many adjectives. Snapping out of his wordy stupor, he trotted cautiously into the room. The doorway was, somewhat improbably, mostly free of debris; but it was only a few hoof-lengths before he was stepping on and over piles of bricks and splinters. He let his eyes wander from his hooves as he came to the near middle of the room, to gaze about the walls of the tower. They were bare, unfortunately. He imagined there were once magnificent tapestries and windows and such in its prime, but there were no such luxuries remaining in this time. So much that must have been lost. It was sad; in a markedly removed way, but sad all the same. Dropping his eyes from the hole-infested stone walls with nothing to look at, he instead focused his attention to the most immediate problem on his mind: the many hallways. Well, five wasn't exactly many, but it was a decision. A decision with no clear answer or definitive bias, as each hallway looked basically the same. It was really just a matter of picking one and heading off. Perhaps the classic foal's game 'Eannie Meanie's Choice'? It would be as good a way as any- His chest clenched painfully as a nameless, indeterminate sort of tugging pull ripped at his lungs. His breath withered in his throat, and the sound of debris falling shattered the quiet as he stumbled to the right, knocking multiple stones from their place. His hoof, incredibly enough, found steady ground, stopping his descent before it began; and his head swung to stare wide-eyed at the source of the pull. His breath found heavy pace again despite the continued squeezing that seemed determined to disallow him the very simple pleasure of breathing. His sight landed on one of the hallways; the second one off the right wall. He stared at the dim passage for just a moment before his hoof moved mindlessly towards it. His eyes stayed insistently fixed on the goal, even as his hooves stumbled clumsily down the pile of debris he stood on; like a foal just learning to walk. His mind couldn't care less, though. He couldn't stop thinking about the pull. It felt familiar. It felt warm. It felt like the voice. The sensation of flat ground underneath his hooves was ignored as his vision narrowed, and the mouth of the passage crept ever closer, like a gaping maw beckoning him into its depths. Was he ensnared? Was he being lead by the voice, or by something more sinister? Did it matter? Each breath felt heavier and harder than the last, and the only recourse seemed to be following its source. Whether he regretted it, there was nothing else to consider. He didn't want to suffocate again. But was the pain imaginary? Was there even anything wrong? The threshold passed behind him, and his breath quickened along with his pace. It didn't matter. As tense as the situation felt, with the pain in his chest pounding away at his head, the square-set hallway was mostly more of the same that he had already observed. Solidly gray stone walls, with little adorning them as was forced by the castle's circumstances. It wasn't as dark as it had seemed from the main tower, there was something. While there wasn't exactly a lack of windows, they were placed few and far between, and seemed more designed for decoration than utility. Perhaps they sported great works of art once, but now they were just large holes. No, the real source of moonlight came from the frequent holes in the walls and ceiling. From small, solitary shafts of light, to entire missing chunks of wall; the damage was always clear everywhere he went. It almost seemed more targeted than what time could manage. Had there been some sort of battle in the castle's end? The hallway lead across the castle's ground, providing excellent views outside at many different angles; but he could never stop to enjoy them for long. There just wasn't time. He did have time between long hallways to note some kind of sprawling central courtyard that looked to be set a ways below the castle's walls. Almost as if the interior were set into some kind of dip in a hill. It seemed as if the walls and towers of the castles defenses were raised against the outside world, protecting the real heart of the castle at its center. Large acres of land across an encircled bastion, where a great city might've once stood. Unfortunately, from what he had seen, the castle's heart had been the focus of most of the destruction. There could have been buildings or anything else there, but now... Now, it was just a large expanse of rust and rubble. A rocky mesa of failed construction, left to rot by whoever once owned the land. He hadn't had long to stare. It didn't seem worth it. Traversing the monotone hallways of the castle quickly became a tired routine. Climbing over chunks of the ceiling and under fallen pillars had seemed a relatively exciting prospect, but the nameless pain in his chest drove him ever on. There wasn't any time to take in the sights, or draw any sort of deeper conclusion about any of it. It was just more junk to surpass. More obstacles. More memories that meant little to a voyeur. Eventually, after what felt like hours of walking, his aching hooves brought him to yet another tower. He had passed multiple on his way here, all similarly filled with a lack of anything; but this final one felt... different. For one, there was no connecting hallway for him to venture through; there was just the entrance. That was the most physical difference, since there wasn't much in the tower that he hadn't already seen. More rocks, more nothing else. But the real thing that brought his hooves and head to a halt was the immediate shift of the force in his chest. As soon as his hooves crossed over discarded doors on the floor leading into the room itself, the aching... eased. It was content. It had brought him where it had desired him to go, and it had loosed its hold on his breathing. The first unlabored breath in a lifetime of walking halls was the most gratifying reward he would likely ever receive. His bored eyes itched to explore his destination, but he closed them in favor of fully relishing his ability to breathe for a moment. Between the choking mist and whatever this was, he was never going to take air for granted again. It was something so easy to dismiss in daily life, but its importance couldn't be more clear to him now. He enjoyed breathing. It kept him alive, and that was good. That was basically the end of his insight on the matter, or maybe he was just feeling a little light-headed from the very long walk. Regardless of the unwitting pun, after taking through stock of his chest's returned lightness, he allowed his eyes to drift open again. If he had been expecting something grand, then he was sure to be disappointed. Instead of some incredible, sweeping treasure hall filled with magical answers that solved all his problems, it was simply... another tower. More rubble, more broken pasts, more nothing. He was getting sick of the color gray. It was the color of all the walls, as if ponies in the past had just suddenly decided they didn't enjoy vibrancy anymore. His eyes trailed the wall, where they surreptitiously found an almost hidden staircase set into the wall. There was a surprise, maybe that's what he'd come all this way for? Now that he thought about it, casting his eyes above him showed him that the roof of the tower was strangely whole. Every room he had come across in the castle had some kind of hole in the roof, and he had taken that as some kind of unspoken rule. Why would this tower be different? Was there a room up there? Squinting suspiciously at the ceiling with his neck craned at an uncomfortable angle wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he set his sights back down with a huff, and readied himself to cross more rubble. If he had to be honest, he was getting tired. Not just physically tired, but rather emotionally as well. Ever since beginning his possibly holy quest, he had been wrung through multiple kinds of laborious mental challenges; and he was beginning to feel the toll in a heavy way. Even the flare of confidence that had risen in his chest at the castle's door had begun to wane. After all the walking, and all the loss, he just wanted it to be over. He was just... He wanted an end, already! He was sick of having some new crisis or pain every time he so much as looked at anything interesting! Why him? Why was all this happening to him?! Where was the voice?! Why had it abandoned him?! Uncertain apathy burned unexpectedly and quickly into rage as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and the hoof that set itself down on its first step did so with more force than was likely required. He was angry. He was furious! His raging gaze picked the path ahead apart with reckless abandon, cataloging his thoughts with more speed than he'd had all day. What was the point in taking his time when he'd probably just be subjected to even more of the same, anyway? The stairs were small. The stairs didn't have a railing. The stairs eventually disappeared behind a wall not more than thirty paces ahead. Stairs; more walking, more thinking. Impatience won the war in his heart as he busily began his climb. The subtle clopping sound of his hoofsteps that he had been hearing up and down the hallways turned to a more frenzied stomping in his ears as he all but ran up the plane. Especially unsafe due to the lack of railing, but it wasn't long before the obscuring wall boxed him into a safer climb. As if he cared, though. He wanted an end. He wanted his memory back! The voice would be there, he was sure of it. He would meet the voice, he would have peace, he would get his memory back. As the nondescript feeling of upwards travel began to morph into diagonal travel, emotions that he had been suppressing all day welled in his eyes. The tears burned on his cheeks, and they drifted into the air behind him as his run turned into a complete sprint. He wanted it to be over. He deserved his ending, Tartarus damn it! His mind wasn't some privilege to be won from some voice in his head, it should have always been his! Questions that he had been too afraid to consider came to mind in a rush as beams of light ran periodically over his face from the windows. Who had done this to him?! Why had they done this to him?! What had he done to deserve any of this?! What monster would ever do this to somepony?! It was sick! It was twisted! He couldn't imagine anything more bucking inequine to ever do to any living creature! They would pay. As his breaths seethed heatedly through his clenched teeth, and his eyes narrowed against an encroaching light, he knew. He would find a way to make them pay. No matter what it took. Bursting out into the top of the staircase was therapeutic in all the ways he really needed. It felt great. It felt laden with incredible symbolism. It felt as though he was finally taking control of his own... Of... of his own... The thought no longer mattered. Actually, as his heaving chest stilled, and his eyes widened: he found that... it was hard to be very mad anymore. Rather, whatever he was mad about just kind of... slipped away. It didn't seem worth it, standing where he now was. The room... Oh, stars, where... how to even start? The... The most obvious thing would be the immediate feel of the room. Where the rest of the castle had a musty dampness in its ever-lengthening corridors, the room he now stood in just felt... better. It wasn't cold, or warm. It wasn't musty, or damp. He couldn't smell anything in the air, and it didn't even really feel as though he was in an ancient castle anymore. If there ever was a completely, exactly average room, without any defining sensation whatsoever; this would be it. Even the lighting seemed.. warmer, than he had become accustomed to. Wherever he looked, there was just an effusing, dim light. The solitary hole in the ceiling that leaked moonlight into the room didn't even seem present; more like an object than a source of light. Though, the soft beam of light was still present, and it did wonders to shade the room in a beautifully fitting tone. Symbolic too, considering what the room appeared to be devoted to. Where the rest of the castle had been monotone gray wherever he looked, this room was a dark shade of blue; one that his mind desperately wanted to label as 'midnight blue'. It could have been bias, but it would fit. What with the numerous charts on the walls, depicting sprawling points and lines that clearly represented the night's sky. Covering nearly all of the walls and some of the floor, with some even stacked on top of each other, they dominated the room heavily; and they were what drew his eye wherever he looked. Faded, browned paper with black and blue shading; everywhere his eye went. It was the most meticulous act of artistry he had ever seen, and it was all just diagrams. One sitting on the floor particularly close to the stairway caught his eye. It sported clearly mathematically curved and angled lines, with points categorized and detailed in neat little writing along every single edge and facet of a star's formation. Who had mapped the stars like this? For what purpose? The labor was... it was staggering to consider. How many hours? How many years? How many lifetimes? Well.. casually moving onto the next wonder in the room with as little ceremony as his suddenly taxed mind could handle, there was a mural of the night's sky painted onto the ceiling. That simple little description could technically fit what he was looking at, but it didn't really encompass the sheer... majesty of it. It was more detailed and comprehensive than he could ever hope to accurately convey in any medium. Even that jumbled mess of words his mind conjured couldn't do much to explain any of it. The... the brushwork was... it was used so seamlessly. He wanted to hit himself because of how dumb that sounded, but that's what his vocabulary spit out. It was just the way that the fading trails of a brush running dry was used to convey the nebulas as they lit certain parts of the sky, and crept into other parts of it... The shining colors, even after years.... The consideration and usage of the space... He... There was no adequate way... He just wasn't poetic enough... He squinted his eyes as hard as he could, and when a familiar feeling began to well in his cheeks, he forced it to bunch up and spread across his face. It was only a moment of concentration before he could feel the warm streaks running down and matting his fur. There, now he was crying again. All of the artistry on display here hadn't been able to move him deeply enough because of how drained he still was, but he knew they were at least deserving. Maybe it was a little cheap or ingenuine, but it was worth the blow to his integrity. Not that he had any. Anyway, the hole in the ceiling marred the beautiful painting, and that was worthy of a page in the history books as a great equine tragedy. His emotions were still shot, and he was beginning to lose the little steam that shock and awe had brought him, but if he didn't commit everything to memory then there was just no point to having eyes. Where there weren't star charts dominating the room, there was a scarce bit of furniture. A wooden dresser painted black, upon which sat more star charts and a burnt candle. A cracked mirror set onto the wall beside him, with an ornate silver lining that had stylized moon carvings in it. A table covered in charts, pencils, tools and other things he didn't even recognize. One little device that looked to be an instrument of some kind, but he really couldn't decide how the looping silver overhang could be used for anything. It just looked like scrap metal, actually. Maybe that's what it was? Well, a cartographer's table either way. Next, there was a balcony with closed glass doors on the side of the room. He didn't want to move from his comfortable spot at the entrance for fear of stepping on the priceless relics strewn haphazardly on the floor, but he was pretty sure there was a platform out there. Oh, and the doors had beautiful, clear, stained glass moons on them. The theme of the room was beginning to wear on him, but... it was still very pretty? He was... He was very tired. Every time he closed his crusty eyes, he felt the weight of... just everything. It dragged at his heels, and without any sort of imminent crisis pumping adrenaline through his battered and bruised mind, his body was starting to get really heavy. Did a short coma caused by air deprivation count as sleep? Was that a restful thing? If not, then he hadn't really slept... in... some amount of time. He kind of just wanted to go to bed. He had followed the chain that dragged him to the room, but there really wasn't anything here. It was stunning, sure; and there was obviously something otherworldly going on, since everything in the room had been preserved through the ages somehow. But... what was the point? His tired eyes drifted slowly from the table at his side, to the dominating presence in the room that he had been mostly ignoring for his own sake. A big, comfy looking bed. Circular and lofty, set into the curve of the room, and shadowed by an overhanging cover with draping purple curtains. It was probably a moon or something, but really he was slowly finding it harder to care. Hadn't he been obsessed with the moon earlier in the night? Was that rampant interest still in him somewhere, or was it just another part of the manipulation that was pretty blatant in hindsight? He... Whatever. The admittedly distressing sound of paper crinkling underhoof did nothing more than make his ears flick in noncommittal response as he crept toward the inviting surface of the bed. The sounds of creaks and coiling springs barely registered as, a blink later, he was staring blearily down at the covers he was now standing on. Stylized moons, of course. When had he become so tired? Or jaded, for that matter? Whatever. He let his hooves fall out from under him, and luxuriated in the feeling of sweet, downy comfort enveloping his face. It was nice to fall down and not be in pain for once. The bed was... nice. Yeah the bed was nice, that was it. Soft. It was just a bed; no reason to freak out. His mind's somewhat frenzied activity began to wane as he rolled onto his side, and curled his limbs tightly into himself. He considered wrapping himself in the covers, but the room was pointedly perfectly room temperature, so he let the urge wash away. Was it invasive to stumble across an ancient room belonging to possible royalty, only to stomp on priceless relics and crash on their bed? Yeah. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- A presence in the room woke him from his slumber. All at once, and so heavily, something cast itself over the room like a pall. The nearly silent creak of ancient hinges echoed and bounced off of the old blue walls, finding an effortless path directly to his ears. The urge. The horrible, biting urge to move, to run and to hide. Get away, his mind screamed. He had to stay still. For the life of him, he had to stay still. He didn't know why he had to stay still, but it was just the first desire that grabbed him. Stay still. Wait. Don't open his eyes. Don't move. Listen. The first heavy hoofstep into the room was piercing in a way that almost shook him from his self-imposed petrification. The consuming pause that followed plucked angrily at his nerves, and his coat began to itch. It hurt, waiting for the next action. What was the hesitation for? Why the wait? What was happening? Another step, another halting pause. Seconds waiting turned to minutes turned to potential hours, and he had to force back a dry swallow as his tail restlessly shifted behind him. He had moved...! The silence that followed his own action threatened to rot his mind with paranoia. The presence must have heard it, there was just no other noise to possibly drown it out. It had to be staring at him, it had to be. Would it be apropos to imagine the burning sensation of a glare into his coat? Would it make sense in a lie? Because he really couldn't feel anything. Nothing but a cold, creeping chill. A step, closer than the others had been. He had to clench his teeth to prevent a full-body shudder. A step, onto precious paper. His muscles locked painfully as his ear twitched. A step. The bed creaked, and a weight dragged his body forward a little. A.. surprisingly warm pressure eased onto his shaking head, and gently swept along the strands of his mane. Almost... tenderly? What...? "You should know better than to feign sleep for me, child." A whisper. Laced with so much that was so familiar. His painfully tight nerves gradually loosened, and his shaking extremities slowed in their panic. "It's... you..?" He breathed softly, nearly finding a new fear in willfully breaking the encompassing silence. The voice had come for him. It hadn't abandoned him, and it hadn't lost whatever fight it had gone to fight. He raised his head lightly to press against the exploring hoof in his hair; somewhat like an animal, but he didn't care. A throaty chuckle was his reward, and the hoof brushed warmly along his head again. "Yes child, 'tis I. You need not suffer my absence any longer." The hoof crept away, and his head pushed against the cold air as a keening whine rose in his throat. The weight on the bed shifted from his front around to his back, and he hummed questioningly in the interim. A warm, comforting weight settled unexpectedly along his back, curling almost completely around his somewhat balled form. The steady pace of another pony's breathing was immediately apparent through the vibrations rumbling through his body. This was it, finally. The voice was embracing him, and it was so much better than he ever could have imagined. Every single protest that had built up like a stormy wall during his rapid ascent of the tower blew away in the next comforting breath the tickled across his ears, and he allowed himself to sink as deeply into the full-body hug as he could manage. He didn't care to open his eyes. He didn't care to catch a glimpse of his fabled voice. He wanted to keep the experience as pure as he could. Just in case he was right. "Child, are you well?" The soft whisper of the clearly female voice barely made a dent in the hanging silence, but it carried to his ears better than he imagined anything else ever would. She was concerned. She wanted to know if he was okay. "I don't think I'll ever be this well again." He murmured as he pressed the side of his head into what felt like chest fur. She was so soft and so warm. When had he last had this kind of contact with another pony? His mother, maybe? He couldn't remember her, but that would be his best guess. Another pleased chuckle ran through the air, sending deeply satisfying vibrations down through his entire body. She was large; so much larger than he was. "I'm glad. I feared you would have deteriorated without my presence." The concern in her voice felt so real, so genuine. Her whispered tone spoke greater volumes to the well of emotion behind her words, and he would have shivered had he not been warmer than he'd ever been. "You are much like a leaking bucket or a faulty cable at the current moment. The question at present isn't whether you'll break down, but rather when." Oh, that was bad. Oh, but it was so hard to care. Something downy and ticklish draped suddenly over the length of his body, leaving just his head poking out from the blanket of unknown material. It felt like... feathers? The voice was a pegasus? No... something else. "I apologize for not managing to return sooner." Despite his suspicion, the undertone of regret in her voice tugged painfully at his heart, much like the force had earlier tugged at his lungs. "In truth, the battle I have recently undergone was... not entirely how I once dreamed it." A soft shudder, almost too weak to feel. "I had thought that... when I had finally returned... it would have been more..." She went quiet, leaving trailing wisps of half formed thoughts in the air. His chest ached to hear the soft pain that held steady in her unsteady words. "Are..." He began haltingly, nearly too afraid to actually hear the question posed. "Are you okay?" The light touch against the front of his coat hardened for a moment, pulling him almost too tightly against the chest that supported him; before easing almost immediately. "In truth, child... Whatever you must be gaining from this proximity, I must admit that it is not meant solely for you." He would have said her tone dipped, but it had never really been raised in the first place. Whatever was troubling her must have been weighing for quite some time. "In this one moment, I fear that I have allowed myself to become rather uncomfortably compromised." A short chuckle, with no humor behind it. The motion felt forced, and it scratched uncomfortably at his coat in a way he didn't want to feel again. The smile in her voice felt flat, and almost spiteful. "If the battle were based on emotional damage, then It seems that my sister was the real victor." She sighed, and a familiar hoof nestled into his mane. "A master at the craft, as she always has been..." He... didn't really know what to say. In the absence of proof, the theories he had cultivated seemed insulting, and attempting to voice any advice based on them would do nothing but offend. "I'm sorry." It was the best he could manage. Just a simple recognition of empathy, and he had to hope she would find some comfort in it. The idea that she was suffering in any way was... It was unconscionable. It threatened to drive him wild with some kind of insane drive to just make it better. Comfort, or humor; either was good in retrospect, as another throaty chuckle rose in her throat. The hoof on his head ruffled through his mane good-naturedly, though with the edge of something harder in the motion. "You are sweet without exception, child. In the future, though, I would prefer you not exhaust platitudes on events in which you had no hoof." "It's a custom cultivated in this age alone, and it's not one I'm fond of." Right, she was old. How old? No, don't ask that question; just enjoy her company. Company that, unfortunately, was beginning to wear on him; albeit in a very comfortable way. He had been sleeping not long ago, and the warmth that she brought with her embrace was singing a siren call to lure him back. Could she sense it, as his already closed eyes somehow managed to darken with the shroud of doze? It was likely that she could, as the hoof on his head strayed away, and her voice seemed to whisper even closer into his ear. "You tire, child. Tire caused by trials rightly taken to bring you here. You deserve your rest, and it is needed. I shall find a way to cope, as long as you do not find yourself returning from that realm soon." Strange phrasing, but he understood the intent. He was to sleep. It wasn't a request, or a well wish; it was a command. Sleep, the voice urged. Sleep, the warmth called. Sleep, his mind screamed. And sleep he did. Finally, and deeply, he slept. Falling into an unconscious freefall; into a deep dark dive, from which you shall not wake the same. Yes, Light Flow. Your rest calls, and when you wake, you shall find yourself whole. More whole than you've found yourself in many years, you'll find. I'll be removing taint entirely for this next trial. The task is made ever easier by your serendipitous meeting with Kindness's soon-to-be Chosen. You hadn't realized at the time, when you managed to remember her against all odds, but there was somepony else in the background. An overlooked hole in my sister's spell, through which I shall tear her shackles off entirely; as well as my own. Nothing shall hinder you, and nopony shall fetter your claim. I know you can still hear me, Light. These words come not from my mouth, but from our bond; and there is no ignoring them. Hear this, and hear it well: you will not wake to a pleasant comfort in the Night's embrace. Nothing so Kind or Generous, and do not presume my Loyalty to you. No, you shall wake to a battle. When you wake, your last task before your first shall be to battle me. You will come at me with full intent to harm, and full intent for victory. You will have no more than five minutes upon your awakening to prepare, and then our conflict shall begin. Do not attempt to fool me; I shall know the precise second on which your consciousness fades from my realm. You will defeat me. You must defeat me. It is not a matter of whether, but a matter of certainty. Unless you desire death. Luck shall not favor you or I, but I wish you well regardless. You will need it. Now, I command you once more. Sleep, Light Flow; and finally: remember! > Ç̸̦̙̀h̶̦͔̜̓̈́a̷̡̨͋̌́p̶͓̥̦͂̏ṫ̴̡̝̬͛ě̴̥̿r̵̢̘͐̏ ̴̘͇̓2̶̪̰̉̆3̸͈̫̈́2̸͈̮̑̓͜͝9̷̩̲̎͆ ̷̠̊̊-̶͖̝̀̈͊ ̸̬̤̦̋̚̚R̶͙̆̑e̴̖̲̓m̷̡̝͊ĕ̸͔̐͌m̵̡̨͓̒͗b̷̺͎̓͑e̷͈̲̍r̵̬͌ > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drifting... The sensation of drifting... Along waves, along life, along death; it was always a feeling of drifting. There was never anything else; there simply couldn't be. Constant movement along a constant flow. Was there a goal? Was there something to drift towards? There was a goal; but how long would it take to get there? There hadn't ever been anything besides drifting; and it was one of the few sensations of any note. Little else would make sense here. The dipping feeling of sinking was the next most immediate thing, if something defining had to be given. Floating: there might be a good way to summarize the two sensations. Downwards and deep. Traveling so far, and so fast; ever shifting lower in some kind of unfeeling current. Unfeeling? Why couldn't he feel anything? He...? He. A new sensation: selfhood. Where there had been unfocused thoughts floating along sans a stream of consciousness, there was suddenly gravity. A pull towards a center, around a nucleus of identity. Order and reason. Form to the chaos. He was he, and that was that. The new thought brought something as unexpected as definition had been: emotion. A warm, glowing feeling spreading across nerves that- only mere timeless moments ago- had been bereft of purpose, or even reality. So much so fast... What was happening to him? What had brought himself around to centralized form like this? What had brought about the change in environment? What had brought about an environment to begin with? Why was there sudden location to him and he? Why was more coming? More and more and ever more came together faster and faster without any consent or cause. Emotions and feelings and every other sense within every kind of meaning. It was too much too fast..! Joy, sadness, fear, anger; where was it all coming from?! The concept of a mind where there had previously been loosely connected threads was already near full to bursting with all the... the stuff! Pain; who had even invented pain anyway?! Newly grown hooves that were already scratched and stained flew up to grasp at pounding skull surrounded by flesh over fur. A head; with a brain and eyes and a mouth and a nose and- A pony. He was a pony: with a body, and a mind. With thoughts and emotions and indescribable things that his forming vocabulary could never properly capture in their enormity. Vast, sweeping concepts that hadn't mattered in the deep void filled the empty space of self, and a flood of memories came hot on their hooves. Tear ducts that had only just formed already burned with overuse, and liquid without sensation ran down and matted over the fur on his cheeks in the non-space he should not have been left floating in. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as agonizing pressure built behind his closed, leaking eyes. It-It was too much! He... He was remembering...! There once was a brown unicorn who lived and lied in the rural town of Ponyville; all by his lonesome. Thoroughly committed to spending his life trying to bring his mother back from the dead: he chose to constantly isolate himself from any and everypony. Please... There had to be a better way..! He was born in the city of Manehatten, and only moved to Ponyville after his father was murdered. As a foal, he had always been fascinated with the darker concepts of life; which lead to him finally getting his cutie mark in the art of Necromancy. He believed his talent to be illegal and taboo, and sought to hide it from the world. After his mother died, he moved to a small shack on the edge of the cursed Everfree forest; much to the dismay of his only friend: Applejack. Stop... Please..! It was too much all at once..! Just give him time to acclimate..! He spent his time doing what he could to study Necromancy, despite his lack of materials for the topic. He had always been studious, but it was hard going. All he owned to his name were two books sent to him by a long-dead wizard, and he could never make much progress. What..? That... that wasn't something he knew.. She.. She had lied! She wasn't putting him back together right! She was adding details! One day, at an otherwise normal lunch with Applejack, he overhead a lure by a secret agent. Following the gossip blindly, he ventured into the Everfree as he had so many times before. He eventually found the house of a zebra by the name of Zecora; and, after a confrontation, he flew into a frenzy the likes of which he had never known he was capable of, and- Stop... No... No! Please, stop it Nightmare! He didn't want to remember! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was, in a word, underwhelmed. As the door to the zebra's dimly lit hut shut firmly behind him, he took a moment to allow his eyes to drift from their cautious focus on Zecora herself. He could feel her steely gaze piercing into him, but it didn't really concern him. She seemed to have been taken in by his half-truths, so any suspicion she chose to display would do nothing but bring blame down on her shoulders. Withers? Zebras probably used the same terminology, right? They were practically the same species, after all. Though, maybe he shouldn't assume things like that. Hubris would be a terrible downfall for him at this point, even though he couldn't deny he had it in spades. What a weird phrase that was: to say something was owned in spades. What did that even mean? He wasn't a big gambling pony, and he and his... mother, had mostly played cards by fake rules. Drifting into melancholy topics, was he? This was a bad time for it. He needed to play his part well, or the spotlight of suspicion would take a plunge onto him. The edge of his mouth quirked up in a small grin as the pun registered. Usually he wasn't a big fan of jokes at his expense, but maybe he was feeling just the slightest bit giddy at the moment? He hadn't ever deceived somepony so... effectively! It was easy to smudge the truth about simple things, like where he had been, why he hadn't been showering, why hadn't he come to a funeral, etcetera. But this... this was real deception. This was actually outright lying to a stranger's face about real things that could have real consequences. Lying about his background, his intentions, his na- His self-congratulatory train of thought halted in his tracks as a very concerning roadblock presented itself, and his smile found its tragic end. He had told Zecora his real name. That was something a fake should never do. The urge to smack himself in the face flared in his chest, and he did his best to appease it by biting roughly down onto his lip. The muted taste of a drop of blood was comforting in a very macabre way, but it did little to distract him from his mistake. Maybe he wasn't the best at espionage. The scenery in front of him shifted back into focus, and his eyes quickly zeroed in on his black and white host. She had apparently grown tired of staring at him, and set upon her task of preparing tea. Thankfully. While he simultaneously cursed himself for being loose with information and celebrated his small victory in stall tactics, the larger part of him was concerned with discerning what in Tartarus's unholy name this zebra's home was trying to look like. His hoof made tiny circles on the floor as his face grew into a slight grimace. Home décor had never quite been his forte. It was an obvious fact that would have been quite apparent to any houseguests; that is, if he would ever actually manage to have any. Applejack didn't count; she would follow him wherever and whenever he went to nag him about anything and everything he never wanted. His home was- in the barest and most hurtful terms- hideously sparse; which was what he always imagined Rarity would say if she ever managed to breach his inner sanctum. Perish the terrible thought. He really just had the necessities: a desk, a bookshelf, some kitchen appliances, a bed, and a dresser. Not much more, unless one would count a surplus of books as clutter. But he didn't, really. Clutter had negative connotations, and implied stuff that could be construed as useless junk. His books were anything but useless. Although... Maybe certain 'novels' forced on him by somepony's brother... Romance was overplayed, and he would never budge from that correct opinion. For the most part: his collection was all needed in some form or another, and it was all organized according to his whims. There was also the added benefit of his general distaste for messes, which kept things as tidy as said whims cared. He didn't want to admit that books left strewn on the floor freaked him out, but they didn't make him feel good. A regular mess didn't bother him so much, but books would always hold a special place in his heart. The arbiters of knowledge and wisdom deserved the utmost care and conscience, even if the rest of his cabin were to crumble to pieces around them. His home was proper, clean, and orderly. Minimalist: the intelligent might say. Zecora's home, at least on first glance... He didn't want to be rude... he really shouldn't say anything too bad considering he was a guest here... But... wow... it was something to witness. He didn't quite know where to look at any one time there was so much to focus on. The most immediately eye-catching thing would probably be the bottles shaded in every color of the rainbow hanging precariously from the ceiling. Their subtle swaying motions despite the lack of any breeze were strangely captivating; with their miscellaneous fluids sloshing about inside. His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips, and his mouth gaped imperceptibly open of its own will. He had no idea what was inside any of them, but they were impossibly tantalizing for whatever reason. Did he just like shiny things? Was he some sort of hoarder? Did he vie endlessly for the unattainable? Was he an idiot? He swallowed heavily as the moisture in his mouth began to catch on his lips. He forced his mouth shut, and pointedly directed his gaze away from the swinging attractions. Though they were also scattered on the walls and in alcoves and- Now wasn't the time to become some sort of mindless bird, flying brainlessly towards anything that caught his eye. Intelligence was paramount in any situation, even in social encounters. Any old pony filled up with any old wisdom would preach the values of charisma in this kind of scenario, but he knew better. If he could manage to finagle his way into a hostile stranger's house with nothing but his wits, then charisma meant nothing to him. He knew very well which attributes he lacked, and the ability to speak was often one of them. As was the ability to focus; what was he looking at now? Masks, that was something to look at; though not something he was especially happy to look at. Many different masks of different sizes and colors adorned the somewhat cluttered walls. Most of them were far too large to wear, like the one he had seen outside, but they were likely for decoration anyway. Even the ones that were small enough to wear were probably decoration. He didn't really have any reason for thinking that, but it was just the sort of feel he got. Unless Zecora just had some sort of weird obsession, the wooden objects probably had some sort of cultural significance; and things like that were usually seen as too precious for something as crass as regular use. Religious significance, maybe? He took a moment to focus on one of the masks in particular. A brown and red visage with dark accents. Swirls and lines running along the drooping edges and cutting into the natural colors, like strange and unnatural wounds. His eyes traced down one long line cutting across the length of the forehead and up the pointed ears. Right across the whole thing. Okay, time to focus on something else; because he was beginning to wear on his own nerves, now. He could probably skip over the candles strewn in the alcoves on the walls, since most of the light was coming from the fire flickering under the cauldron in the center of the room. The walls of the cottage themselves seemed to be made of some kind of straw, despite the wooden exterior. Vines- or perhaps tree roots- seemed to creep in from some unseen place along the roof, framing the center of the room in a loose circle. How had she managed to- "Your eyes may wander, yet your heart does not. Your mind tells a trick, though your eyes still blot." His hooves left the ground for a moment as he jumped slightly from the unexpected interruption. Breathing mildly disturbed: he swung his wide-eyes around to the zebra standing next to the large pot in the middle of the room. Her hoof lay idly on what he guessed was a very long spoon sticking out of whatever she was brewing, and her cyan eyes had focused themselves on him. Steely and steady, with no hint as to motive. Just like the rest of her. He hadn't noticed that she had taken notice of his examination. Truthfully, he had sort of wholly disregarded her as an entity while he mused over her decorations, though that was apparently a mistake. He had wanted to take some time to collect himself before he spoke to her again, but maybe that was a naïve thing to wish. He was a guest in her home. Of course she wouldn't neglect him, she was probably a great host. Just his luck. Could he not have twenty solitary moments to himself in a stranger's house? The state of the world today, honestly... Now.. what did she say? Something about what he was thinking, but not saying? Or looking without seeing? Something absolutely inscrutable either way. Ugh. The way she spoke just put him on such an edge, like he was about to fail something. Like he was always being judged for something he hadn't even done yet. Maybe it was just her tone? How to put it? Condescending? Holier-than-thou? Know-it-all. "Um... I was just.. admiring your décor. It's quite.. unique?" Oh no. He had faltered at the end, and that had come out as a question! He tried to keep an easy smile on his face, but he could feel a small quirk down at the edges; and his front hoof inched self-consciously in front of the other. That was okay, though. He was a bit socially anxious, that could be a part of his character! A nice researcher pony that stumbled over his words sometimes, that was him! Unless he had been too smooth outside..? Had his wit caused his downfall? Was he just too Tartarus-damned charismatic? What had he said earlier about a lack of charisma? That was clearly incorrect! Why was his heart so loud in his ears?! Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating! Her ear flicked at his half-hearted response, and she made a quiet murmur as a response. Her head turned back towards the pot, and her hooves returned to the monotonous task of stirring. He watched for a moment while she leaned on the edge of the pot to grab one of the hanging bottles in her spare hoof, before he forced himself to look away. Calm down, stop freaking out. It was incredibly suspicious, and it was probably showing all over his face and body and such. He had to un-scrunch his face, and relax his muscles. He didn't know if he could focus on more tedious descriptions of her belongings, but he had to at least look like he was. Aloof, that was him. He hadn't come anywhere close to having any sort of panic attack, nope! He was fine, and everything here was still fine. Assured, yet nervous. Focused, yet aloof. Intelligent, yet faltering. He brought a hoof up to rub his head as a throbbing sensation began to creep over him. His 'character' was a complete mess, and he was starting to think he wasn't too far behind. Oh, now was not a great time for insightful introspection! He could reevaluate his contradictory personality when he wasn't in the thick of... everything. "What kind of tea are you making?" His voice was an unexpected surprise, especially to him. He had been planning on wallowing in his own ineptitude until Zecora decided to try another conversation, but apparently he wanted to take initiative. For some reason. Okay, he was taking charge, then. Cool. He shifted his focus from the floor to the zebra, and watched her as she lifted a stained wooden spoon from the pot to stare at the liquid there. She made a small hemming noise before she dropped the spoon back in the pot and continued stirring. "For most normal ponies, tea is a treat; one made solely for exhaustion to beat. For you and I, the drink holds more meaning; I am making tea to combat brooding." Her voice rang out clear and strong across the room, dipping and leaping in time with her rhymes as she stirred the pot. While he didn't appreciate the general cadence of her voice and the way it elevated her words beyond normal meanings, her ability to casually rhyme was still something to appreciate. He didn't really like that about her either, but that didn't mean it wasn't impressive. He let his hoof rise up to shuffle against the leg of his cloak, and turned his head to a passage in the wall just behind the reared zebra. Was her bedroom back there? It would make sense. "I was wondering more about the flavor, but I suppose all that's good to know, too." He murmured, only half paying attention to the situation. How big was this tree? The ceiling was about twice as tall as he was, leaving ample room to stretch; and there could have been even more rooms beyond what he could already see. Really, it was one of the biggest trees he had ever seen; though... now that he thought about it... the local library was a tree, too... As his thoughts drifted ever off course, he was brought crashing back into focus by something he'd never expected to hear. A laugh. Hearty and from the chest, emanating brightly from a smiling zebra staring down at her cauldron with mirth dancing in her eyes. He couldn't save his mouth as it fell to its short doom; as his mind was having survival issues of its own. "Your wit is quick, to much surprise. Tell me, have you another prize?" Even her voice- as she spoke without looking at him- was less guarded than it had been before, with a clear edge of openness that had been sorely missing. He blinked rapidly with wide eyes as the spectacle tried with much pleading to process. Zecora had been pretty clearly horribly suspicious of him for a reason he was still trying to puzzle out, and he had been starting to wonder if she would ever thaw. Surprising to see, but welcome enough. This meant he was winning. He let an easy smile form on his face as he chuckled in turn, drawing a momentary focus from the zebra before she busily continued stirring and adding things periodically. What did she mean by 'another prize', though? Did she want him to tell another joke? The formerly easy smile on his face grew somewhat strained as his cheeks tightened with sudden reticence, though Zecora was luckily still staring deeply into her pot. He... didn't think he could do that. The first joke had been an absolute fluke, in that it wasn't meant to be a joke at all. Really he had meant it to be somewhat disparaging; and, honestly, it was a little insulting for his sorta-insult to be misinterpreted. Of course, he couldn't let that show. He instead deflected the potential lead into a compromising situation by turning to a worn wooden shelf on the wall. More bottles, of course. All shapes and sizes and colors with all sorts of labels that were... in another language. Probably. Squinting at the... scribbles, he let a question form on his tongue out of genuine curiosity. "This language... is it Zebra?" The possible insult registered as soon as was possible for an off-hoof comment, but his back still stiffened as he flew into a frenzy of words in a desperate attempt to staunch the social wound. "Er, I mean- Zebrican! Zeb- Zebrish? Uh, Z-Zebricanarian?!" He was really glad his wide eyes and red cheeks were pointed away from the zebra, as his concentrated stream of racist garbage tapered off, and she flew into a full-blown throaty guffaw. His ears pressed themselves into his head as it dipped slightly; and he swallowed dryly as the pounding of an assault of laughter threatened to knock the doors of his eardrums down. She was just a zebra! She wasn't from another planet, dummy! There was no need for frantic scrambling over encompassing inclusion or correctness; and the act was likely even more insulting than well-meaning ignorance. Composure be damned, he let his hoof rise to rest over his face in clear shame. The obvious fact of his incompetence had been as such since before he had walked through the door, and desperately pretending otherwise was probably making things worse. Heavens, help him. He needed it more than ever. "Ah, your true nature will shine ever through! I feel as though I finally know you!" As light as her rhyme and voice were, he and his expression were both feeling pretty heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to see what was likely a lively zebra. Especially as that pun came up again. Gods, he hated his name. There was simply too much coincidence in being a dark sorcerer with a name like 'Light'. Fate simply must hate him specifically. Whatever; Zecora was warming up to him, and that was probably a good thing. Gods... what was he even here for, again? It was becoming hard to remember through all the screw-ups and the dragging of conversational hooves. Maybe he should just go home and forget about Zecora; let her live her weird rhyming life out here in the Everfree while he- "Ah, our brown brew nears ready; and it smells rather heady. It could be one ruling ego or pride, but I think this is a favorite of mine!" Zecora's unexpected exclamation stopped his hoof before it could even begin to edge towards the exit; almost as if she had been waiting for the consideration. Stupid all-knowing zebra... 'Pride' didn't even rhyme with 'mine'... He narrowed his eyes as he sucked a breath in through a tired grimace; one that the zebra hopefully still couldn't see. He had been really excited about the sudden prospect of bailing on tea, and it was somewhat depressing to have the prospect crushed almost instantly. Well, Zecora was probably staring directly at him behind his back, so there was absolutely no chance to leave, now. Well... he could make a break for it... He eyed the closed door a few hoof-lengths away. Could he open it before Zecora tackled him? Could he even run from her if he did? She had seemed pretty fit outside; or, at least, deft with a knife. Okay, that thought made his choice obvious. With as much simpering enthusiasm as he could reasonably fit onto his face, he spun to face the merry zebra. Proving his point of potential swiftness, she had already filled two brown cups and sat down in the time it had taken him to contemplate escape. Sipping away; very calm and collected. He tilted his head and smiled at her monotone visage already holding a prim cup of tea; while internally critiquing everything about the situation. For one, she was sitting on a mat on the floor; and- judging by the cup sat just across from her- she expected him to, too. That was fine, he was fine with sitting on the floor. Would have been nice to get a little heads-up; but he supposed if she wanted to be inconsiderate: then it was her home. A chair wasn't the most important thing for a home; not when she had so many bottles, of course. He could probably make a chair out of bottles, she had so many. Would probably be more comfortable than sitting on her dumb dirt floor... Wait.. had the floor been dirt this whole time?! Okay, that was enough unsaid needling. He trotted the short distance between him and the zebra, and promptly sat himself down across from her on the plain straw mat. The immediate lack of comfort tried to claw into his face, but he kicked it down to Tartarus and resigned himself to simply wiggling his butt slightly. Ow. Ouch. Ugh, did it have to be dry straw? He was certainly no stranger to sitting on less sophisticated seats, living in Ponyville; but the painful rectangle he sat on now seemed almost designed to be uncomfortable. Was this Zecora's tactic against him? Cow him into surrender by forcing him to endure constant menial pain? It might work, the crafty mare... He stared for a moment at the slowly growing bemusement on the zebra's face as she sipped slowly at her tea and obviously tried not to stare herself, before turning his own attention to the cup at his hooves. Plain cup, plain brown liquid. Nothing to get excited about; in appearance and flavor, he would guess. Okay, now he was being mean for no reason. Disappointment and shame were no reason to forget his manners, as his mother would tell him. Okay, drink the tea before the melancholy sets in and Zecora asks something uncomfortable. He lit the comforting red light around his horn as straw poked him in an unmentionable place, and slowly lifted the sloshing container towards him. He blinked at the close-up view of the drink, before leaning in and taking a deep sniff. Nope, nothing. Average in every way, with no hints beneath. Was he really going to drink a strange drink given to him by a mare who had- not even an hour ago- threatened to murder him? Yeah, he was. He wasn't going to be rude. The first splash of tea touched his tongue, and the lack of an immediate urge to throw it across the room told him that it was fairly good. Maybe a bit tasteless, but he didn't really like the flavor of tea, anyway. It wasn't a very large cup, and he certainly didn't know much of etiquette, so it wasn't more than a few sips before the drink was nearly gone. He let it drift away from his face and into his outstretched hoof, for the simple, tactile pleasure of it. He hummed pleasantly, and licked the edges of his lips. It wasn't the best drink he had ever had, but it had to have been up there. It was somewhat hard to pinpoint the flavor, though... It wasn't fruity... It wasn't salty... It wasn't savory... Oh, he knew! It was pain! It was fire; hot and quickly spreading from his stomach across his lower body and his upper body and up through his throat in a matter of seconds. He threw the cup down onto the floor as quickly as he could, spilling what was left of the cursed mix moments before he cried out in strangled agony as the berserking heat enveloped his front hooves. "What did you do?!" He screamed raggedly as he staggered, and nearly fell onto his knees; struggling to not to let his burning hooves fully crumple underneath him. It felt like there was literal fire inside of him... Like his organs were being eaten away at; melted in a blinding mix of too torturously slow and too dashingly fast all at once. It had spread so quickly, faster than should have been possible for simple poison! His bleary focus on the straw mat was beginning to double and triple before his eyes, and the urge to vomit was coming over him quickly. Pressure pressing against his throat, pounding and pounding as his jaw shook and bore the brunt. Damn zebra..! Damn rumor..! Damn stupid him for falling for it all! He had walked into the most dangerous woods in all of Equestria, met with a completely foreign stranger who immediately tried to kill him, and then walked into her home to have tea with her! If he was about to die- and the red veins that were popping at the corners of his eyes were making him hope he would- then he only had himself to blame. Wherever Zecora was watching him from, he hoped she was getting her sick kicks. He hoped she was happy watching him retch. Painfully, over and over. He hoped she bore witness as his jaw widened, his throat convulsed once more, and a slurry of brown and black sloshed all over her dumb straw mat. Why was he vomiting black..? No, it didn't bucking matter! The pain was getting worse! Whatever his body had hoped to expel through his mouth didn't come up, and his stomach reared back through a sea of flames to try vainly again. The process repeated in slow, gratuitous detail; and the salty taste of tears leaked down to compliment the flavor of acid and ink as more of it gushed over his tongue and onto the floor. He was still miraculously standing, but as his stomach clenched again, he was sure it was because he didn't want to collapse into the puddle of indeterminate fluid from his body. He was sure he hadn't ever been in this much pain before. The branding of his cutie mark was the next closest thing, but that had only lasted for a minute at the most. This pain... This torture just dragged on and on. He wanted it to be over. Maybe he wanted to die. Would that make the ringing in his ears- and the nonstop gush of fluid- and the swinging vision- and the everpresent pyre that his body had turned into- would death make it all stop? "The signs are clear, there is no doubt; a spirit's here, weak frame it flouts." A measured voice somehow registered through the increasing haze that was his consciousness, and he spat dark fluid into the puddle as his lungs struggled to deliver breath. The faded memory of carrying a heavy box was laughable when compared to the monumental strength it took to raise his head a few simple inches to the source of the noise. She stood like a statue a few hoof-lengths away: stoic and uncaring. Eyes wide and alert and focused entirely on him, with her muscles visibly poised underneath her coat. She stood confidently with a wide stance, as if she were ready for some kind of fight. Why? Was killing him the slow way not good enough? Was she going to come over here and strangle him while he already couldn't breathe?! He gathered his increasingly wheezing breaths as he stared at her with his right eyelid uncontrollably fluttering up and down. That was okay, that one was beginning to black out anyway. His hooves wobbled as his balance began to tip over, and he cried out in unfortunate agony as he forced his leaning hoof to reaffirm its stand as firmly as he could manage. The sudden pain on top of all the other pain drove his head to sway towards the apathetic zebra, and provided him adrenaline-fueled strength to bark out a single, throat tearing word. "What?!" Spittle and sludge flew from his mouth like a wild animal as he spit, but he didn't care. He had done all he could manage, and now he could do nothing but stand weakly, breathe laboriously, and stare hatefully through his one working eye. If he was about to die, then he wanted answers! Answers that the traitorous zebra seemed ready to give, as she continued to stand stilly with her eyes on him. "I am sorry, my friend Light Flow; you're merely a vessel in tow. A shade inhabits your body, evil and cruel; so a potion I brewed to fix your causeless fool." Her eyes narrowed as she clenched her jaw, maybe in disgust. His own jaw was hanging open limply now, as more fluid dripped and sluiced freely from it. "It has taken effect, it would seem; your body has awoke from its dream. It is quite long-lasting, near an eternity so; as long as it holds, the spirit your body will throw!" He.. was pretty sure she was speaking nonsense, or maybe it was the delirium. Was she saying that... that some sort of spirit was in him?! And that her potion was making his body reject it? Another wave of pain rocked his body, and his vision faded for a moment as impossibly more black fluid squirted from what felt like his nostrils. That- That was... That couldn't be- Upstart whorse! What has she done to us?! She will rue this misdeed! The pain stopped. A sensation comparable to ripping messily tore and cut through the creeping shock; and all sense of feeling instantly faded away as his vision seemed to magnify, before tearing away from him. As if he was now staring through a telescope, the picture his eyes sent seemed.. far away. Distant, like he was a spectator. Also, he could see through his other eye, now. What was happening, and why hadn't it happened sooner? Why... Why wasn't that funny? He had just been in the worst pain of his life, and he had just made a joke about it; that was supposed to be funny! Why wasn't the joke not being funny worrying him? Wait, for that matter: why was he making jokes? Why couldn't he feel? Why couldn't he feel anything? Emotion, the pain, even his body... He couldn't feel his body. Why were his eyes blinking without him if he couldn't feel his body? Why was his hoof moving up to rub at his face without his input? "You. Zebra." Why was his mouth moving? Why was his horn glowing? Why was he- No... What was he doing?! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the first time of its like, the spirit took control of the unicorn's body. She had long since worked hooks into him, of course; but never before had it been so brazen, or during his waking hours. Where once had been subtle influence and inaudibly whispered words, there was now complete and total control. The unprecedented intervention was necessary in a very dire way, though. The zebra knew what she was doing, and the potion was quickly working its intended effect. The spirit's carefully woven threads through the unicorn's mind were burning away before her far-seeing eyes, and she was running out of time. She had to get rid of the zebra, and get the unicorn to safety. The conflict was brief, and brutal. The spirit was rapidly losing control over her thrall, but it was still a trifling matter to bluster a cold breeze to throw the door open and extinguish the light in the room. The Everfree was a dark place, especially at the extreme depth the zebra resided in, so the loss of precious fire was debilitating. The spirit knew how to see and move in the dark, even without magic. The zebra did not. The unicorn's body was failing, but it still worked like a pointed weapon under the spirit's most forceful control. With the unicorn screaming against the chains that bound him in his own mind, his body leapt to its foe. On the witless part of the zebra: she managed rather well. Even without the oft-overlooked gift of sight, she reacted to the movement and attempted to strike at the unicorn; blindly, yet still terrifyingly accurately. Had the unicorn not been possessed by a spirit versed in magical and physical combat beyond any alive, his body would have been laid flat. As it was: using their magic to fluidly shift their outstretched hoof into the strike- and quickly following through with a debilitating, breaking jab at a vulnerable joint- was tantamount to foal's play. The zebra's weak attempt at combat was foiled; and though she tried- through the pain of a dislocated shoulder- to strike again at the unicorn's horn, it simply wasn't good enough. The unicorn's body swept behind her like a shadow in the darkness, and took a firm hold around her jewelry-covered neck. Shiny though they may have been, the gleaming golden rings did little to protect. The zebra fought and struggled so hard against the choking hold, but the spirit knew pain as a close friend. Each one of the frenzied, targeted strikes would have brought lesser ponies to their knees many times over, but she remained stoutly unfazed. The spirit simply squeezed as tightly as she could around the zebra's jaw; and- with conscious effort to force the unicorn's displaced consciousness to watch the spectacle- jerked their hooves in opposite directions with as much failing strength as she could muster. The spirit knew, in the forced quiet of the Everfree, the sound would be unforgettable. Pop. Snap. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- With what he imagined as a dusty click and a hiss, the slideshow that had played brokenly in his head came to a sudden, harsh end. The final rattle of a zebra's last unfortunate moments still rang endlessly through the desiccated halls of the imaginary theatre of his mind; as She had promised it would. Light Flow was whole again. For the first time in two years, he was himself in all the ways he had forgotten. For the good and the bad of it, he had remembered what he'd tried so hard to forget. What he'd been forced to remember. What he'd been allowed to forget. His eyes long since closed: he took a single, solitary breath through his nose; though it was more for the action than the actual necessity of it. He didn't really need to breathe; not here, at least. Here being... some kind of encompassing misty blue void- you know, he didn't really care. He had been floating around in a weird neighvana bliss in some kind of creepy ascended form for way too long, and the sights weren't of much interest now that he wasn't just a bunch of thoughts. Not that there were any; not really. The basic premise- as it had been so rudely shoved onto him like a disgruntled evil mailpony delivering a package- was basically that the space was more of a concept than a place he actually inhabited. Like a dream. He had been floating along in a dream, as a stalled ship would at sea. With the zebra taken care of and the unicorn trapped in his own mind trying his best to cry without tear ducts, the spirit knew she had to move fast. The spy that had lead them there could have been watching and waiting to take sudden advantage over her growing weakness. The spirit fled the shack in the woods, dragging the body of the zebra with her as best she could. Both she and the unicorn knew the woods well, so it wasn't much of a matter at all to return to the unicorn's own modest home. She hastily stowed the body in the cellar, and allowed the borrowed body to finally crash to the floor of his home. The zebra had accomplished her last task, and the unicorn's entire being was actively rejecting the spirit. The spirit would soon find that attempting to take control as she had would do nothing but tear his body and mind apart. Years of plotting, years of manipulating, years of molding: all gone. Unfortunately, in a regrettable display of foolishly misplaced pride and arrogance: the spirit was not dissuaded from what she viewed as her right. She threw sense aside, and did everything she could to test the limits of her newly shortened reach into the unicorn's mind. She wielded him brutishly and inefficiently- magnificent sword turned to dull club- as she raced to fix what she viewed as unacceptable mistakes. Nothing the zebra had done would stand. The spirit tore the foolish shaman from the unicorn's memory entirely; inadvertently- yet undeniably stupidly- leaving a hole that she soon found to be too large to fix. Nothing would stop the spirit's blinding hubris, it seemed: as she disregarded the warning signs entirely. She pushed the unicorn to his limits, and lead him by burning binds into purchasing a portable freezer. Under chain and lock and key- as well as a poorly crafted compulsion to be ignored- the appliance found itself becoming the final resting place of the zebra once known as Zecora. More words filling the air; passing before his eyes like a book played in impossible motion. Passing through and across the floaty blue clouds, glowing brightly with some kind of magical force that he could certainly make a guess as to the origin. His memories: scribbled out into the pages of his mind like a teenage colt writing shameful, grim poetry. If he'd had breath to sigh with, he would have. Zecora... Oh Zecora... She hadn't deserved what he'd done to her. Sure, yeah, she had poisoned him and subjected him to the worst pain he had ever experienced up to that point in his life; but she'd done it for good cause. Without even knowing of the horror she was waking, she'd tried to save him from a monster hiding in his mind that he'd been totally unaware of. The poison had never even been meant to kill him; rather, she had been trying to protect him. Maybe in a somewhat painful way, but the sentiment was still there. She'd even called him friend. And after that, for all her troubles: she'd been stuffed into a small box meant for apples and left to rot for years. Nopony left to grieve, and nopony left the wiser. That same sensation of grieving rose over his shoulders after years spent being denied, and he fully allowed the belated right to cover him and pull him and his mood lower. He gladly welcomed the chance to feel something for what had essentially been a bystander; especially since he'd been shortly denied the right at the time. He narrowed his conceptual eyes, and turned his attention to what he was hoping was the general idea of a direction in which he could glare at 'the spirit'. Fat load of rubbish She was piling, She knew he knew Her name! And his own name! Who did She even think She was being coy for, an audience?! What a nut She was... Which one of them was supposed to be crazy, again? Because he was starting to think he'd been the sane one all along. A humorless laugh bubbled without air in his chest at the immediate thought, and he shook his head with a pitying, self-serving smile on his face. Yeah no, he was definitely crazy; he was entirely sure of that. No question or doubt. Didn't mean Nightmare Moon wasn't crazier, though. With little left else to immediately fix, the spirit allowed the unicorn to return to his day-to-day life; though, it was not without complication. The day of her predestined return to Equus was approaching, and preparations for the unicorn's place at her side had to be made ready. His compliance would be a given, though his Loyalty would be what was deserved. The spirit would find that the task was all but impossible though, as their bond gradually grew strained to the point of breaking. She had been desperately searching for some way to purge the poison from the unicorn, leaving little thought as to how her strings were cutting her puppet. She had been completely uncaring; at least, until the problem grew too large to ignore. How late her Kindness would matter, when there was no help in being Honest. No matter what she did, the spirit could not fix the unicorn; not when she was the one causing him pain. He'd begun to hallucinate her presence where she'd not been, and her attempts to patch the leaks did nothing but saddle him with strange new habits and affectations. Side-effects that had never been intentional, for what use would she have for a headless knight? She could no longer speak to him clearly through his dreams, instead appearing to his eyes as a dark, frightening shadow. Her once subconscious whispers now registered as painful screams and shouts. When she took control of him, it was without precision or grace; and his body would often convulse and physically reject her essence. It wasn't long before the spirit's former playground was as strange and unfamiliar to her as it was to the unicorn. The zebra had ruined everything, and the unicorn was falling to madness. He would no longer listen to her, and he could no longer make sense of what was real and what was imagined. He was even beginning to remember when he'd seen her in his dreams; which left her one method of communion with his inner self utterly useless. The spirit was left to bunker helplessly in his mind; to wait regretfully for some kind of change. More and more words filled the space around him; up close and even in the distance, they were crowding the abstract of his mind rather rudely. He did his best to suggest the potential of a scornful eye-roll at their general existence, and hoped that the scape would get his point. Who was Nightmare Moon writing his story for at this point? He had already regained most of his wits, and the past was as clear as any poetic mirror or pond had ever been in any great work. Justifying Her actions would do as much to ingratiate Herself as an apology would. Well, he supposed he didn't really know Her viewpoint. For strange instance: while it was excessively creepy to know that She had been 'whispering' to him in his dreams for possibly his entire childhood, it was also nice to know. In a weird, twisted way. It was a familiar way, though; and even comforting. It was the same kind of feeling that had driven him to read books about murder as a child, to drape himself in a cloak styled with skulls, and to lick a dead bunny. He liked the creepy. It made him happy in an off-putting, detached way. If She wanted to keep babbling on about things that might not even be true, and giving him more time to sort of literally collect himself, then he was happy to continue floating along in a non-descript way. Whatever made Her happy. Whatever gave him more time to think about what to do. Less than a week remained before the fated final day, and the spirit's hope for the unicorn's mind seemed nearly lost. Not even the arrival of one of the unicorn's fabled packages could do much to excite her; though she still found some grim amusement at seeing somepony she'd once respected sending warnings about her. Oh, but how wrong she had been. The package brought with it a kind of incredible miracle that the spirit thought too lucky to ever be a possibility. Luck had never favored her, but it seemed she'd found an uneasy alliance for the moment. Beginner's fundamentals on Flesh Manipulation covered as little as its tragedy of a name implied; but the fundamentals of a magic she had never before touched were more than enough of a base to go off of. She was ancient, and she was wise, and she could work with very little. With as much difficulty as she had ever known in the task: she took control of the unicorn in a pivotal moment, and cast a spell of her own design. If her spellcasting was to be trusted, it would send the unicorn into a detox capable of purging him of the chemicals that inhibited her. And slowly: it did. Very slowly. Perhaps it was due to her own inexperience with the craft, but the spell was not quite as effective as she'd hoped. It allowed her a hoofhold in his mind to begin rebuilding hasty binds where there had once been grand chains; but it would not wipe him in a week's time. She had to work as best and as quickly as she could, and her plans had to be altered. There was little time to fix the damage, and no time for Kindness. She had learned her lesson, though; or so she'd thought. Regardless of her fervor, there were yet more infuriating complications. The day of her great eve, the spirit's greatest enemy took belated notice of her influence; and conflict soon followed. The spirit could not use her weapon with the ease she once could have, and she was meekly defeated by an adversary she had never considered a threat. His expression hardened as the literal deluge of words processed. The Nightmare was beginning to lose literary cohesion, and that was unacceptable. Was she going to use a formal tone, or not? She should just make up her mind, already! That obviously wasn't the thing he was really concerned about, though. The secret agent. What was her name? No, that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he was under surveillance. If he could trust the memories that were surfacing about his time under the Nightmare's thrall, then he had actually been under surveillance for a long time. What had he ever even done? Well.. he had murdered somepony... but the secret agent had begun watching him long before that! This was predetermined discrimination! His eyes narrowed as, incredibly, a visible picture began to form out of the space in front of him. Flat as it was. An earth pony, standing at average height. Pale, creamy fur. Blue and pink mane set into bouncy curls. Tired, cerulean eyes. Three wrapped candies as a cutie mark. Don't trust her face. Don't trust her voice. He knew to watch for her, now. She and Princess Celestia would regret robbing him of privacy and dignity. Just as soon as he figured out a way to topple the government. That shouldn't be too hard. The silly addendum thrown in like a rubber chicken locked in Tartarus finally deflated his stern glare at his conjured picture of his spy, and it vanished in a breeze as he sagged his shoulders and sighed in consternation. Consternation at the nation, what a combo. Perhaps he should publish a joke book or something. He was so funny, it was sure to make a killing! Okay, enough puns and ego; he was ready for more useless recap from the Queen of Hot Gas. The erroneously victorious interloper chained and barred the unicorn's mind, once again shutting the spirit from her claim. The short progress she had made in the week allowed her small glimpses, but real access had been all but denied. The unicorn had been reset; and while he had found a strange measure of sanity, he had forgotten the spirit entirely. It drove her into a frenzy. Her rage consumed and blinded her, and- once again flouting every lesson she'd ever learned- she attempted to break the golden words that whispered libel with might and force. She pounded relentlessly on the guarded walls of the unicorn's mind, though it was to no avail. It did nothing but bring harm to the both of them. Sense thankfully returned in time, though not before the spirit's misplaced cruelty wore heavily on the unicorn's mind. The situation was grim, and the day had all but escaped from her. Her options few: the spirit found but one path left in the clarity leading from her most recent outburst. With as little deliberation as she had taken any of her decisions with, she chose to take a reckless gamble; even despite chance's chafing curse. The decision was unassumingly simple, but it was far and above the most clever thing she had considered thus far. She would go all in, bank on what little influence she had, and let the unicorn rest. He would go about his day, and the golden words of the golden sun would eventually wear. If enough of herself remained in his mind when they were both freed from their prisons, then he would come to her. When her hooves found solid ground for the first time in ten lifetimes, he would find his place at her side. And then, he would be tested. He blinked as the shifting sentences trailed off, and his literal headspace was left wordless and almost coldly empty. Well, not his actual mind; he still had plenty to think about. Chief among especially crooked thoughts being the specter that had apparently haunted his entire life. He closed his eyes, and crossed his hooves over his chest as he hummed deeply. His hooves kicked out in tandem into the open space before him, and he could almost imagine for a moment what it might be like to be a pegasus. All he needed were wings, and he could probably actually challenge Nightmare Moon. But that was a side thought. He was really concerned about the mess that his life had become while he wasn't paying attention. Or been conscious. Or sane. If he was getting the gist of Nightmare's nearly senseless rants filled with contradictory information- and he was pretty sure he wasn't- then She was the cause of pretty much everything that had gone wrong in his life. She had used his body to kill Zecora... She had chosen to let him slowly go insane while She traipsed around in his head... She had brought the wrath of The Pure Goddess down upon him... She had broken him again after he'd been sorta fixed by said Pure Goddess... And to top it all off: She had the gall to act like... like his mother, when he was still entirely under her control! It was like some kind of sick play, only She was playing literally every role! What was She gaining by acting like this? Was it all just to mess with him? Was it a kind of manipulation to see if he'd be willing to just follow Her blindly, even after he'd been fixed?! There was another thing: why was She fixing him?! Did she want a challenge or something?! Could she not do better than some eighteen year old colt who had never made any real progress with the one thing he was supposed to be good at?! Probably! What was so special about him, anyway!? Necromancy was cool, but so were a billion other things! Honestly, Twilight would probably be a better match for her! In both weird meanings! He groaned in exasperation, the sound ballooning from his mouth in a visible, red cloud. He blinked owlishly as he looked down at it in disbelief for a moment as it floated gently away in a directionless direction, before throwing his hooves down against his lower body. This place was ridiculous! He wanted to wake up, already; so he could have some real words with the so-called Queen of Nightmares! Would that work?! Naming her?! He glared heatedly into a nearby cloud, watching passively as it eventually shriveled in on itself and imploded in what seemed to be nervousness. Yeah, he was just going to have to wait. He let his features soften before he blew up any any more of his dream-mind-clouds, and bonelessly let his head loll back against his neck. It was probably best to just.. enjoy the time he had here. He hadn't been himself in so long, and he was going to have to fight for his life when he woke up; so why was he trying so hard to escape? It was weird... he kind of felt like he didn't really deserve the time to rest? Maybe it was the weird high of having himself be himself again, but it was kind of hard to get truly comfortable. Any second now, he could wake up: and then the confrontation would begin. Things should probably be settled before he celebrated. He could let Pinkie Pie bust out the party hats and indulge her close-minded view of cheer later; when the world wasn't still in danger. The world in danger... It hadn't been something he'd considered while sane. Every time before had been after the occasion he'd broken down crying while hugging a box; so really, he hadn't had any opinion worth considering. Well: now he did. The world ending was bad. He liked the world. Nightmare Moon was bad, and he wouldn't be joining Her. Duh. So much for Her big plan. What was She going to do now that he'd renounced- > Chapter 40 - Wake Up (Retitled) > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first thing that greeted Light Flow as he woke up was not- as he'd been vaguely hoping- a warm bed. No comfy sheets, no comfy mattress, no creepy presence at his back. Thankfully. No, thinking about it, that had been an entirely dumb thing to even consider. He had been warned off of that kind of thought beforehoof, and vainly expecting anything else was just naïve. No place for wishful thinking and all that. Instead, as he should have been expecting: he awoke to the cold, hard feeling of stone pressing unflinchingly against his cheek. A literal return to stone-cold sobriety, was it? Quite the departure from floating merrily through his dreamscape. If he'd been in a position to sigh, he would've. Face first on the dirty old floor, how wonderful. What had She said: that She wouldn't be showing kindness? Okay, fine; but did She really have to just dump him on the ground? Like garbage? Queen of Nightmares was right: because Her manners were right out of his worst dreams. How long had that been, thirty seconds? Thirty seconds well spent, then; because oh how he had missed being snarky. His claws had been more or less clipped in his previous state, sad and mopey as he was. He should stop fooling around though, he really didn't have long. While he was having fun, urgency was pressing at the back of his sleepy mind like a rude houseguest, and he would have to let it in before he ran out of time and it broke his door down. How long did he have, five minutes? That seemed right to his hazy recollection. Though, his time from the incredibly awkward period of The Summer Sun Celebration didn't seem to be entirely clear. Maybe a little blurry. Like everything was; he had been figuratively asleep for two years. Of course he'd be a little mentally drowsy. His jaw was incredibly sore in his awkward position, and it was working steadily at his nerves. He clenched and wore the sore muscles as he smacked his lips and gathered his splayed, sleepy hooves under him as best he could. Getting pulled out of his dream literally mid-sentence was disorienting in a way that he thought he could only experience around Pinkie Pie, and his body was taking some time to catch up. Recently deadened and forgotten nerves and senses were waking as if for the first time, and his mental checklist of bodily effects were ticking back mostly green. Thank the heavens for that; it'd be a huge damper on the mood if his ability to smell had been lost in the multiple scuffles. Opening his eyes, though: seemed to be particularly difficult. Or: maybe he was just hesitant to see what there was to see in... what he was guessing was an unfamiliar room. The room he had been in before- Nightmare Moon's old room, as was obvious in previously blind hindsight- had been persistently lukewarm. This room was cold with the unfortunately familiar chill of the encroaching night eternal. First guess was that Nightmare Moon had moved him; probably somewhere more open and less sentimental. If She could even feel sentiment. Okay, that was an entire minute and a bit of change wasted, now; and he was still burning time with the hot lash of sarcasm. He was absolutely ecstatic in a whole lot of suppressed ways to have regained that part of himself, but he had already weakly established in his dreamscape that he needed to disregard dithering if he wanted to survive. There was a lot to unpack, and he'd love nothing more than to spend an hour or seven going over each individual crisis, but the niggling memory of present danger wouldn't go away. Somewhat thankfully drowning each daring individual panic under a wonderful sea of a bigger panic. He could think about new feelings and old jokes later; and think about a way to get out of this situation now. No time for a soliloquy, no time for a breakdown. Unfortunately for him: every plan started with forcing his sore face to allow him the gift of sight. Groaning in his throat with the effort: he delicately lifted his head an inch off the floor, and pinched one eye open. Blurry and confusing, what else had he expected? He had been physically asleep for some indeterminate amount of time, and mentally for much longer. Of course he was going to be disoriented, it would be strange if he wasn't. The winding groan turned into a full-on sigh as he reared his head back fully, and forcibly peeled both of his eyes open as far as he could manage in one quick action. The immediate pain, loss of sense and muted colors made his world spin a bit, but he quickly set to blinking in an blitzed attempt to clear the ocular blockade. Obtuse metaphor, but at least his eyes were clearing up. A minute and a half gone, though. Oh. Oh, oh, oh. As his sharpening eyes made their way around the room, widening from the sights: he was suddenly wishing that he had been a little less wasteful. The Nightmare was really stiffing him on time, and there was a lot to take in. He would have to think quickly; rather unlike him. Or was it? The room itself was fairly plain, if somewhat leading. It seemed to be a great, arching hall of some sort, with all the once ceremonial vestings that randomly chosen moniker brought. Large stained glass windows along both walls that had unfortunately only kept their very bottoms over time. A big, draping tapestry sat between every neat set of window; all of them torn and faded beyond comprehension, of course. Travesties in historical documentation that he could drown his sorrows about when he wasn't timed. Columns and pillars set a distance from- yet still along- the sides of the walls: all worn and toppled over the floor like a foal's board game; whole pieces and chunks lost, broken, and scattered haphazardly. It rendered most of the floor a dirty, uninhabitable wasteland. To his immediate right, just a hoof-length or so away: a very dirty looking red rug that somewhat predictably lead from the dark entrance of the room behind him up over the stairs to the head in front of him. The irony was not lost on him; because of course he hadn't been left laying on the carpet. A big dreamy jerk, She was. Oh, but maybe he should direct that sentiment somewhere else? Because there was something in the room he had been trying not to stare at too directly; despite its overpowering presence and its status as the only really interesting thing in the room. Maybe it was pointed, or maybe he was just obtuse? He imagined there was probably some kind of symbolically broken throne at the very head of the room, right where the carpet lead over the raising steps into an arching alcove; but he couldn't really see too well on account of the very obvious mare standing front and center on a central dais. Two minutes gone by now, and he was only just taking in Nightmare Moon Herself. It was hard to judge, laying on the floor as he was, but he was pretty sure that She stood over double his height. It was the most immediately obvious thing about Her, even as strange and grand as She was by a general rule. He tried to keep himself from looking too obviously awed, but it was honestly difficult to keep an air of sleepy defiance on his face. She was towering, and thoroughly intimidating; though it might have been the literal choking presence that She exuded. He had sort of been in Celestia's presence once, and now he had been in Nightmare Moon's; and he was pretty sure that Goddesses just had some kind of aura that overpowered lesser creatures' minds. And, of course, when he said 'lesser creatures': he'd meant ponies. It was tangible in the air, and he swore he could feel it attempt to block his throat as he took a light swallow. He hoped it wasn't an intentional effect, because this would be a very concerning thing to note about the all-powerful ruler of his country. Not surprising given how prone Her Royal Highness was to abusing Her power, as he now knew; but still justifiably concerning. Anyway: She stood like an obsidian titan, immaculately sculpted and to perfect specifications as if She had been forged to the most exact detail by the greatest artist who ever lived. Yadda yadda, She was big and pretty. He could do better than mindless admiration, come on! Wake up, and work some details! He had to get his mind working if he was going to survive this! Her admittedly beautiful chest was covered by what was probably a priceless silver peytral that was emblazoned with a stylized crescent moon in an inlaid crest. Said crest was also covered in little geometric lines that ran along its edges, and dropped sweepingly into an encircling circle to further frame the lunar picture. Just in case literally everything else about Her failed to tip somepony off to who She was. 'Moon Goddess, here; look at Her!' Two and a half minutes. Pretty as it was: the peytral actually, on further inspection, looked to be somewhat more function than simple form. It was far more grand and intricate than simple chest jewelry should have been, and seemed more like a piece of armor than anything else. From the bedazzled center, it dropped into a rounded, upside down point that nearly cupped the curve of her stomach. Just below the supports hanging around Her neck, it extended in two jagged, curved wings against the immediate sides of Her chest; with three smaller, segmented plates above it all rising up against and nearly around the curve of Her long throat. He could even barely see some kind of cloth that was almost completely hidden between each seam and joint: leaving the plating likely breathable and somewhat comfortable. The entire thing covered nearly every part of Her chest, and a few scarce parts besides, as well. It was armor: for protection; rather unlike the decorative finery that Princess Celestia wore. He'd love to take the time to ponder on that if he wasn't already wasting a bunch of time pondering that, idiot. While he was wasting time on the subject of Her armor: She also wore large, jagged shoes that perfectly rose up around the front of Her legs in an interesting pronged pattern. They would probably... not serve the same purpose when She bent Her legs, but it looked like they would do pretty well at preventing Her from chipping a hoof? Unless they were really tight or something. It would probably be fine, then. Uncomfortable, but maybe She deserved that. While he was looking at Her legs, it was mentionable just how toned She was. It wasn't especially obvious throughout the rest of Her body given Her fur and armor, but it was definitely on display in Her long, sleek legs. They didn't exactly bulge with muscle, but the flexing cords underneath chiseled flesh were absolutely more than noticeable. Moving on: at Her perfect sides sat two perfect, black wings. That was all there was to say about those, now what about Her face? Three minutes. He so badly wanted to say that it was as cratered and pocked as the moon, but it was just as perfect and blemish-free as the rest of Her stupid, unattainable self. Granted, Her expression was cast in one of the most chillingly apathetic stares he had ever seen; but that didn't diminish what he hoped wasn't Her natural beauty. Her mouth was stonily set into an unwavering line of a frown, showing little hint of any further emotion other than apathy. The cruelly cold look in Her painfully familiar, slotted cyan eyes was absolutely disparaging in a freezing, piercing way. The unsaid depths of pure indifference behind those accented eyes- it hurt. She wasn't angry, she wasn't ready to fight, She was barely even registering him as she stared down at the spot he sat in. Small. Insignificant. Weak. Pitiable. Finite. Fool. Child. How dare She?! The unsaid spectre of years of abuse poked the stoke of fire that had been flickering away since the spark of his memory had returned, and he let the meanest sneer he could manage rise on his face as She stared through him; as if he wasn't even there. He refused to be intimidated, not after everything She'd done to him. Not after all he'd learned and suffered through. He knew better. He knew Her better. The choking silence stretched for precious seconds as Her face remained resolutely unchanged from his small act of aggression, and the imaginary ticking of an imaginary clock drove him to wipe his not-imaginary expression off. There was no point to the strain if he wasn't going to get anything out of it, and there was no point in squeezing at that stone any longer. She just kept staring, unwaveringly, creepily: in all the worst ways. She was waiting for the time to be up. Three and a half minutes. As much the rising apathy coldly clawing at his shoulders made him want to lie down, close his eyes, and wait for Her to skewer him on Her... Okay, Her horn was ridiculously long, and he didn't want to linger on that very sharp looking point. Seriously, it was probably four times as long as his! Apparently, ascending into a Higher Form just bestowed huge endowment or something... The duller- yet still decently sharp- point was that he wasn't going to back down! The sneer didn't have to be received with any measurable response or emotion, because it was about the defiance! It was about taking a metaphorical stand! Now She knew that he wasn't going to lie down and take his fate, no matter how much time he wasted thinking about it! But really, he should stop wasting time. Four minutes, wow it was going by quick. What next to waste what could be the rest of his life with? The gaseous cloud of ethereal mane floating wispily around both of Her ends: seemingly surfaces filled to the brim with pools of animatedly twinkling stars and nebulae? Blowing and swirling in on itself in a mostly fake breeze like it was some kind of endless river affixed to Her that had pledged eternal worship to the night itself? Nah. The last thing of any real note he could remark on was the helmet sitting snugly on Her head, made out of the same material that the rest of Her armor was. It seemed really form fitting, with how smoothly the metal blended directly into the black surface of Her horn. No crease at all, at least from where he was sitting. It couldn't be comfortable. Good. It covered nearly all of the surface of Her head, though it was almost entirely open below its eye holes. It ran along and over Her nose, back behind considerate holes for her ears, and down along the sides and against the nape of Her neck; providing near full protection against blows to the head. Her armor was ultimately utilitarian, yet it was still beautiful and attractive. It served a function, yet still made a statement. Power without sacrificing terrifying authority. Why, in every aspect, did She have to be so frustratingly breathtaking?! Thirty seconds left, time to get ready. Did he feel ready? No, but he had a hint of a plan, anyway. Was it a good plan? No, but when did he have any of those? A snarl threatened to break over his lips as he sat up onto his haunches, and set his eyes directly to the hooded, broken pools that would probably haunt him forever. The seconds ticked audibly in his head as he stared bravely into the creased abyss, as She likely did the same. There was no going back now, for either of them. The time would toll the end to their conflict soon enough, one way or another. Ten seconds. The air seemed intent on suffocating him, and Her ethereal mane seemed to grow more encompassing in spite of the atmosphere. Shading and shadowing the room in unnatural shapes. Seven seconds. Was that the motion of the muscles in Her neck clenching, or was it his imagination? Four seconds. Was She as nervous as he was? Zero. A metal-clad hoof raised and stomped onto the floor with shocking force, sending a nearly visible wave of pure, magical power through the room. The discharge sent buzzing shocks through his coat as it passed, standing his fur on sudden end. Debris picked up and flew messily against the walls as Her wings unfurled to their full, magnificent span; and he was forced to close his eyes for a moment against a breeze that sent his mane fluttering and thoughts scattering. Awesome, in the least Rainbow Dash way possible. "Time has run out." Her voice raised to a thrumming, painful volume; iron-clad strength clear in its throaty undertone. Her head raised even higher to somehow stare down at him even more condescendingly, as Her hoof raised to hover menacingly in front of Her chest, showing rather helpfully that Her horseshoe was kept on by straps running up and along the back of Her hoof. Neat; but if She was nervous, it wasn't coming across. She was certainly making a large spectacle of this; showing off, trying to cow him. Well it wouldn't work. Awesome and entirely domineering though She may be, She was also far and beyond a familiar quantity. If he was just meeting Her for the first time now, then maybe he'd be falling prey to Her very valid intimidation tactics; but She had been in his life since he had been a child. Apparently. When he looked into her unnatural eyes, full of cold fire and death and promises of things worse than pain, he couldn't stop himself from seeing his own reflection behind them. A little brown unicorn trapped behind the ancient eyes of a Goddess. So much he remembered now; so much he knew. It was really rather odd, having new memories that nestled unfittingly between what he had once known to be fact; but it was absolutely undeniable that Nightmare Moon had been in his life for a long time. Longer than he ever could have imagined could even make sense. All the way back to his childhood, She had been in his dreams: speaking to him candidly about magic and the subconscious and everything in between. Through his adolescence, She had been in his head: whispering and forcing suggestions and improvements to his speech and thought patterns. Throughout his entire youth, She had crept in the dark corners of his eyes: waiting and watching him so carefully. And when he'd gone insane, in his darkest hour, out of anything he could have chosen: he'd chosen to hallucinate Her. So no, he wasn't afraid; not of the monster nestled beneath his bed. He wouldn't fear the shadows, or the void poised to tear him apart with inky tendrils. He wasn't going to back down from a ghost he had long since come to terms with in his own way. She had forced him through a certain kind of death before, but not this time. He wasn't going to die, never again to Her. The fire of rebellion roared to a rage in his heart, and it opened the floodgates to a strength of a kind he had never felt. It didn't burn or zap, and it didn't make his hooves itch with energy. It was more like a steady flow: whispering a sordidly pure secret to his muscles that brought true invigoration. It wasn't misgiven faith that brought him fully up onto his hooves. It wasn't humorous spite that raised his head to match Her stare from where he'd dropped out of necessity. It wasn't false confidence that squared his shoulders, widened his stance, and brought fresh breath to his tight chest. It was certainty. Certainty: for the first time in so long. Certainty in himself. Certainty in his mind. Certainty in a plan he had known since before he had woken. It filled his mouth with a hot zest to be cracked against Her hide; as he stood resolutely against the rising moon, like a child sitting on a hill looking at the sky. So much higher than him, but he would bring it down and tether it to his level. He would break Her façade of superiority, as a quiet moment of comfortable vulnerability told him was so finitely possible. There was a crack, and he could chip at it. All possibilities, all strategies: all from one sentence. It all started with five, simple words. One insult. "You are not my mother!" The venomous hiss of his words spitting from his curled lip was a near whisper in the quiet hall, still ringing from the echoes of an authoritative shout; yet even still, it carried with little effort. Just from the unassuming weight of them. The immediate reaction was no more than a slight widening of the eyes on Nightmare Moon's part, but any reaction at all was very telling. He couldn't resist a small, scornful smile in spite of the situation; just to reward himself as he pursued the weakness with a glare. He was on the right track here, he knew it. He was taking risks on levels unconceived by even the most drunken of midnight gamblers, and a wishful payout was almost certainly some new definition on hubris. It would take a miracle for his gambit to pay off the way he was hoping, but he was feeling lucky. As he saw it: the challenge of a fight was in itself a test. Any normal pony would immediately assume that She'd meant a physical confrontation, but that had to have been a trap. He knew from various sources- self-aggrandizing and otherwise- that Nightmare Moon was practically unassailable in single combat. She was certainly dressed for the part, at the very least. If he couldn't beat Applejack in a fight, then there was no way he was going to beat a kitted Goddess. It just wouldn't happen. In the end: hoof to hoof blows would solve nothing but all of his problems all at once. This was the first, real test: seeing past Her words, and realizing the true form of promised combat. Tricky old donkey. 'Full intent to harm' was an obvious lead, since there were all sorts of ways to harm somepony. He was useless in the most traditional understanding of fighting, something that he was pretty sure complete strangers knew about him. He couldn't even do magic very well, which might as well have been a form of physical combat for all the good it did him. All things She definitely knew: all things She had taken into account. There was no possible way She would ever assume him fit for a fight with Her. A physical contest was out: one thing left. If he wasn't meant to assail the unassailable, then he would have to find another way: the next most immediate option. What was left after strength? What did every dime store wisepony preach like wonderous gospel? What did a smart fighter use? His intellect, his mind! If he wanted to win in any way, it would have to be through discussion and debate. Low blows and trickery. Plans and plots. Any and every conversational trick he could muster; just as She had been trying to teach him. It was a sour feeling: playing where She directed; but hitting Her where it hurt would wash the tepid flavor down a bit, and he was pretty sure he was hitting in the right spot. Going back over all of their recent interactions, it wasn't hard to see that She wanted something certain from him. Her words, Her mannerisms; even the simple ministrations She had taken. She had never quite been gentle, that didn't seem Her style; but She had never been as harsh as She clearly was around other ponies. Random passersby She had met while using his body- and Zecora, to use a horrifying example- had been treated with criticism and impatience as a general rule. And violence. But when She'd dealt with him, even in the past, it'd always been with a certain measure of... fondness. Maybe never even that, but there was always some kind of... padding? A removed caring? 'Child' may have been the insult he was taking it as, but there might've been something behind the mock. Some kind of.. sincerity, almost. And when She'd returned from doing... something to Her Royal Highness, She had come to him for what could be interpreted as mutual comfort. Vulnerable and wistful, like a mare who'd just gone through something emotionally difficult. She hadn't even been wearing Her armor. He could still so strongly remember the slightly sickening feeling of Her fur against his. She had literally let Her guard down to nestle closely to him. Such a warm embrace, as he had only ever known from his mother. Her breath trailing Her voice into his ears as he drifted away in Her hold... Her wing wrapped in such a comfortably suffocating way around his waist... It was hard to gauge how exactly real any of that was, but... It had felt real. She had felt real. How did She see him, now? What did She really want from him? What was he to Her? He didn't know; he really didn't. And- as the silence continued to stretch and She continued to stare- he began to feel his once solid shield of certainty flicker; and it was a concentrated effort to keep a waver out of his furrowed eyebrows. What if he was wrong? What if this wasn't the test, or if he'd chosen the wrong option? What if he had taken a plunge without checking his parachute? What if he'd gone diving without double casting a waterbreathing spell? What if- What if- What if- He blinked, the frenzy cleared, and She was smiling. He barely had a moment filled with an incredible height of panic before She threw Her head back; letting loose a heady, genre-redefining cackle. He could only stare in deserved awe as Nightmare Moon delivered the most textbook evil laugh he had never known was feasible. It rolled and pealed, shaking and leaping with each painfully emphasized syllable; yet it still somehow managed to sound so natural. It just went on and on, and- as his mind took belated notice of the unnaturally sharpened fangs at home in Her gaping mouth- he could only imagine what that kind of exertion could be doing to Her throat. It just sounded like it really hurt, with the sheer force behind the saga of black mirth. She hadn't been meant to find his jab funny, especially not to this point. It felt like minutes before the auditory assault tapered off, and even longer still before the empty hall stopped ringing with the echo of it. A toothy grin edged with far more points than were necessary filled the space where strange levity had been moments ago, as Nightmare Moon aimed Her focus back at him. Her pupils seemed to contract as Her eyes hooded, and Her large smile sharpened into a far more devious smirk. The action alone played and leapt horribly on the hint of whatever nerve he had, and he couldn't stop the edge of his lip from curling as the urge to hide attempted a siege over his rational thoughts. "Oh.." Her first spoken word in their upcoming back-and-forth, and he already wasn't feeling great about the volume of underlying cunning hanging in the air. Her raised hoof lowered back to the ground to stand in front of the one already there, as the fading ember of a chesty chuckle crept into Her voice. "..are you so sure, child?" He narrowed his eyes in as thin a veil of disgust as he could manage as the words processed; to which She simply chuckled again. What was She even trying to say? As far as he knew, She hadn't birthed him or raised him. Not in any way that mattered, at least. "I'm quite sure, thanks." His barbed words- as expected- only seemed to drive Her amusement further: as that infuriatingly infatuating chuckle rose in Her chest again. The thoroughly broken silence filled anew with the sounds of ruffling feathers as Her wings folded and found their place at Her sides; and She topped the action off by promptly lowering Her backside to the ground where She stood. Somehow, She seemed even taller when She sat. As much as he wanted to cringe away from Her as She tilted Her head to the side with some kind of smugness, he firmly kept his stand where he was. It was highly uncomfortable standing less than fifteen hoof-lengths away from where The Queen of Nightmares simply sat; but he would find a way to manage. Having a conversation with the literal boogeymare; what a spectacle his life had suddenly become. Maybe he could write a book about his experiences one day? 'The Nightmare and Me'? As She apparently made Herself comfortable on the uncomfortable, cold floor: She spoke again. "If you so say, child; though, are you sure you would begin this foray with such a line?" In a simple, subtle moment: Her laughing eyes lost their mirth, and Her smile turned down. A biting chill nipped unexpectedly at his spine as Her face killed all defining features of warmth, and something undefiningly dangerous took its place in Her gleaming, slit pupils. "I would.. advise a different topic." As he stared up at Her, and she stared down at the spot where he stood: he obviously felt the pressure of fear in his throat as he struggled through a swallow, but he also felt an undeniable amount of indignance behind it. It wasn't showing on his face, mutinous and concerned as it was, but he was angry. What was the point of 'testing' him if She was just going to 'advise' him to stay away from topics She didn't like?! He wasn't going to pursue that particular thread, of course; but it didn't have anything to do with Her 'advice'. He just didn't think it was a very good place to start. He had only said it to get on Her nerves. A smug smile had inexplicably returned feeling to Nightmare Moon's face, and it took him a second of momentarily enraged puzzling to figure out that his nose had begun to bunch up and scrunch at the end. He sniffed indignantly and straightened his expression, though it did little to fix the one on his tormentor's face: which only seemed to deepen with knowing amusement. He wasn't trotting off along after whatever She said like a good little colt, he had a reason. He needed answers: a lot of them; so he was going to have to ask some questions. Biting at the hook out of spite wasn't going to do anything but leave him gasping for air. Ugh. He needed to calm down, he was getting all worked up over nothing. If he was going to let let every little tactic She threw at him get a rise, then he was going to lose. Keep a steady head, take a deep breath. She was specifically keeping Her hooves out of his head for this, and She needed him. He would be fine; he would be safe. ...She would allow him a moment of solace, surely? Just to catch his breath? He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply through his nose. The sharp, somewhat wet smell of night; almost drowned out by the dampening smell of copious dust. What a greeting. Breathe out, and count it. One, two, three, four. Listen to his heartbeat; feel the steady flow of life, there. Bump, bump, bump; deep beneath the fuzzy sound of silence. Regular, and steady. He was doing just fine. Opening his eyes with new clarity brought him the sight of a face returned to chilly indifference. The joke must have lost its humor for the moment, though he had little doubt She would find another punchline sometime soon. For his part, he returned to glaring defiantly; for all the good it did him. His thoughts were falling into line now, and he was beginning to remember his plan of attack; what he'd wanted to do. The most burning, prominent question he needed to ask. He let his glare ease up a little, though he kept a reasonably questioning furrow in his eyebrows. "Actually, you're right. There is something else I'd rather start with. A question, if you wouldn't mind." His tone was decently conversationally hostile, but he was still finding his legs, and he wasn't sure how straight his voice had kept. Regardless, the leading end brought Nightmare Moon's expression to a pointed quirk, as if She expected him to continue speaking. But he was going to wait for Her to speak again. If he let Her sit in on a one-sided rant like a removed spectator, he would never get anywhere. She had to fall into a similar rhythm of communication, so She was less likely to refuse him answers. Make Her just as invested as he was. It was a technique She had taught him in one of his forgotten dreams, unfortunately. There was little he could do here to actually catch Her off guard; when She was the one who had implanted most of his tactics in his head to begin with. That was the point of the test, though. Using what She'd given him to successful effect. It was only a few moments of Her staring down questionably before She took the hint, and Her head raised another inch as Her eyes shadowed themselves against an already dark backdrop. "And what would that be?" This entire thing would be far easier if She wasn't literally looking down on him, but they had a height difference anyway. She'd probably be doing that if She laid down. And yet, some- freakishly unfair -how: Her proportions looked natural and beautiful. It was ridiculous. His envy was the mere side course of his contempt, though; and he should really focus in on what was relevant. Keep a handle on the conversation, don't drift away, and stay prompt: above all things. And what was most prompt on his mind was a very simple question. A very simple demand of knowledge to make, yet one that should be very hard to refuse. He raised himself up, squared his expression, and stared directly into the regally distant eyes set on him. The words felt dumb in his mouth before they even came out, but he pushed the regret lying in wait aside. He needed to know. "Why me?" Yeah, he really just wanted to know what in Tartarus's name he was here for. She couldn't possibly dodge an easy question of intent, could She? What would be the harm in telling him at this point, when they were already here? Whatever harm there was, She must have considered it: as Her response to his question was to re-quirk Her eyebrow. As insulting as the action was by itself, the hoof She raised to rest under Her chin was a burning seasoning into the wound. Pondering, She seemed to be. Sure She was... He didn't know if the questioning glimmer in Her eye was meant to seem so disingenuous, but the urge to kick his hoof against something hard flared regardless. "Child, you're going to have to be more specific. What choice are you bemoaning, now?" She was mocking him, yeah. His bottom lip curled inward for him to bite at roughly, and he sighed hotly through his nose. Fine, if She wanted to really dot the i's, he would be more specific. Tartarus burn him, he would be overly specific! That'd show Her for implying that he was short-winded! He didn't know if he surprised Her as he threw his hoof out with a flourish, but heavens he hoped he did: because all he did was lay it exaggeratedly on his puffed chest as he began to speak as broadly as he could. "A question I pose, Nightmare Moon: why have I been summoned so indirectly to this cursed locale?!" He wanted to pace dramatically, but the urge to stay front and center overpowered it. He would have to make due with a comical emphasis on his theatrical frown and hoof gestures. "For years, as I understand it: you have groomed me in such a strangely indirect way." He brought his hoof up to jolt roughly at his head as he grimaced. "Prodding and poking at my mind even through extreme adversity; and for what?!" He swung his hoof out to his left: Nightmare Moon's vaguely interested eyes instantly following the motion. "To have me play at so-called tests as though I am a schoolfoal?! For amusement?!" He dropped his hoof heavily to the floor as he shook his head as widely as he could, even through the neck pain it caused him. "I don't think so." He had to hoof it to Her: whatever She was thinking about his best attempt at an impromptu theatre production, she kept it to Herself like a long-suffering director. He thought he caught the edge of an eye-roll, but he ignored it in favor of sweeping his hoof in a wide arc to land in a direct point at where She sat. "You've some purpose for me, haven't you?! Even putting aside your end-goal: you could have waited for any point to retrieve me and have me in any fashion you so chose; but you specifically had me come here at this very moment!" He liked to imagine his eyes shone with some kind of gleam or inner fire as he finished with one, magnificent shout. Silhouette tall and strong against a backdrop of victory. "Why have you brought me here?! Tell me!" His powerful bellow bounced generously off the rough walls of the hall; though the volume didn't really matter in the end, no matter how empowered it made him feel. He was slightly out of breath and out of practice for monologues, but the slight shake he noticed in his hoof as he dropped it was definitely more from the excitement rather than the exertion. He could have gone for the baser question of why She had chosen him in the first place, but it would probably be better to work up to that. It just didn't seem as important as the most current moment. For all he knew, She had brought him out here to perform a ritual killing or something. Best to get an estimate, as soon as possible. It was another moment of a slightly spirit dropping stare from Nightmare Moon before She spoke again: dry kindling in Her voice threatening to set him alight. "Light Flow, child: I have met and judged many of the theatre's greatest champions over lifetimes, and you," Her mouth turned down a little, barely exposing the edge of a grimace. "are far from stage ready." Ouch. Okay, that hurt his confidence just a little, but whatever. What did She even know about dramatic speeches, anyway? Hurtful comments apparently said and done: Nightmare Moon's expression took... an interesting turn. He really didn't like the small quirked, fanged grin that grew, or the catlike interest plain in Her eyes. "Child... how would you like to play a game?" Whatever 'victory' was on his face fled like a coward as His tail instinctively tucked between his legs, and he took a sharp swallow. He didn't like this at all. What could that possibly mean?! A 'game' by the standards of a genocidal war-queen could cover anything from a rousing round of Jenga to literal blood sport. If he could shake his head no, he absolutely would've; though something about the way Her head was tilted to the side told him that would be a bad idea. She was staring at him awfully predatorily, and it was beginning to make him very uncomfortable. He sucked his lip in to bite at again, and shuffled his hoof the barest inch away from the potential danger. "What.. kind of game?" Caution was the flavor of the day, and he was doing his best to put it on display in all of his mannerisms. She must have found his sudden reluctance amusing, because a patented chest-chuckle was Her immediate response. That probably wasn't a good sign. Her voice was sly and smooth when She spoke next: lending great credence to his theory that he was falling into some kind of trap. "Oh, nothing so exciting, child; don't fret. It's a rather simple thing I propose; just to... lighten the mood, you might say." She laughed again as Her head tilted back, this time more completely. Less of a chuckle and more of a light cackle: as She seemed to be so good at. He audibly gulped: he couldn't help it. Tense stereotype or not: the trepidation at camp in his chest was desperately attempting to drag his hooves into running away; and he almost had half a mind to give up and get out. It was the tension more than anything else. She was dragging the spectacle out on purpose just to drive his imagination wild and put him at edge, he knew. Chiefly because She had taught that to him! Thankfully, whatever joy She was getting out of watching him visibly squirm must have reached its end; as- in yet another near instant- She blinked languishly and Her predatory air took a turn to something approaching casually businesslike. "You seem intent on beginning with an exchange of information, from me to you." She scoffed, though somehow with a smile on Her face. "Somewhat conceited, but I suppose you it would be cruel to deny you the inherent right of information." She chuckled quietly as She regarded him with a creepy amount of what seemed to be fondness. Her voice slowed to a drawl, edging over and on his rising nerves. "I've something a little different in mind, though; something a little more.. Fun. Instead of just telling you the answers, I believe I'd rather you guess them." Her head turned slightly so that She was regarding him out of the corner of Her fluttering eye, showing him the side of Her devious grin. "Puzzle the beginning of each riddle out on your own. Present to me your theory, and if you've landed anywhere near the mark, I'll gladly spill each and every Honest detail you desire." Her head turned again, this time against Her chest: so Her gaze met his as directly as it could. Her hooded eyes over unnatural pupils seemed to dance with mirth and challenge, beckoning him to leap ahead and join in. "An interesting thought, isn't it? Guaranteed honesty at a risk? What might you choose, child?" Choice, right; as if he had one. > Chapter 41 - The Illusion (Retitled) > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Choose... Choose... Choose... What an incredibly overblown way to say 'your opinion doesn't matter, now say what I want.' Light Flow had never wanted to flaunt survival to punch somepony so badly in his life. His head lolled from side to side in a boneless display of indecision; each completed arc punctuated with a sufferingly drawn-out hem or haw. His eyes were set with wandering from spot to random spot as aimlessly as anything he had ever seen Pinkie Pie do, with as little agency as anything Rainbow Dash did. Huh. Those names again, after seeing and thinking them all day... It was kind of sad in a blissfully unurgent way to realize just how few ponies he knew. How many was it- seven, or something? Gee, what a pariah he was. It was all by choice, certainly; but maybe- just maybe: it wouldn't be horrible, mind-melting torture to make the barest, bleeding hint of an attempt at broadening his social circle. It'd give him something to do. If- quite obviously- the apocalypse was put on hold. Definitely probably maybe on the agenda after this, though. It was a possibility. With the neat wrapping of yet another pointless tangent, his head made yet another tick of a pass with yet another tock of a hum. His eyes found themselves solidly occupied by the incredibly important task of counting lines in the far wall, but he was still able to feel more than definitively see the hemorrhaging glare that followed carefully behind his every action. Nightmare Moon looked an awful lot like a cat, now that he thought about it... She had the eyes and airs to match, obviously; but what he hadn't considered- amidst the weird feelings of awe and strangely provocative fear- was just how much Her posture added to the feline image. He was pretty sure he had seen that demon cat of Rarity's posing in that exact stiff-backed, wide-eyed crouch that She seemed so stuck in. Now, that considered, the question remained: which of them was more dangerous? With as much clarity as the real articles, his mental pictures of the two creatures came to a cross-section in his head like painfully prepared photos hung to develop, and the giggle that he quickly killed in his chest was the smattering of life-ruining light that he tried to hide by hurriedly glancing toward the bare wall. His next lulling hum doubled in compensating intensity to mask the offensively offending noise, but it probably wasn't likely She'd heard either way. It had been more than a minute since his answer was likely expected, and nearly all of the time had been whittled away with such similar frivolities as feline pondering. Was it insulting to take what was probably a transparently verbose moment to come up with an answer to a question that- for all the illusion of choice gleamed- really only had one? Yes, absolutely. He was more than obviously mocking Her in one of the most foalish ways he could think of. But honestly: if he didn't take every single petty moment he could to get on Nightmare Moon's nerves while it was easy, then he didn't think he would ever be able to truly forgive himself. Sure, he could pretend like the devastating loss to his incredible snarking record didn't bother him, but he would always feel it in his heart. Like a hole that could never fill; no matter how sarcastic or snide he managed to be to ponies that probably didn't deserve it. It would be a hollow succor to a life bereft of the ultimate in snide acts of spite; like an offering of dirty gutter water after denying a drink from a pure spring. He would idle the rest of his days away in inconsolable melancholy like the most timeworn and washed up stallion that ever had any modicum of success; undoubtedly cursing this moment- and certainly himself above all else- for slipping by so quietly without so much as a measly sarcastic snort. Why, oh why hadn't he said something about Her galactically large behind?! Okay, he was beginning to feel palpable heat burning his coat, it was probably time to stop edging the terrifyingly powerful moon Goddess. As contrarily funny as it somehow managed to be. Despite the screaming reminder of the ever increasing sense of danger to him and his various parts, he let his head loll back against his neck with one last, especially grand hum for stupidly good measure; before he righted himself to the sight before him. Nightmare Moon didn't look so happy, with what little he could see of Her corded neck straining and veining against the constraining space of boredom that had set in while he whiled. A pot boiling over, She was. Eyes narrowed and cold; and jaw set down to a tight squeeze below the pointy reminder of many terrifying fangs- Oh yeah, She had fangs, too. He couldn't help himself. The thought that creeped its way into his head was as invincible as it was incorrigible, and it stole his faculties immediately away for one hilarious moment. The snort of a laugh that suddenly held his life precariously hostile was as threatening as any act of stupid defiance could lie awake at night hoping to be, and it took real force of will to ensure it was entirely and quietly snuffed. The crisis apparent to nopony but himself cleared up with the very nosy nopony named the wiser: he cleared his throat in a very professional, briskly, brusque manner. He was very cognizant of the serious severity of the situation, and he definitely wasn't compensating for any kind of deep-rooted, paralyzing fear. He set his eyes onto a slotted pair that seemed to be seriously considering some kind of forceful egress on his unwitting part; though there was a real chance behind the curiosity that said egress might be both real and painful. Best to stop delaying, quickly. "Well, I don't see how I could refuse such a clearly..." His eyes wandered as he hung on the linguistical cliff of his own words, as he made a show of searching for a word he already knew. "..magnanimous offer; so... I'll play," he affirmed with a breath and a nod, as well as a fair amount of posture. "For the record: I don't know how whatever's coming next could be considered a game, but... well- you're the Goddess here..." He tried to look disinterested as he threw the bordered insult at Her, but he couldn't help himself from stealing glimpses at Her frowning face. After all: he was going to be playing Her 'game' no matter what he did or didn't say; this whole spectacle was just another weird facet of the whole twisted debacle. A coping mechanism, he'd say; if he ever got the chance to throw it in Her face. Her redundant confirmation finally received, Nightmare Moon's lips rose in a mocking snarl. A wide show of glinting teeth and roused anger that served as a tidy reminder of why his choices might have been a bit ill-considered. "How simple a farce you would subject me to. Do you not see your tawdry efforts to stall as laughably obvious?" Her head spun in a tight, derisive circle as She nearly audibly growled through her fangs. "Have you anything else to say for my time lost, or is this the urgency that you might direct all of our proceedings with?" His immediate expression was one of guarded indignance, though the lack of true, dangerous malice in Her drawn lips made it easier to mold the- admittedly- overly aired expression. She thought he was stalling, did She? Well She was right, but Tartarus be damned if he wasn't going to take this opportunity to stall even more, shame on Her. "Well, it's possible that I may have been- as you said- stalling." He allowed his hoof to lay over his chest, and his snout to follow his eyes as they both fell to a low, floor-adjacent bow. "Or, as an alternative: I could have simply been affording your generous offering all of the most thoughtful and thorough consideration it is rightfully due." His eyes crept open the merest sliver to afford him sight of the steaming sentiment on Her face. "...Such is befit for your station, majesty." Now that was sure to sting. A reference to the nobility She once apparently had by right, now to be regained through bloody, miserable conquest? Talk about salt in a gaping hole. He was a master of drawing things out. Some would say it was his natural instinct. And by 'some' he meant Applejack, and by 'natural instinct' he meant purposeful annoyance. For a moment of flashing danger in those unnatural eyes, he thought he might've gone too far in his needling. A single moment of possible recompense, where his put-on bluster nearly wavered. But given the immediate lack of surging power leaping from Her horn to tear him limb from limb in the following moments, it seemed She managed to keep a tight lid on Her emotions. Nightmare Moon merely simmered in a straining seethe for a moment, before roughly throwing Her head aside. "If you're to play, then cease your stalling and play!" She snapped, as the thrumming bass from her shout reverberated in his ears. Though Her eyes were off him for the moment, he could still hear the underlying attention in the impatient bark of Her voice. "My time in far less constraining circumstances is a precious commodity, child: so I'd see that you speed your theatrics to a less grating pace!" The grinding emphasis on 'grating' may have invoked images of literal grinding, but it didn't do so much as to scratch his coat; as his face wizened with the welcome lines of contemplation. Sure, it was awfully intimidating when She yelled and made vague threats of death and destruction, but he was pretty sure She was just like that. Threats of bodily harm through gnashing fangs were just her thing. It was hard for him to begrudge that, he was quite similar. Though, admittedly, he couldn't deny the fear of actually making Her mad was... somewhat sobering. Memories of burning selves and golden rings scraped against his senses for a distracting moment; drawing his frown a different, deeper shade of melancholy blue. It would be silly to say that he was afraid of finding out what Her wrath was like, because he already had a very clear picture. But moving past that: what did She mean by 'constraining circumstances?' The natural curve of his vision as it was posed let him see the subtle turn of Nightmare Moon's face as Her head turned imperceptibly, and one of Her unnaturally cat-like pupils came to rest on him under a fielded hood of lightly painted violet. Nothing. No sign of the clear frustration She'd been posed to have at him. So much emotion and acted motion snuffed so inconspicuously out. Bashful indignance at his jabs: all gone; all replaced by coiled consideration, and tepid temperance. Waiting and watching to see how he'd follow through, after She'd made sure to ham up especially for him. Was that realization part of it? Another part of his 'test?' His own eyes came to a drifting close as he took a deep, filling breath. The deprivation came with a drawing, welcoming focus, and a solid reaffirmation of solidity that helped to wash down a creeping feeling of sickness rising in his throat. It was a game; it was a test. She was just playing with him- testing him. Nothing could be taken at face value. Don't get invested, idiot. The insult taken like a splash of cold water from his personal well of hostility brought a fuzzy feeling of competence rushing back to fill where a single shot look had shoveled it out. He knew it was an odd sight: as he shook his head roughly from side to side while making flapping noises with his lips, but it was all about completing the metaphor. It just made the picture fit in his head. Stupid and dog-like though it was. A few seconds later, and speculatively dried from his action: he set his stare forward with a swish of his mane and a huff from his throat. Was he standing taller? Probably just his imagination, though he did absently shuffle his hooves a bit more broadly on the floor. Well, he could at least count the defeat of that soul-crushing, absent stare as a victory from his dog-like behavior, though he wasn't sure if he really preferred the mixed stare of confusion and deprecation Nightmare Moon was now affixing to his forehead. He had just shook his head around like a dog, hadn't he? No more than a few seconds ago- and he hadn't had a single problem with it. 'Fool' seemed to ring out in the empty space of his head like a broken, off-tune chorus; never ceasing in volume as it continually crescendo'd repeatedly again and again until he wasn't sure the joke about his head being empty was a joke anymore and suddenly maybe his face might have been flushing and wow he was regretting doing that in front of the Goddess who was already known for making claims at being akin to his mother. Embarrassment layered on embarrassment like some kind of horrifying mistake cake. He was an idiot, but he kept a sure smile anyway. Just because, apparently. "We- I- Are you-" She started, wholly uncharacteristically with a falter to her speech that widened his own eyes as Nightmare Moon's jaw worked for an astonished, silent moment. "Child," She continued after yet another moment which She took to stare out of a window with a creased brow. "..have you certainty that you've a firm grasp on-" Her sentence trailed off as Her lips began to form around a particular word, before She seemingly thought against it, and continued after yet another long moment of staring at him. "-the situation?" While Her composure may have fallen for a moment, whatever bewildered daze he had sent Her into was quickly fading away. Her eyes bled their confusion into suspicious skepticism, though there was also a strange measure of... concern? Eugh, that was a skeevy feeling. "You seem.. at the kindest estimation I could make... Oh, how might I put it gently..?" She shook Her head, and sighed; before settling a disgustingly pitying look on him. "Beleaguered." Okay, he wasn't smiling anymore, and he was no longer wondering whether he was blushing. "Yes!" The answer came too quickly to be anything less than knee-jerk, and the instinct to bite the bark back nipped at his neck in a panic. Where had his charisma gone? Where was the confident, self-assured, well-spoken Light Flow? Out the window, apparently. So long competence. He turned his gaze to the inky abyss of the unlit ceiling for a frustrating moment as he seethed in quiet anger at himself, before the sound of his own teeth grinding eventually brought him the strength to calmly turn back to the worsening levels of questioning skepticism on Nightmare Moon's face. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm ready to make my first guess," he said as slowly and firmly as he could manage, though he wasn't sure his splintering sense of confidence didn't just make him sound wooden. He had to stay focused- stay on target! Now wasn't the time for overwhelming sentiment tripping the scene at every corner, and he didn't care how much of a script he had to craft for himself to roll the ball. It didn't hurt that the faster he carted them towards the goal, the further behind they left his embarrassing blunder. Nope, not much of a downside at all. It was really about getting his answers, though. Ulterior motives weren't a thing, and he was nothing if not always one-hundred percent sincere. Applejack would probably vouch for that, as long as he had a chance to ask her to lie first. She was reliable for that kind of thing at least thirty percent of the time, and those odds sounded good to reality-deprived him. Nightmare Moon was still staring with a questioning eyebrow and a painfully non-hostile frown, so he turned his face pointedly away as he made a show of deep consideration. Though, truthfully: there wasn't much to consider. It hadn't been too hard to puzzle out the answer to his own question under duress. It was pretty self-explanatory, actually; so much so that he kind of felt dumb for asking in the first place. Oh well, maybe he was dumb. It'd take a bit of the pressure off. He didn't especially mind the redundancy, though. Some hard confirmation after so long waiting and wandering blindly in the dark; it'd be such a relief to finally shed some light. He turned to eye the waiting Goddess, who seemed to be proving his descriptor quite readily with nearly genuine interest glimmering behind the regular general contempt and antipathy. Still all those different types of intimidating and terrifying, though; that wasn't going to change anytime soon. "The reason you've brought me here..." He spoke slowly with a tilt to his head, as he eased his tentative guess into the air as non-confrontationally as he could manage. "..is because... you need me, right?" The instant disappointment setting Nightmare Moon's face askew was an excellent lip-loosener, and the momentary pause he was taking to think ended much faster than he'd planned. "Because- I'm important, right? I'm uh... there's some specific thing I can do that... you... need." Her eyebrow rose, nearly disappearing behind the cool blue steel of Her helmet. He squinted at the expression. Was that vague interest or contempt? It was so hard to tell... He'd been taught- by Her, of course- to base his tone and tense on the reactions of his conversational partner, but She just gave no tells. Aside from the overly dramatic, wholly exaggerated motions She made for his benefit, it was more or less just a barely differing wall of scorn or predatory curiosity. Frustrating. Purposefully frustrating. He grit his teeth in a grimace as Her face just... kept searching for more. What did She want from him? What else could he say to narrow it down? He hadn't been expecting this pressing need for depth to his answer. How descript did She want him to be? "That thing.." he ground out, just to fill the lengthening pause as he reached for any sort of desperate conclusion. What could it be; what could it be?! Why did She need him? Maybe... Maybe if he thought in the opposite direction. Stop looking under rocks for some mythical catch-all, and try consolidating and eliminating definite possibilities. What did he have, besides a clever tongue and a played-out wit? .... Well, that didn't leave too many options left, now did it? He had a high reading comprehension, though that was tempered by his general lack of drive... His mana fount was slightly larger than what was average for a unicorn, though he'd never put much time into general expanding exercises, so he was probably still behind the curve, there... Seriously, why had she picked him? He... no, that wasn't considered a good thing... He could- no, that was dumb to even consider. There was that one time... actually, that was probably more luck than anything else. He... had a special talent in Necromancy? Was it that obvious? Could it be? But... wasn't that just implied, though? That was obviously why She'd so parasitically attached Herself to him... It couldn't just be that he had a talent for raising the dead... One that he'd never even used, no less.. What had he asked in the first place, again? If he hadn't been under intense scrutiny, he would have smacked himself in the face. It was no use, his thoughts had taken a nosedive. It probably wouldn't hurt to just throw a guess at this point; not like he was getting anywhere else. He sucked his lip back in a pained seethe for a squinted moment as he inwardly cursed his lack of foresight, before he took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and took a painful bite of the bit. "...my talent for Necromancy? Is the thing..?" It was a quiet moment following in the wake of his question. Even as his head slightly tilted back in preparation for rebuke, he could already see the problem; hear it, even. He'd been meant to answer, not ask. His eyes inched open, and immediately he could see it on Her face; in the subtle, deepening line of her clenching jaw, and the fighting curve of a restrained snarl. If he'd been taking a written test, he would've just been deducted points. But luckily, he wasn't being marked; at least, not in the traditional sense. However much Nightmare Moon must have disapproved of his general lack of charisma, it was mostly lost in the rushing tides that made up the mighty ocean of disdain She held for life itself. That is, to say: She didn't look all that madder than what he was taking as usual. So, She merely tilted Her head up the barest inch, and narrowed Her violet-shaded eyes. "...You've an awful amount of hesitation, child. I thought you'd found some measure of inner peace." She shook Her head as She spoke, a heavy undertone beneath a tone already laden with crushing weight. "I suppose there is no matter. You've your right to act in any way you please, mouse-like or no." He bristled at that, even as She turned Her head in a haughty huff. His shoulders, sagged as they were from his so-called 'mouse-like behavior', squared once more in a resemblance of his former defiance, as his drooping ears pricked to attention. Just because he was an idiot didn't mean She had to obliquely point it out. There was simply no need to be so plainly rude. Weren't they meant to be having a discussion, like civilized ponies? Why, he'd half a mind to hoof Her the other half! The angry half! His teeth ground in considering consternation for a moment, before he opened his mouth to deliver a scathing condemnation that was sure to- "Incidentally," She added, stopping his insults on his tongue even as they began to burn. "-you're incorrect. Your special connection to the passed isn't why you were brought for this night." So casual; thrown out onto his frozen face like a blistering egg. A prompt statement of facts, from the tone of Her voice, simply as though this was a discussion of the weather. 'You fail, idiot; also, it rained yesterday.' It was the sincere lack of care in Her voice that really hurt. In fact, he probably would have felt less physically stunned had She simply slapped him, or called him an imbecile. A straight-forward mocking probably would have hurt less, and certainly been less surprising. As it was, he was left standing like a once-confident confident statue with its mouth open for birds. He could barely even blink, as many different, new questions crowded to be the first to roll out of his gaping maw. What now? What happened when he got an answer wrong? Could he still know the right answer? At least a hint to it? Was this when She murdered him? All very important questions to his panicking mind that he, quite unfortunately, never got the chance to ask: as Nightmare Moon turned Her head back about-face with a suffering sigh. A long, drawn-out sigh that one would expect to hear from a disappointed parent; or some other metaphor because he didn't really like that one. "What a terrible shame. And I mean that, truly." The emphasizing hoof she easily threw onto her chest somehow made him doubt that. Maybe it was the clear sarcastic inflection in Her voice. "That you would choose the simplest, most uncomplicated question from the entire library of unanswered questions in your head: and still fail." She shook Her head, and- Okay, he was going to pretend like She hadn't just wiped a real tear from Her eye, because it was less impressive to think that She had simply mimed it. "And so badly, too. To choose an answer so incredibly removed from the correct realm of answers.. The least creative answer you could have given... Oh the tragedy." "What a loss. What a tremendous loss... If only you had some sort of extra chance." An exception, tossed like sweet candy in front of a salivating foal. Hooded eyes raised like purple curtains, drawing a show to a silver smile set with silver fangs, that all dulled in comparison to an even shinier tongue. "Yes," She hissed, as the acted mask of pity began to flake off; to reveal the uncounted depths of cunning beneath. "If only the big bad tyrant would grant poor little you a mulligan." A mulligan? Like- like in golf? How did She know what that meant? No, scratch that thought- She was allowing him another chance! Albeit in the form of a theatrical repeal; but She wouldn't have said it if She wasn't giving it to him! The curse was broken, and he was miraculously thawed from his inexplicable prison of stone. His mouth was already open from the beginning of his now-dead rant, so with a swish of moistening saliva he opened again to- Whatever exclamation he was about to mindlessly throw: it, too, died on the graveyard of his tongue. In a painfully edging preemption, Nightmare Moon's voice raised in yet another contradiction; as She shook off Her played theatrics, and adopted a business-like tone. "But it is only one. A single exception." She preceded with a counted nod, before raising Herself even further up to a wholly unnecessary tower, as Her voice gained a yet-unnecessary stroke of grandness. "This one time, putting aside all of my posturing and playing, for the sheer sake of brevity: I will allow not a second try, but an entire supersession." The atmosphere changed so quickly from the hammy acting, he almost didn't take Her seriously at first. It was a quiet moment of waiting for a punchline; before, with a sobering breath of cold air, he registered the hard steel glimmering in Her eyes. She was serious. She was letting his mistake slide, but only just. He wouldn't have that kindness again. Her eyes narrowed from their already positionally narrowed stare, as if to reinforce the warning. "You were not entirely off the mark; merely arriving at the wrong conclusion. Your guess holds, barely, up to merit; so in the interest of my time, I will give you your sought answers." It was a silent moment after that, as She seemingly gave him a moment to himself that he gladly took to reorient. He blinked, perhaps a few too many times, as he stared sightlessly at the floor in front of him; each quick close the mark left from a jump in thought. Okay, he'd gotten it wrong, but only his conclusion., apparently? He wasn't here specifically tonight because he could do Necromancy; which made a certain amount of sense, because he couldn't, really. But, even though he'd been wrong, She was just letting him pass. A breathtaking display of magnanimity from somepony like Her, though She'd certainly made it clear that speeding things along was chiefly in Her interest. It kind of cheapened the sentiment, but that was probably a good thing in the end. What was he here for, then? What other talent did he possess that She was going to make use of? Well, She was going to tell him, wasn't She? He turned back up to Nightmare Moon's awaiting gaze with perhaps too much wonder, but it was so hard to help it. The siren scent of knowledge was tickling his senses, and he was just burning to get an answer or seven. The clear satisfaction that wrote itself across Her face as he tuned in also wasn't much of a downside, if only because it wasn't derision for once. In the ever-present air of danger and hostility that he'd probably be floating in for anywhere between the next couple hours and the rest of his life, it was nice to see something positive. Approaching positive, at least; smugness wasn't quite on the level of, say: joy or empathy. He'd take it, though. "Ah, how delightful," She murmured, as Her resting frown turned up to a curled, decadent smile. "To be so naively attended; as a child to a mentor. It's nearly enough to bring me to reminisce on our..." She paused for a moment, as some sort of mockery to a facsimile of wistfulness colored the breath of Her voice. "...shared past." She chuckled luxuriously at that, as the sultry silk in Her tone rubbed squeamishly against the tips of his fur. It was nauseating, just how much sly definition there was to Her voice. Like a beautiful stranger stopping to compliment him on the street, then walking away with his wallet. He shuddered, though not from the cold. Their shared past. It was enough to have the vague thought at hoof's length to obliquely recall and then immediately push away, he didn't really want to remember any specifics. Ethereal, sometimes ephemeral encounters whittled away when he slept, as She forced Herself into his subconscious. Mere suggestions of the meta ideas of personal meetings, where She would direct Her appearance with an uncomfortable amount of forced familiarity. There, in his dreamscape, where She brought him to meet with Her every other night: She would 'teach' him. Supplicants and suggestions in the form of powerful insertions. Subliminal messages implanted like corrupting little seeds; to grow and fester as he woke up each morning none the wiser, just a little more changed from the pony who fell asleep. Knowledge and information. Ideas and improvements. Nips and tucks to mold a mind like clay. His own supplied metaphor was a cold, chilling shock, and his mind returned in a sudden jump from the very bad place it had gone to find a rising burn of acid in his throat. That was probably enough of that. The topic found itself summarily pushed back to some dark little corner of his mind; to rot, as it should've. He really didn't like thinking about it. His face a little green: he wiped his hoof roughly against his suddenly sweaty forehead, and shot a glance up to the still-smug face of Nightmare Moon. "I'm.. not sure this is entirely like... that," he supplied weakly. The memory of earnest curiosity was as apt in his naming as Nightmare Moon's face was smug, and it continued that way in spite of him. She merely chuckled that creeping chuckle again, before letting out an emphasized sigh. "You've such a committal to refusing what we've shared together; it's nearly an insult at this point, child." She reached one, expecially long hoof up to rub in a slow circle on Her chest, as he watched warily. "Oh, such a wound, such a wound from one who I would so graciously offer an invitation to my family." The cloying affectation of mocking affection brought a disgusted grimace to his face, as Nightmare Moon continued to rub small circles into the breast of Her chest. It was an uncomfortable spectacle for more than one reason, even completely disregarding the possible undertones. Lap on lap of completed rounds in its dead center, until one pass made a detour; and, before his widening eyes: the tip of Her coldly-clad hoof pressed in, and began to tear a blooded line into Her own chest. He bit back a sharp gasp as the blunted edge dragged down through black fur and flesh alike in a graceful glide, before taking a sharp turn upwards to leave a curved point. The drawn line ran up again in a lazy swoop, then arced twice in quick succession to cut itself off where it began. A perfect little heart, in one quick, robotic motion. Its work done: the splotched, stained shoe hovered just next to the completed act of self-mutilation. Angry red smears painted across otherwise pristine plating, as the same strawberry paint began to leak down across Her fur, and out of the messily carved self-section. He knew he was panicking in the back of his mind, but- maybe it was the shock- he couldn't help but admire the cut, in a way. For all its barbarism: It somehow managed to be pretty and ugly at the same time. The entire shape was one, clear line; nearly perfectly straight and measured, as if cut with an unfeeling tool rather than Her own Hoof. Yet, for its admirable precision, the shear was still jagged and rough, and blood seeped and gushed freely from the fleshy chunks like a spout. A wetly accented mark, left to carelessly dry on an easel. He was breathing, heavily; nearly so hard that he might've been on the verge of hyperventilation. He had just- She had just- He flicked a wobbling gaze up to the face of the butcherer, caught in the act of performing Her sick craft on none other than Herself. What would the face of such a monster look like? Mad and raving, like an unhinged psychopath? Cold and unfeeling, like a thoughtless sociopath? What he'd never expected, though, was a smile. Smiling, like a knowing trickster. Fangs like little diamonds shimmered in the low moonlight, as Her hooded eyes cast deep black ravines with echoes of laughter at their bottoms. "Why, whatever is the matter, child?" She whispered; though it could've been a shout, because he was finding it a little hard to hear over the pounding in his ears. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." Little slivers of teeth drew back behind their cover, as She hummed an amused question into the air. So careless, so free; as if nothing at all had just happened. Her chest remained proudly thrust into the air, displayed like some kind of prized piece of art. Each breath as it came to his chest hurt, more and more as he struggled to just simply breathe. The background of the scene blurred and ran together like dribbling paint as his vision narrowed on the subtly laughing lines of Her face, nearly hidden behind the screaming phantom images of bloody hearts that wouldn't go away no mater how many times he blinked. He could barely hear the quiet ambiance of the night anymore; it was all drowned out in a slowly rising motion of pumping and voiceless echoes. The recognizable sound of the beat of his heart that somehow managed to rise above the screaming brought a flicker of hope through the fear; that there might have been some connection to something that wasn't mania. But it was false. The steady thrum in his ears was hollow, like an empty promise. Each ringing beat held undertones of grief; each bell toll a great tick in a resounding series of flinching tocks. His heart was playing a funeral march to him. Everything felt so large and slow all of a sudden, like he was floating underwater. A quiet sink down to the depths of an abyss, as the already dragged-together surrounds slowly began to dribble down bright red. What was happening? Was he having a panic attack? He'd had them in the past, and they had never felt like this. It was more like a fever dream than anything. A waking fever dream. He had to center himself. He was afraid, more than anything else: but he could still think. Regardless of the circumstances, this shouldn't have been freaking him out- and warping his perception, apparently. He was used to blood. He liked the sight of blood, he had forced himself to! He had once licked the blood off of a corpse! Why was this happening to him?! It was taking everything he had just to stay rational! His skin felt itchy, hot and clammy all at the same time, like there was something wriggling just beneath the surface threatening to rip itself out. It was a concentrated effort just to keep his hooves from making a frenzied effort to tear his own flesh off, and to instead track his gaze back down to- Nothing. A slowly circling hoof that had never stopped, over clean, unblemished fur. The next breath was like breaching into open air, and the sudden shock nearly left him breathless again; as every manic sensation plaguing him crashed to a quiet stop, all at once. He stumbled back as a nameless sense of vertigo swept through his mind like a wave, nearly falling off of solid hooves that he thought had long since melted into a slurried mess. His first instincts kicked in, and his eyes swept to the environment around him in an analyzing panic. Where he half-expected to see the walls still melting into gradient palettes, they were just.. normal. As they were supposed to be, but hadn't been. His hoof leapt to his head- to check that it hadn't burst open- then to his chest, to make sure his heart was beating. His breathing was unhindered, his heartbeat was fast but quiet, and the walls were no longer running red with the blood of bunnies and mice. Nothing hurt, nothing itched, and all he could hear was his own steady breathing. "So, shall we begin, my attentive little student?" He blinked, and the hoof was gone from Her still-perfect chest. The urge to fall back into hyperventilation for the sake of it burned in his chest like a parasite, even as he managed an unfocused stare up at the quietly satisfied smile on Nightmare Moon's face. As though nothing had happened. "What- I- I don't-" he stammered, as he blinked rapidly to clear quickly fading flashes of exaggerated gore and viscera. Each chilling feeling that had stabbed him through like vicious little knives had been cleared away in an instant, but his hooves were quickly growing clammy in a strange sense of repetitive déjà vu. His entire palette had been cleansed with a simple reset to his old state, but whatever had happened in the interim was completely disturbing. Nothing felt right, even as he stood somewhat weakly in complete normalcy. It was like his body was trying to bring him back into that state, just because he had left it so unnaturally quickly. What else was it like...? It was like... it was like every one of his senses had been shoved into a whirring fan, and the resulting mush had just been sculpted back into the shape of normalcy with magic. Magic..? Lights sprung to flickering life and sudden connections formed and linked in his head like arcing chains of electricity. His eyes snapped up, past the waiting gaze set on him, to the long, sharp spire that rose from a cool curve of metal. Had he seen it? Could it be possible, in the very corner of his eye while he so stupidly looked exactly where She'd wanted him to...? Had he seen a blue shimmer? A cloudy wisp of nearly purple light; set aside and distinct from the formless mass of starry substance that floated in a perpetual haze around Her head? His breathing quickened as he took a single, shaky step forward; only barely managing to stop himself from running full-pelt towards the memories he was replaying in his head. A hoof circling around black fur, and then- no, before that. If he strained, if he focused- She'd used magic on him. "You did something." The words he'd meant as a whisper came out nearly at normal volume, as a spreading feeling of anger and strange hurt grasped tightly onto his throat. His own voice hurt his ears, and they flattened against his head in a nervous tic as Nightmare Moon's eyebrow quirked at him. She hummed questioningly; a noise painfully reminiscent of her similar action during his apparently forced time of duress. "You've something to say? You are holding our progress along, you realize?" She queried, though it was just a mockery beneath the fake sincerity and the veneer of loftiness, and the- the- "You used magic on me!" He shouted, on purpose now; while some measure of hidden inner strength pushed him to a familiar place of confidence. Indignance, anger, betrayal; how could She?! He took another step forward, closer now to Her than he'd been since he'd awoken. He stomped his hoof as he stared up with a nearly knotted brow. "Back there- when you were rubbing your chest, you did something to me! "Some- Some kind of sick, freakish- A- A twisted- I- I can't even-" he struggled out through hot gasping breaths, and shook his head in disbelief as reels of flicking snippets from his brief mania played on repeat between every hard edged blink. It was surreal to step back and think about, in a way. Really just take a good look, and categorize the experience. Write impassive notes on the experience, and box it away for filing. Things like that had happened to him before; many times, in fact. Seeing things... Difficulty breathing... Noises like pounding and screaming... Even that vague feeling of floating underwater- it was all routine. He'd danced the dance of the maniacs so many times, it was practically muscle-memory to have a breakdown. Nothing new, nothing lastingly affective; so why did he feel so... "You promised not to... not to do that." he ground out through gritted teeth and strained eyes. His throat was tight and dry, difficult to force words through; though his eyes didn't seem to be much affected by the drought, traitorous and reflective of his emotional state as they were. He blinked away gathering warmth, and shook his head against the clog of indeterminate, rushing noise that pressed against his flattened ears. He wasn't going to cry, he couldn't; not now. If he broke down in a childish little fit because the big bad boogeymare betrayed him, then he was going to lose. He still had no idea what 'losing' actually meant, here; but he wasn't about to find out because She'd cheated. He swept his hoof across his weak, weepy eyes, and went to work on noisily clearing his throat. Nightmare Moon didn't look much more repulsed at his quiet hacking noises than She normally did, but that might've been because She was pressing Her hoof to Her chin, and staring off into the empty distance. "A promise... a promise..." She muttered thoughtfully, as She slowly tapped the clean metal tip of Her horseshoe against Her chin. Whatever vain thing She was searching for up in the hidden rafters, it must have run wisely away from Her: as She eventually turned Her gaze back to him with a hard frown. "Remind me, I can't quite recall such an exchange." It might've been shock, or it might've just been plain offense, but either way: his mouth hung low as he breathlessly took in the sheer gall of Her words. She couldn't recall it? There was just- She was- Oh, it was so obvious what She was doing; did She think he was stupid or something?! Of all the- He lifted his hoof to point menacingly at the calm mask of indifference that was Nightmare Moon, and drew in a deep breath as he spoke as strongly as he could, straight from his chest. "You said-" But, as it so often seemed to be, he didn't have a chance to finish. The first chesty bellow had barely cleared his lip before it was entirely overshadowed by the much larger impact that was Nightmare Moon. Like a whistling bolt from a crossbow, Her hoof blurred from the air to solidly impact the ground with what was probably the loudest noise he'd ever heard. The audible sound of cracking stone somehow reached him first, before the nearly tangible force of the bang hit him like a speeding carriage. The immediate pressure on his head was so incredibly overbearing, his legs gave out from under him, and he crashed roughly to the floor. Or, maybe the noise was so loud, he had reflexively covered his now aching ears, leaving him without support. It was honestly hard to tell, because all he knew for sure was that his name was Light Flow, that Nightmare Moon had hit the ground, and now he was laying down with his hooves over his ears. It'd happened between one blink and the next, and everything else seemed a bit jumbled. At least he hadn't lost his memory again. The noise wasn't quite so loud that ringing had taken his hearing's place- it hadn't deafened him, somehow- so he was unfortunately still able to hear as Nightmare Moon began to speak. "What I said," She whispered, or maybe She just said it normally; things were still kind of ambiently quiet to his ears. "-was that your mind would be your own." The pounding of his heart began to abate as his mind slowly understood that the loud noise wasn't the precursor to violence and pain; and- as the roaring echoes that might've just been in his head began to quiet- he could hear that Nightmare Moon was speaking at a normal- albeit, hoof-muffled- volume. "-And that was all. I'll not hide that your visions were my doing. I will not coyly hint at my involvement as my sister would; but I made no such claim at passivity. Any such appearance was simply that: and perhaps yet another delusion of your own making." As She spoke, and as his spirits fell more and more with the weight of her frosty demeanor: he was making a struggle onto his hooves. His ears were the only thing physically damaged, but She was battering his spirit so effectively that it was an effort just to get his front hooves under him. Certainly quite difficult to get his eyes up to catch Her face as She finished speaking. "As it is, child: there is nothing stopping me from doing whatsoever I please with you." Cold, prompt language; like stating an immutable fact. His back legs were wobbly coming up behind him, shoring up his weight and pushing him up to a weakly standing position. His ears still felt a bit bruised, but not enough to hinder him, and they didn't stop him from taking a well-thought-out step back. And another for good measure, to leave him approximately where he'd been when he'd woken up. He had no idea why it had seemed such a good plan to get closer to Her; since, in the end, all it had done was given him a better view as She set his ears on fire and took a spiked bat to his psyche. He swallowed to wet his dry throat, and took a deep breath to try to corral his wandering thoughts. "Okay, that's- well, hurtful and- and concerning, but technically correct," he started unsteadily, as reconciling memories and snippets threatened to disperse at his words. "-though, while you're following the letter of what you said, you're- you're deliberately not following the spirit of-" "Deliberate?" Nightmare Moon suddenly interjected, affront accenting Her normal tone of scorn. He raised his head from where he'd been burning a hole into the stone floor to see a deeper crease crossing through Her present frown. "You're claiming to know me being deliberate?" He blinked owlishly as Nightmare Moon let out a single, humorless chuckle. It was more of an undefined exclamation, really; as She waved a hoof and nodded Her head in his direction. "I concede whatever meaningless point you seem stuck on; it so matters to me. I am more interested in your claim to know anything of what I mean, when you have ducked so low under the hanging point." His lips touched quietly together as he repeatedly mouthed a soundless word, before the helpful memory of vocalization hit him. "The- the point?" he repeated woodenly, and maybe a little dumbly. What point? What point was She talking about? All he could think about was the point of how entirely fickle She was; what else was there? He felt clueless, and he knew it was showing on his face because of how gravely Nightmare Moon's expression soured. "I see," She muttered. "It's clear on your face: you're not even thinking of why I would subject you to such a waking terror." He shook his head as Her words compounded, and absolutely failed to make sense. "Why- why you would do that? Um...?" He squinted, and blinked in disbelief as- every way he thought about it- no sensible reason for such a redundancy revealed itself. What was She even talking about? She'd never needed a reason to terrorize him before, so... what was She looking for now? After more thinking than was probably necessary, he focused back onto Nightmare Moon's curved line of a face, and shrugged. "Because.. you enjoy it, right? I don't..." He started as sincerely and honestly as he could, before he gradually tapered off as he grew unsure of his answer. This had to be a trick question. He had barely begun to retreat into an intense round of contemplation before he was blindsided by the painful feeling of his chest compressing. He wheezed out in pain, and- through said pain- his eyes widened as the breath came out as frost. In a single moment, the room had chilled, and all the air in his lungs was just pulled out. It was only a single second that he took to gasp for suddenly lacking air, before he was falling back in fright from the sight of seemingly every muscle in Nightmare Moon's body tensing. "You would dare?!" Her voice boomed through Her snarling fangs, somehow louder than the nearly deafening stomp She'd managed earlier. It was only the sheer force of the panic that overwhelmed his senses that saved him from screaming from the pain he only barely felt. In a moment: Her eyes flashed with pure, white light; more blindingly saturated than any shade he'd ever seen the non-color before. It was so bright, he was still blinking away blind spots in his vision when She began to lurch forward onto Her hooves. If he hadn't been completely paralyzed from the noise and the cold and the everything else happening too quickly, he would have taken the chance to run away as Her magnificent wingspan unfurled in a single moment to cut an intimidating, towering shadow. He didn't think his heart could race any faster, but it managed somehow; seeing one massive hoof raised in the beginnings of a half-step as, for the first time in the night: She began to terrifyingly edge forward off the dais She'd been sitting on. Except, as his wide eyes stared for the all-consuming fear he couldn't express, and his body geared itself up for the inevitable evisceration: She stopped. In all his life: he had thought he'd known what it looked like to exercise restraint. A pony with a sad face, putting their bit bag away, as they said goodbye to a pretty bauble greedily sought. He was wrong. No experience could have ever prepared him for the picture as it was before him, as Nightmare Moon seemed to entirely freeze in one still frame. Every muscle, pulled and loosened to pounce. All of them: completely motionless. Her pupils, small, shaking and frenzied as they had been, began to slowly widen in a pooling puddle; while Her nostrils flared in hot, heavy breaths. Thin, dark skin fell like a curtain over one terrifying row of more pointed teeth than he'd ever expected to see, as Her predatory show of Her jaws came to a close. Her raised hoof shakingly lowered back to the marred stone platform, and She leaned back off the expectant edge; though She stayed standing. Glorious, powerful wings spread in the beginnings of a targeted takeoff slowly furled back down; curling and folding in careful, complex ways until their entire length was hidden in lumps on Her back. As the temperature gradually rose, She just stood there: eyes focused entirely on his prone form, heaving each breath like every one was an effort. Her cavernous, unblinking eyes spoke wild tales of indescribable carnage that was thankfully being snuffed out beneath returning lucidity. As for himself: he wasn't doing much better. He hadn't quite gone as far as to collapse onto his back or side, and had simply settled for his butt in the negative heat of the moment. That wasn't to say he wasn't completely ruined, though. His head pounded with the draining force of adrenaline that had ineffectually shot through him, for all the good it had done. His chest shook with each paralyzing breath, and he counted each one with thankful whispers that they hadn't been his last. She had nearly just attacked him. Actually, somepony like Her: She had just nearly killed him. He didn't know what to think, anymore. It was a long while before either of them spoke again, with little else to listen to besides their own heavy breathing. Of course, whatever Her problem might've been, Nightmare Moon recovered faster than him. While he was still sitting shell-shocked on his butt: She was closing Her eyes with one last deep sigh, and opening them with carefully killed emotion. She stayed like that for another long moment, just staring at his panting form with hooded eyes and indiscernible traces of melancholy. Finally, to his indescribable relief, She sat back down. Her head turned to regard the broken window to Her immediate side, blinking deeply and letting out a lethargic sigh. "I think..." She whispered, and his ears turned to attention as they caught what he could have sworn was... regret? Her frown pulled Her gaze down, as She pointedly stared to the direct side of him. "...I think you are not entirely wrong." The urge to double-take was overpowering for a moment, and his ears flicked multiple times as he replayed those words over and over in his head. It wasn't quite about the message of them, but the tone. Her voice was... soft. Plain and forthright, not drawled or husky like Her regular speaking voice. It... He didn't remember any time She'd ever sounded like that. Simple, but cultured. Entirely bereft of put-on accent or forced anger. She sounded... She sounded like a normal pony. She sighed deeply, before setting Her gaze on him again. Something he hadn't even acknowledged cried out in discontent to see that Her eyes, while still not quite at their usual level of apathetic discontent, were quickly leaving what emotion he'd seen behind. It was almost sad to watch, and he was sure the tangible progression of apathy would have affected him more had he not been... Yeah, well. Her voice was strengthening as well; regaining its regular accentuation of an accent, and shoring up with thick walls of sardonic scorn. One moment of pure, unguarded realism; and then, no more. What a moment it was, though. "But I am not the insane, murdering monster you wish to see me as. There was a clear reason behind my method, even if-" Her voice hitched strangely up at that, and Her mouth pulled back in a slight grimace at the clear fault. "-even if, perhaps, I could have been less... monstrous." Her head turned away again as he stared in abject amazement. Her eyes narrowed, and Her mouth worked for a moment, as if She was considering something. The discrepancy moved along every hardly drawn line of Her face, until finally: Her head broke through the wave of tension with a tilt, and Her eyes closed. "...There are few times when I actually wish to harm you, child... I-" She stopped for a moment to take a long, deep breath, before continuing in a determinably strong tone. "This one time... I will swallow my pride, and apologize. I was undeservedly hasty in my action; I should have been less careless with you, and what I meant of my intent." Her mouth closed on the last syllable like a heavy, slamming door, and the clear, warring mess of contradicting contrition that followed on Her face was... Well, he'd never expected to see anything like this. Somewhere along the way he'd returned to his hooves, and now he was just staring with wonder and a slightly open mouth. Agog was a good word. He liked that word. He'd be honest: any real, rational thought he probably should have been having was plainly lost somewhere amidst the... everything. Long roads of backed up mental traffic in every direction, so he was pretty content to just stare, for the moment. Though Nightmare Moon didn't seem so content to be stared at. As if She sensed him staring: Her eyes quickly snapped open, and flicked down at him with an angered huff. Her teeth pulled back in a much less frightening snarl as She regarded him for a moment. "Do not misplace my affectation for affection! It is as I said: I am no monster, and I would stay that way by way of spare moments of humility!" She turned away again with an exaggerated tilt; and, to his imagination, a pair of crossed hooves. "I have no wish for you to hate me, so I'd advise you simply place less stock in your own notions. Expect so little and you shall never find yourself in any state other than surprise. Competence be Tartarus-damned." She muttered, as She waged a frightfully vicious staring contest with a local wall. Was he dreaming? Probably not, his dreams were just filled with much stricter versions of Her. As he could recall from uncountable dream encounters: She'd let Her guard down around him once or twice- not counting whatever had happened up in Her tower- but it had never been as... humble as this. She'd certainly never apologized before; not so genuinely, at least. Of course, most everything She'd just said to him was completely meaningless and actually sort of insulting in a way; but it was still a novelty to see the great Nightmare Queen who'd perversely twisted his mind show any modicum of remorse. Maybe even a little heartening, in that weird way. Didn't even begin to make up for any of the things She'd done, but again: a novelty. He pursed his lips and tongued his teeth as the urge for some sort of reply poked at him. Should he admonish Her? He was a bit upset that She would have any sort of gall to apologize, especially for something so comparatively tame. 'Oh, what's that? You're sorry for being hasty? Well, that just makes a lifetime of pain and torture all better! No need to account for the lasting damage I no doubt have, let's be a cute little family together!' His expression soured as the mental joke landed, crashed, burned, and long overstayed its welcome in the form of a broken wreck of humor. Making fun of his trauma wasn't as funny as he'd been expecting. That was going to make recovery harder, if he ever got out of this situation. Suddenly, his lengthy musings were rudely and probably justifiably interrupted; and he started as a loud groan assaulted his ears. "Light Flow, would it be that we had the entire eve to wait for you to say something." His eyes flicked up to- oh. Sometime during his distracted thinking- which was an old, bad habit he shouldn't have been indulging in- Nightmare Moon's posture had changed. Though, rather than the previous, life-threatening route She'd gone, now it was a normal, luxuriating lay. Where She was once sitting, She was now laying on Her stomach, with Her hooves crossed in a position eerily reminiscent of a joke he'd told himself earlier. It was less funny to imagine now that She was actually doing it, though. Wasn't much funny about the way She was staring, either. "I believe we've both stalled long enough," She blithely stated with a tepid look. Her new stature was far less of an imposition on him, but even being so horizontally diminished, Her voice still managed to make him feel so small. "I've no need of whatever sallow platitude you would throw my way. Save your breath; you may yet need it as we go." He furrowed his brow, and opened his mouth in anticipation of an objection. He had things to say! He didn't quite know what they were yet, but he definitely wanted to say them! Too little too late, apparently; Nightmare Moon was making a regular habit of cutting him off. "That is enough; take a seat, open your ears, and listen." 'Sit down, shut up; I'm talking.' Rude. > Chapter 42 - The Resentment (Retitled) > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Had he ever really just sat back and thought about his situation? Really just took a good hard look at the events as they'd transpired? Well, no. He'd only been conscious for about an hour or so, now. Putting it like that, a ridiculous amount of things had happened in such a short span of time. Really, he was going to just absolutely crash when things calmed down. Well, regardless of future trauma, here was a time to think about it. And thinking about it now, in the situation as it was: he was coming to a very quick, inarguable conclusion. "That is enough; take a seat, open your ears, and listen." It was probably in his best interest to listen. Light Flow's mouth closed with a silent clack of teeth; a gesture made relatively meaningless by his apparent lack of committal to speech. Whatever scathing retort he'd prepared about Her contrived 'remorse' was stowed safely away for a rainy day. Specifically day. He simmered in his heady air of contempt for a reasonably silent moment, wondering just whether he should take his chance to sock Nightmare Moon in Her big, dumb mouth. She was certainly leaving Herself wide open for it; laying down, nearly on his level. Still quite a bit taller than him due to the natural height difference with the added terrain advantage, but much closer than he'd ever normally be. But no, he'd just be swiftly murdered or something. Oh sweet catharsis, how it evaded him. With no small amount of regret for the idea disposed: he allowed himself to flop to a sitting position, as directed. He glared up at the bored face that so tormented him, and did his best to convey that the topic left behind wasn't forgotten through sheer force of his vitriolic expression. He wouldn't let Her crimes go unaccounted, no matter how meekly he might have and still might step aside! Nightmare Moon caught his glare with all the admirable lack of effort of an experienced goalie, though one with a terribly loose eye. "Yes, thank you," She drawled, with extra special attention paid to the dry sarcasm in that 'thank.' With the preamble apparently done and over with, and with him getting used to the feeling of passively miming Her eye-rolls: Nightmare Moon cleared Her throat with a soft rumble, and- if he wasn't imagining it- puffed out Her chest. Posture was important for speaking, he supposed. Still, kinda funny. "Now, it's not something you've asked, or even given much thought to, as I so impulsively proved: but I'll enlighten you as to why I attacked your mind in such a way. At least to find an easy in to the greater topic, if nothing else." She began, speaking with just as much purr and grandeur as usual, but also rather briskly. Not quite choppily, or short, or even very concise- that wasn't Her style- but just very pointedly. But- not sharply pointed. He- ugh. Okay: he was losing track of apt comparisons and metaphors, but he was pretty sure Her usual tactics of 'use scorn to hit under the belt' would probably qualify as sharp; but it didn't quite cross to when She was feeling informative. She was speaking to a point, but She wasn't looking to point him. Did that make sense? It was a bit of a reach in terminology, but he'd always liked throwing darts. Great, distracted again. He had missed the start of... whatever She was saying now. "-difficult to see your thought process as you puzzled over why I would bring you of all ponies here. It was obvious: you thought only of your abilities, so single-mindedly leaving every other option having you would bring to my table." Her glance turned askew; an almost questioning tilt to the narrowing of Her eyes. "I had thought you'd have learned to not be so limited in your thinking." Her mouth tightened, and his next breath caught. "Thought I had taught you." Now that was a blow that actually stung. His eyes averted from Hers as- yes, he would admit it- a creeping feeling of uncomfortable shame swept and draped across his withers like a blanket. That was true, wasn't it? He wasn't being very creative with his thinking. He'd come up short, and in his desperation: gone with the simplest of answers. Like some kind of novice. The one thing he was good at, and he was failing there, too. How wonderful. All sorts of good news today. Great night to be Light Flow. "So- so what?" he mumbled, cautiously raising his eyes to meet Her gaze again. He was feeling disparaged, true; a dark cloud that threatened to drag his hooves down to the ground. But it was feeling easier to keep talking rather than just stewing in his regret. "You tore my mind apart as a- a punishment? For not being flexible enough?" He didn't even need a response. As his eyes fell back to the floor, and a burning sensation of sickness rose in the very back of his throat: he didn't think he could believe anything else. Maybe it was childish of him. Maybe it was the opposite. This kind of cheapened the already fairly cheap apology, in a certain way. Seemingly disregarding his ill feelings and face on the matter, Nightmare Moon hummed thoughtfully; Her head adopting a contemplative tilt. "That's an interpretation, if you'd like," She said, searching the corners of Her eyes in an apparent quest for the right words. She found them fairly quickly, and Her eyes returned to him with an air of airy certainty. "My own wording wouldn't be quite so direct, though. I'd say it was more of a... matter of proof." He stared for a moment as his face warped in confusion. He was in genuine disbelief; there was no way She meant what it sounded like She meant. "A matter of proof?" he repeated. His head shook slightly as he struggled to find the words to express his discontent, though it was increasingly difficult. "What does that mean? Like- like proving that you could do that to me?" Nightmare Moon's expression tightened, perhaps in constrained anger. How strange, what did She have to be mad about? "Not so victimizing a truth, you'll find." Her voice was terse, and came out in a rough grumble. "I was attempting to prove, as a mere fact of life, that your power is insignificant. That in comparison to me: you are but a lacking child. And then, as though Her previous expression of anger was some kind of joke: She smiled. Beautifully, glimmeringly. "For what need would a Goddess such as I have for you in the case as it is?" Where Her mouth should have kept moving, to some kind of exonerating truth beyond the insults and scorn: it instead stopped; and he was left leaning in for a guilt-clearing bombshell that never came. There was no way She was going to leave it there, was there? She... She had to have some better reason? Why would She apologize if.. if this was it? Eventually, as the loaded silence made it clear that She was done, and that She wasn't going to provide any other life-saving testimony: shock set in with a chill, before quickly being cleared away with a long brush of disappointment. The kind of disappointment that one would feel getting to the end of a long book series, and finding out that the entire adventure had been a dream. Actually, no, it wasn't really like that at all. This feeling was a lot angrier. "You wanted to prove that I couldn't stop you?" The words as they rolled off his hot tongue felt unbelievable, even as he ran through the logic again and failingly again. Nope, a fifth time now in hindsight still sounded outrageous for any sane circumstance. His hoof raised to press against his forehead as pain began to pulse behind his eyes; the onset of a headache that he had a sneaking suspicion wouldn't be clearing for a while. "To- to demonstrate that I was a wimp, who couldn't possibly help you in any material way: you attacked me?! You thought that was justified?!" He didn't quite shout the heated words, but his voice was raising; gods help him: he couldn't quite help it. Slowly and gradually, like a tide; where Nightmare Moon would take the place of- funnily enough- the moon in the metaphor. Slowly pushing and kneading the tides of rage along; until, with a simple stare of thoughtless nonchalance, She would pull him into a roaring thunderstorm with a simple word of- "Yes." He exploded. His hoof flew off his forehead to halt in the air next to its similarly thrown twin in a magnificent presentation of Her Royal Majesty, The Queen of All Monsters: Nightmare Moon! "How am I not supposed to feel victimized about that!" he screamed, as his voice nearly tore from the force of his primal vocation. He threw his hooves into the air, letting them hang as a boundless sense of freedom overtook him. Freedom away from the fear of speaking up. What use was there is stifling himself when everything was so clear!? "There are dozens of different ways you could have demonstrated that! You- You could have just said it! To have the first thought of- The way you did it was so- It was just- I- I-" Words failed him as so many things often did, and he sputtered in nonsensical, gesturing, red-faced frustration for a moment. He didn't think he had ever been this purely indignant before. He was speechless. He was flabbergasted. He was- in every sense of the word- gobsmacked. What possible deficiency could have propped itself in Her head to not only think of the asinine idea in the first place: but then to gain a conscience, and have the sheer ignorance of will to apologize?! Now, if only he could manage to scream that at Her. Rather than chagrin at his clear anger, as he might have dreamed of: Nightmare Moon's expression instead turned aggressively defensive. Angry, but not spiteful. Almost genuinely at an affront to his accusations, if anything about Her could be called- as a matter of insult- genuine. Given: She seemed mostly unaffected from the loudness of his emotions, but at least She wasn't ignoring him. For all Her terrible mannerisms, obvious belittlement, and brutal shows of strength: at least She cared enough to yell when it was relevant. "Yes, I realize that. That is why I apologized, child; because I realized that my actions were needlessly crass and harmfully brutal. I know of my folly already." She replied tepidly, to match the vaunted, tolerant frown on Her face. That was no throwaway adjective, he was identifying that correctly. She was indulging him; that's how She saw this. She was letting him work out his 'issues' like a parent would suffer a tantrum. That stuck in his craw. The thought burned like acid behind his eyes as it crossed, and it brought his red-faced sputtering to a sudden end; to be replaced coldly by a quiet, tempestuous frown. Better to let the rage wreak havoc on his mind than make a fool of himself. He was mad. He wanted, more than anything in the world, to leap at Her, screaming his head off with vile curses of Her and Her 'indulgence.' To do whatever it took to stake his claim for defiance. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. That was what She wanted. He wouldn't play into Her little scenario. Her head leaned back slightly as She turned Her frowning gaze away from him; his eyes trailing unfailingly after. "There is no reason to have a fit. I would say that we've done a fine job of making my error well enough evident." She muttered, quite petulantly because he was right and She was wrong! He took a deep breath, and covered his face with his hooves as he tried to calm the rage in his heart. Blocking out the sight of Her seemed to help a little, and it wasn't long before burning heat that shook his head and his hooves was turning to cold chill. What did he even say? What could he even say? It was great to get confirmation that even gods could be dumb. His hooves dropped from his face to impact against his lap, while he shook his head roughly. "So what? What would you need me for, when you've done such a great job of proving my relative worthlessness," he spat, as his mind helpfully conjured wonderful little images of dumb dream queens for him to shred. His jaw clenched, his brow knitted, and his teeth ground. Quiet rage; kept inward so that She wouldn't be right. His eyes stuck like glue to the ground in a useless bid to spite the very sight of Her; as if he needed to look to know that She was probably just staring the same, stupid stare of apathy. All She'd done to him... all he'd done for Her- and She was probably just going to use him as- as a equine-shield or something. He didn't even know what against. She wouldn't tell him. She didn't care. She didn't care. So much for Her great big plans for him. Bitch. Storm clouds gathered and thundered behind his eyes, and his hooves itched with pent-up energy as the inexplicable urge to smash something gripped tightly onto his throat. Something or somepony. Her voice raised in a cleared throat was an unwelcome draw out of his mutually destructive thoughts, and it was all he could do to just turn a hateful glare on Nightmare Moon's disgusting visage. At his shaded expression: Her mouth turned sideways in a bitter sneer, and Her eyes narrowed to glowing slits. "Oh, how apt. My endearment is simply that: but here you are giving weight to the moniker, child. Pouting and glaring as though I've stolen the candy straight from your hooves." She threw Her head back as She barked out a shout of a laugh; returning Her eyes to him with mocking prejudice behind them. "Have you a new reason to hate me? Have you the utter abandon to attack me?" She smiled at that; a small showing of Her many sharp teeth, somehow twisted in a genuine expression of sick, ironic enjoyment. "You are making a joke of yourself, Light Flow. You must know that this transgression among many sizes so insignificantly in comparison? How has something so light broken your back?" Her eyes glittered like fire in the dark, casting long shadows across Her face like streaks of black ink. "Well, here is something for your new whim: I welcome the attempt. I am bated for your daring move." She stayed smiling like that; eyes hooded and head purposefully tilted up. It was a challenge, clearly. If he used his teeth, went right for the throat... Was this the final straw? Was this when he'd snap, lose his mind, and take his chance for sweet, bloody revenge? It'd certainly serve Her right, losing Her his cooperation by forcing Her to put him down. The thought was intoxicating. It was like a curse. It swirled in the raging storm of his thoughts like the plague bearer of dark clouds; the heaviest of them all, and the last to die. He couldn't do any real damage to Her, going for the throat or otherwise; and imagining the contrary was just a fun way to pass the time. But if he went mad, gave Her no other choice but to end him... Was it worth it? ... No. No it was not. His eyes drifted closed to rid his sight of the obvious bait, and his nostrils flared as he diverted his focus instead to controlling his ramped breathing. Mind over matter, or at least imagination over action. This wasn't worth it, and She was right. She was always right. A petty betrayal for short-sighted reasons though it was: it was not the first. The total loss of his memory in direct consequence of Her presence was a far more painful wound, and he hadn't attacked Her because of that. He was being childish, as much as that curdled his stomach to realize. His teeth ground against each other in a desperate attempt to relieve pressure in the darkness; and a grinding edge caught his tongue painfully as heated rage pushed back against better, more rational thought. A slight taste of cloying iron, though it did little for his mood. Now wasn't the time to go out in a whimpering attempt at spiteful half-victory. If he just... took a second to just calm down- everything would continue just fine. His anger boiled and bubbled, and leapt and spattered at his attempts to knead it back into compliance. His hooves were shaking with adrenaline at the very thought of that sweet, sweet end; and clamping down on the feeling was physically painful. He wanted it. More than anything. It was so easy to compartmentalize in hindsight, and- looking back on it- this outburst wasn't that out of the ordinary. He'd never been good at dealing with his emotions in the moment. He had a long, long history of letting himself be carried away by his lesser instincts. A wordless walk to a farm... A breakdown over a bunny... Screaming at a mass of pink... Running off to a cursed forest.. A missed event he would never stop regretting... A change of locale to stop the pain... Sudden melancholy pushed in against the fire, helping to douse it slightly, and making him sigh quietly. He just couldn't handle emotions. But... maybe that was the key, though? Not handling them? Just... put it all behind him, and think it through later? That sounded good, he could handle some baggage in addition to his extra large carry-on of trauma. It wouldn't stop it from hurting, but.. diverting his thoughts was helping to make his chest a little less heated. A slow cooldown was just as good as any other; like a gradual sink into a bath of ice. Focusing on that feeling for a moment made him shiver a little, and- okay, he was good. What was he upset about, again? If only it were that easy. Opening his eyes to the darkened night wasn't as irritating as it had been, and neither was the sight of its queen sat mantled with an awaiting frown. "...You're right," he said in a dampened, carefully controlled tone; drawing a questioning line across Nightmare Moon's face that was so instantly aggravating, and- Deep breath, just forget about it for the moment. Maybe he couldn't just kill his emotions, but loosening the collar would help... The cool air did sooth his inflamed throat the tiniest bit, letting his chest ease barely from its strain, and his posture to bend slightly. He'd been ramrod-straight through his entire emotional blowout, and he hadn't even noticed. His back stung from the unfamiliar posture, and working the muscles in his lower shoulders did even less than he'd thought to ease the pain. Thinking about it, he'd never come around to fixing his muscles. Something to work on, in the near future. Nightmare Moon's quiet voice broke him from his momentary reverie of flexing his strained body any way he could; though, at first: he wasn't even sure he'd heard anything. The inaudibly whispered words had him instinctively perking his ears, as he fixed his eyes on Her hooded gaze. "What?" he questioned; though he actually wasn't sure if he was asking what She'd said or what She'd meant. She'd said 'And there it is', right? She could stand to be a little louder. Wait, no. He remembered what it was like when She was loud. He liked this more. Either way, She must have taken his question for its second meaning, as, in stunning defiance of the mood in the air: She smiled. Not as mad and reck-flaunting as Her previous one, but more similar to Her regular, more conniving smiles. "Oh, I was simply taking note of one those delightful little qualities that make each pony worthwhile in their own special way," She hummed, nearly talking through Her cat-like smile. It weirded him out when She did that. Her mouth barely moved, yet She still showed so many teeth and sounded perfectly clear. Some kind of ventriloquist's trick; probably picked up along Her long lifespan. Did She practice? No, don't think about that. Imagining Her sitting with one of those magically-controlled hoof puppets was just... Well, he couldn't tell whether the feeling was funny or sickening. Both might've been a good answer. Given his mood, both might've been correct. Instead of vocalizing the idle question of whether Nightmare Moon ran some kind of circus troupe, he narrowed his eyes, and decided on an old favorite. "What," he started dumbly, though after a few seconds of holding the silence, he managed to follow it up. "-does that mean? What quality?" His question must have been amusing, somehow: because She let out a decadent chuckle. A rich noise found completely at odds with the way She'd been not-so-subtly goading him to attack Her. She was intent on completely disregarding the very recent past, apparently. The quickly changing mood was a highly upsetting disparity, and- like the simpering wimp he was- he could feel the simmering anger he was still holding onto begin to slip sadly away. Just... fading, like it had barely been a presence at all. Like an unwelcome guest, asked to leave before the party ended. Why did that make him feel kind of bad? Unaware of his sudden inner turmoil that may have been weirdly skewing his frown: Nightmare Moon moved on. She tilted Her head, and narrowed Her eyes as Her grinning maw set a strangely demure side-profile. "You recall what I said about the other options afforded to even the most ordinary of citizens, do you not?" He blinked lethargically as he processed that; and, coming out of a little ill-mourning for his anger, set to sifting wearily through his memories. A pile of mix-matched trash and sad photos, at this point; his head really needed a cleaning. Now, She'd said something about being disappointed that he was limiting his thinking to only the abilities of a pony. Um... Did... Was that the same thing? "I'm... not sure you said it in so many words," he edged out with a cautious frown. Was it wrong it wish that She would be a little more plain, sometimes? Just cut out a little of the verbose mystique? Apparently. His non-committal response killed the knowing smile that Nightmare Moon wore, as She cast eyes filled with disappointment at him. Even with how familiar it was at this point, the stare set weird little butterflies tickling his throat; and he instinctively edged backward from the uncomfortable look. Hadn't they just been at each others' throats? Why was She going back to half-playfully admonishing him? What was going on? "Yes, well," Nightmare Moon said dryly, as if seeing into his ever strange thought-process. With mild disgust coloring the action: She cleared Her throat with a cough, and drew Her shoulders up to a more formal posture. "My meaning was there, and my meaning here is that of a pony's state as they approach their breaking limit." Her mouth curled up in memory of Her previous sly grin, as Her words gained new definition to slink their way off Her curved tongue. "What they'd do when pushed. How they'd react to extreme stimulus. What they'd plan. What they'd think. How they wouldn't. How they'd deal with it. How they'd recover." Each checked box on Her list creeped his own frown down and down, and raised a spike of discomfort along his spine. It worsened and worsened as She leaned Her head in and in; and By the time She'd made it to the end of all Her creepy checks, he was nearly visibly squirming from the sheer uncomfortable presence Her increasingly breathy voice was giving off. "Each is a weapon to be used, Light. A pony at the end of their rope is an entirely different creature from whom they once were; and that can be exploited indefinitely." She finished with a foreboding series of brusque chuckles. Each single exclamation that dropped from Her mouth drove an intruding sense of dread further and further into his achingly cramped chest; until, with clenched eyes and a tight jaw, the feeling peaked. Too familiar. Too familiar. "Okay!" he shouted, throwing his eyes open to finally stop that acidic chuckle. His chest heaved as his breathing flew way off kilter for a moment from his forceful exclamation; before he swallowed heavily, and stopped it with a breath. "Okay," he said again, thankfully quieter this time. "I get it. A pony with nothing left to lose is easier to exploit. So what? How does it relate?" It felt like he'd asked that so many times, as Nightmare Moon held her promise of truthful answers just over his grasping hooves. When was She going to stop needling him and just tell him anything?! Maybe never; as She continued to simply hold that lofty smile over him; leaning Her head back from its gradual lean with a smug air. "There's something I feel you must understand if we're ever to continue, Light. When I say that a pony is a weapon, I want you to see outside of the traditional meanings. "They, and you: are far more than a one-dimensional list of strengths and weaknesses constrained by paltry ability. Truthfully: what I've posed is just one unrelated example among many; I was simply using it as a basis." As She went on, each off-putting emphasis that She was so fond of throwing at him drained from Her voice, leaving an empty basin of tactful, unusually informative language. It was the tone and relative posture his old grade-school teacher would often adopt; though obviously twisted in a certain way. A drone, but not without emphasis. Each word sharply accentuated to add memorability that lasts in the mind. He wasn't an expert in teaching techniques, but he knew enough to know that energy in any form set things apart. That's why he would never ever forget Pinkie Pie. Not even in the throes of amnesia. "You have been doing nothing but thinking of what you can do; but the Honest truth is that these circumstances would never apply to your..." She stopped, and seemed to lean against the edge of Her words. Tilting Her head in a laughing hum as anticipation built; before She fixed him with a mischievous, glittering smile. "...skillset." His face instantly fell into an annoyed huff. Did She have to mock him and his insignificancies at every chance? One was funny, ten was repetitive: now She was just being rude. The moment passed, and Nightmare Moon shed Her playful demeanor yet again; straightening Her back, though keeping a small smile as She spoke. "There is no need to raise the dead, nor an army; even if you could manage either." She rolled Her eyes, and sighed graciously. "Really, what were you thinking to suggest such a thing? Foolish at the least; stupid at any higher mark. A shameful show." Why was this turning into a game of 'insult Light Flow'? What in Tartarus' name had he done to warrant this battery?! No way he was taking this sitting down. He planted his hoof down firmly from his sitting position, and sneered in indignant anger at the shaking head in front of him. "Are we going to sit around and needle the unicorn until he looks like a pincushion, or are we going to move on?! Aren't you on some kind of schedule or what?" His snarled words did little more than wash off Nightmare Moon's sleek back, as She sighed breathfully and put a hoof to Her cheek, nodding. "Yes, yes; you strike a point, for once. You simply make it so easy: the urge to belittle you sometimes nearly overpowers me." Her eyes turned to the wall, conveniently missing the way his face sunk below the low line of burdened discontent. "I'm so sorry to tempt you so much," he muttered in an emotional deadpan. Except he didn't really like that angle, so he flipped the feeling, and raised his voice into an aggravated groan as he rolled his head. "Can you just tell me about the stupid manipulation, already?" His exclamation caught Her gaze, and dragged its curious sight back to him again. Her eyebrows raised as She took in his frowning face, almost as if She found it an oddity. "There is little to tell," She started easily, drawing his own eyebrow up to turn his expression into a question. "I was simply using an easy example to more effectively demonstrate the topic, so that you would have an easier time in understanding. The art of manipulation, subtle and important though it may be, has as little to do with your use as your special talent." Her eyes swept to the wall again, the same spot. "Nothing but an easy detour. A stepping stone to reach the broader field of alternative thinking. Do you see?" Well, that wasn't confusing. He huffed out a tired breath as his shoulders sagged, and his head lolled as his gaze similarly found a distraction on the floor. "Yeah, I see." His tepid tone turned quietly scathing, and he raised a hoof to rub at his eyes. "I wish you would make things a little more clear, sometimes; but that doesn't mean I don't understand." He really did understand, easy as it was to say She could just... tell him stuff. Cruel as it seemed to keep him dancing on his hooves like a trained dog for treats, it had an adage of honest kindness behind it. He was overwhelmed. Far, far and away the most uncertain he had ever been in his entire life. Facing and holding a scary future full of change and upheaval, not more than half a day since he'd been a blank slate of crudely adopted mannerisms held together by brittle glue. It was scary to think about, to confront. He had already established that as being something he was very bad at. But to have a solitary moment of honest reflection, to really just bare his own soul to himself: his most egregious offender; he was really only keeping it 'together' because... it would be dangerous to fall apart. To drop to his knees and sob, weep, and cry for some kind of generous relief. If Nightmare Moon didn't keep him constantly circling in little spirals, keeping his emotions moving and changing; he would probably just pass out. The shock and trauma he'd endured... if he wasn't being constantly distracted... It might kill him. His poor little heart might just give out. It was quiet. A sobering moment of realization that nopony was speaking, then another moment to think why. It might've been fear that focused him back into the silent night. The primal desire to keep himself safe could've been what drove him to raise his head in an instant, to stare widely with wet eyes at the only other pony in the room, sitting just as silently as melancholy he was. She was staring back. Soft eyes rimmed with sincere solace in between cold steel. She had sat and waited for him to bear his burden, like a quiet sentinel standing sanctified vigil. She could've yelled, screamed for him to pay attention, to make better use of Her time. Their eyes met, and She smiled. There was no trick, no cunning. It was just a smile, for him and his benefit. "Come, child; do not look so down." The soft whisper of Her voice sent blissful shivers down his weary back, and his eyes fluttered closed to savor the sound. A divine sound of caring, such that he imagined for a moment, in the chill and the cold, that he was warm. He could lose himself in this moment. This one, different moment of love. If he really just let go, there was a genuine possibility that he could be happy here. Bleedingly peaceful, and maybe, just maybe, after all the hardship, he could rest. If only it wasn't Her. It was harder than he'd imagined to tear himself away from the emotion. To plunge back into the cold, and to lock it deep away where it should never have wormed its way in from a forgotten half-pony's mind. To steady himself with a shaky breath, and to fool his racing thoughts into ignoring what had just happened. It could never be Her. Not for the pony who remembered. It wasn't fear that filled him as his eyes crept open, to see the cold stone floor of the castle's throne room. A room where he would fight not for his life, but for what he had. It was a sober sense of knowing. He could not be the Light Flow that Nightmare Moon wanted. The simpering child that took shelter beneath Her wing and asked Her if She was okay. Who blindly followed Her whims for the world with a smile and love in his eyes. Because he knew what She had done to him. He was the Light Flow who knew. He was the Light Flow that smirked against the forcibly deadened feeling in his cold chest. He was the pony who could only stand to look at the floor, and not at the Goddess who offered him salvation. As two perfectly halved parts of his mind tore each other to pieces. "Don't know what you mean; I'm perfectly fine." The contradiction was almost funny, as he could not keep the waver from his voice. He heard it, and She heard it too. It would've been impossible not to, it was nearly predominant. That just wouldn't do, he'd just have to deny harder. It was a concentrated effort to raise his eyes just to look at Nightmare Moon. To even acknowledge that She was there. To see those creased eyes above a frown that would've seemed sad in the right light. In the right light, heh. It was all he could really do for the moment to just stare. Staring at those tight facial lines as they worked for some kind of nameless answer, to absolve his proposed discrepancy to the situation. He'd thrown Her off, obviously. There She was all ready to comfort and coddle him like some kind of doting caregiver, and he'd seemingly just shrugged it all off. It must've been real fun to be in Her head right then. Probably more fun than his, at least. The air of silent mourning around Her was lifting bit by bit, but the melancholic sadness still burned in small cinders in Her lidded eyes as She literally looked down on him. "Are.. you sure?" came the quiet, affirming voice filled with promises to let him. Maybe it was his dramatic flair, but he'd almost expected Her voice to be weaker, more choked with tears at his brazen shunning of Her kindness. As it was: She sounded sort of regretful, but mostly just quiet. Too bad; luxuriating in her misfortune would've helped to shore up his spiteful confidence. He nodded, relishing the moments taken not looking at that painful face. "I'm sure. I'm.." His throat ran suddenly dry for a screaming moment of need, but it was nothing that a quick swallow and a fake smile couldn't clear. "Fine. Let's move on. We were talking about my use, right? Nothing to do with my burgeoning ability to manipulate, but some other less-seen alternative?" He forced a brisk tone, and he tried to keep his eyes on Nightmare Moon's as much as he could, but the unrest he felt behind the airs might've bled through. He didn't think he could've stopped it even if he wasn't devoting ninety percent of his focus to stopping his body from just shaking. Whatever Nightmare Moon really thought of his denial, She didn't seem keen on sharing. Sure, She took a long moment after with Her eyes closed and Her head slightly sagged, but She drew Herself back up eventually. Neither of them were emotionally worse the wear at all. Indubitably. "If you say so." She murmured, as Her eyes crept open. She blinked sluggishly once or twice, before taking a deep breath, and nodding Her head firmly once. She spoke again, in a steady breath. "Yes.. yes, you are right. We should be getting back to our track. It's been enough time spent dawdling when we have much more important ideals to focus on." His ever weakness-searching eyes caught the barest hint of a taught jawline, and tiny flexes in Her throat as She swallowed. Her eyes trailed away from him to stare out the nearby window, to the night outside. "We.. I believe we would be best served to... forget the moment, for now. Let us simply cross any such bridge when it comes, and immediately place ourselves onto a more appropriate topic. It is the prompt thing to do." He took a moment to consider that, to sift through the impermeable wall that was Her dialect; before he eventually found meaning, and nodded his assent. He didn't really think about whether She saw it with Her eyes on the window, but he didn't really need to, because She sure acted like She had. She drew in a short breath, and nodded Her own head again as She turned back to him. "Very well; then I would pose the next question immediately." That was fine, he was good with questions. He didn't even care that She hadn't answered the last one. "Child, do you believe in destiny?" ... The rushed moment immediately after the question was so... empty, he nearly fooled himself into thinking that nothing had actually happened. It would've been easier to believe, at least. Just him hallucinating again. Oh, silly Light Flow with his waking delusions. No, She really asked that. In a bit of an awkward slew as though She were throwing words at him, but asked all the same. He was still kind of emotionally recovering, so all he could really do was blink in empty disbelief for a moment, before idly rubbing his ear with a hoof. What was he thinking.. he must've misheard Her, there was no way She was asking something so... strange. It... it just didn't fit Her.. But pressing his hoof in to listen to the white noise of his heart made it clear that his ears were working just fine. There was always the possibility that he had gone insane again from the unresolved emotional tension that was still thick in the room, but his ears were just fine. "Destiny?" he repeated, before tilting his head questioningly and squinting his eyes. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could see the ill intent hidden behind the question. "Do I believe in it?" Nightmare Moon unhelpfully affirmed his question with a nod, but little else; leaving him sitting and staring dumbly while he tried to just... process that. Weird question to drop on a pony immediately after mutual heartbreak. His mind was still moving sluggishly, so he let his mouth open and move autonomously as he tried to fit his scattered thoughts into something coherent. "Destiny... well... I... That's an odd question to just... spring on a pony." He searched the corners of his eyes, while his tongue restlessly explored his mouth. "I.. suppose I do, yes," he managed, after failing to find much of meaning. "It's sort of hard not to, you know? I mean..." He let his sentence trail off as he turned slightly, and pointed one hoof towards his rear. Actions spoke louder than words, and all that. Some kind of nameless relief filled his chest as he eyed his flank for the first time that night, sitting perfectly and thankfully cutie mark'd. It was a little cheesy, he knew: but he couldn't quite manage to stop himself from just.. smiling. An open-faced book bound in brown with meaningless scribbles on its pages, topped off with a groaning unicorn skull. He hadn't missed it, obviously; but... then he had. His cutie mark was who he was, and- both literally and metaphorically- he hadn't been him without it. It completed him. He was staring, he realized. At himself, but still. He coughed to hide a small flush as he quickly swung his body back to face Nightmare Moon, purposefully not meeting Her eyes as his voice fell to a low mutter. "Cutie marks and all that, obviously." His ears pressed tightly against his head in embarrassment as Nightmare Moon burst into a fit of laughter, and he suddenly wished he had the ability to tunnel through stone. Or maybe turn gray, or just into stone. Anything to get him away from here. He'd welcome Nightmare Moon getting fed up and murdering him right about now. "Oh, Light Flow: you are adorable." The put-on affection in Her voice certainly wasn't helping. He raised his burning eyes to meet Her face just as Her hoof came to rest on Her smiling cheek, and She shook Her head playfully at him. "Don't worry, child: no one will know of your mooning." She dragged out the double 'o' far longer than necessary, and Her eyes glimmered with mirth as a laughing hum rose in Her throat. "Let's call it our little secret." Well, She recovered quickly. He groaned as he rolled his eyes, and sagged his shoulders. He was never going to live this down, even if he somehow managed to murder Her. "Fine, whatever; what about destiny?! I believe in it, okay?" he managed to grind out through the line of his tight frown, as his eyebrow did a remarkable impression of twitching jelly. Excuse him for enjoying the fact he wasn't horribly disfigured anymore. Maybe he was the dumb one for daring to be happy for a second. His not-so-small flush was still reddening his cheeks slightly as he raised his attention to Nightmare Moon as She began to speak again, still sounding just amused enough to remind him that he really had just stared at his butt for a minute. Again, excuse him. "Well, the matter of a cutie mark isn't quite the destiny I'd meant, but for once I feel as though our wasted time was well used." She smiled gleamingly again, which he did his best to set his jaw and ignore. He wouldn't rise to every bait. Just most of them. After a moment of him staring stonily, Her smile faded slightly; though it never seemed to fully die. Instead, Her eyes narrowed slyly as She turned Her head to the right slightly. His eyes widened and his breath quickened as sparkling blue light shimmered to life around Her horn, and he took a suddenly shaky step back as the unmistakable sound of magic filled the silence. What was She doing? Was She going to attack him again? Was this about denying Her?! His whirling thoughts were speeding him along the short path to a panic attack, but his fears quickly died down as his eyes tracked to the dark corner of the room far behind Nightmare Moon: where a similar blue light was flashing its existence. Oh, She was just pulling something. That begged another question, though. He blinked in a mild stupor as the soft sound of something being dragged reached his ears, before the short distance was promptly crossed, and the object Nightmare Moon held in Her grasp was brought into the dim- "That's mine!" he shouted on pure instinct as his hooves carried him a few restless steps forward. His mind caught up faster than he could travel the distance, and he managed to halt his itching hoof mid-air a few steps away from the two of them, though just barely. The two of them of course being Nightmare Moon, who was staring at him very knowingly; and the very plain box that sat next to Her. Well, he was assuming it was his, anyway. Not like boxes had many distinguishing features. The momentary mania danced away as quickly as it had come, and he was left with the realization that he had gotten quite close to Nightmare Moon. Uncomfortably close, in fact. Close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of Her chest. It was a bad idea to be this close to Her. Still, he wanted that box. "That's mine," he repeated stubbornly as he took a cautious step back, and another for good measure. Nightmare Moon tutted at his show of petulance, and raised the box that was definitely his into the air. "Do not look at me as though I am some sort of thief, Light Flow. It is unbecoming." She shook the container from side to side in a classic mocking gesture, though he couldn't deny that his eyes followed it unfailingly. She chuckled at the display, before setting the box on the floor again, as his eyes followed. "Yes, this box is yours; but it's not as if I've stolen it away from you. You shall have it back just as soon as I am done with it." He started forward with uncertain energy as Her hoof crept over to rest on its surface, though he again stopped himself from leaping to grab it away from Her. Her unnatural eyes watched his every agitated move as She slid the box to Her breast, where her hoof curled around to hug the precious object to Her breast. Secure and safe, directly in the hooves of another pony who should never have had it. His. His. His. His. It was his! All he could see was the offending black hoof holding his box, even as Nightmare Moon's voice wound around his ears. "Besides, it would only be stealing if I were not welcome in the place from where it was taken." He blinked in sudden surprise as Her words registered, and She hummed quietly. "I think this is more akin to borrowing." Wait, what did She say? He shook his head to distract himself from the itching, burning feeling of wrongness to instead focus on the garbage She was spewing. "Wha- welcome?!" His angry mouth worked to add a scathing follow-up; something like: 'You are not welcome in my home you delusional witch,' but he only managed to come up with vague noises of discontented rage. Nightmare Moon raised Her head from where it was low next to his box, and Her eyes narrowed at his wordless consternation; as if he was the one offending her. "Yes, child: welcome. I have long since extracted an offer of shelter from your becalmed mind, so that I may have ease of guilt-free access to your home." His mouth gaped open in pure disbelief as Nightmare Moon sniffed quietly, and raised Her hoof to tap against Her chin as Her eyes rose to the ceiling. "Now, whether I should feel as badly for so blatantly coercing somepony so defenseless is yet another question..." She mused with an air of idleness, while he internally exploded. Sometime during his madness or in his dreams: Nightmare Moon had made him tell Her She was welcome in his home?! So She wouldn't feel bad?! What in Tartarus's unholy name was wrong with Her?! "I want my box back!" he yelled at the monstrous intruder as he stomped his hoof as authoritatively as he could manage. He narrowed his eyes, widened his shoulders, and puffed up his chest. He snorted hotly with every breath in an animalistic display of intimidation, and swept his hoof on the floor in a clear prelude to a charge. He was dangerous. He was clearly mad. Nightmare Moon scoffed. Every single tactic of childish intimidation he had put on seemed suddenly insignificant as Nightmare Moon rolled Her eyes, and scowled at him. Two gestures laden with more affected meaning than everything he had just done. "Do not be a fool; now sit down and listen." Well, he tried. His eyes softened, his shoulders sagged, and he blew out a long, tired breath as his chest fell. His butt stung as he flopped down into a seat, though his hooves still itched with the desire for violence as he crossed them over his stomach. "Fine," he muttered, as he stared venomously at the unamused face of the tyrant. He couldn't even pretend like he was dangerous anymore. With his played-out theatrics over and done with, Nightmare Moon's still scowling face softened slightly as Her horn lit again, and the flaps of his box flapped open. Angry though he was, he still watched with slightly bated breath as She stared down into the contents of the container for a moment with a plainly unreadable face. What did She want with his box? For that matter, which box was it? Of the two options... The sound of pulling paper reached his ears a moment before a familiar flowery envelope pulled itself out into the air. Nightmare Moon carelessly flipped the back of the letter open and pulled the paper inside out, before tossing the empty envelope over Her shoulder. He bit his tongue as the hot urge to scream tore through his body. How thoughtful She was with other ponies' possessions. What a dream it would be to show that same thoughtfulness to Her face. Not even registering Her own horrid manners: Nightmare Moon unfolded the paper and held it in front of Her face for a moment. After what he guessed was probably a quick read, She turned it around to face him, and stared at him expectantly. "You remember this, I assume?" It was somewhat startling to be called out of his momentary wondering about a Nightmare Moon with reading glasses, but it was easy to gather the wherewithal to squint at the faded, wrinkled edges of the held-aloft letter. And just like that: a familiar feeling of tearing discontent brushed up against his spine, sending a stiff pain through his back as he instinctively stood a little straighter. The letter was too far away to read, of course: but he knew what it was, and- much more importantly- what it said. Honestly? He'd sort of forgotten about it. "Of course I remember it, I'm not stupid," he said haughtily, as the profound weight of self-hatred descended on his mind. Because he was stupid; he just wasn't going to tell her that. The letter of very great importance about his now greatest enemy that he'd received no more than a week ago, and he'd forgotten about it. Sure, he'd had amnesia, but he didn't anymore. He couldn't just turn to something so contrived for every excuse. No, this was just him being plain forgetful. All those years, and Applejack might've had a point. Despite the internal civil war going on behind his eyes, his unconcerned face seemed to fool Nightmare Moon enough that She kept speaking relatively unconcernedly. Though Her expression was just a bit more mocking than it had been a moment ago. He swore, She still had some kind of access to his mind. "Then you remember what this says about me, then?" Her tone was a bit more snide than She might've meant, but he nodded all the same. He actually did remember the contents of the letter, and he was beginning to gain a bit of much needed perspective. If She wanted him because of something in the note, then there weren't many options. And of those options, there was really only one that made sense.. That was making him feel sort of nervous. Despite the worsening trepidation itching along his twitching face, Nightmare Moon just smiled; which somehow made him feel more like she was frowning at him. "Yes, and of course you remember what it says about what's supposed to happen tonight?" Yeah, if he could pardon his own cliché: he had a bad feeling about this. He sucked in a pained breath as audible crinkling filled the air from the tightly-held edges of the floating paper. He mouthed a warning to be careful as he nodded with wide eyes, which seemed to placate the increasingly brittle smile on Nightmare Moon's face. She seemed upset. He danced on his hooves as a nervous energy screamed at him to grab the paper away as one corner of the page bent inwards, and he nearly screamed as the small earmark tore off. Seemingly satisfied with the marring of one of his most treasured possessions, what was left of the letter fluttered to the ground as She let go; though She kept that one torn corner to Herself. If only it had been him. The torn paper floated and twirled in the air as Nightmare Moon stared at it with surprisingly little care. "Yes, it seems as though destiny has called for my loss here, tonight. I'm to be bested by six upstart heroes only just coming into their new virtues." She hummed a pleasant tune as the paper danced in the air, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that She was describing Her own loss. Could he apply regular problems to a Goddess? If he could, then She was disassociating from Her words; and whether it was intentional or not, it was concerning. That, or She was just pretending with startling efficiency that She wasn't feeling anything. That would upgrade the requisite feeling to terror. "And it's not just what's been written in this fool letter by a fool wizard who thought he'd found the best of fate." She shook Her head shortly, as the paper flattened itself out, before crumpling tightly into a ball, and repeating the action. "I have my own methods of prognostics, and I've seen the truth just as well. The stars have always been very clear on this matter." Confusion gripped him as She went on, Her monologue making less and less sense without context. Virtues? A fool wizard? The stars? It was beginning to feel like he was sitting in on somepony else's private conversation. She didn't stop to answer his unasked questions, amazingly; instead continuing to focus Her eyes on the floating scrap paper as it twisted in on itself. "It's no freak prophecy, or strange quirk of fate. There is no question: I was never meant to win this fight." She sighed, barely melancholy enough for the tone of Her words. A fake tone to imply the emotion. The paper bent in, then out; folding concentric triangles as its captor shook Her head in mock of regret. "What a pity: to have defeated the great evil that is my sister, only to fall and fade as a forgotten villain in another's story." Her words trailed in a thoughtless meander, as though She had simply lost interest in favor of the small refuse She still played with. "Do you not see the tragedy, Light? Do you not wonder what might have been?" Her own words sounded like echoes of themselves, as Her eyes fell into a trance on the folding paper. "How many times must I have besought a different fate from those who whisper to me. How many years I spent in soiled silence, knowing without fail that my wings would one day unfurl to their largest, only to be clipped so soon. How tired it all is, to know that you are doomed to fail no matter what you may try; for there is no struggle large enough to halt the turn of the world." He was left in silent wonder as Nightmare Moon's hollow degree came to a sudden halt, and he was left leaning in for the next tragic verse that never came. The wonder that gripped him so tightly turned quickly to fear as, in a single moment, Nightmare Moon's horn flashed with surging light, and the paper held in Her grasp burst into cold, blue flames. Though his first ridiculous thought was of his box in danger, his first action was to skirt skittishly back as crackling sparks consumed the small sliver of fuel. From practically nothing grew an entire self-sufficient blaze; leaping to shade Nightmare Moon's face with bright shadows and dark light as it bent in a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ah, but if only it would end there," She whispered, the ghostly sound reverberating seeming to come directly from the flames, as they grew impossibly larger; beginning to eclipse what little he could see of Her face between each higher leap. He didn't quite cower- that was undignified- but Nightmare Moon did sort of look like a demon as the apparently self-sustaining flames seemed to creep across and engulf Her entire face. It was harder and harder to see Her fur and flesh through the blue wall of heat; but impossibly, chillingly: he could still clearly make out the narrowed slots of Her eyes through the flames. "Tales always end with a period, as do legends and prophecy; but not this one. The tale of the mad queen who turned day into night merely trails, dying with a whimper and an uncertain question. Something has changed it." A dark, humming chuckle reverberated in his head as he struggled to breathe through the demonic visage choking him. He felt as though he was being suffocated; as the flames, to his eyes, engulfed the entire room. "Do you remember? Do you see? There: a worn hole in the fabric of the page. There's a way out, and I know what it is." He could scarcely even remember what they were talking about, anymore; but he had just enough awareness to choke out a question, through the ash and smoke clogging his throat. "What is it?" he whispered hoarsely, the sound more like a whimper than a sentence. A cold wind blew suddenly through the room, as if summoned by the lacking weight of his words. The chilling breeze sent his mane whipping as it rallied against the growing heat of the colored flames, pushing and killing the rising danger until it lowered into a small core, fighting and bursting in all directions. He couldn't think, and he couldn't stand to look to see Her. All he could see was that little ball of pure fire. From there: the spectacle seemed to gain a mind of its own, twirling and trailing in small circles that he watched with enrapt eyes. Patterns like a practiced show, filled with sharp turns, twirling leaps, and double-back to cross its own trailing tail. Every so often, like a gift from the gods: his dry eyes caught a small show of the face behind the flame. Glimmering hints of a flashing smile, or mind-numbing glances from slotted eyes like long-forgotten dreams. It was a wonderful trance of his own: watching the beautiful azure light show. The fire moved so quickly, the air was hardly unoccupied in any space but for wispy tails of flame. Yet it kept lonesome tracks in any place but those that it obviously meant to. A stunning circus show of blazing performance. It was such a departure. Such a lonely, forgotten moment; amidst the screaming and the plotting and the intimidation. A wonderful little show for all the world. But all too soon, it ended. Like a forced exodus of itself, the fire wavered, then split into streaking, screaming lines that exploded outwards into the room. He could scarcely track any number of the pin-sized missiles, and his head whipped in every direction it could to try anyway to watch them all at once. Each little spark made light impact somewhere against any of the far walls; lighting the entire room in one, glorious moment of enlightenment as a hundred flames settled all at once. Over the door, where it had been too dark to see before: a massive carving of an intricate sun over an equally considered moon. Lines denoting light dripping and rising in opposite directions, swirling in sweeping lines to connect and lengthen into each other. His eyes widened, and he was left breathless. Then, the flames moved. Like silent rapids, the flames blurred into a formless mass that- as his unfocused eyes followed on rapt strings- converged, and centered into one, tiny ball. So many points from so much, and the resulting mass from all its exertion was barely the size of his hoof. It hung there, completely alone in its entire universe. Surrounded on all sides by shade and emptiness, to die without cause after the sum of all its betters. He blinked for the first time in what felt like years, and took a heavy swallow; the moisture running like ragged knives down his withered throat. Could he reach it in time? Give it one last moment of companionship before it sputtered out? Like a shadow, jaws like giant knives cut the silence, and ripped out of the darkness to close like a snapping trap around the ball of fire. What felt like every muscle in his body convulsed in a sort of disgusted fear as fire seethed through the grinning teeth of Nightmare Moon, fighting and raging with grasping claws against the shining prison that entrapped it. It battered against the taut skin of Her jaws like water on wax paper, to as much effect: as each hardened press of powerful muscles killed the flames just a bit more. Smoke plumed from two flaring nostrils; and he inhaled sharply as Her draconic eyes widened and focused like long needles on him. A grotesque, broken smile parted like tearing flesh and literally blew blue fire as one, single word ripped from the formless mass that was the inferno that engulfed Her. "You!" > Chapter 43 - Order (Retitled) > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "You!" Light Flow's eyes filled with the painful picture of burning as a solid mass of fire leapt through the air toward him like a vengeful spirit. Every emotion other than panic burned to dust in the approaching inferno, and- as though his body had lost its own will- some primal desire to survive took control of him. A frenzy of energy that overrode his ever-tired muscles, and threw him low to the floor in a pathetic, but safe crouch. His ears- even as he threw his hooves over to protect them- bore the burnt of the deafening shout of the crackling fire that he could feel on the very tips of the scruff of his neck. The room above him became so hot for that single second of desperate cowering, the shaky breaths he had been focusing on controlling turned to dust in his throat. The air half-caught in his lungs came out as a wheeze that slowly bled into a dry, hacking cough, though his desperate mind was struggling to label the cause as the shifting temperature or the general aridity of his throat. Of all the things he'd expected, this was not one of them. Fear and sense alike turned to spinning delirium as time seemed to stretch infinitely longer, and he began to wonder whether it would ever end. Maybe this was just the world now; an endless expanse of heat like the torturous depths of Tartarus come alive. Maybe he was in Tartarus. Maybe Nightmare Moon had killed him. He really did think that for a long, listless moment. A lost, empty moment of cold amidst the heat; of certainty that he had died, and gone to the underworld. Even as the crackling sounds of fire dying its own death in the air crept on his ears, and his unburned and untouched coat began to cool in flame's absence, and sense crept on quiet hooves back to the hollowed crevasse where hysteria had tunneled: the thought wouldn't go away. But deep down, he knew he hadn't died, and he hadn't gone anywhere. He wasn't in a volcano, nor the pits of Tartarus: but the ruined throne room of the mad moon queen who'd just breathed fire. So why did he still feel so gone? Well, the warmth was gone, at least; and he was as physically unchanged as he ever was. He hadn't burned to death; denied answers as they came within hooves' reach, so that, at least, was good. He didn't know how the afterlife worked, but it was easy to imagine his wouldn't have been so peaceful, considering. Nerves calming down, and tentatively, ever so tentatively: he peeked one cautious eye open to check the state of the scene. He half-expected the room to be destroyed or generally burning down or something, but everything looked relatively unscathed. At first glance, anyway. He couldn't exactly see the back of the room pressed to the floor as he was. Maybe it was just an illusion, and it would all blur away into lava pits and swinging chains. No, still just Nightmare Moon. Smiling and not going away. How unfortunate; he might've taken the fabled Cerberus instead. They might be a less tense conversationalist. He would've liked to just get up right then to probably yell something about manners and abuse, but it seemed the spectacle hadn't quite ended yet. While the fire had all but completely died out, the calm, contented smile that stared down at him still idly leaked small wisps of colored flame. Like a boiling pot, or something. But not for very long: as- to his undeniable shock- when She caught him looking: Nightmare Moon made a very clear showing of tilting Her head back the barest inch, and audibly swallowing. Fire lacked volume, so there wasn't as anything outrageous as any kind of bulge to Her mostly covered throat; but he could swear- if he wasn't beginning to hallucinate again- that he saw the barest glow running behind those taut muscles, disappearing behind the silver metal of Her segmented neck armor. A full body chill raced like electricity down his spine, to arc with jolting nips onto the swept hairs of his tail from his dock. The sensation was so powerfully off-putting that he couldn't even force his eyes to stay open, though he sort of welcomed the comforting darkness for that one, safe moment. Like pretending he wasn't there, and he hadn't just seen what he had. What kind of moon Goddess ate fire?! Shouldn't that have been Her sister's schtick?! While approximately half of his mind wanted to continue cowering and hoping that everything terrifying and terrible would eventually just go away, the other half knew that was stupid. He had to get up and think and talk about all the things that had just happened eventually. No matter how comfy the floor was. So it was with shaking hooves that really didn't want to follow orders that he physically and mentally gathered himself, and began to heave up into a standing position. It was a given that his legs felt weak with the weight of events; after all, it was no secret that his constitution was extremely lacking. As was his resolve, apparently; given the way he'd hit the deck like a whimpering child. Not the most impressive showing; but Nightmare Moon wasn't saying anything about it, so he wouldn't either. "Some kind of heartburn, huh?" He wasn't quite sure why the first thing out of his ragged throat was a joke, but there wasn't much taking it back. He closed his eyes, and swallowed what little moisture he could manage. The itch that greeted the action brought his eyes open again, and he raised his head to match Hers. The world spun just a bit, but it was stabilizing. Slowly. Oh, Nightmare Moon was smiling at his joke, how nice. He was glad he could still be funny while at the whim of Her torturous actions. Torment the clown. What a smile. Sharp. A chuckle, too. Sharp. "Oh, you have no idea. There is really only so much magic can do when your stomach is not made of stone." Her eyes closed as Her chuckle bled into a hum, and Her upright shoulders relaxed as She seemed to simply luxuriate in the joke. He didn't think it was that funny. Maybe a five, on the joke scale; though that was a little abstract. Pinkie Pie might have developed a joke scale: maybe he could ask her? Maybe he was going insane. "Oh, to be as fortunate as those the Dragonkind. Like Gods in their own right, as select heretics across the years have so bravely preached." Her draconically slashed pupils opened to rest on him as Her dragon-like fangs curled in a smile. "I've always wondered from where the comparison sprung?" Sense was beginning to return in the absence of fear and heat, and he was able to comfortably manage a dry stare back. "You're the picture of humility; now would you mind explaining?" he rasped, as his face twisted further and further with disgust the more he heard the gravel in his voice. Where had all his saliva went? He sounded like a smoker. Oh, maybe he should take up smoking? Supposedly took the edge off, and wow was he just full of edge. Well, for the moment, he was going focus on trawling his mouth for voice-saving moisture. A background activity that half filled his ears with swishing as Nightmare Moon's eyebrows raised to a pleased hum. "Oh? An open-ended proffer to explain?" Her closed smile split into a smugly satisfied grin, and his moving saliva turned cold as his stomach plummeted. "Why, I could take this chance to tell you of anything! The mind nearly boggles at the possibilities." Her hoof came to Her chin as She closed Her eyes and nodded, humming consideringly. "Yes... Yes, I believe I might have an interesting tidbit on those of the southern wastes: the Palominoans. What comparatively little I personally experienced of their history I have- of course- supplemented with rigorous study of their culture. They were particularly known for their especially grand structures in a time where such luxuries were typically-" "That is not what I meant." The firm line of his voice still carried a hint of a rasp in it, but the force behind it was still clear enough to stop the lecture in its infancy. He stared up with hard eyes as Nightmare Moon's mouth caught half-closed, and the slits of Her eyes slid open as Her hoof fell to the floor. It was a quiet wake for a moment, though he would never admit his certain glare was just a sweaty façade. It was a fair bet that his strength would give out any second now, and he would fold like a half-built house of cards. He just... didn't want to deal with the mockery and the badgering right now. His mind was too abuzz with questions and tentatively linking answers to just let Her fill space with meaningless history on a culture he'd only barely heard of. Nightmare Moon's frown at his interruption creased into a thin, tough line, though Her narrowed eyes softened. "No time for detours, have you?" One end of Her frown ticked up in a humored tsk as Her chest shook softly with a laugh, and She tilted Her head to the window in a concession. "I suppose that is fair. To do as dues are done: you and I are far from similar, and I can only stall for so long." She stared out the window for a long moment after, eventually drawing a deep breath and nodding to Herself. She turned to him again, temperate satisfaction clear on Her face. "Time would never be short enough for you, my little dawdling child; so ask your questions. I have supplied you with a hefty sum, so I am sure you are eager to pay them out." Her eyebrows jumped as Her mouth crinkled into a smile, and Her voice turned into a quick, easy drawl. "I can only imagine what turns your mind has taken. I hope my performance has not rendered you witless." His head lolled as exasperation took over, before a larger body of confusion threw it aside. "Was that what that was?" he muttered, before he quickly shook his head as Nightmare Moon's mouth began to open in response; cutting Her off with a quick scramble of words. "Wait, nevermind, don't answer that. It's... not important." She probably would have gone off on a rant about how She'd always been into the performing arts, and that or some other thing was how She'd learned how to eat fire. With time apparently short, why was She so intent on stalling him out? Revenge? He sighed, and let his butt fall to the floor as he brought a hoof up to rub tiredly at his eyes. "Not as important as some things, I should say..." he muttered through a grimace, pressing the tip of his hoof down hard on the bunched point between his shut eyes. It was pretty much implied that he had a headache, at this point. The pounding made it a bit hard to think, but he'd had worse. Better than a mind wipe, at least. Well, what was first on his overtired mind? Should he go with the fantastical talk about destiny? About the tired tale of heroes battling evil that he already knew about? Or maybe the star prognostics? How about his apparent role in subverting prophecy? That was particularly interesting. The box letters talked a lot about his destiny and the prophecies and crap, and now here was the topic being shoved right in his face. If only the box pony had seen any of this coming. On that note: he could ask Her about the pony who'd been sending him the boxes? It sounded as though She knew who it was, so maybe She'd tell him? He'd certainly been burning to know for just about his entire life, so that was definitely up there in the hierarchy. He'd always wondered. They seemed like they had a lot of pull, and knowledge of magic besides. A famous wizard? Or was that just wishful thinking? Too many thoughts, he was getting off track; try to centralize. Take a deep breath, feel the cold air over his tongue. Brisk, and focusing. He was fine, he could think. Stay on topic. This was the time to think. He could start from the beginning, or go on importance. Start small, or go big. Maybe a mixture? Do what felt natural? Do what felt natural. His next breath was deep, as his teeth clenched for the dragging sensation. He tapped the hard edge of his hoof against his forehead once before letting it fall to the ground, and his eyes opened. Nightmare Moon was staring at him with nearly emotionless calm, though with a faint glimmer of interest behind it. It was hard to tell what that sometimes placid face was thinking at any one time, but he had suspicions. "So, you've been... prophesized to lose, then?" he started with a casual lilt. Casual was probably a good way to go; at least work up to heated yelling, if that was where this was going. No need to make Her angry before it was necessary. Respect, until it was time for disrespect. He nodded, just to add affirmation to his words. "It's been... I guess- seen? That you, Nightmare Moon, do not defeat the..." He chewed on the word for a moment, as his face twisted into a grimace. He didn't especially like that word. "...heroes?" Nightmare Moon considered his words in a thoughtful tilt for a moment, before nodding along after him. "Unfortunate though it may be, you are correct." She sighed, and put a hoof to Her cheek for a moment. "I only wish I could consign it as simple error on my own part, but it is not my predictions alone. As you've obviously experienced for yourself: others have come to the same, seen conclusion." Of course, the letter had said it, too. That made him wonder, though; had there been other prophecies? Something to look into. "Right, and so what you're saying is that in this... scenario, I'm some kind of..." His jaw tightened as he twirled his hooves in the air idly. What was the best word to use without making it sound aggrandizing? "-um... third party? That can... change things?" His choice of words brought a smile and a small chuckle to Nightmare Moon's face, and Her tone was colored brightly with the humor of it, for a moment. "Well, for once, I believe I may have used a less hurtful connotation, but you have the essentials of it." She shook Her head good-naturedly for a spiritually contradicting moment, before She let the humor of the moment bleed slowly off through Her sentence. "In the millennium I spent in my owned prison, you are the only alternative that has ever been offered to me, for whatever reason. The only way out, in certain terms." Her eyes sparkled in the low light as She leaned Her head forward, to rest on the middle of a waiting hoof. "Now, surely, you understand my avarice? In a romantic's eyes, it could be said that you are my knight in shining armor." The leer She was sending his way was beginning to become a certain kind of uncomfortable, and averting his eyes was the least he could do to alleviate the feeling. Gods above, Her voice nearly sounded like a swoon. He understood a few more things now. 'My knight' indeed. Didn't make it any less creepy. He half wanted to laugh, just to reduce... whatever tension was in the air. "Alright, I'm your 'knight,' then." He eased his eyes back to Nightmare Moon as She leaned back off Her hoof. "But why? Why is it that I'm your escape plan? How do I stop the heroes?" A thought occurred, and his confusion only deepened. "For that matter, why can't you stop them?" His tongue stepped restlessly between his moving teeth as he searched the corners of his eyes, to no avail. "What could I do to them that you can't? Can't you just... skewer them, or something? How strong are they?" His tongue caught at the end of his question, and he took the opportunity to chew on it. It hurt, of course, but the pain was sort of welcome. It was the kind of pain that brought his thoughts together, rather than scattering them. Just miniscule enough to provide a distraction, of sorts. A raised platform to look down on his thoughts from afar. Things had cleared in some regards, but clouded in others. Nightmare Moon wanted him not for his Necromancy, but for his weird, arbitrary act in uncertainty. For whatever reason- prophecy in itself or something stupider- he could provide an alternative to what might've been certain events. It sounded like something out of a cheap adventure novel; but he was already sitting and talking to a breathing Goddess come straight from the moon, so he could suspend a little disbelief. But Her fate as it was apparently told was to be defeated by a couple heroes. The letter had said it, and now she'd confirmed it. What about that could he change that She couldn't? Distracting them, preventing them from attacking Her: those were things She could do easily enough with illusions. Murder and assault: those were absolutely things She could do. Suddenly, there was a probing pressure at his forehead that- unlike usual- wasn't insular. He tilted back on his butt unsteadily as it pushed harder, before cutting out completely as he moved. He shook his head and blinked as his head leaned back to its natural tilt, before his mind caught up, and his face twisted in an offended snarl. "Did you just poke me?!" he barked as his head whipped up to glare at Nightmare Moon and the dying blue shimmer around Her horn. Nightmare Moon, for Her part, looked slightly amused at his outburst; but the overriding emotion on Her face was mostly just dry indifference. Maybe even slightly angry. "Light Flow, dear child gone mindless: I have been speaking with the assumption that you were listening for no less than a full minute." She fixed him with a lidded, reproachful stare as awareness dawned on him, and a rising flush grew on his cheeks. "I know that you do not ignore me out of malice, but please do try to properly attend." Whoops. He forced himself to chuckle to hide the clear shame on his face, even as it bled into a cough that he tried to similarly hide behind a hoof. He'd been really into it that time. Absolutely incorrigible, he was. "Yeah, um, sorry." he muttered lowly, as he tried to keep his twitching eyes from wandering away into the heady haze of embarrassment. "Go on, please. I'm- I'm listening." Nightmare Moon tilted Her head, and raised one eyebrow. The picture perfect definition of disbelief in two motions. Was he really that bad? He chewed on his lip for a moment, before he shook his head, and cleared his throat. He gathered his hooves close to his legs, and swept his tail in as he straightened his back. He set his jaw firmly, and raised his head to a ten attention. "Please," he repeated, as his zeroed eyes focused perfectly into Her face. Seeing his perfect posture and obvious interest: Nightmare Moon's steady line of a face turned up in a softened smile. "Oh, there is simply no staying mad at you, child." Her eyes rolled around in a gesture of tolerant humor, as She hummed out a brief chuckle. "Very well; there is no helping it. I will just have to start from the beginning." Her laughing smile bled away as Her eyebrows fell down in consideration, and Her hoof came up to rub small circles on Her chin. "Now, to begin again..." She murmured quietly, before She nodded to Herself, and seemed to find certainty as Her hoof fell down. "There are two separate points of differing importance that you touched in your... rant; so, as before, I will enlighten the darker of the two first." Okay, that seemed fair; even if that was a somewhat odd metaphor. He nodded to show he was still listening, because apparently that was a risk. She seemed appeased by his show of attention, flashing a small smile at him before She continued speaking. "You asked why I cannot just deal with the heroes myself: skewer them, as you so blithely proposed." Her mouth twisted in a grimace to say the words, as though they offended Her in some way. She totally could though; Her horn was a weapon in itself. She swept past the gruesome picture in a quick shake of Her head, as Her voice ticked down in a lower tone. "Unfortunately, It is not so easy a matter of action. Whether I could simply do away with them is no question; they are children in comparison. As of yet untouched by the objects that would grant them power." A detail tripped in his head, and he raised his voice to catch it as it nearly slid by. "Wait, sorry: what about objects of power?" His question hit just as Nightmare Moon was opening Her mouth for more expository words, and Her eyes fell on him for scant seconds before Her mouth was shutting into a considering line. She seemed to really deliberate on that question for a minute, far longer than he thought was probably necessary. The silence and the staring again; he was beginning to feel a bit awkward. Was it too late to just say that he didn't care? Because he didn't really care all that much. Whatever objects of power these apparent civilians were going to use to dethrone a Goddess could be sacred fruit for all the staring was worth. She... looked a bit... glazed. Eventually, after whatever battle had waged so long behind silent eyes and a tight frown: Nightmare Moon's somewhat absent eyes closed as She shook Her head. "It hardly matters," She murmured noncommittally in a quick breath, as Her eyes opened to slivers. "Would you really gain any perspective for merely knowing their names? It will be evident enough for emphasis when the moment comes. I'd advise you concern yourself only when it is relevant." Muted surprise sent him leaning back off the borderline hostile edge in Her voice, as Her quiet expression seemed to scream something... off. It was a sort of haunted tone, spoken in shallow breaths and with so little emotion it was as if She was barely registering the words. She hadn't ever reacted this way before. Was this what it looked like when She hid something? Obviously, he meant. "I..." He let the vowel rest on his tongue as his face fell down, and he weighed the odds. Would it be worth it to try to pressure to get an answer? It would be setting bad precedent to let Her cover things up. The drone ended as his voice cut out, and he shrugged as he sent frowning eyes up at the pinched face staring him down. "...Okay," he managed, shaking his head slightly. He wasn't going to push it. Like always, She was right: it wasn't worth it. Words as lofty as 'objects granting power' weren't typically something easy to explain. He was going off the assumption that they were artifacts of some kind, but artificing was a wide subject that covered topics spanning protection spells to multi-layered mana matrices. The kinds of things that powered death rays and such. He had even once read a book about a discovered artifact that displaced its holder into a completely different time. Fiction, of course; but based on a true story if the fine print was to be believed. Really, when fighting Deities was concerned, it could be anything. Just... save it for later. Like all the rest. Nightmare Moon let the silence stretch for a quiet moment of him staring half-pleadingly at Her, before She turned Her head, and took in a deep breath. "Forgive me, if you must. It is just a very... personal topic." She spoke in a slow grimace; Her side profile showing very well as She clenched Her teeth between each hollow word. "I am... uniquely qualified to speak on matters such as these, in... unfortunate measures." Why was concern pressing in on the back of his head? Why did he feel a creeping sense of empathy to hear the grinding emphasis of recollection in Her voice? Why was his unimpressed expression softening with understanding? Why was he still buying into Her narrative? He sighed through his nose as his shoulders sagged under the weight of what he was about to say. He already knew what he was about to do, of course; but he did not like it in the least. There was a tiny little part of himself that was giving his larger psyche a wicked side-eye, and reaching for the panic button. No his marbles were all still there; but they were very small. He blinked once for a refresh of courage, and let his eyes drift to the least occupied part of the room they could find. Don't choke on the words. Don't choke on the words. "I'm... sorry." Even as they crested his tongue and found flight in the air, the words burned to say. He hated the consideration he'd forced into his voice, even knowing it was as manufactured as he could manage. He hadn't exactly promised to never make an apology to Her again, but it still felt like some kind of betrayal. If he had a conscience- gods forbid- then it was surely looking down at him with disappointment. It was certainly a tempting prospect to tear his eyes out so he could do it himself. His less-than enthusiastic platitude swept away on the brisk air, to seemingly no effect on the entirely closed side-expression of far-gone regret. Except, as he began to wonder whether She'd somehow rendered Herself comatose: his alert eyes caught bunched tensing in the muscles of Her shoulders. Like a reversing tide, Nightmare Moon sucked in a deep draw of a breath, and held it. Her head slowly turned to face him, and like all of his worst fears come alive: She began to stand. Confidence was forgotten in a second as he gasped in a breath too quick for his body to properly react. His chest ached as his lungs stuttered in a cough that he forced into a peter to instead stare wide-eyed at the figure he'd forgotten was so tall. Tall enough to eclipse him by entire heads as length upon length of limb revealed themselves to stalk quickly toward him. He felt like he should run. He couldn't bring himself to run. He stood dumbstruck and panicking more than his gaping face would ever convey as the black expanse of a figure that was Nightmare Moon stopped to a halt just in front of him. She was so large, so predominantly dominating of one monotone color that all he could see was endless fields of black tar parted by centric streams of silver all the way up to two cyan eyes that sat so calm. Why was he making it worse with his stupidly dramatic exposition?! She barely made a sound the entire time, incredibly. No tapping of metal on stone with each step. No wind in his ears to sweep the cloud of Her mane as it trailed to die in wisps. Not even the creak of armor or flesh as She stopped, and lowered Herself to a seat in front of him. It was as if She just... wasn't there. But She was. Sitting with Her hooves in Her lap; close enough that he had to crane his stiff neck up just to see the narrow slots of Her eyes. Close enough that the motion of Her reaching Her hooves forward to press onto his shoulders came too quick for him to flinch away; not that he thought he might've even been capable at that point, with how numb his body felt. Her grip wasn't as... painful as he might've imagined it. It wasn't soft by any means- he could clearly feel the sharp sting of metal just barely not cutting into his flesh- but it wasn't the crushing hold meant to squeeze the life out of him he'd expected. It didn't even really hurt at all, though the metal was cold. Not gentle, but not rough. He might call it insistent. Either way, he didn't like Her touching him and he'd like it very much if they stayed ten hoof-lengths away from each other at all times. "Listen to me, Light." Her voice was a harsh hiss through the hard lines of Her latest frown. Her tone held an undertone of quick urgency to it that did very little to help the throttling panic that Her too-close proximity was choking him with. Swallowing against what felt like a physical tide in his throat didn't do much, though it helped cement his image as meek and frightened, at least. Her grip began to edge into that unspoken realm of painful for a moment, and he could've sworn for a moment that he felt the beginning pinch of blood drawing. But as he grimaced in anticipation, the worsening grip thankfully eased as Nightmare Moon closed Her eyes, and leaned Her head back with a deep breath. Not for the first time: She took a long moment to collect Herself as She came just shy of hurting him. Not for the last time: Her eyes drifted open softly, and Her drooping shoulders set themselves firmly with whatever affirmation She must've fed Herself. Her hold eased even further, and with Her hooves less holding him and more resting on him, Nightmare Moon leaned back in; close enough again that he could taste the septic scent of nothing on Her breath as She spoke. "I need you to listen to me, Light. Whatever else may happen this night, following damned prophecy or no, I need to know that out of all my words you will come to demonize and distrust in your future: you will heed and remember this." Her wide, unblinking eyes as they stared into his seemed almost to glow in the dark. A stark difference in the dark colors of Her coat that urged him to distrust; offering a whisper of some soft message of sincerity. There was no double meaning in those words: edged with desperation. There was no coy mask behind those wide eyes. This wasn't a trick. This wasn't a trap. Whatever She was about to say next: it was the truth. Feeling was beginning to return to his extremities as his brain got the message that he wasn't about to die. Though he still really didn't like the proximity or the cold feeling of metal on his fur: he swallowed, and nodded anyway. "Okay," he eked out, barely. A bit hard to speak through the horrible choking feeling in his throat, though. He was here. He was listening. He was scared- how could he not be- but that was no reason to shut down. Nightmare Moon seemed to take solace in his affirmation, as the almost unseen lines of tension in Her face lightened just that little bit. His fur itched uncomfortably as one of the metal-clad hooves softly swept across his shoulder; to repeat again and again in a gesture that might've been comforting from anypony else. She didn't say anything for a few seconds; just staring down at him with conflicting emotion in Her eyes as Her chest shook with a suppressed sigh. "There... is a force in this world, one that I... inherently struggle to put into sufficient words. One that... perhaps... belies the words I and others have put to it in the past." The tone in Her words was heavy with the weight of past events; and Her eyes, even sharp and focused on him, seemed almost absent in a way. They struggled to remain on him for favor of drifting, for just... losing themselves wherever She was. It was only half as concerning as what She was actually saying. Would it be rude to smack Her petting hoof away? Because the sensation of metal on his fur was somehow more uncomfortable than eighty percent of the things She'd done thus far. She continued, Her face drawing deep lines of consideration muffled by some kind of clear pain. "It is... a great force. Perhaps the greatest force, if that would mean anything to you. I have lived for many years both on this world and another, and in all the time of my life, I have never known anything to be even half its equal. "I certainly was not." Okay, bump concern up to the low stages of fear and panic. 'Fright' might've been the word. Nightmare Moon was openly admitting that there was something stronger than Her; and She being who She was, having just recently conquered who She did, meant that this apparently unassuming 'force' was a force beyond the Gods Themselves. And what did 'force' even refer to, anyway? Gravity was a force, was it like that? Pushing something resulted in a force being affected, did it mean something like that? Was it some cheap metaphor like the forces of good and evil or did it actually carry weight?! Okay, he'd lathered himself up into a nice terror, now he was ready to throw it in Nightmare Moon's face. He let a wide swath of fear that he barely bothered to contain stitch itself onto his face as his heartbeat began to pick up. Some acrid, acidic taste rose in his throat as he spoke, in words barely squeezed through the uncooperative walls of his teeth. His hooves came up to sit on the sides of the forearms of the hooves holding him; while he leaned in, and forced himself to speak. "What... What is it? How have I never heard about it?" It was a little surprising that his words didn't come out as a shout, considering how hard he'd tried, but he was a little busy freaking out as a greater whole. His jaw was just a messy line of clenched muscles and sore spots as he gnawed relentlessly on his bottom lip, though he was unfortunately denied the sobering taste of blood. Nightmare Moon met his forward question and forward motion with less violence than She might've any other time. She stared with tight eyes for a moment, before She closed them, and hung Her head with a deep sigh. The noise came just before something whispered, and he tilted his head in an obvious question as She shook Her head. She drew in a deep breath before raising Her head up, and fixing him with a steady stare. Her grip tightened, and- as his eyes briefly flicked to look at Her hooves- he caught the slightest... shake, there? "I doubt my ability to adequately impress upon you the severe weight of this matter, Light. Do you understand?" She leaned Her head down, against the armored plating of Her neck as Her eyebrows knitted together, and Her stare intensified. "When I tell you the name of this force, I want you to disregard its face value. We are not playing cards. It is not to be trifled with. It is not to be gambled on. "Remember what I have told you; but do not fear it, that is not correct. To openly fear it invites its ire, and no crime finds a more bloody recourse. It is to be exalted. Do you hear me? Hold it as you hold your gods. Hold it as you hold your life. "Do you understand? I need you to say it." He could barely remember how to speak, though his soundlessly stuttering mouth was trying hard to make up the gap. He nodded fervently, almost instinctively; but that wasn't good enough. He could see it in Her eyes: cold, hard, need. She wouldn't accept it unless he said it. "I- I understand." The words came out as less than a whisper. A suggestion of words falling like uncomprehending sludge from his slack jaw. He didn't care. He could sound as dumb as soup for all he could care. The way She was talking about it, this very well could be the most important thing he ever learned. He'd given Her what She was waiting for, but Her face barely relaxed- if anything: it tightened. As if, for whatever reason, She'd been hoping for some kind of refusal. Something to stop the train in motion. Some clear obstacle to tell Her to swerve. But there was no escaping it, and Her mouth opened all the same. "It is called Harmony; and just as I raise the moon, and my sister raises the sun: it is what turns our entire world." The immediate feeling that rushed in- even before She had finished Her new verse of doom- was disappointment. He'd expected something grand. He'd expected some unknowable name that invoked an instinctive sense of mind-melting alarm and horror in his heart. Harmony? That just sounded... lame. But She'd warned him. Told him- drove him off that path. Even then, She still bored insistent holes into his skull with a tight jaw and a severe stare that said to look beyond. Harmony meant peace. Harmony meant bonds. Harmony meant order. Order. A great force of order. If it was apt... If there was... a- a will, if such a thing could even exist in such a form, in what was synonymous with the inherent idea of the concept of order... One that could interact with and influence events... If there was a tangible mind in the world, one that identified with the equine definition of 'Harmony'... He understood. He understood. The energy-laced itch of fear began to gradually drain from his system, and the crazed expression of terror he'd worn sloughed off just as urgently. It was gradual, but his face met the feeling that beat within his chest. Slow, steady, unavoidable. Acceptance. Nightmare Moon must have seen it on his face, because She seemed to be following along in Her own suit. In the listless haze of unease that had locked his joints and bit his heels, he hadn't seen it: but it was so easily recognizable to see as Her face lost it. She had been afraid, too. Just to speak of it, She had dreaded it just as much as She'd forced him to. But now they both knew. Now, it was all very clear. What point was there in being afraid, anymore? "Then there is no such thing as destiny, is there?" His downtrodden words came out as dead script off his grey tongue, but he could hardly help it. He let his head fall an inch, to stare down at the armored peytral over Her chest; emblazoned with a picture of a crescent moon that had seemed so big just a moment ago. "It's just a pretty word for what Harmony dictates." It felt so stupid to say that, but it'd be a hard press to catch him laughing. She chuckled softly; a noise only as humored as it was ruthlessly cynical. Coincidence. "I would not throw the word off entirely; they both carry the same, essential meaning, in the end." He raised his eyes back to Hers with a tired smile, to unsurprisingly match the one he'd heard in Her voice. Her eyes left his to fall to Her hooves as they lay on his shoulders, and they crinkled in faux laughter as She breathed a facsimile. His hoof felt the movement before it happened, and it stayed through the ride as one black, metal-clad hoof rose up to rest gently on his cheek. He might've flinched, if he hadn't been helping it along. He might've screamed, if he hadn't been sighing, and resting his weight against it. "If I hadn't just been told that the arbitrary ideals of chance and probability were subject to what is essentially a thinking mind, I would never let you do this, you know." he murmured as he closed his eyes, and fully pressed his face into the yielding plate of metal as it shifted against him. A hum was his response, and the hoof still left on his shoulder began to rub small circles in his fur. "Oh, I can only imagine what violent methods you would propose to yourself. Daydreams of drawing my blood with your teeth, or leaping forward to pop your horn into my eye. Not that you would ever actually act on them." For whatever small stab of indignance he felt, he laughed anyway, and tilted his head at an angle the hoof followed. "You do know me so well. It's almost embarrassing: you probably do know my mind better than I do." Another hum; it was the only way She could clearly convey Her expressions to him as long as he held his eyes closed. This one was a question. "It would be insulting to act coy, us having cleanly discussed the matter of your unwilling host for so many years, but perhaps I will just have to risk being rude. Why do you say so?" He sighed, as his head lolled against the cool, supporting weight. Oh, how would Tartarus damn him; he was feeling unguarded. Now that the world at large felt unassumingly dangerous: he felt reasonably safe enough to open up, at least in this one moment. Some part of his mind still holding out hope that Nightmare Moon was the most powerful creature in the world screamed in panic as he nodded against Her hoof. "It's been... Well, I suppose it's just been since I woke up, really. But I think the issue runs back much farther." Nightmare Moon hummed, and the hoof on his shoulder pressed in for a moment, before returning to rubbing circles. Monster or no: She knew scarily well how to comfort. Sufficiently assured of... weird levels of acceptance: he returned to speaking, with a tired edge in his voice. "I've been feeling somewhat... lost, might be a good word." He sighed, and shook his head softly enough to not break contact. "You must have expected so much of me, and I've barely been able to keep lucid through the hours. "It's not something that's really been on the forefront of my mind- you haven't really given me the option of it- but I've been... I guess- worried about- about myself." He picked up speed through the last part of his sentence, and it took his stumble before he found a deep breath, and calmed his racing mind. He licked against the backs of his teeth; tasting the dirty smell of the day's events on his breath before he continued. "For a while, it could be said that I was... an entirely different pony. I remember, actually- that was what I firmly believed when I was... him. I thought of the Light Flow that I am now as..." He swallowed through the sudden block that rose to stop his word. "A stranger." He could feel the interjection coming. This was when Nightmare Moon would butt in, to either reject or console him- he didn't even know at this point; but either way, he wasn't done. "That's not even the end of it, though; It's become even worse, now. For my entire life, ever since I got that box in the mail that talked about all those things I could and maybe would be: I've been so ready to just... surrender myself to fate. To let the course of my life take me where it may. To- To fulfill my destiny." An unfeeling monster. A caring hero. "...No matter what it was." He sighed again, heavier this time, as his shoulders sagged. "I did nothing but whittle my life away waiting for that special day. The next box. The starting line. The- The call to action. The clear sign to my eyes that it was time. That my destiny was waiting for me, and that I could... do whatever I was going to do. Magically just become that great figure I was promised to be." His eyes slid open, just barely hooded; as he stared beyond what he saw. Behind it all: he saw bunnies. And boxes. Four orange hooves joined by many more. The picture of a casket never seen. A forgettable cabin. Books on books on books and nothing in any of them worth really knowing. "But it's now. Destiny doesn't exist, and the hoof I thought would lead me to it instead brought me here; to a place where I am never good enough. Four years spent in change since my mother died and I know as much about my special talent as I did when I was ten." He saw a smiling white face. It was blurry. He closed his eyes. "I thought I knew where I was and what I was doing, but twelve hours ago I didn't even know my name. I thought I could stand up somehow and stop you, but I still don't even know what you want." He took a deep breath. This was easier than he'd expected, as long as he kept his eyes closed. "I asked you so many times what you would want me for; and it's because I still don't see what you must see in me. If- If Harmony had not specified such a strange condition for your win, I can only imagine that you never would have bothered with me. There wouldn't have been any reason to. "And... I don't know why, but... that hurts. It shouldn't. I should and do still see you as just the monster under my bed that crawled into my dreams to torment me; but here I am with- with your hoof on my cheek and my shoulder just letting you, while- while I pour my heart out like some kind of dumb, needy little-" He ran out of breath. He was left literally gasping for his next word as his chest ached, and his mouth flapped for the next ten stanzas of his heated soliloquy that he suddenly couldn't remember. His cheeks were wet. The breath as he fed it to himself was deep and hungry, and he grabbed the air greedily between desperate pants. His heart was pounding in his ears, though it was slowly getting quieter as he apparently calmed from a breakdown he hadn't even realized he was having. And still, the hoof was on his cheek. It would be a dramatic lie to say that his eyes traveled slowly up to Nightmare Moon's face, because he obviously made the trip in an instant. He was vulnerable in a way that he couldn't currently describe, and he wanted very badly to know what that would mean for him. Because it could potentially mean something awful. Nightmare Moon was frowning. No- but it wasn't a menacing frown, it was more... considering. Her eyes were soft and hooded, and lost somewhere on his face that he couldn't follow. Sometime along the way, Her hoof had stopped rubbing circles on his shoulder, and it sat motionless even then. She was thinking. Deeply enough that She may have fallen off at any point during his rant and She hadn't even noticed him continuing. Or stopping. His mouth closed silently, and he sniffled as quietly as he could as he wiped away the tears on his unoccupied cheek. Nightmare Moon really was the perfect match for him: getting lost in Her own mind just as often as he did in just as inappropriate times. But at least it gave him time to think. Thinking about what a huge sucker he was: telling Nightmare Moon, a master of manipulation, all about the deepest secrets that he hadn't even really known until he'd said them. Oh what a great idea: supply Her with more ammunition. Maybe She'd return the favor and tell him all about Her world of a thousand years ago. But they were all true, all completely genuinely from him. He was afraid of being that stranger, that far-off pony who seemed so unnecessarily rude and eccentric and isolationist. Maybe he and him hadn't been so different after all, but he before had been so afraid of becoming him now. Even as he'd come to terms with it, a dark little corner of himself had wondered if he hadn't just killed a Light Flow in his own right. But he before could never have lived as he was then. He needed to become... him now- okay, that metaphor was becoming obtuse. He would just have to come to terms with himself and who he had been for one day out of his entire life. Maybe he'd reconcile, one day, with that other pony. Find a way to be okay with a fracture of himself fit into his greater picture. Or maybe he'd just live with a cyst on his personality for the rest of time. He wasn't lost enough to miss the quick, subtle blink; and he wasn't upset enough to ignore it. He focused his attention on Nightmare Moon as obviously as he could, even as She just stared for a long moment. But She had blinked. She was conscious, again. Sure enough, Her eyes eventually trailed from his face in a smooth glide. One that swept all around Her field of view, long enough in some places that Her head even followed slightly. What was She looking for? Was She just deliberating? Even more? Her first audible breath since before he'd started ranting was deep, as those tired lines on Her face said. Her face may have been tired with the work of whatever conclusion She'd come to, but Her eyes as they returned to his face were sharp. Maybe not as sharp as some of Her glances, but sharper than he'd been expecting. He nearly opened his mouth to ask when Her hoof suddenly fell away from his face, and he was left staring after it. That stare turned into another, wider, as She suddenly stood with as little noise as She'd sat down. Not a ruffled feather, not a misplaced armor segment. Brace, unfolding legs, and suddenly: She was even taller. He was still seated, but he somehow resisted the urge to stand up and take several steps back as something about the last glance he'd managed to catch seemed to scream... he didn't even know. There was just some feeling gnawing at him, as Nightmare Moon caught his eye again before turning away, that told him to stay still. She turned to walk to the side, and his eyes caught his first glance at Her cutie mark. A large, purple splotch covered the entire length and width of Her behind; covered only by whatever wisps of Her ephemeral tail dipped down, as well as the more important large, white crescent moon faced inwards. It was honestly unlike anything he'd ever seen. Her cutie mark had a backdrop. Fitting as the night's sky, but still a little unfair. Not even Her sister had something so special. That did beg a rather unimportant question, though: why was it purple? He had no answers, even as he brazenly and rudely stared all the way through Nightmare Moon's walk to a nearby broken window. It was one of the assumed half or so that had been shattered from the bottom up, so there was no stub to obscure Her view as She took a long look through. Looking at the night, probably. The castle grounds, too. Made sense, but he was beginning to feel antsy. He was still waiting to see if he'd be punished for weakness. "Light Flow." The steady thrum of Her voice didn't catch him off guard so much as it unnerved him. He'd been expecting it, but he still didn't really want to be subject to whatever punishment was surely coming his way. He licked his lips as he grimaced; and though his throat was a little sore from his outburst, he found a response anyway. "Yes..?" He'd packed that 'yes' with enough hesitation to feed a cowardly family, but it did little to slow Nightmare Moon. He braced for impact as She nodded out the window, and turned Her head to focus one eye on him. "Prepare yourself. I am going to teach you something about Necromancy." > Chapter 44 - The Realization (Retitled) > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "You're going to what?" The hot words as they came off his tongue felt perhaps a bit cliché, maybe a bit oblivious; but they were from a very genuine place. He wasn't sure if it was run of the mill skepticism, or some other sense telling him to disbelieve that shadow-like figure turned away from him, or if he was just too deep in a whole other throe to accept an entirely new surprise... But Light Flow was going to hold his reservations very close. At least until it was actually happening. Nightmare Moon, standing and staring at him over Her shoulder: met his dull question with an absent hum. Her eye turned back, followed second by the rest of Her head as She seemingly lost interest; or maybe something else out there was just more captivating. He leaned to the side to peer out towards Her, but he couldn't quite manage to look out after Her face. Only a useless leer at the heavy strap of metal over the back of Her neck. The anonymity was beginning to hatch squirming, crawling caterpillars in his stomach, though; he wasn't sure if he could take it much longer. Was it a devious smile? Was it a coy hooding of the eye? Perhaps a disappointed grimace? Maybe he was freaking out for no reason, but was it really that inappropriate to think that She might be any sort of mad at him?! He'd let loose, let his emotions just spill all over Her like disgusting shame. Maybe not the worst sin in all the land- certainly not as bad as asking Her outright for a hug- but it was still gross, squishy emotionalism. It didn't seem like that was okay unless She initiated it. It was obvious She enjoyed Her control of the situation, Her control of him; and to have him suddenly break down crying unprompted and without Her influence might've been... A sudden swallow turned into a silent choke as saliva met something heavy in his throat. Maybe rising vomit, or tangible, nervous anticipation. Tasted bitter; though it fell back down on a second attempt. Now he felt it in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't really want to sit around to let it fester with the crawling bugs. His hooves felt a little weak as he rose up into all fours, but time was saying he'd been sitting like a good little colt for long enough. He'd been told in a look to stay still, but now, unless he was understandably misreading things, he was feeling a sort of unspoken summons to him. Her body language was certainly saying something, but what was he if not an amateur? Nightmare Moon's position at the window was directly away from him, and firm in its balance. She wasn't leaning off, or glancing away. Her hooves were solidly placed, and Her back smoothed and straight. The black fur of Her sides wasn't rising extraneously with the exertion of any kind of preceded motion, and overall: She seemed altogether relaxed. She was absolutely set to stare out that window; and unless She had forgotten him, She probably wanted him to come to Her. Besides, he wasn't just gonna let 'I'm gonna teach you magic' sit and stale like a drooling idiot. If there was any chance, he was going to get Her to make good on this. His first step was a purposeful stomp, and he carefully watched as Nightmare Moon's head just barely quirked left. She'd heard him, he wasn't sneaking up on Her, She wasn't going to tear his legs off; everything was fine. It was a bit of an odd feeling. He'd been spending most of his time idly thinking about the possibility of fleeing madly away from that dark figure whose black fur seemed to actively absorb the scant light floating in from the window. So, so funny in that odd, stomach-tearing way that he was now stepping low with obvious motions towards Her. It actually reminded him of some of the dreams they'd used to 'share.' The relative 'sharing' of the dreams being a questionable concept, as She'd more rather than less forced Herself on him. With the forgotten and likely uncountable number of times She'd come to him, it obviously varied; but there had been those dreams. Dreams spent alone in a murky abyss, wading through endless mud towards a wavering, black shadow of a figure with a mouth in the recess of an open smile. Tearing his way through the veil towards that long, dark horn, those huge, encompassing wings, that wide, piercing eye. That intense, godly figure. It all became a lot less dramatic when the shadow and the haze pulled away and it was just Her standing there again. And then he'd remember where he was and what was happening and from there it would be business as eventually forgotten usual. This wasn't much like that. For one, while She looked a bit like a shadow: the wisping ends of Her ethereal tail that wreathed and clipped around Her leg was pretty telling of Her general solidity. Unless, somehow, Her tail was solid and She was the intangible one. She also didn't- His gait skipped at the same time as his mind, and he stumbled slightly over his hoof; stopping with his eyes conveniently on the clear profile of Her visage for a moment as something... occurred to him. The actual details of each meeting with Nightmare Moon were hazy, and said details mostly completely evaded him until something specifically brought them into focus. And right now: something was coming into decently clear focus right in front of him. She'd always worn Her armor. In every meeting where he could remember Her physical appearance- all of them meshing together in messy blurs and out of focus pictures- She'd had the exact same appearance as She did standing right there. Never changing. Never scuffed. Never casual. Right down to the strange lack of back protection. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it was just Her everyday wear. He reinvigorated his slow trot across the worn stone floor, making his way past the maze of crumbled stone pillars, up to the side of one Nightmare Moon who oddly hadn't done anything to acknowledge his holdup. Not a jeer, not a laugh, not even a grin quirked his way. His hooves slowed to a cautious, yet loud walk as he came up on Her left side. He eyed Her still back hooves out of the corner of his eye as he passed them, sliding up along Her cutie mark, the motionless wings folded perfectly at Her long sides, and finally coming to a head at... Her head. He stopped, staring up with a furrowed brow at the focused expression entirely zeroed on the window's horizon. Still not doing anything to acknowledge him. He could pass the pricks and the pokes and the torment and all that: but ignoring him was just plain rude. He shook his head at Her half-reproachfully, before he turned his own attention to the window. It was... the night sky. A beatific, starry expanse painted across by a few stray, wispy clouds; all a side to the moon of course. Big and bright and whole and sans a couple craters in the vague shape of a face. Just hanging up there in the sky as it did every night. Kind of weird to think that it might just be a permanent... fixture, now. Less painful to look at; but maybe a little grating if it was just going to be there for the rest of time. Really not much to look out at besides the usual sights of the sky, as well as the slightly more interesting rounded edge of a castle wall to the left that only barely curved into sight. The castle itself sure was something to behold, if largely imposing as a structure. Even stretching out on his hooves to peer over the edge only afforded him a very distant view of trees and general country landscape far away and far below. The tower they were in must have been up fairly high, and probably not in the large courtyard the castle was built around: otherwise there would be more rubble to see. They were in the throne room, weren't they? But reason dictated that they had to be in one of the towers built off the outer walls, with the associated sights and all. Why wouldn't the center of the kingdom be in the center of the castle? He took a peek up at Nightmare Moon's peering face, then back to the plain sights of the window, then back to Her. "Um... What're you... looking at?" he questioned, as his face tilted to itself in a confused frown. Was it the moon? After a thousand years trapped in it, he didn't think he'd be so keen on staring it down. Made Her 'eternal night' doctrine seem a bit... masochistic. The immediate movement to his side sent him jolting, jumping away in the paranoid panic that She had somehow heard his thoughts. But he calmed as he realized Nightmare Moon hadn't made a grab for his throat; She had simply taken a single- albeit loud- step forward, accompanied by the eye-catching shimmer of blue magic. He seemed naturally predisposed to fear the very sight of magic by this point, but watching the tension on Nightmare Moon's face as Her horn glimmered and Her eyes twinkled into the night made it pretty clear She wasn't going for him: so he felt decently safe to step back to where he'd been. He stayed focused on Nightmare Moon's grimace of a face as She continued to leer out the window, but something was amiss. There was nothing out there, so what was She- His breath caught as he turned to look, and his eyes widened. There- not twenty hoof-lengths away, caught like a fly in a shimmering, incandescent net of magic, and slowly gliding its way towards them in the most unnatural astrological phenomenon he think he'd ever seen- a bird. "You caught a bird?!" The words came in a disbelieving rush of pure, genuine confusion, but more for the action itself rather than any real question of events because he'd have to be blind and dumb to miss the bird flying toward them without the aid of its wings! Nightmare Moon nodded out of the corner of his incredulous eyes, as the intense look of concentration finally bled away into a satisfied smile. "I caught a bird," She affirmed with a nod, completely missing his point. Was that a proud tone in Her voice?! Before his eyes that he still wasn't sure weren't malfunctioning: the captive creature was brought up to the inner rim of the window. There: it floated; casting a shadow on the stone that proved its true authenticity, which he stared at for perhaps a moment too long. The moment was quiet, and felt largely surreal: with him looking up at it in disbelief as Nightmare Moon looked down on it with clear satisfaction. It was a crow; no big surprise there. Scavengers and carrion feeders alike: there weren't many other kinds of birds that would dare venture anywhere near the Everfree. Not any that would live, anyway. Its somewhat dull, black coat of feathers was in some disarray, feathers jutting out in odd directions as Nightmare Moon held it in a tight grasp around the lean bulk of its body. Its wings were- in a manner somewhat reminiscent of an anatomical diagram- stuck straight out; enveloped at their bases and their tips by the magic that had plucked it out of the air mid-flap. Its head... He winced to see it. Its head with its dark, glassy eyes seemed set at a... kind of weird angle. Not snapped, and it hadn't died- he could see the skin of its throat rise with its breathing- but it was still just jerked to the side in an unnatural tilt. He leaned in with his eyes narrowed: staring questioningly as he searched its relative eyeline to... "You broke its wing." The blunt words came faster than he made the realization, but it was undeniable as he took in the decidedly wrong shape of its right wing. It wasn't as egregious as being bent backward or anything so gory as to be immediately noticeable; but it just... He'd seen birds, and- more importantly- he'd seen pegasi: and he knew that wings were just supposed to arch more. It wasn't supposed to be that ramrod straight. His uncertain eyes carried to Nightmare Moon's face as She, too studied the bird still held in Her grasp. Her eyes were wide with much of the same analytic scrutiny, though he wasn't having much luck of catching even an ounce of regret. Just idle curiosity for the held creature suffering through what he imagined would be its coming end. "Yes," She mused, as Her eyes darted to him momentarily; quickly returning to Her quarry as it lifted closer to Her face. "It will not have a chance to fly away in this state." Her tone was primarily thoughtless as She turned the creature over to inspect its underside- a motion he was sure the crow very much disagreed with- but there was a surprising lack of pure malice. Her eyes, as they roved about the indecent parts of the bird's body, weren't rough and fiery- the crazed eyes of a monster. She had the look of someone inspecting a ripe piece of fruit. Casually indifferent, and perhaps a little bit of a squint to check for bruises. It was just a crow. He shook his head, and heaved a sigh through his nose as he peered up at the helpless creature. "I suppose that's... necessary," he muttered, in a downtrodden tone that he was trying to lighten. He shook his head again, just to make sure; then focused his eyes past the crow, to Nightmare Moon's face. "And this is all well and good for you, I'm sure; but why did you catch a bird?" His question finally seemed to truly capture Nightmare Moon's attention away from the bird- or maybe She had just finished looking at it- and it levitated up and to the side in one motion as Her caught attention focused on him. Her eyes narrowed as Her head leaned in, and She pursed Her lips for a moment as a wave of scrutiny washed over him. Maybe he was just oversensitized with the bird there and everything, but the stare was setting him on edge like he thought it wouldn't anymore. His hoof raised up in the beginnings of a retreat, and- perhaps subconsciously, or out of a strange desire to comfort himself- his tail curled down around his leg. He swallowed the saliva in his mouth as it began to noticably pool, and sucked his face back into a soft grimace as he tried to not, not match the stare. He did not enjoy being leered at; especially by Her! Thankfully, it soon ended; and he was set back at relative ease as Nightmare Moon leaned back with the slightest of smiles on Her face. "You are not so lost as to forget my stating of just scant minutes ago, are you?" The bare intention in Her voice immediately hatched the caterpillars in his stomach into butterflies, and his mouth opened into a small pit as She raised Her head, and nodded to the bird floating above Her. "I have no need of somepony so despondent, who would so willingly waste away any hope they may have at competence. So, I am going to rectify the matter." She turned Her head to stare with a sharp smile at the posed crow as it dipped down to level with Her head, and he stared up with wide eyes. "Magic is a science, and Necromancy is no different. Dues done: we shall need a subject to test upon." The bird then flew down to his face, to wave obviously about as blue blocked his vision, and the musky scent of picked up dirt filled his nostrils. "And thus: the bird. You see my reasoning, now?" He stared widely into the wet, black eyes of the crow, while his mind struggled to keep his mouth in pace. "Y-Yes- Yes, I understand," he stuttered out, raising his Head to Nightmare Moon's waiting stare; having only barely managed to catch any understanding through the many mixed emotions running through him. Okay, this was happening; he was going to practice Necromancy. Hangup: Necromancy involved living creatures, like the breathing bird being held close enough to his face that he could probably lick it. Follow-up: Necromancy usually involved making the living creatures not-so-living, and he... Well... he had never done that, before. He tried to keep the excitement he only half felt clear as a smile on his face- as the bird levitated somewhat thankfully away so that Nightmare Moon could continue grinning at it- but the ends of his face kept annoyingly quirking down. It was fine, he was fine: he could handle this. He'd touched plenty of dead animals in his lifetime, and even a pony corpse once! He could handle- what? Just a little bird? Easy. Little league. Foal stuff. He would've killed for a chance like this as a kid. Literally; haha he. was. so. funny. He'd been a lot more disturbed as a kid. Nightmare Moon must've been too caught up in the moment to catch his grotesque half-smile, or maybe She just didn't care to comment on it as She turned away. "It is time you learn something of souls and of how you relate. Follow." The command to 'follow' came as he was still half-thinking about maybe pledging a vow of pacifism; so he was left blinking and focusing in as Nightmare Moon was already walking away, bird toted along with Her. He shook his head to clear whatever misgivings were weak enough to be shaken off; and set his hooves to following. Trotting after the retreating form half-shrouded by the mist of Her own tail was a strange enough schism to momentarily distract him; allowing him to listen intently as words floated out from the figure making Her way to what seemed to be the center dais where She'd recently been perched. "You will have to bear with my skills as both a teacher and a mentor, for I fear I fall too callous for one side and too impatient for the other. Perhaps my worst qualities, but rarely recently have they come to haunt me." Her gait slowed for a moment as Her head turned, and he caught the flash of a wide smile shot over Her shoulder moments before a long, rolling cackle. Yeah, ha ha. Recently, he got it. He coughed out a short, unfelt laugh to fit in as Nightmare Moon practically howled at Her own joke; before he cleared his throat as the sound of emphasized chortling petered off. "How- uh, how would that affect us here, though? Are you not... Do you not think you can teach me?" He finished out his question right as they came up to the center dais, and it was when She began to step up onto the platform that Nightmare Moon stopped, and looked over Her shoulder at him. She eyed him with a curious tilt to Her head, before She hummed, then nodded. "If you speak of my callousness, then I believe I could supply you an answer, of sorts." Her last hoof made the climb, and She turned about-face to him in a very familiar tower. Her chin rose proudly, and he nearly lost sight of Her face in the difference as She smiled in sharp teeth down at him. "You have no idea of how your Necromancy works," She announced loudly, as some measure of felt confidence seemed to die in his heart. Strength gave out like a cheaply bought knock-off, and he hung his head limply as a tired sigh tore from his throat. Why had he asked? He already knew She was plenty callous and impatient. "Thanks for the vote of no confidence," he muttered lowly to the floor, before raising his head just enough to stare up at the extremely vertical figure in front of him. "Is it really nothing, though? I mean, I thought I had picked up a few things from the books-" "Those 'books' are worthless," Nightmare Moon loudly interjected, and his head rose in a confused shock to see a disgusted frown on Her face, as if the mention left a foul taste. "Those of which you speak are nothing but ignorant, egocentric, nonsensical works of blind hubris that pertain in no way to you." The harsh rhetoric battering his ears left him momentarily speechless, but a sense of affront to the denouncement of his high-held books was quickly filling him. "But- but they are helpful!" he shouted vainly, his head shaking as he took a step onto the lowest stair of the dais. "I wouldn't know anything about Necromancy if not for-" Nightmare Moon's disdainful scoff cut him off before he'd started, and he retreated off the step as She advanced one. Nervous heat began to fill his chest as Her voice began to rise. "And what do you know? You know of the existence of souls and the bare basics of their theology; but what else? What perspective have you been so lofty as to gain while I was unawares that you could attest so grandly to their use for you?! Nightmare Moon's eyes burned with some kind of righteous blaze as She took another step down the dais, nearly on level with him now, though still obviously towering over him. "For every 'answer' you gleaned from the uncomprehending pages of an old fool's last trick, you lost just as much valuable perspective on a situation that he knew nothing about! Nothing about a Necromancer, and nothing about you!" She thrust Her head towards him in one quick motion, lending force to Her words that somehow took second place as one small drop of steaming spit landed on his taut cheek. "You have been sabotaged, Light Flow! You have been dealt a fake deck! Do you not see that?!" He was cowed. He was frightened. He was undeniably, unacceptably, uncomprehendingly confused. For one- if now was a good time to take mental stock as he leaned away on three hooves from the figure approaching and shouting at him- Nightmare Moon did not look right with Her face twisted up in offense for a cause absolutely not Her own. It was too close to Her being on his side, and he didn't like it. Secondly: what in the deepest hellpit of Tartarus was She talking about?! Bending and pressing himself low to the floor as a much larger, much more confident speaker literally dwarfed him wasn't the most powerful position to have; but he swallowed: and licked his lips to try to say something anyway. He had to act; he had to interject. It was a difficult prospect: trying to find the right approach in his head to preempt Nightmare Moon, who was now just standing widely in front of him with flaring nostrils and threats of violence in the snarling lines of Her face. Cower, defy, appeal: they were all good choices in their own ways. He had very nearly worked up the courage to stand up- really just scant seconds away from showing gumption- when, somewhat predictably: Nightmare Moon's face... changed. The fury painted into the lines of Her face jerked, then gained perspective in a quiet moment of softening. And some kind of light caught in the precipice of Her eyes as the rage in them seemed to freeze. Her hoof, tensed and prepared to stomp forward: stopped in the air, and slowly receded. It was with a wave of slightly unnatural, spastic motion that Nightmare Moon slunk away, retreated up the dais; to return to a tense, upright posture with two wide eyes above a slightly parted mouth. Somewhat like going in reverse; and he knew he wouldn't have felt okay making that joke if this hadn't already happened once or twice. Experience really made all the difference in the world, especially when it came to weathering bombardments and near-bruisings from insanely unhinged Goddesses. His tense muscles that had been prepared to ferry him backwards for as long as Nightmare Moon moved forward gradually relaxed. Not having used the tension to escape felt a little sore, but he tentatively reached one hoof one to take one step closer to the dais anyway. Nightmare Moon's wide eyes snapped to him as the noise of the motion echoed in the hall; catching on his face for a long moment of silence before they closed, and She breathed a deep sigh. As if She had suddenly realized he was still there. "Forgive me, child. I'm... It seems that I have once again allowed myself to become compromised," came the halting assurance, along with noticeable easement in Her tight-knit muscles that set his racing heart just that bit at ease. Enough, at least, to make him feel safe enough to close the distance between them, so he was once more standing at the hoof of the dais. "It's... fine. I've... seen it before," he replied through a furrowed brow, as he tried not to sound too obviously awkward. He was getting the relative hang of riding the waves that were Her emotions, but it was very tricky to not just succumb and freak out. But he'd get the better of his instincts. He always did. He licked his lips, just to feel the cold air as he swept his eyes blankly across the room, before he turned again to stare at Nightmare Moon's tightly closed face. "So... sabotage, huh?" His mouth felt a little clammy as he spoke, and smacking his lips wasn't doing as much as he'd expected. "Is that... I guess- apropos? I mean, is... whatever you're talking about really so... deliberate?" He really didn't want to believe it, and he was going to hold tight to that ship until it was kissing a bank. Nightmare Moon seemed to have been taking a brief rest against the metal of Her chestplate, but Her ears pricked at his question, and Her head raised slowly after. Eyes still closed: but only for one more deep breath before they were fluttering open and resting fully on him. She looked a bit distant, as he was learning She sometimes did: but awareness looked to be coming through in spots. Slow realization that She was still there, still talking to him. It was through one of those spots that She caught on something, as Her hooded eyes flickered up lightly: and Her head raised barely to look over him. "Perhaps... not." She whispered, almost too quiet to hear: even as he angled his head towards it. It was times like these that he sincerely began to wonder if She was... all there. And then he'd hate himself that much more for showing concern, and wasn't that just Her fault in the end? A terrible cycle of resentment, but what was he going to do to stop it? He certainly wasn't the bigger pony. He let Her take Her time, though: staring off into space for that long moment. A long moment counted in seconds; as Her eyes only then closed in a blink, as She drew in a deep breath. Her chest pulled forward as She arched Her back, showing very well the rise to Her chestplate as She took evenly spaced breaths. Gradually, Her posture eased along the wave of a particularly deep breath, and it was only then that Her eyes opened again. Hooded and soft, but clear and focused, and most importantly: not violent. She was back, and he was honestly glad to see it. He set his jaw, and let the mask of a smile fit onto his face. Easy enough to make the motions when he didn't have to make it reach his eyes. But he wasn't here to comfort Her, and She knew that. That was why She returned his smile with one of Her own that he couldn't begin to decipher for authenticity; before clearing Her throat, and letting it fall into a terse frown. "On reflection: I believe you may have misconstrued my using the word. Perhaps, of my own fault. If I had not been shouting at you, I believe you might have caught the intended subtlety behind it. For being unclear: I am sorry." The business-like tone and the shortness of Her words was somehow only second to the half-deflection of blame lamely hidden between a big word and an apology. An apology that he wasn't really feeling, thanks very much. He didn't need Her comforts. Currently. He nodded, just as professionally. "Thank you," he spoke, nodding his head; before fixing Her with the most dull eyes he could manage. "I imagine you now have a better word to use, now that we've moved past the incongruence?" Rule one or so of getting on ponies' nerves: use big words that barely pertain. She'd done it with 'misconstrued', and now he'd thrown it right back at Her. His own little way of stringing Her up for Her actions in the way least likely to get him maimed. A way that She must have approved of: or maybe the curling smile She met him with as She tilted Her head was also ingenuine. Could've gone any way; She had cause for either. "Your imagination is a wonder, child, and yes: I would like to supplant my original wording." Her smug tone was made only harsher as his smile waned, and a soft grimace replaced it. He'd never heard the word 'supplant' before. As if sensing his failure and thus his loss: Nightmare Moon's smile widened. Wide enough to show off sharp glimmer of Her teeth as Her eyes swept up to Her side, to stare off into the wall. "I believe the word I had meant to use was... oh, what was it?" Her eyes fell to him: one moment of quiet, gloating victory as She took in his frowning face. "Ignorance." If he'd been frowning before, then it must've been a very weak expression with how hard his face fell at that. "Ignorance?" he repeated, as he searched the laughing lines of Nightmare Moon's face for exposition that wasn't there. "You're saying... Are you saying that- that the ponies who wrote those books were ignorant? That they didn't know Necromancy?" He blinked rapidly to clear the buzzing sound of confusion from his sight as Nightmare Moon shook Her head. The coy little act She'd been putting on seemed distant as She sighed, and some kind of worn, tired look came over Her. "I did not say that. Far from it. In fact: I imagine the pony that wrote all of those books knew more about Necromancy than any normal pony could have ever known." She sniffed disdainfully, Her tone dipping frequently between both disinterest and disgust. He sucked in a breath, and narrowed his eyes. He let his teeth explore the back of his teeth as he stared down at the floor for a long second, before returning up to the silently dour face. "Great, they were wise beyond belief. So what, then? They did know about Necromancy, but not about...?" He let the end of his sentence bleed off to see if Nightmare Moon would catch it, and She only eyed him from under the hoods of Her eyes for a second before She did. She sighed, and threw Her head back in a long groan that ended with Her staring at him with fierce eyes. "He knew nothing of you, child. Nothing of what you are capable of. Nothing of what any pony was capable of." His face twisted in confusion as Nightmare Moon's face... puckered. A sour, muscle-clenching expression of lines melting together that he only got a short look at before She was tilting Her head up to stare at the ceiling. Was She pouting? What kind of personal relationship had She had with this... 'he'? Well, what was he supposed to do now? His books were... not helpful to him in some nondescript way that he sincerely hoped they'd be getting to soon. And it wasn't like he could up and ask anything; not with Her looking like... that. He felt... a little limp. It could've been the general atmosphere of the room, with Nightmare Moon simmering over some long dead pony that apparently also had no awareness whatsoever; but it was more likely just... the disappointment. It wasn't much that he felt badly about the box pony. If he'd ever felt anything for them, it had been a gross cocktail of awe and fear: one that he would have never ordered at a bar. It was more about... well... He'd never exactly felt smart, or knowledgeable when it came to Necromancy; but he'd thought he'd known some things. But was he wrong about those things? Were souls not what they seemed? Could they have some other purpose, rather than being the immaterial core of being? The building blocks of the ego? But... everything he'd ever observed... Souls definitively changed based on mood, and varied for personality! He'd corroborated that fact repeatedly throughout his life! With such a large data pool, the chance for observational error or the muddling of random chance was practically zero! He braced his hooves, and lowered his backside to the ground. He let his head lower, to stare down as his hooves came up. A wistful feeling crept over him as he took in the sight of them. His fur was dirty, stained with dirt and worse; and the little unshorn ends of his fetlocks were too long: crumpled and worn into the hard, black surface of his bare hoof. The soft, equally stained little patch of bare, puffy skin that sat in the middle: the tiny, near-heart shape of his frog. He tensed, and flexed it that little bit he could: and watched as tiny little vein lines pushed up against the muscles just far enough to be visible against the skin. He'd always wanted to feel a soul. That specific dream amidst so many had been one of the most tantalizing, for whatever reason. To hold a pony's- to hold any creature's bare font of life in the intimate cleft of his hoof. Some part so exposed, that... maybe, he might be able to touch and feel the material experiences. To be so privileged as to carry real, living warmth in his hooves... To... to be as simplistically vain to possess that little bit of being... Had it just been some fanatical dream? Was it selfish of him? He let his hooves fall with a clop, and sighed. Maybe it had all been some dumb fantasy of his. Maybe souls as he saw them were just some... illusion. There wasn't exactly empirical proof of anything he'd seen- outside of the books, at least. The books he was being told were bogus. He closed his eyes, just to see something other than gray. When was the last time he'd even seen a soul? Certainly not anytime today, and he'd been more or less unconscious for the week before. He couldn't see Nightmare Moon's, and he'd never seen his own. Maybe he'd been knocked around so much, he just couldn't anymore. What was he good for? The whistle was so sharp, such a pitched, sense-grabbing assault on his ears that he would've had to have tried to ignore it. He was brought out of his mild haze in a shock of pressed ears; blinking rapidly to restore awareness as he looked to its loud source. Nightmare Moon had evidently finished Her little meander in temperamental memory lane, now looking down on him with a stare of quirked expectation that he could only vaguely register as nearing the edge of bad. She'd been the whistler, obviously, but had that really come from Her mouth? Maybe it was a spell. Maybe She'd teach it to him someday? Somenight. He shook his head to chase away the thought. What was wrong with him, talking about Her in the future tense? That was like giving up in more words. A terse clearing of the throat brought his attention circling again back to Nightmare Moon, now looking at him with both eyebrows down, who hefted an object from around Her side that his eyes widened to see. The bird, of course: laid in a pin-up exactly as it had been before, right next to Her head. He'd... already sort of forgotten about it, which made him feel bad in a way that he couldn't tell was for the bird or for him. The poor thing's chest was fluttering unsteadily like it could barely breathe, yeah; but how had he gotten so distracted? He let his crossed eyes wander away from the creature, to Nightmare Moon's face. It was a stoic mix of frowning anticipation, and abject disgust. While neither ever left Her face for particularly long stretches: it was somewhat uncommon to see them together. She was waiting to speak to him, but She was also still upset about something that- strangely enough- didn't relate to him. Nice change of pace, but he couldn't deny it felt a little weird not to capture Her entire attention. Was he needy? She cleared Her throat, and he perked to attention: somehow lightening Her expression of discontent in a strange inverse of expectations. "The books, as written by somepony who had only studied the art from afar, are useful enough for those such practitioners who have no advantage. Those who only generally till the field. The common folk of Necromancy: you may say." Her tone had calmed remarkably from its temperament, though keeping a small edge of aggravation that somehow... diminished at its end. Replaced instead by a small, underplayed emotion that nearly bent his neck in bashfulness. Looking down at him and speaking of him and his aptitude, Nightmare Moon's face held a soft edge of pride. "But you... You are no mere practitioner, Light. Necromancy... you need not chase after it blindly: the art tailors itself for you. It seeps into your very being. You are not dictated as those, the masses of the world would be. You are special." Soft pressure pushed on the drums of his ears as his face warmed, and he had to force himself to drop his wide gaze from the abject praise that dripped like honey from that sweet smile. He swallowed against the nervous, unsettled energy that swelled in his throat; as his coat began to itch. "I... really don't know what you're talking about," he murmured lowly, as a vague urge to somehow hide his head creeped on his neck. Wherever had his cloak gone? He was sorely missing it and the shelter it offered him from staring eyes. A soft touch gripped his chin, and forced his head up to stare at Nightmare Moon. Her smile had dipped into a disappointed frown under that glowing horn, and he could vaguely see a tickle of blue at the bottom of his eyes as She slowly shook Her head. "Light Flow," Her tone was a chiding cocktail of admonishment and defused anger as She let go of his chin, to leave him upright of his own power. "-there is no reason to feel shame at my words. To fill your head with empty words would do us both very little: so know that nothing I said was untrue, or even so outrageous." She sighed, closing Her eyes for a moment. "You are special: in such a way that we all are special." Her eyes opened, and- his eyes caught- the shimmer of magic around Her horn brightening, only a second before he was tilting forward. His right leg was raised only for as long as he was left without balance, and the danger of falling passed as soon as he looked back to see his limb released and returned to the floor. Aggravation tipped into his stare as he flicked his eyes about his leg, to make sure that the Queen of Abuse hadn't stuck a 'kick me' sign to him, or something. But, then he saw it: and so much suddenly clicked. His cutie mark. His throat clenched tightly as a gasp failed to clear it; but the connections were forming too quickly for him to really care about the miniscule pain. Things were far too clear in far too short a time. He'd been stupid. He'd been so stupid. Special, he was special. His special talent. His special talent in Necromancy set him apart. Normal teaching wouldn't have been effective for him. He was not a general practitioner. The art tailored itself for him. What he was capable of. Having a special talent in Necromancy allowed him to do things that others couldn't. No, a voice seemed to outcry against his aggrandizing thread of thought: it can't be anything as incredible as that! He was just a dumb little colt from a podunk town who had long since wasted his potential away, and now he was just looking for something to make him think he had any worth at all! But this was coming from Nightmare Moon! She was one of the least perfect creatures he had ever met, and She was far from impartial: but She wouldn't coddle him. This was coming from one of the most trustingly untrustworthy sources he could think of! But cutie marks didn't even work like that! They didn't bestow special powers: they were just a physical proofing of a pony's most liked aptitude as was dictated by destin- Destiny. Both of the quarreling voices in his head quieted in an instant, with little so much as a passing insult tossed for farewell. The world trickled into his headspace like an undammed river, and he was suddenly aware of where he was again. Nothing was certain. Destiny didn't exist. Anything was possible. He blinked, and Nightmare Moon's face came into focus from a blurry canvas of grey. His chest panged at him, and it was only then that he realized he was taking deep, uneven breaths. His lungs ached as he held one deep breath in, before blowing it out slowly, and starting his breathing cycle anew. Starting anew... He liked the sound of that. He turned solid, steady eyes on Nightmare Moon's face, which was- Wait, who cared? "What can I do?" The words came off his tongue in a strong tone that he hadn't heard from himself for at least half an hour, and it nearly surprised him enough to lose it. Actually: it was probably that very self-aware realization that stopped him from tensing away from his own voice; so score one for his overwrought mind. At his question, Nightmare Moon's frown that he had noticed but pretended not to melted away: to mold upwards into a quietly satisfied smile. The tinkling sound of magic that had never really gone away grew more insistent as the floating bird lifted up, and swayed side to side. His eyes followed it, and though he tried to keep his tough, brave face: he could feel the certainty waning. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He was going to have to kill the bird, wasn't he? "You can do many things, child; and I would love nothing more than to uselessly sit and explain each understood facet of your talent for the many hours we do not have: but I have always preferred a hooves-on approach." Her voice, teasing and tilting as it was, was quickly overshadowed by the too-loud sound of the bird floating slowly down to his face. His first instinct was to edge uncomfortably away as the captive avian lined its way towards him, and one hoof had even begun to slide backward before he forced himself to stop. His breathing took calming center stage in his mind as the creature came level, and eye-to-eye with him. In, and out. In, taste the cold air: out, feel the heat of his breath. Stare into the unblinking black eyes so large from instinctive fear that they were only barely rimmed with brown. In, and out. He'd seen birds before. He'd seen dead birds before. He'd never seen a bird that he was about to kill, before. Nightmare Moon's voice came again, and he focused on it gladly as he just... got used to the sight. "The first step is to finally allow you your first taste of what has always compelled you. Consider the bird and its contents formally yours; a present, from me to you." He tilted his eyes up, to send a troubled look at Nightmare Moon, then back down to the bird. "Isn't that a bit... I don't know..." He swallowed, unsure of whether birds had the capacity to look as pleading as he imagined it was. "...bold?" He was getting tired of looking at the bird with the incapably sad eyes, so he focused instead on Nightmare Moon: whose face had fallen into a dry well. "No, now take the creature," She droned, as said creature bobbed insistently in Her hold. Well, no more stalling, then. It was a strange soup of feelings that sat in his stomach as he stared the bird down. He felt nervous: he was about to murder this crow and steal its soul for his own. He also felt the lingering shreds of confidence that had been torn down as death loomed over him. Not his death, but still. But he also felt so strangely excited. If he had to liken it to the most available feeling: it would be what he remembered of the slightly sinful anticipation that had rocked his adolescent mind as he sat wonderingly in front of a bunny carcass in a horseshoe box. A bursting, tearing sensation in his stomach. A cutting, rending feeling. Desire. Very, very strange and concerning desire. He felt... restless, almost. A kind of restless energy that he could almost sort of taste. All over his tongue like a slick, viscous fluid that wouldn't settle or stick or mix and it wouldn't go away no matter how much he swished or swallowed. It made it hard to think. It made it a little hard to breathe. He looked back up to Nightmare Moon once more, before licking his lips. That oily feeling in his mouth. Now or never. He let a familiarly unfamiliar energy rise up in him, and lit his- The world spun, heat flared behind his eyes, and suddenly: he couldn't see. It was between one blink and the next, and like somepony had turned off the switch to the moon itself: everything was dark. He gasped, or, at least: he thought he did. The darkness, to his unseeing eyes, seemed... off. It wasn't just dark- shadows cast in un-light- it was black. He couldn't see a single thing, even as he tried to squint what felt like his eyes into the void. But squinting brought with it an itch. A benign little itch on the very corner of his lid, nearly too small to notice at first: until it began to grow more insistent. It started as a little scratching that felt like it could've just been rubbing skin, but then certainty rippled through as it drew deeper: into a persistent ache. The ache turned to pain, and the pain turned into fire. He wanted to blink. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pound his hooves into his eyes until the deep flame that burned there like it was licking melted chunks out of his face was gone and stamped out. But he couldn't move. He tried; but he couldn't feel. The ground still pressed insistently up against his hooves, the cool air still nipped and stung at his coat, he still even felt the awkward tension under his skin of just being near another pony; but it was like every mere ghost of a sensation was just prodding empty space. But he wasn't empty; he still had heat. Not just in his eyes, anymore; it was all over. Lined across his body in long, agonizing ropes that curled and swept in odd places where there shouldn't have been any conduits but for his blood. His heart. His lungs. His hooves. His spine. His throat. His eyes. His mind caught fire, and it all swept away. The world rushed like rapids into the empty space, and his eyes opened again. A soul, right in front of him. Listing light that glowed like an ember in the wake of a blaze, caught on the air as though some hook had marklessly punctured it through. But so still. So alive. Grey light pulsing so slow in time with his heartbeat like it was in perfect sync. But it wasn't light. Not real light. Deeper, beyond what he could see: it was more. It was strands. Threads. Glowing strings overlaid so finely, so woven that he didn't even know how he knew to see them. He just... It was almost as though he could count them. Could he? Was there time? Was it even worth it? It would always be worth it. He wanted to know everything about that soul. About all souls. He wanted it. His magic was back, and he could feel it: a strong presence of warmth that seemed too obvious to ignore in hindsight. It was hardly a wonder that the night had been so cold; when he'd carried a much harsher chill inside. It was a flow: guided along his body like a soothing stream of a spring, bathing every inch of him in the sheer effervescence of its presence. It pooled like lakes in the beds of his body, wherever banks had been worn by the natural process of motion. Around his heart: boiled by its steady beat. Along his lungs: cooled by the take of his breath. Down his hooves: weighed by his connection to the earth. Up his spine: aerated by the lift of his body. Heavy in the sockets of his eyes, bringing as much stinging itch as it brought clear clarity. Across the threshold of his skull, through the nexus of his brain: to process as to compress before riding one, final line to the absolute foci of his body. And out it came through his horn. Trickling in drops and cinders off the tip to sweep away into a held maelstrom of activity. His magic, taken intricate turns through the maze of his body just to manifest itself in less than a physical form. To make it physical: to bring solidity to what wasn't. From the core of his body, down through his hooves, then up once against the spine: and to finish at his horn. Holding something with levitation wasn't such a tactile touch as it was a brush of sensation. There wasn't as much real feeling to touching something with just a grasp of magic, as there was an almost empty go-between in the brain. It was feeling something with as little actual sense as possible while faux imagining what it felt like. He felt something slick, smooth, and almost soft: but still rough. Feathers; rimmed by a familiar, featureless coating of blue that retracted at his touch, and suddenly: there was weight. Beautifully possessive weight. It hefted in his grip, and what feeling there was to be had rushed in. Pushing, pounding, pressure probing from the inside in irregular intervals: like a bag filled with air left to settle and bounce. But he didn't care about the bag, the bag only held the prize. The soul was so close now: so torturously close, but out of reach. He could see it, so large like it was just there. He held it. He held its bag. But he didn't feel it. He wanted to feel it. Even just with his magic, he wanted to touch it. He let the net of his magic spread, to search blindly for any possible way down. Down to the center of the bag. Down to the soul. There had to be a drawstring, an opening, a tear, a hole, a way through. There was none. It was all solid: all unbroken. He'd have to go through. Pushing magic through something was difficult. It was something he'd never done. It was invading a space that already held something. Pushing a stone through wood. Throwing a brick through glass. Shooting an arrow through a wall. Easing a needle through skin. Magic couldn't do that. Magic wasn't solid, even in levitation. But it wasn't solid. It was air through a crack. It was water in a sponge. It was fluid, it was malleable: it occupied space beside space. He didn't have to break the bag: he could just drip magic in, then suck it back out. His power gathered, pooled on the surface in one spot without breaking the film. The action was difficult, almost too much for him: made even more so as the bag seemed to struggle against his efforts. He was moving; the ghost feeling of tightness squeezing him the only indication that anything was happening. His head hurt, pounded like the slowly growing sound of drums as his magic made the unseen motion of creeping through the fill: towards the soul at its depths. A fly was buzzing around his ears, making so much noise. Made it hard to concentrate as he knew he needed to, as the unestimated distance closed. He didn't know when he'd reach it. He didn't know if his magic was even working like he thought it was. It was all just theory. But he would trawl the depths until he felt something. Until he felt it. He felt something. He felt it. The motion of the bag against his magic flew into a frenzy as the weight-in-weight feeling of holding tugged at him. He tugged back: the world blurring for a hazy moment of where am I what's happening as the soul began to move, and his hold stayed still. Closer, then closer. The bag was calming; fluttering light touches in the wake of a last-ditch struggle as the soul rose from its grave, towards the edge, towards him. It was almost out. Hovering so close on the edge of one last wall that tugged like an entitled child keeping hold of their favorite toy. He was losing strength, losing momentum. For one, terrifying second: he almost thought he'd lose. But then, the wall gave way: and the soul came out. Warmth sprung like a spring from the source he held in a wonderful, enlightening instant: running like a flush across the field of his body. It brought a wordless, nameless, wonderful sense of fulfillment that, for a moment, he closed his eyes to immorally indulge himself in. The bag had stopped moving, and it was as worthless as everything else was. He let his hold retract, and it fell wherever it happened to fall. He didn't care to check: he had what he needed. What he wanted. What he'd always wanted. The lingering, pounding pain of restraint in his head seemed so... far off as he grew impatient, and opened his blurry eyes to stare in wonder down at the glimmering orb. Even without the bag that held it, it spun, and shone, and pulsed so softly he could feel it like a living heart. He brought it closer, and it filled his senses. His eyes fluttered drunkenly as he drank the sight, the sound, the lack of scent of it in so greedily he thought for a fearful moment that he might accidentally inhale it. It was so small, there: in the undulating, shapeless mass of his magic; he could probably swallow the poor thing like a pill. Not now. Not yet? Not now. His chest squeezed mournfully as he leaned away, and let it drift down, away from the cliff of his face. He was nervous. What if, when he let go, it just flew away? Who could say whether he was the only thing keeping it tethered? But he needed to let go. He needed to feel it. Slowly, regretfully, shamefully: the wisps of his magic blew out. Little by little, the film receded: his heart dying with it. He was ready- even as he leaned back, brought his hooves up- for the light to disappear. To fade like the last remnant of a fire hardly felt, to leave him cold and alone without it. He didn't want to let go. He wanted, more than anything, to let go. He let go. He sucked his lip into the vice of his teeth, to gnaw in anticipation of penance as the soul hung for a moment. Without the supplanting strength of his magic holding it aloft, it seemed almost confused. It bobbed: once, twice, then began to fall. His hooves raised up reverently below it as it floated on a solitary draft that simply didn't exist. He might almost call it shy: the way that it staved the inevitable fall. Every other second, it would raise half of what it had fallen: like it was trying to climb back up. To claw itself away from him. But it was only so evitable. It was meant for him. Eventually, inevitably: it fell; and he caught it. The first touch on the bare flesh of his frog was subtle enough that he wasn't sure it had really happened. A light kiss to meet before parting on a small, wry waft. Come back: he wanted to say, to scream. He might've mouthed the words, actually; it was hard to tell with every nerve in his body rotting for the wait. But then, back down it came: and it finally rested. The settlement was electric. It was like every ounce of his blood lit like flammable gas for one, intensely painful moment; and he wasn't entirely sure he didn't black out. But, no, he didn't; because he was still there, still staring, still feeling the soul laid like any ordinary ball in the cleft of his hoof. But it was warm. It was so warm: and it was moving. Gently, so gently that if he hadn't been actively blocking himself from the entire world: he wasn't sure he would have noticed. And it wasn't one, natural stream: it was every direction at once. Where one little bit of flesh felt motion in one way, another too close to distinguish felt the opposite. And it went on, and on for what felt like every millimeter of his frog. It was the motion of a soul: of the living code for life. Every stream was an isolated instance that dictated behavior like words on a page; too many to count: all together as a conglomerate mass. It was like its own living being; kept like a grave secret even to those who carried them. Living being. His brain ticked, and his eyes widened. If a trance could be called an ocean of thought- especially as his went- then his first gasp as actual sense clocked him over was his breach. The cold air. The castle walls around him. The ground under his hooves. The breath in his lungs: more frantic by the second. The soul held aloft in his hooves. The crow lying in a motionless heap half-between steps. The mare, standing where She'd never left, looking down at him with such a mixed, mashed, bevy of emotion on Her softly smiling face that his overstimulated mind raced to put a name to every one of them before he told it to stop. Every breath was a throaty gasp, and every second counting the aches in his too-still body was one in a world of feelings and realizations that he'd completely blotted out. What had happened? He needed... He needed to go step by step. Conceptualize. Consolidate. Consider. He'd used his magic, but his magic hadn't been there. It had to come back; it had to turn on. This had been the first time using it since he'd lost it, so something must have broken when... when he did. He'd been blinded: every sense lost to him in less than a second as his system restarted, and he'd become lost in the feedback. A dark void of feeling every single one of his magical pathways filling with mana: and it had hurt. His vision had returned, eventually; and with it came his vision. A vision that he hadn't even realized he'd lost until just then; and it had overwhelmed him. Seeing a soul so close, for the first time in over a week: it had turned him ravenous. Ravenous and mad and focused in ways that left somepony else's memories uncomfortably crawling on his skin like worms. That had been him, going after a soul. Every time he'd come close, every time he'd abstained: that was what he'd just barely staved off. Though, he'd always imagined that involving a lot more blood. His eyes were still spinning and still blinking away too-big flashes of soul-light, but he still managed to look down, beyond the soul that still called to him: to his hooves. Completely clean- well, for a certain definition of clean. Blood-free, at least. No red spatter at all. His eyes dropped further: to the crow. It was dead, obviously; body half-folded at its waist as he'd apparently discarded the now sack-of-bones like trash, and it had simply crumpled as any old bag would. It was still a crow, though. Cold, black feathers spread like ashes across the stone that were quickly gaining another sense of cold; with closed eyes and skin and organs and everything else that every living body contained. But it was dead. He'd feel sad about that, soon. He returned his attention to himself, but not too much! Only enough to take quick catalogues of the self that he'd momentarily thrown off for greater focus. His chest ached a little, though he could tell that was because he'd forcibly sped his breathing to return his attention outward. The real star of the show was his head. He winced, and the hoof not holding the soul that called to him came up to rub against the pounding, there. He'd overtaxed his magic, and it was obvious in places other than the headache. Mana was a finite, if replenishing, resource: and his mana was running dangerously low. Burned away like cheap fuel on a weak wick. Not low enough to leave him comatose or too weak to stand, but weak enough that he was sure the only thing he could manage to hold then was the soul that called to him. The itch in the back of his brain nagged again, and he broke a short breath of shuddering need. He would get there, okay? He... He had to keep himself unfocused. He'd really gone into it, though. Now that he had perspective, he could remember the struggles of the 'bag' as the frenzied escape attempt of the crow as he tore its soul out. The buzzing in his ears, too, had been the peaking shrieks of its last, terrible birdsong as it died. He'd feel bad about that, soon. Anyway, he was mutedly surprised that he'd even been able to keep the bird contained. Not that the bird was particularly strong or that he was particularly inept: but he'd been splitting his magic pretty unevenly. It had taken a lot to reach into the crow's chest without breaking the skin to pull its soul out, all the while maintaining enough of a levitation field to keep it relatively still and aloft. Levitation at that level may have been normal for an adult unicorn, but not for him. Not for never having done it before. He hadn't known he could do any of that. Not maintaining such extended strength, nor pulling a soul out. Especially not pulling a soul out- was that normal? Was that what Nightmare Moon had been talking about? What he could do? Nightmare Moon. She was still standing there, watching him relatively menacingly; or maybe that was what his imagination filled in. She did have a smile on Her face; and at least some of the emotion in Her hooded eyes was pride. Pride, interest- was that a bit of fading surprise? Seemed She hadn't expected him to do that, either. He realized too late: he'd spent too long with his eyes on Her. Her eye caught his, and affirmed the attention he wished he could take back. Her smile dipped just enough to classify as coy, and the sound of ruffling wings reached his ears before She began to move. He was still a little too panicked-out to feel any real fear as She stood, but he did have the wherewithal to scoot futilely backward on his butt as She took one step down the stairs. One step, then another just past the dead crow: and by then he'd made enough space that She only had to keep one hoof on the stairs behind Her as She stood fully in front of him. Her eyes were a bit too piercing for his tastes, especially as he was holding a soul that called to him. Paranoia tugged his ear, and he indulged it fully as he tilted his body away: taking his soul with it in a possessive hold close to his body. But he kept his eyes on Her. It was his soul. She wasn't going to take it from him. He couldn't help it if his face made a pout, but he could paint it red with anger as Her eyes lit in amusement at his action. She even chuckled quietly: a soft, creeping noise that didn't help his fears. She shook Her head, and leaned down in the raising of a hoof towards him. If he'd been in any position to shy overtly away without putting his soul in danger, he would've; but as it was; he just had to bare his teeth threateningly and squint his eyes dangerously as that metal-clad hoof came to rest gently on his cheek. "You fascinate me." The softly spoken words were such a far cry from 'give me that' that he wasn't sure if he'd heard right. His squint ended off into a confused blink, but running through the last five seconds in his head confirmed what She'd said. He narrowed his eyes as a slow-starting feeling of strange shame washed over him, and he jerked his head as far as it could flee from the hoof on his cheek. "I don't know what you mean," he murmured, as he returned his eyes to the much more comforting sight of his soul. So pretty. So alive. So tangible. It was still a little surreal that he was really holding one: the bulk of emotion that he could feel lying in wait still hadn't hit him. Who knew what would happen then, though. He'd probably burst into tears while hugging the thing, before passing out in a puddle of tears and inevitable vomit. That sounded nice, he was looking forward to it. He was literally brought back to attention as a cold hoof placed itself on his other cheek: nudging him and leaving him staring slightly smushed at Nightmare Moon: whose face seemed almost... in awe? "You really don't, do you?" Her words came out quiet, barely eked through the small opening of Her mouth. She shook Her head, as he stared back with purposeful petulance. "You have no idea what you've just done." That was a little insulting. He jerked his head away from the hoof again, though kept staring at Nightmare Moon as She seemingly took no offense at his action. "I do, actually," he retorted, as he pressed his soul to his side, the contact unintentionally making him shiver a little. "I took a soul. I took the soul that you offered me." That made Her chuckle again, to his frustration. She leaned back, finally; regarding him with quiet scrutiny that put him on edge. "That is exactly it, Light. You took a soul." The distrust he was attempting to put on full display melted into confusion, and he leaned forward on the back of his open frown as he softly shook his head. He didn't need an echo, thanks very much. Nightmare Moon must not have understood how unhelpful She was being, as Her eyes rolled sufferingly. She returned to him with a frown sans sarcasm. "Without my direction. You did not need teaching, or telling: you simply acted on instinct." She scoffed out of the corner of Her mouth, as if She couldn't believe She was explaining this to his slowly widening eyes. "It is simply fascinating, because I have never seen such proficiency from one like you." A cold shock was beginning to wear on his extremities as Nightmare Moon continued, Her tone paradoxically harsh inside the praise She was brazenly throwing. "Among the gifted few I have known who have had marks like yours: you are gifted. A gifted mark among the many chosen prodigies, among the diamonds of your craft; they have all bumbled where you have just excelled." The shock had all but numbed him now, but something else was beginning to wane in. Something unfamiliar. Something warm. Pride? Was he feeling pride? He was. He was proud of what he'd done. A smile was working onto his face, he couldn't help it. Maybe it was vain, maybe he was full of it: but he was buying into what She was saying. The self-hating part of his mind was screaming that he was worthless and talentless and Nightmare Moon was spewing crap: but that part was being systematically crushed by the rapidly growing part of himself that liked himself. He had done something special. He was special. His special talent was special. "Light, look at me." The call to his ears came as a surprise, because he hadn't realized his eyes had drifted in a happy haze. He wanted to beat the smile away as he look back to Nightmare Moon, but it was especially hard as he saw a soft smile on Her own face. And Her magic, glowing around Her horn. That made his smile dip a little, because he was still afraid of Her and the potential that She would take his soul away. But thankfully- because he wasn't sure he could escape on his weak hooves- the blue build-up of magic was only coalescing around Her shut eyes. Only shut for a moment, though: as they soon opened with a small corona of blue light glimmering around them. Were Her eyes a little more red behind the cyan than usual? "Do you see what I am doing, Light?" Her eyes focused on his face for a moment, then strangely flicked down to his chest, then to his side. His spirit dampened a little as She coincidentally stopped in a glance where his held soul was, and he turned just a little more to hide it. Her eyes followed the movement perfectly. "You're looking at my soul," he muttered, perhaps a little more hostilely than he'd meant. Or maybe he'd meant to be more hostile; either way, he didn't like Her eyeing his prize. Nightmare Moon nodded at his words: outing Herself as the covetous witch She was. "I am using a spell to allow me the gift of soul sight. That is the spell name, as it happens: Soul Sight. It is the only Necromantic spell that I know, and I only learned it as a curiosity." Her head tilted in a question. "Do you see what I am saying?" His brow furrowed as he relished in the warmth of the soul on his body, and his tongue licked along the backs of his teeth as he gave precious thought to the question. "You're saying..." He started before he'd really finished thinking, and he stalled in a pause for a moment before he made up his mind. "...that you need a spell to do what I do?" He hated the silence just after he'd made a guess, and he was beginning to think Nightmare Moon let it stretch just to see him squirm. But soon enough, the silence ended with Her smile, and a nod. "You are correct: though it is something you should have already guessed. Your cutie mark allows you the ability to natively interact with souls in ways normal ponies cannot." He had sort of been thinking that: if only because of the hints towards it and the fact that he'd been the only one seeing souls all his life. A little sobering to hear it explicitly stated, though. Some of his very mild bewilderment must have shown on his face, because Nightmare Moon squinted thoughtfully at him. She nodded, eventually: and put one hoof out towards him. "Let me see your soul, if you would." Outrage flared in his chest like an unattended bonfire, and the immediate scoot backwards he made was his attempt to save his own life. "Get your own!" he spat venomously, and hugged his soul closer as he glared as many daggers he could throw Her way for even asking such an awful question. Something he did finally put Her off enough to not be amusing, and Her eyes fell into a soft mimic of his own anger. "Do not be a child, Light Flow; I need only to demonstrate something." She wasn't quite snarling, but She wasn't asking as nicely as She might've. Her hoof bobbed: gesturing again for what was his. But the answer was still no. It was his, and the gods help his burgeoning sense of pride if he let any old Goddess touch it. Nopony else would ever touch it. It was his, and that was how it should be. He'd waited all his life for this moment, and he would sooner have his life end here than concede. His lack of a response but for glowering was its own response, as Nightmare Moon did begin to actually snarl. Her red-tinted eyes were stormy and hostile as She leaned in, and he leaned out. "You are testing even my best side's patience. I will not ask a third time for something so juvenile as putting your mind at ease, now let me see it." She sure did know how to sound so loud when speaking at a normal volume, but he was practically fearless at this point. Maybe he would kick himself for the blind sins of hubris and greed he was brazenly indulging, but maybe he would win out and keep the soul forever: and those odds seemed even enough to him. His continued refusal lit some kind of fire under Nightmare Moon, as She leaned back, and Her snarl seemed to shrink in on itself. "Very well," She intoned, with so little emotion that She might as well have slapped him with the monotone trudge of Her frown. But then, the haze around Her horn glowed brighter, and a force wrenched his hooves forward. He cried out in a mixture of surprise and anger as an angry cloud of blue magic forcibly straightened his hooves out; the sensation nearly painful as the miasma prickled rudely at his skin. He jerked his hooves in any direction he felt he could put force behind, as his prized soul was put on full display. Nightmare Moon loftily regarded his struggles through cold eyes that he did his best to heatedly return through frenzied bouts of struggling. And then, like his world was just crashing down around him: She began to reach down towards his soul. He wanted to scream. He did: as angrily as possible. He wanted to smack Her hoof away. He tried: to absolutely no effect. He wanted to tear Her apart, to cry, to scream for help, to rip himself to shreds with the maddening thought that somepony else was going to touch His Soul! Her hoof went through it. "Do you see? Foolish child, I told you I possess no other Necromantic spells!" Came the yell that battered his ears as he watched with wide eyes: the spectacle of Nightmare Moon's hoof repeatedly phasing though the soul he held. "You and those like you are the only ones who may touch a soul without the aid of a spell! If you had not resorted to the most infantile crying of thievery I have ever witnessed, you would have recalled my saying so!" It was hard to put a definite pin on his emotions, just then. He didn't quite feel shame: he was still too hopped up on himself to feel bad for doing much of anything. It wasn't regret: again, very little self-awareness. He wasn't afraid, sad, or even really all that mad. To put that definite word to it: he might've said sheepish. Mostly just indifferent, though. His expression was a painful mix of awkward discomfort and apathy as the magic holding his hooves cut out with a crackle of static feedback, none too gently. He let his hooves fall to his chest as his freedom was regained: to continue his close hold of his soul that felt so unguarded out in the open. The pressing, whirring motion against his bare body: it was intoxicating. He covertly snuck his eyes down at it, to catch comforting glimpses of moving grey even as yet more harsh rhetoric battered his ears. "You stupid foal; you think me such a monster that I would give a genuine gift, then steal it away as petty as the day?" The acidic lash of Her words made him consider flinching a little, at least to show some kind of penance; but then he thought again, and he didn't feel as obliged. It was hard to remember any kind of obligation to Her when he stared down at his lovely, beautiful soul. His ear perked: to catch a barely suppressed sigh of aggravation, and the slow murmur of words kept quiet. "Of any time to grow your spine, you would choose now? When it is least convenient to me?" He let his brow fall in time with his frown, as he looked back up to see Nightmare Moon with a hoof to Her shaking head. "I heard that!" The dry accusation was meant to poke some weak hole of embarrassment in Her wall of antagonistic toleration, but it seemed to do the opposite. Nightmare Moon instead looked up from the headache he half hoped he was giving Her: to regard him with dull eyes shining vaguely with resentment. "If I had not meant for you to hear, I would not have spoken," She muttered through a half-expressed grimace. He glared back anyway, even though the wearing feeling of danger was tugging at his scruff. "Insulting me is hardly going to help!" he shot back, plenty loud enough for anypony to hear because he wasn't going to be sly with his anger. If he was mad, he was going to wear it on his cuff! Nightmare Moon's eyes flashed with something dangerous, but he kept his defiant stare steady: even as She loomed toweringly over him for one terrifying, nerve pinching second. But then, the sheer force of potential violence in Her eyes began to abate, and the precarious lean She was forcing over him slowly edged off. With clear tension bunching in Her shoulders: Nightmare Moon seemed almost to pout at him for a moment. A heady glare of exasperated emotion that worked the tired lines of Her frown: eventually dripping away into a cold stare of consideration. He didn't like that. She looked... plotting. Her head turned in a moment as She audibly huffed; a clearly haughty dismissal of his antics. "Very well. Act yet younger than you ever were, for all the rapport we shall build." His eyes flicked up from his soul to catch a nasty side-eye: a thorough snub finished by taking even that away. "A shame, though. What I was going to teach you was something I estimate even you will need extensive time to figure for yourself." The aching detachment he felt as he fawned over his destiny incarnate halted; tension forcing his ears to an attentive perk that he fought down. No need to look more interested than he was. Except he was very interested because that sounded so interesting. His eyebrow wanted so badly to twitch a question into his voice as he slowly raised his head, to set himself into a guarded, suspicious stare. "What... do you mean?" He softly rubbed his hooves against the slightly filmy surface of his soul as he spoke: the beginnings of a habit he hoped he would be perpetuating. Nightmare Moon's peeked one eye at him for a second out of Her side profile, and She sniffed absently. "Oh, you need not concern yourself." She smirked, as She hummed a humorless laugh. "I'm afraid something far more immediate has come up, and I simply do not have the time set aside to work with children." The socialite canter of Her tone was perhaps only insulting because of how much it made him think of Rarity and the off-tone shriek she so often assaulted him with; ended with a slow turn to him over heavy accentation to Her last, especially wounding insult. He didn't need this third degree, this unfair badgering; he had a soul, damnit! But he could have more; and that was what brought him to a tired sigh. Reluctant would be the easiest and least painful word to describe how he felt as he stared at the dark ceiling for a moment of reflection, before turning down to the Goddess he'd offended. "Sorry, okay?" he conceded, though he couldn't get his face to relax for it. Nightmare Moon finally turned just back to him, to stare with hooded, unconcerned eyes that he rolled his own at. "Fine, I was out of line. I was being... childish." The confession of what was well enough evident still burnt for whatever reason. Her head turned toward him fully now: face thoroughly unimpressed. He groaned as his shoulders sagged, and he pressed his soul tightly to his chest for the strength needed to completely humble himself. What a pain. What a drag. He didn't want to apologize to Her, and he didn't want to admit whatever fault She saw in him. At least the soul was warm on his chest. Warm, warm, so warm. Like the flickering little flame of a match, except without the burning. Just the wavering line of heat right on the edge of the actual flame, except it was bigger and it had depth, and oh it even moved like fire! He wanted to sigh. The soul wasn't soft, but it was just slightly malleable. Like cotton. Like foam. He would press his frog against it, covering the entire two inch length of it, and it would just meld. It would squish, but not deform or lose its mold. It was supremely satisfying. Oh, the warmth. Warmer than anything he had ever felt, it seemed. One little spot of all-consuming, sleepy, calming heat. So small, though. So, so small. Just a pinprick. A hole. A wound. He wanted to feel it all over his body. If he was that warm everywhere: he wouldn't need anything ever again. If he could just... press it in. Both hooves over his heart: and just knead that warmth into his being. He could feel the thrum of his blood under it, maybe even through it. Would it be so hard? To just... let it suffuse him? The beat of the soul, and the thrum of his heart: why couldn't they just.. synergize? Connect. Tether. Intertwine. Become one. He wanted the warmth. He wanted the soul. But, he couldn't have it. Not that way, anyway. He did sigh, as he let his hooves drift away from his chest. He felt a bit dazed, as his eyes fluttered open. Held in such a trance, he could almost swear he had started to feel that warmth he'd been crooning about. How heavenly it would've been. The aches of his muscles, the empty tank of his mana, even the terse tear of emotion he'd been feeling: under that warmth, he couldn't even feel any of it. Just an illusion, though. His imagination could only account for so much, and all the worldly things that bothered him would shackle themselves back on soon enough. It'd be so nice to really feel like that, though. He turned his dreamy eyes back to Nightmare Moon, though he'd sort of forgotten what they'd been talking about. Didn't She have something to show him? Why were Her eyes so wide? Face quiet and mouth stoic: with that kind of expression, he could almost say She looked kind of shocked. What could shock Her, though? She was pretty obviously staring at him, and the most he could do to shock Her would be to stop breathing and drop dead. Oh, thought for later? Where was She looking, though? At him, but not his eyes. Slightly down? It was an idle trace of Her eyeline; followed as a curious whim because he had nothing better to do. He meandered down, smiling slightly to himself for as long as the memory of fake warmth held him like a blanket. He frowned. Where had his soul gone? His hooves, held uselessly against his side with nothing in them, pressed in: to touch his side. He pulled them away, and the soul still wasn't there. He did it again, just to make sure. Not there. He raised his hooves up to his face, and turned them around in front of his scrutinizing gaze. The sides, the backs with their little squiggly unshorn locks, his frog, the first running fores of his limbs. He even peered deeply into the black sole of his hoof. He really should wear horseshoes, but he didn't like how cold they made him feel all the time; and he'd not stepped on anything damaging enough to break the bone in his life thus far, so the stakes weren't particularly high. All besides the point though: where was his soul? He turned his head around to look behind him. Nothing but a long stretch of stone and toppled pillars: no luck. He twisted, turned the other way: and there was nothing there either. He peered around at the ground around him, letting an instinctive urge guide his hooves as they patted and explored the stretch of his body. Had he sat on it? Accidentally thrown it out the window? It... It hadn't passed on, Had it?! One hoof passed his heart, and he stopped. He felt the blurring dilation of his eyes as what seemed like his entire body pulsed for that first beat. Both hooves came up, pressing hard edges painfully in as he desperately let his dual frogs feel as deeply as he could let them. Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump. The steady thrum of life. He was still warm. The warmth wasn't going away. He felt chill pressing on his coat, but he stayed warm. All through his body, like he was the flickering flame of a match. The soul was in his body. > Intermission - The Farmer and The Fashionista > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Summer Sun Celebration Shortly before sundown Applejack didn't know what to think. And, truthfully, that was becoming something of a bad habit for her. Getting up from that table and gently shouldering her way through the crowd of partying ponies was honestly one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. Not because of the rudeness of pushing her way through the crowded party, though she probably wouldn't feel too badly about that on a normal day. Pinkie Pie- bless her heart- that filly threw some real whoppers when it came to parties, but sometimes she just plain didn't factor in the locale. Half the town and then some invited with hardly anypony there yet, and it was already just about as crowded as a sold-out bull-show. Lot less fun, too, and not a drop of cider to see. Now that stung somethin' fierce. She was happy for Berry Punch and her sobriety an' all, but this was about the sixteenth time she'd found the wagon, she reckoned. She wasn't saying she wanted to get hammered or nothin', but a buzz would take the edge off. ...Boy, would a buzz help. Saying it wasn't easy to leave Light behind was about as much of an understatement as callin' an apple tree a 'lil bush. She felt his eyes burning holes in her hinds even as she started a trot up the flight of stairs Rarity had scurried up not too long ago. It was immediately darker in the stairway, and the noise of partying ponies finding their legs grew muffled as she left the room behind. Not to say that she wasn't as get up and go as the rest- she was no stranger to a shindig- but she was kinda appreciating the quiet for the moment. It gave her a minute to think on the things that bothered her, as she grit her teeth and let her hooves work her up to wherever she was going. Shallow light grew in the tunnel, and she passed a small cubby in the wall holding a half-melted, flickering candle. It was the first, and she saw another soft glow just around the bend. What was wrong with Light? Well, lots of things were wrong with Light- times it seemed like nothin' was right with the colt- but what was wrong right now? Whatever it was, Rarity had seemed to know. She'd only stopped for a quick second to pass along what Applejack had thought was some nonsense about Light acting strange before going off on her way, though now she was kind of regretting not paying more attention. It was just so easy to let that mare's regular jabber pass through the ears. She just had this whole bent on gettin' all bent outta shape 'bout anything and everything for nothing. Talkin' about colors and dresses and what the bigwigged high-society ponies were doing up in Canterlot- it all made her want to tear her ears off and throw 'em in a lake, sometimes. They didn't so much as get along, and Rarity was real averse to bein' told she was strung like a banjo. Just proved her point when she started shrieking, but the moral win didn't taste so good aside all the yelling. Rarity, though... that prissy pony who flew right off the handle whenever she saw so much as a pebble... she'd seemed really worried. Maybe it was the lonely dark from the in-between of candles... or maybe it was how the close walls were beginning to press in... but Applejack found herself slowing strangely to a stop, and letting her tense shoulders relax with a quiet sigh. She pushed the familiar brim of her hat down to hide her eyes as she closed them, and let her wandering thoughts do just that for a moment. She'd known Light Flow a long time. Longer than she'd known anybody but her family, as a fact. She'd seen him at his best, she'd seen him at his worst, and practically everywhere in between and out. She thought she'd seen him at his worst, at least. Way back when his mom had died, and he'd seemed... maybe it was wrong to think, but... dangerous. He'd seemed dangerous back then, when he'd told her to run and not look back. She could still remember, in that one moment, how something deep inside of her had hurt. She hadn't thought he'd ever get worse than that, especially not after they'd reconciled, and he'd seemed better for a time. More easygoing; more stable. For that short while, she really thought he'd finally gotten his act together, even for as nervous and skittish as he sometimes seemed. Heck- there'd be times when they'd spend the day together just the same as they always did, and he'd look at her, and his face would just redden till there was no more brown to see. He'd stammer out some new denial of whatever she'd pointed out that time, and then either walk away in a huff or literally trip over his hooves. She thought it was cute. No shame in saying that: Light and his dopey babbling was real cute. But then... he'd started to get odd again: picking up more and more n' stranger and stranger habits through the years. Gettin' distracted even easier, wandering off in the middle of conversations, disappearin' for days at a time; she was pretty sure he wasn't showering all too often, either. That was all Light, though. It was very Light to forget birthdays and conversations and not show up 'til a week after, all the while smellin' like a wet dog. ...Well, it had been, once or twice ago. She'd stick by him thick or thin, a'course, but sometimes it hurt just a little more than another day to see him tottering around. To see him- what was the word..? Ah- regress. But... even with his growing strangeness and all that she'd gotten used to, now he was... Dim eyes unfocused on anything, like he couldn't even see her. A stuttering jaw too frozen in fear to even tell her he was okay. Tired, worn lines tread too deep to even get mad. Her best friend. He'd seemed... empty. Nothing like the Light she knew. Never like Light. Not when they were kids, and not now. What was wrong with him? Rarity knew. She'd seen it in her eyes. A sadness. Applejack let the pulled edge of her hat rise up, and started up the stairs again. The Golden Oaks Library was a frequent enough stop for her and her friend, given that he'd practically lived with his nose in a book, but Applejack had never been up this back staircase before. It was longer than it had looked from the outside, and it even opened in a side to a bare-shelved kitchen she guessed what was about halfway up. The library doubled as a home: who knew? Guess the librarian had to live somewhere. It was weird enough to her, but Light'd probably have a whole fit if he knew. If he didn't already know. He seemed to have a knack for knowing the absolute darndest things with no kinda use. Even shared them with her often enough now she'd been infected with that darn curse a' redundancy. Like the time he'd been sitting around on his butt watching her work, when he'd randomly busted out the weird-as-heck fact that pigs don't sweat. Sure, it was sort of interesting since the farm kept a few pigs for fertilizer, but when'd he ever be usin' that? Trying to put together a pig sweat lodge or something? Keep 'em cooled off for rolling around in the mud? Where'd he even learn that?! She shook her head just to think of it, as she finally came to the head of the stairs. The room she came into wasn't so big, especially in comparison to the downstairs library, but it was miles better than the cramped space of the stair tunnel, and she felt immediately better to be out of it. Her sides unclenched, and she let out a quick sigh of relief: brushing one hoof reassuringly across the front of the other and shaking the short top of her mane out from under her hat. Tight spaces weren't really her thing. Not that she'd freak out or nothin,' just that they set her a mite on edge. She took a quick glance around the room as she looked up from her hooves, just for the heck of it. It was nice enough; about regular size for the bedroom it looked to be. Across the way was another short staircase leading to a nook with a bed up and behind her- which she could say was pretty good use of the space. Kept the room just that much more open and uncluttered. There were a couple simple tables and platforms built into the wood around the room that each held flickering candles, just the same as she'd seen in the stairway. It was kinda strange; was every other room besides the downstairs lit by candles? The last librarian- before she'd died, bless her soul- had been old and all, but no lanterns or anything? Talk about living in the past; even Granny knew when to move on. Lots more fancy-lettered books 'round the walls on more shelves laid in the wood, and a few simple pictures of the sun and moon painted directly onto the wooden walls and ceiling. She had to crane her neck back just to see every bit of them, though it was only a curiosity. She was thinkin' a certain somepony would love this place, and not just 'cause of the books. All in all, even she could say it was a pretty room, though she couldn't say it wasn't kind of bare besides. Lacking a personal touch, if somepony was askin' her. 'Sides the point, though; she was really more interested in the white unicorn sitting across the room looking through a telescope sat in a large, open windowsill aside the stairs. With... a... lizard? A big green-ish lizard wearing some kind of brown pack over its upright shoulders, sitting next to Rarity and talkin' up at her with a big smile on its face. Had Applejack seen the lizard coming up here too? She might've, though it had probably been around the time Light had come in and Pinkie Pie started jabbering, so details got a mite muddy. Rarity and the... was it a dragon? Rarity and the dragon were facing away and hadn't noticed her yet, but she quickly made her way across the short room towards them anyway. She didn't have much time to dawdle, and rather than call out a greeting, she let out a sharp whistle through her teeth as she went. It worked a wonder, and Rarity turned around as she approached, rubbing her ear. Thinkin' about it... was it even dark out yet? She was a little curious what they were looking at with that telescope. "Hey there Rarity. I need to talk to y'all," Applejack began briskly, tipping her hat in greeting as she came to a stop in front of the platform with the telescope on it. As nice as she'd tried to sound, Rarity and her little dragon friend were staring down at her with some less than friendly looks. Well, the dragon looked kind of indifferent- maybe a little too leery for their own good. Rarity just looked mad. Could be anything with her; She always seemed mad when Applejack was around. She didn't like returning that favor- much as Light said otherwise- but Rarity sure made it easy. "Applejack, dear: I do think a regular greeting might quite suffice next time, if you would," Rarity replied shortly, still rubbing her ear with the hoof not on the telescope. The dragon didn't say anything, but he nodded right along. Applejack sucked in a breath through her teeth, and swept her hoof through her hair to rest against her hat. "Oh, whoops. Ah'm sorry, didn't mean to startle y'all." She flashed a bright, apologetic smile at the two of them, though she mostly did it to keep Rarity from working herself up. Was it dishonest and rude to flash a fake smile? Yes, but she just didn't have the time to sit and listen about manners for an hour. She got enough of that from Mr. 'don't burp without saying excuse me,' and Rarity was as like to go off as he ever was. She'd always secretly thought that it was an easy bet that the two of them would get along like pie and a tin. Sweet holy Celestia forbid. She'd walk out any room they were both in. Rarity seemed to take her smile at face value, or near enough. She just scoffed in an annoyed way and turned her nose up, like she did at everything. "Really, Applejack; I simply don't know what to do about you." She sighed, and shook her head, like she did at everything. Applejack could feel her fake smile falling, and it felt liberating to frown and let her twitching eyebrow raise in response. "Yeah, 'cause ah'm the problem, here," she muttered dryly, but still loudly enough to let Rarity hear. The jab landed as she'd meant, and Rarity groaned roughly as she put a hoof to her forehead. The little dragon beside her frowned largely and shook their head, though Applejack's deadpan stare back was interrupted as Rarity took her hoof off her head and angrily stomped it down. "Manners, dear, honestly!" The fierce stare Rarity wore did make her feel a little bad, if not so genuinely, so she only did her best to frown a little more sincerely. Her show of mild regret softened the angry glare some, but the short huff in Rarity's voice didn't go anywhere. "It is a wonder that you manage decency at all. Playing so rough hardly befits a lady." Before Applejack had a chance to retort with something completely unladylike, Rarity put a hoof to her cheek and sighed heftily as she leaned into it: looking for all the world like she'd jumped right out of a storybook. "How ever will you find a coltfriend at this rate?" Her eyes fluttered, and she hummed prettily as her frown curled up into an insincere smile. "It seems a truly impossible task for one so oblivious." Whatever patience Applejack had for Rarity fell to pieces in an instant. The heat of her temper flared, and she snorted roughly in her practiced impression of a bull. "Land sakes, Rarity! I ain't got time fer yer runaround!" She stomped her hoof- and she considered it a miracle that she'd been able to refrain from breaking the floor. "Not that it's even related, but I've told y'all time an' time again that there ain't ever been a colt in Ponyville worth my time!" Rarity met her barking and stomping as frustratingly calmly as she ever did. Looking coolly down at her with one hoof mussing lazily about with the end of her mane. One eyebrow raised haughtily like Applejack wasn't growling and yelling at her. "Really." The complete lack of any tone in Rarity's voice had Applejack twisting her nose in confusion, and her train of angry thought stopped to a halt. "There isn't a single colt in Ponyville you've been thinking about? Not one?" There was no way... She didn't... Could she? ...This was not the time to be coming out about this. Applejack shook her head to dislodge the moment of heavy self-doubt, and she raised her head with certainty as she nodded as firmly as she could manage. "Not a one. With all that's been goin' on at the farm, work's too important to be wastin' time thinkin' 'bout somethin' so silly." She snorted something wet down her throat, as much as she wanted to spit at Rarity, and ticked her frown to the side. "Applebuckin' season's just 'round the next corner, and that's after we've had all hooves on deck 'fer the celebration. Family's in town and as tumble as ever: putting them up's been no picnic." She scoffed and shook her head. Raised her eyebrow again to fix placid Rarity with her most expressively incredulous stare. "An' that's just recently. Y'all even know 'bout the kinda market changes we're goin' through right now? How the farm's been keepin' with just me and the family? An' you want me to think about colts?" She lowered her stare: squinting reproachfully up at Rarity from under her brows. "Now that's oblivious." Applejack felt reasonably satisfied by her answer. She'd wrapped in all up in one tidy bow; absolutely no room for doubt or denial. Couldn't be a simpler thing. Completely believable. Sure as sugar n' salt. ...That was how she'd made it sound, anyway. Lying was easier in more words- that was something Light had taught her. Rarity didn't look so convinced, though: her eyebrow still making a steady, doubting climb up her forehead. Aw, but that was just her. Rarity'd sooner take a bath in mud than see things her way, no matter how well she'd been fooled. But the dragon looked kind of skeptical, too. Flicking his eyes all around and playing with his... claws? -his claws nervously like he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. Somewhere between one and both of them looking at her with some kind of... look in their eyes. Like she had something on her face. She didn't, did she? What were they staring at? Applejack swept a hoof across her face self-consciously, checking to make sure there wasn't somehow mud on her fur- wouldn't be the first time- before looking back at the pair in honest confusion. "What? What'ch y'all starin' at?" She expected an answer, not to watch and gape as Rarity and the dragon took little peeks at each other like she was the only one not getting the joke. Rarity talked about rude, and here she was: actin' like the rudest one in the room. What was the word... hypocrite? Yeah, sounded like Rarity. Well, she wasn't about to stand around and let herself be some kinda freaky thing to gawk at. Applejack took a breath: got ready to really chew Rarity and her dragon friend out: to give them a heckuva earful that they'd never forget- but she didn't get the chance. Not before Rarity's oddly expressed face turned up in a second, into a smile so still and beautiful it was like she'd always been wearin' it. Applejack's dander fell away, and she blinked puzzledly as Rarity took a step away from the telescope and down the stairs: waving her hoof in the air daintily with a dazzling grin on her face. "Oh, forgive me, Applejack! I fear I've been terribly rude; you will have to pardon my atrocious manners!" Applejack really couldn't even begin to think of what to say as a widely smiling Rarity continued down the few long steps, leaving her dragon friend standing alone and looking lonely after her as she... well... tittered. Rarity sure liked her masks. Facial and all. Even if Applejack believed her as far as Light could throw her, she still managed to drop her face into a mostly neutral expression as Rarity swept around the stoop towards her. "It really is quite horrid of me to distract you like this, when you must have so much on your mind already! It's as you've said, and as we both know." She came to a stop just a hoof-length or so away from Applejack, who looked down at her with an unimpressed stare, as she covered a giggle with a hoof. "I'm an absolute terror, really I am! Go ahead, admonish me!" Rarity's tinkling giggles rose into a painful laugh as she pushed an ineffectual hoof at Applejack's chest; the grating sound bringing to mind the wonderful picture of a hoof dragging on a blackboard. It lasted only for as long as Rarity herself could probably take it, ending with the mare just smiling expectantly at her with eyelashes periodically fluttering. ...Rarity sure knew how to get on her nerves. Big time. Applejack worked her shoulders as she cast a tired eye to the far corner of the room, wondering just how important whatever Rarity knew was, before she rolled her roving eyes to a stop on the gabbing pony, and rose her brows into a wide expression of deadpan. "Alright. Yer' a terror," Applejack said plainly: a completely straight look on her face as she nodded once. Rarity's very pretty smile fell instantly; first to a disappointed, impassive frown, then it slowly grew more and more angry until Rarity was just glaring. That might've had something to do with the worsening scowl that Applejack had on her own face, but it plain wasn't her fault. Rarity was just so- why couldn't she ever just be straight about anything?! It was always- 'oh, darling you simply must,' or- 'Applejack, dear, this is all absolutely so-and-so.' It was never just honest. It was never clear. She was always trying to make everything some kinda 'thing.' It always had to be something! Couldn't just talk to Rarity- no, they had to have a 'get-together.' Couldn't just ask Rarity anything, it had to be some big 'favor!' Rarity never went to parties, she went to 'events' and 'soirees,' and that meant there were rules and regulations and a million little do-nothing e-ffects and a-ffects to memorize and account for. She never went anywhere, she had 'outings,' and that meant outfits and agendas and 'oh I'm simply too swamped to stop and chat, daaarling!' Rarity thought she knew everything about fancy living, but she was just playing. She didn't know a thing! Applejack snorted: the hot air over her lip washing away thoughts of reel. The dim realization that she and Rarity were now literally butting heads barely even registering, only that Rarity had taken a step forward and that meant that Applejack had to, too. Rarity growled, and Applejack growled back. Rarity pushed forward, and Applejack pushed back. Boy howdy was she asking for it. Then, as Applejack had only just begun to wonder just how hard was too hard to punch somepony in mostly polite company, something popped up between the two of them. An uneven little weight pushed at Applejack's chest, failing to budge her an inch as she bemusedly blinked red away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's not go crazy, here, alright? Don't we have a bigger problem?" The unfamiliar, boyish voice that sure as heck wasn't Rarity's was a draw out of her raging trance, and they both looked down in surprise at the dragon that had unexpectedly interjected itself between them. Two big green eyes full of wary concern swayed from one pony to the other, as their owner tried again to weakly push the two of them away from each other. "Aren't you... we supposed to be figuring out what's wrong with Light? If you guys start fighting, who's gonna be around to help him?" The dragon's impassioned voice trailed off as it brought its claws off their chests, and stared down at them as they fiddled nervously together. "Aren't we... y''know... his friends?" The two big green eyes rose up to Applejack again, and she was taken aback by just how sad they looked. Like somepony'd given the little thing a great big balloon, and then somepony meaner had come along and just popped it right in front of 'em. Aw heck. That might've been her. Applejack blew out a huffing sigh as she took a long step back, and swept her hoof to scratch along the back of her neck as a deep sense of muggy shame washed over her. Her eyes searched the floor as she heard Rarity haltingly clear her throat; the prissy mare was probably thinking about the same thing she was right now. She could already hear what Granny'd say. How plum foolish they'd both been. Well, they could both think all they liked and more 'bout how they'd screwed up, but something like this needed to be said. She forced herself to look back up, as much as she really didn't want to. Rarity- that self-conscious pony- was brushing back odd hairs that had fallen out of her perfect mane; sitting and looking off to the side with an odd, but obviously guilty expression. Figured. Was surprising in the first place that Rarity'd get so riled; she was usually cooler than that. Must've been a tough day all around. Applejack thought for a moment about waiting to let Rarity come out first, but she swallowed it down, and put on a brave face. She was a big filly, and she could take responsibility when she needed to. Even if that medicine was bitter. She took a deep breath as she looked at the dragon, and its eyes caught hers. Green starin' back at green. Light's friend, huh? Applejack coughed, and sniffed. Here went... a whole lot. "Well. I don't reckon I've ever been so rightly ashamed." Her speaking broke a tense silence in the air, and then all eyes were on her. The weight of it pressed down hard on her shoulders, but she pressed on: spreading her mouth into a thin, determined line. She stepped past the watching dragon and towards Rarity: her antagonistic friend's blue eyes staring back into Applejack's resolute green with wary reluctance. A beautifully complimentary pair, she'd once heard Light say. She'd never much liked blue. Applejack chewed on the bitter words for a moment, but she knew there was no avoiding the truth, and she swelled her chest up on a breath. "I acted real awful to ya, Rarity, and ah shoulda known better." In one motion, she took her hat from her head and laid it to her stern chest: her frown growing as honestly repentant as she could make it, because she felt it. "I ain't got any excuses but my own sorry hide, if'n that don't mean squat." Applejack sighed, and shook her head: making sure to meet Rarity's eyes again. "...But I ain't tryin' to give excuses. This here's my true-to-heart apology, an' not just 'cause you deserve it." She turned halfway, to shoot a glance at the dragon twiddling his claws behind them. He almost jumped as Applejack smiled thankfully at him before turning back to Rarity: whose guarded expression was beginning to soften. "Reckon the little dragon feller's got it right: we're all Light's friends, an' now's no time to be getting distracted screamin' nonsense at each other. We all care 'bout that freaky colt, one way or another." Applejack bit her lip, as her gaze fell for a moment. "Even... you. Light talks 'bout you often enough that I know there ain't no doubt, and..." 'Rarity? Stars, she's awful. The nosiest, most shallow pony I've ever met. Sometimes I think she exists just to nag me.' She blinked a blur of memory away, and forced herself to raise her eyes back to Rarity. She grit her teeth, and took one, strong breath. "...ah don't think ah've been... givin' that to you." The bitter struggle with herself to choke the words out yielded a moment of surprised silence, before a small, genuine smile grew on Rarity's face: one that Applejack returned with far more gusto as a tangible feeling of relief washed over her. Easier than she'd expected to say it, but still hard on its own. She'd take bull-riding any day. She nodded, putting her hat back on her head. "Ah know you've been lookin' after Light when I can't, and that means a lot. He deserves the trouble, but y'all ain't got nothin' in it 'fer ya. There's not much more deservin' I can do to say thanks 'cept... say thanks." She put her hoof out: the widely accepted gesture for a hoofbump. She wouldn't even spit on it. "So, thanks." The gesture held for an awkward moment as Rarity just stared down at the hoof with a quiet smile. Long enough that Applejack started fidgeting; though she eventually shook her head with a tired, bright sigh, and clopped their hooves together. Applejack's head finally felt clear again as Rarity continued to shake her head; the unicorn standing up and brushing her hoof against the inward curl of her mane as she stared to the side. "Oh, Applejack. There was simply no need for all of that," she murmured lowly, as her smile fell slightly. Applejack tilted her head, though she kept her smile as she leaned in towards where Rarity was staring. "Reckon' there was a need, actually." Rarity's eyes flicked up to hers, and she chuckled and scratched her hoof across her grinning face. "I was bein' rude as a bent river, an' there's nothin' to tolerate 'fer rudeness 'cept what's deserved." She nodded, and let a smug little tone sneak into her voice as her hoof fell, just because it really felt like she deserved it. "A'course, it's only what's polite." Now that set Rarity's smile right. Turning up all pretty-like as she chuckled freely: her hoof trying to cover what she probably thought was an 'indecent' expression. Applejack joined her, a little less reservedly, and she could even hear the dragon behind them raising their voice to the happy little round of laughter. It was real nice. Even got her mind off for a moment. Rarity was the first to stop her barely expressed laughter, though her smile was still plain as her hoof moved to rest on her cheek; mirth sparkling in the depths of her eyes as she eyed Applejack directly. "Oh, you're just so adorable, Applejack." Some kind of embarrassment caught her smile halfway, and her chuckle turned nervous as Rarity tilted her head. "You needn't take all the blame, dear." Rarity tutted, shaking her head side to side as her hoof fell under her chin. "I daresay I was far from polite, myself." Some of the humor dropped from the moment as Rarity's smile fell slightly, and her voice dipped as her eyes fell to the floor. "...It wasn't very ladylike of me at all. Not to needle you as I did, nor make play of your feelings. Certainly not in such an strained time..." Rarity sighed, and now she didn't smile at all as she looked up again at Applejack: her hoof falling to the wood floor with a clack. "I do apologize, Applejack... truly." Something surprisingly genuine glimmered in Rarity's eye, and... Applejack found herself slightly stunned. Rarity's hoof rose then to lay on her chest, emphasizing that last word deeply, and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen the fashion focused pony of masks and gowns look so... sincere. Something hot twinged in her chest as she stared into Rarity's glimmering eyes, and Applejack swallowed as her throat ran dry. It was suddenly very difficult to find the words to respond, as much as she knew they were there- they just wouldn't come. She tried anyway. "Well... Rarity, I..." Applejack babbled for a moment as Rarity leaned back, hoof still on her chest, though her expression was softening with fondness the longer she took. She was sure her own expression was doing something too, though less softening and more reddening. What in Equus' name was Rarity doin' to her?! Finally, whatever had got her goat swallowed itself back down, and Applejack could look away as her face was definitely very red with some kind of awful mortification. "That's very big of y'all be admittin'..." she muttered, as she tried to swipe the red off her cheeks with a hoof. Books in an inlaid shelf met her gaze where she let it rest, and she felt comfortable for a moment pretending to read their titles. Wasn't so often she got all bashful like this... Rarity was a hooffull, alright... Complimentin' and connivin' the way she did... It was enough to make a pony quit talkin' altogether. Coulda used that kinda wit way back when Big Macintosh didn't know how to pipe down. Would've saved them all a few dozen scares and a grounding. She just didn't play nice with flattery and such- and she sure as heck never expected it from Rarity of all ponies. Caught her all off guard, it did. Was much easier just to yell at each other- an' now she was half-wishing they'd never stopped. Rarity's quiet tinkle of a laugh that might've just been fake drew her eye back over, to where she was simply staring her way with some kind of daring look over a half-hidden, knowing smile. Applejack coughed, and averted her gaze again. "It- It ain't doin' any use to be standing around sayin' sorry over an' over. Nice enough 'fer the feels 'an such, but we ain't gettin' nowhere." She cleared her throat, and tried to stand up a little taller as she forced herself to look at Rarity. She knit her brows close together, and tried to sound more grave than how all the niceties were making her feel. "The point, well-" She shot a look over her shoulder at the dragon, who was almost creepily standing to attention with sharply focused eyes. She turned back to Rarity: whose own face was losing its smile for something still very knowing, yet far sadder. Now they all looked serious again, and Applejack sighed: eyeing Rarity meaningfully as something nervous tried to block up her throat. "...Y'all seen Light, ain't ya?" It seemed a mighty grim thing just to bring them back around to the reason they were all standing there talking. Applejack felt more than her share of the tension pressing down on her withers, though Rarity's deep frown was worsening by the second. It wasn't as if any of them had forgotten, but... ...it just seemed easier to ignore. The white mare eventually sighed after staring down at the floor for a long time, and put her hoof to her chin: her eyes raising to Applejack. There was something about that stare that just dropped her heart. "Yes... And I think it would be an understatement in the least to say he doesn't seem too well." Applejack sighed too, and shook her head. That weight was pressing down hard, now... "Yeah, y'can say that again..." She let her eye wander to the side, as the recent past came again to mind. "I barely even saw him 'fer a bit, but he may as well've been flashin' a big red warnin' sign for as obvious as the problem was. I ain't ever seen him so..." She trailed off. Sitting there, not even near the middle of the party, with a brown unicorn opposite. She knew he'd like it like away from the crowd. He always did. She didn't think it was anything special, inviting him to dinner with the family. It was Granny's idea in the first place, and he'd probably be spending most of his time making trouble with her cousins and aunts. It wouldn't have been any different from the last time family had come to town: disaster that'd been. Maybe she'd let something slip in her voice as she'd asked. Maybe she'd been a little too genuine for her own good. Or maybe he'd just... known. He shut down. His mouth gaped. He didn't blink. He barely breathed. She'd tried to touch him: let him know that it wasn't any big thing. She did it all the time; he liked those kinds of little grazes, even if he'd pretend otherwise. He'd never say thanks, no matter how much he'd inch closer. That was just the way he was. Whatever he might say, he still liked the contact. He'd jerked away. The way he'd stared... ...like he didn't even recognize her. "-jack? Applejack?" And suddenly, she knew she'd spaced out. "...empty." The final word to a sentence she'd forgotten to end came out without her thinking, and she shook her head as the memory faded away. She blinked, and turned to Rarity, who had a sad little look of her own on her face. Melancholy, but very knowing. "Yes, that's... certainly one of the words I would use," she murmured quietly, not seeming fazed at all by Applejack's lapse. For her own part: she seemed lost in her own kind of memory; her eyes roaming around the floor as her hoof tapped softly against her cheek. Applejack swallowed the heavy feeling of what she'd left behind down, and cleared her throat, drawing Rarity's wandering eye back up to her. "Y'all got... any idea what's wrong with him? You saw him earlier, right? And you thought he was actin' weird?" She tried not to come off as too pleading, but a tense edge of quiet desperation still crept into her voice. Her questioning drew a slight hum from Rarity's contemplating frown, and she nodded slightly. While she didn't immediately say anything: her head began to gradually tilt until she was staring more at the ceiling than at her. Lookin' off into space: literally, if they were counting the drawing of the night's sky up there. Applejack almost felt compelled to tilt her head to stare up too, but that'd be a little silly. She didn't need to stare off to think: 'parently, her mind did it on its own. "Well..." she started, then trailed off for a moment that made Applejack's ears itch. She started again after a moment, though her voice was strangely... airy, and it only took a few words to see why. "It was around when I was finishing up with the décor for Town Hall- I was commissioned to beautify the space for the ceremony in the morning, you see. And that entire building is just so awfully dreary with those horrible earthen tones and the constant beige atmosphere. It's no place at all for somepony so refined as the Princess to give an address- not without some serious compliments." Applejack already felt tired: her eyes slightly unfocusing as her withers sagged on their own. And Rarity just kept on goin': completely oblivious to how useless everything she was goin' on about was. Boy... if this wasn't leading to something important... "...And yes, If I do recall: I had been quite engrossed in deciding the best way to utilize the colors of the floral arrangements when he and Spikey-Wikey walked in." Spikey... wikey? Rarity's face shifted from deep thought to realization, and she looked down from the ceiling to something behind Applejack. "Spike, dear, you remember, don't you? Wasn't it about then that you came in with Light? When I was working with one of the ferns?" The dragon, whose name she was guessing was Spike, stood to attention with a quiet exclamation as he was called out. She focused in and turned on time to nearly catch her nose on his swinging arm as he brushed past her. She couldn't stop herself from frowning after him as he blindly ran to Rarity's side. "Yes, Rarity!" Suck-up. She scowled at the brown pack slung onto his back and his short, swaying tail as Rarity smiled down at his face: raising a hoof to pat aside the large, upright green scales on his head. "Yes, it was just then," she... cooed. Her attention turned to Applejack, then, as her hoof stayed on Spike's head; both of them apparently just fine with... whatever was going on there. "He'd come in then, and nothing seemed immediately out of the ordinary at all." Rarity's eyes rolled, and she scoffed lightly: clearly exasperated at the memory. "He was as unkept as ever in stature and personality, and so I'd thought nothing of having just a tiny bit of... fun with him." The breezy way she'd hummed before she'd said 'fun' immediately took Applejack's mind on an uncomfortable journey, though she'd barely began to think about socking Rarity for the trouble before she spoke again: still idly patting Spike's head lightly. "Oh, but when I'd made sure to make light of him in a way that I know should've just incensed him, he merely..." She trailed off again, and she frowned down at Spike's face for a moment; her brow wobbling with consideration for that long moment before she set her eyes back on Applejack: her frown askew. "Well, he just... nodded." The downcast tone in Rarity's voice was the least of her thoughts, as what she'd said took a moment to sink in. Eventually, she shook the fog away, and finally found herself able to speak. "Lemme get this straight..." she said, slowly, because she really wanted to get this absolutely straight.. "Y'all made fun 'a Light... and he was just... fine with it? He didn't yell or anything?" Her incredulous tone and raised eyebrow may have made it seem like she didn't believe what she was saying- and she didn't think she did- but then Rarity shook her head fiercely back. "No, he didn't! And it didn't even seem as though he even muttered anything crass under his breath!" Applejack sucked in a seethe through her teeth: laying a hoof on her hat and pressing it down. "That don't bode well." Rarity's shaking head slowed at that; her tone growing all the more dire. "And that was only the start of it. Not even to speak of how he acted when I asked him to use his magic." Her head tilted down, to look questioningly at the dragon under her hoof. "Spikey, you recall how he just froze up, don't you?" Spike perked to attention, but he'd barely had a second to respond before Rarity was looking back up again. "He was acting so subdued, and I'd long since begun to suspect something may have been wrong, so I'd thought to check his head. It's a rather easy thing for unicorns, really." Her hoof came up to tap against her horn, and Applejack's brow jumped. "Simply looking for oddities in their magical ability is usually good enough to see a concussion, and just so, Light looked at me as though I'd asked him to fly or some such thing! "Can you imagine it? And I'd only asked him to hold this absolutely lovely swatch of bedazzled chiffon I keep on hoof for inspiration purposes, because it is just so enchanting that it simply sends me into the most wonderful creative fits whensoever I-" Rarity continued in an increasingly numbing tone, but Applejack's mind was thankfully someplace else. Wasn't touchin' the horn supposed to hurt or something? Light always seemed to make a big ol' fuss whenever his took a knock. He treated that darn thing on his head like it was sacred, when Applejack wasn't sure if it was anything more than a big magical bump. Er- was that offensive? Ponyville just didn't really have too many unicorns around, and askin' something 'bout their horns was a mite out of her comfort zone. Seemed mighty presumptuous. Like askin' the pegasi how the heck they had the brains to flap their wings- she still remembered the talkin' to Granny'd given her... Even for as long as it'd been since the town built up around them, it was still mostly earth ponies living here. Didn't help that their only real draw was the soil; stuff like that didn't really speak too much to most, much as she disagreed. Good to know 'bout checking magic for the future, though. Lots 'a times Light had seemed medically wronged. She shook the thoughts of immigration theory and magic off, and refocused on her friend's sometime-finished and waiting face instead, because- wait, what had she said?!. "Y'all thought he might've had a concussion? And here's where you brought him?" Her questioning grew more insistent as she took an insistent step forward, and Rarity's nonchalant face took a dive into uncertainty; the moony dragon even turning around with a worried expression as she advanced persistently. Her eyes narrowed, and her tone took a dive to accusatory as she took another step forward. "Rarity, a party ain't no place 'fer a colt in Light's condition! We gotta get him to a hospital for Princess' sake!" Reckon Rarity didn't even think of Light's wellbeing. Probably just thinking of the party, and gettin' gussied up took front and center compared to her friend. How could she? Applejack hadn't even begun to turn around in a huff to promptly rush her ailing friend to the emergency room where he belonged- before Spike was waving his claws around appeasingly: the little dragon stammering out in a panic. "W-Wait! That's not how it was at all! Of course we'd get Light help if we thought he was sick! We're not-" Her half-turn ended and reversed: her heady glare landing on the small form of the dragon in way over his head, and making him jump in fear. He fidgeted under her gaze, while she, in every second of eye-to-eyes that desperately wouldn't make contact, exuded her best, most towering aura of 'y'all got somethin' to say?' Awfully small lizard there. Be a darn shame. Darn shame, indeed. But thankfully for Spike's wellbeing and her conscience, Rarity literally jumped in to save him. Pushing the shifty-faced dragon around behind her as she took a quick step forward, and brushing Applejack's glare off with a flutter of her long eyelashes and a beatific tone. "Yes dear, of course Light's wellbeing was the first and foremost concern on my mind. He is a very dear friend and a loyal customer; I would be absolutely beside myself if anything untoward were to occur while I stood so idly by." Applejack's glare lessened as Rarity let out a tinkling giggle, tipping her head and waving the hoof that wasn't shielding the form of Spike behind her. "Honestly, to imply anything else is nothing less than an insult, Applejack!" Yeah, she said that: all the while laughin' her head off. But it was obvious to hear the sincerity under the syrup, and Applejack knew it well: that's why she felt safe to let out the deep breath she'd held in to puff out her chest. She turned away: dipping her hat over her face with a hoof to hide her face as she closed her eyes. Slowly letting the cardboard anger she'd forced over herself fade away. It was the right thing to do to get up in arms over whether they'd done Light wrong, she was fairly sure of that, but boy did it make her feel just a little cruddy. It plain didn't fit her mood, and she was more'n a little relieved Rarity had given her an easy out. Light was worth the dander, though. Even if she had to make it up. "Alright, so... what, then?" She didn't open her eyes or lean her hat up as she spoke, but she could imagine Rarity's face as she hummed noisily. Hummed... and sighed. Yeesh. That wasn't a good sigh. "Well, as much as we've fussed- and he was acting very strange- but he didn't seem to show any sign of a concussion at all. He didn't present himself as overly sluggish or labored, and it was less that he seemed forgetful and more that he seemed entirely absent." Applejack turned and peeked out from under her hat just in time to see Rarity blink thoughtfully. "Oh, but I am speaking merely of my second-hoof interpretation... as told to me by somepony who is much more qualified to speak on Light's condition." She turned slightly, revealing the wide-eyed, slightly cowering form of Spike, who tried to inch back behind Rarity's side even as she waved her hoof around him. "Spike here actually spent the whole day with him, if I'm to understand what he's told me- and he has been just the most toward little drake, haven't you Spikey?" Applejack felt... leery, watching Rarity babble gross amounts of nonsense pleasantries at Spike as she rubbed a hoof over his slightly glossy, scaly head. All the while he just smiled absently and twiddled his claws together as a... green blush spread over most of his face. Well lookit that. Seemed to be her lucky day. If Spike was Light's friend, then it looked like she had some real dirt to shovel about him. Rarity, too- she hadn't thought she was that type. Figured; it was always the real pompous ones with something smelly to hide. Eventually, Rarity's endless baby-blathering and coddling of the dragon ended- which was great because Applejack could only pretend to look at other things for so long- and he was pushed suddenly forward by a white hoof on his back. He was still a little... blinky as he stumbled forward, but he seemed mostly there as he quickly regained his balance from the push. He met her exasperated face for a second before his eyes flicked nervously away, and he chuckled self-consciously as he rubbed a claw over the back of his neck. She couldn't really blame him. Had Rarity wanted her to leave the room or what? She wouldn't have, either way, but she was beginning to get a sore feeling in the center of her shoulders, and she wasn't sure if it was from the heavy, awkward air, or the beginning of something long-suffering. Dragon boy had a real mountain of a hill to climb to get that treasure. Well... 'treasure.' Dunno if she'd call it that... Still, she did her best to look him top-to-bottom, and take stock of him regardless of the beginning of a heckuva headache. "...Y'all been with Light all day?" she questioned; the dragon's nervous green eyes slowly meeting hers before he nodded jerkily. She continued to stare seriously into his eyes for a long, fidgeting second. Longer than she probably needed to, as he seemed more and more like he'd bolt any second. He kept glancing at the stairs, for one; kept shuffling on his claws, for another. She'd've figured dragons would be made of sterner stuff. She kept her stare, though, and just as he seemed about to burst with jerky, anticipatory energy, she finally let her mouth rise in a hard smile. "And you didn't end up killin' him?" He stared blankly for a moment as she bravely kept her creased brow and lined smile, but then the corner of his open mouth ticked up, and a snort broke the still air. She chuckled good-naturedly alongside him as he reservedly coughed out laughs, like he wasn't sure if he was really supposed to be laughing. Her Granny gave out sayings like she was selling 'em, and one of her personal favorites had been something she'd said about making a pony laugh. She'd said: 'Applejack, filly: the best way to learn darn near everything you need to know about a pony in just a moment is to make 'em laugh.' It let their guard down; chipped down walls; showed their stock. It bared their heart for what they valued. 'A laughin' pony ain't got nothin' to hide,' was what Granny'd said, as she'd let out a long, wheezing laugh of her own. Applejack believed in that moral whole-heartedly. And Spike was alright. A bit skittish, but she was kind of a magnet for that type. She was used to it by now. Sorta wished Rarity wasn't staring at her all disapprovingly, though. It was a good joke, darnit. But then, slowly, his shaky laugh petered off, and his smile dipped down by a half. Literally by a half- his mouth was a strange little slant of a line- and she finally noticed that he hadn't ever stopped playing with his claws. Clenching them in and out together and picking at their discolored, pointed ends. He was restless. She met his eyes. His still-nervous, still-sad eyes. "Um... You're... You are Applejack, aren't you?" She'd been so distracted by something vaguely familiar that it took a moment for the quiet question to register. But then, it did, and the first thing she did was smack herself on the head. "Shucks, a'course! I ain't even introduced myself properly." What kinda friend was she fixing to be if'n she plum forgot everything she knew 'bout manners? They might've not been friends just yet, but they had Light in common, and that was probably enough that they'd be seein' more of each other. She stepped forward, and roughly grasped at one of those restlessly moving claws, as its owner gasped in surprise. "It's a bit late, but it's a pleasure to make 'yer acquaintance all the same, Spike! Ah'm Applejack, an' me and my folks run Sweet Apple Acres," she supplied earnestly, shaking the claw and the dragon up and down. She was about to go on about where the farm was and what they did before a second claw suddenly grasped at her shaking hoof. She blinked owlishly down at the limb that kept shaking on its own, before her eye rose up to catch Spike's suddenly intense stare. "You are! And- And you're Light's best friend too, aren't you?!" "Uh..." was the first thing out of her mouth, and the second place her eyes went was Rarity sitting just behind him: who had a strangely sad look on her face. Her fish-eyed stare dipped to Spike's wide, unblinking eyes, and she was suddenly aware that she could sort of feel how hard he was gripping her hoof with both claws. "Yeah..? I- I guess that's what I'd call it. Didn't Rarity..?" Her thought and half-glance at Rarity went unfinished as Spike suddenly groaned loudly and jerked his claws away from her all at once. He smacked one to his head and over his eyes as the other grasped and made strange, grabby shapes at the air. "That's what Rarity told me too, but I was really hoping it wasn't true!" She pressed her freed hoof close to her chest as Spike slapped his other claw over his face: moaning and wailing and rocking his head up and down as he screamed his apparent frustration into the air. All the while she just couldn't stop thinking about how uncomfortable those claws were over her hoof. Gave her the willies. Whatever was getting to him wasn't as surprising to Rarity, weirdly enough. It... kind of seemed like she was expecting it or something: stepping forward and making shushing noises as she put her hooves on either of Spike's shoulders. She pat one side a couple times, meeting Applejack's eyes with a serious look in the meanwhile that she blinked bemusedly at, before speaking gently to him in a soft tone. "Now, now, Spike. It's as I told you: there's absolutely nothing to get upset-" And then, surprising everypony in the room and making Applejack herself take a step back, Spike roughly shrugged Rarity off. Rounding around to her taken-aback expression, and stomping his claw. "But there is! I knew something was wrong with Light the whole day, and I didn't do anything about it! Even when I thought- when I asked- I still..!" Rarity- bless her soul- still tried to take control of the situation as Spike began to heave increasingly deep breaths to the floor: his claws bunched in balls at his sides. She placed her hooves on his shoulders again, and then resigned for one on his cheek as he shook them off again. "Spike, you have nothing to feel guilty for. You've only known Light for the day: that's no precedence to expect you to understand when he's acting odd. You couldn't have known." She'd have thought Rarity's soothing tone would've worked, and Rarity must've too, because she gasped again and jerked back as Spike swatted her hoof away, and fiercely raised his head to hers. "You're wrong! I would've noticed if something was wrong with Twilight, and I should've noticed that Light had amnesia!" What? The impassioned cry left her mouth gaping; the edges of her vision blurring and nearly blocking the sight of Spike turning and dashing across the room. Rarity called after him as he disappeared into the darkened stairwell, but whatever words coming out of her mouth might as well've been Abyssinian for as much sense they made. Light had amnesia? A familiar face frozen in shock. Well... that just... A brown hoof jerking away. couldn't be... Like he didn't even know her. ...couldn't be right... Glassy brown eyes barely focused. Dull. Uncomprehending. Unrecognizable. Her legs gave out; her rear hit the floor. She was vaguely aware of Rarity stepping toward her- and she was only sure of that at all because it couldn't be anyone but Rarity- but every time she blinked she could only see Light. Her best friend, and her worst fears coming alive. "Light's got amnesia..." she breathed, and his hoof was jerking away from hers again. So outright frightened of something so familiar like holding hooves, but not to him. He didn't remember her. He'd forgotten her. This was it: her worst fear. She'd always been afraid of this. Their entire lives: it was always in the back of her mind, every time she saw him- was today the day he'd finally break? It was wrong of her, she knew that. It was an honestly horrible thing to assume about somepony- Granny'd whip her if she could see inside her head. She couldn't help it; Light was at risk in the best of times. She'd known it since they were kids, and she'd kept it especially close to her heart since his mom had died. He was an isolated, introspective, extremely disconcerted, extremely intelligent colt, and he'd been that way since they were kids, and he'd taught her all those fancy words! He had creepy amounts of fascination with dead things: way more than a cutie mark in archeology would need- and she knew he was lying about that. He kept secrets; he lived alone; he spent crazy amounts of time in that crazy forest. Not even gonna mention that whole 'villain' thing he'd had as a kid. Didn't know if that was a 'phase' or what. He had everything a pony needed to go right off the deep end, and she knew that, again, because that was the kinda thing he'd tell her! He loved talkin' 'bout ponies and their quirks and whether they had the mental salt to handle them! Seemed to honestly delight in the thought- marveled at the concept of insanity! Just... sometimes... over the years... it felt like she was... biding her time 'til Light finally flew off the deep end. She'd never known how- she'd only ever thought about it when she didn't know any better late at night- but she'd always known. Everypony who knew him did. Only took a few seconds of lookin' at him to think of it. And now it had finally happened. After all these years of waiting for tomorrow, Light had forgotten yesterday. He'd broken. She blinked again, and Rarity was there: concerned face only about a hoof-length away. She'd actually totally forgotten she even was there. Her face felt hot. Oh shoot, her face felt hot! Thank Her Highness for her hat- it was her only saving grace, and she used it as cover without another second of hesitation: her eyes turning down to the floor with it. Rarity's concerned face was peering right at her from spittin' distance, and she wasn't sure if... if she'd... Aw hell. A hoof laid on her shoulder, and she sucked in a painful breath behind her hat. Bit her lip, just hard enough to hurt. "Applejack? Are you alright?" Her body tensed on its own at Rarity's soft murmur, and her first thought was to nod- though she was pretty sure she didn't manage it. ...A'course. 'Course she was alright. Never been better. Green eyes rose to show themselves as a sliver from under a hat still held in place by an orange hoof. Her face hurt and her throat was painfully dry, but so were her eyes, and she considered that a damn fine accomplishment. She half-met Rarity's careful gaze with pinching cheeks and shaky resolve, but she was resolved. Crying never solved anything. She'd learned that a long time ago, and she wasn't about to forget how it felt. To cry over what she'd lost. What she might've lost. What was gone. The weakness of not knowing how to stand back up. It hurt. The thought of Light hurting was... just awful. She was supposed to protect him from stuff like this. From himself. Whatever had happened, happened when she wasn't there: that meant it was her fault. And she was gonna be the one to fix that. Light was her best friend- her responsibility, and she was gonna help him. She'd bet the farm on it. She grit her teeth, and it was easier in the next second to imagine herself tipping her hat up, and looking Rarity right in her too-sparkly eyes. To believe that she had the strength to face what came next with a strong heart and dry eyes. To raise herself up, and do what needed to be done to help Light. It was never as easy to follow through, but nothing worth doing was easy, and backin' out wasn't an option when it came to the things you loved. Not something Granny'd taught her, but someone just as important. When she bared her dry face to Rarity and her searching gaze, she wasn't sure what the first thing to come out of her mouth should've been. She had all sorts of ideas, alright, but none of them seemed right to just come out with, and gnawing on her lip the way she was wasn't helping make her mind. 'Is Light okay?' 'How did this happen?' 'What should we do?' 'Why did you bring him here, again?' She wanted every answer all at once, but coming out swinging would just find her flat on her face. Like throwin' hooves at shadows. Light'd love that analogy. So, she took another deep breath as Rarity's waiting stare grew dimmer, and set her jaw. Her throat was already starting some kinda rebellion with her shaky chest, but she would just swallow it down and come out with it anyway. Screw what she was feeling: she had a mess of a unicorn to put back together. "Fill me in." Her dry monotone was more for the sake of not breaking down than for being snide, and she half-hoped Rarity wouldn't take it too personal. If the slight quirk of her eyebrow was any indication, she might've- but then again she could just stow it. She was gonna be takin' any course she could just to get out of these waters until Light was alright, and Rarity was just gonna have to deal. Rarity did hold her raised eyebrow for one affronted second, but then she shook her head, and sighed, and let it down. "What a... brusque thing to ask, Applejack." Her head turned slightly to the stairs: her eyes lingering for a long moment before they flicked back to Applejack in a slight turn. "...I suppose I can't begrudge you that." Whatever she was thinking under that fancy mane must've finished up quick, 'cause her next move was to take a short step backwards, and clear her throat. She guessed she didn't really like being so close, though it was nice that she'd come up to try to comfort her. Even if she thought she was too dirty to stand near. Pretty-prancin' priss. Good-will for nothin'. Apparently satisfied with their distance: Rarity swept a hoof up under her mane: bouncing the long curl of it idly as her eyes searched the ceiling. "Well, to fully 'fill you in,' as you so thoughtfully asked," Rarity smiled beautifully down at her, and Applejack got the funny feeling that she didn't really mean it. "-I think would be a bit much for the occasion. How about I simply cut straight to what I believe may be the point?" Applejack loosened her tight shoulders with a sigh, and rolled her eyes. "Fine, Rarity, just get on with it. I need to know how to go about helpin' Light." she stressed, making sure to keep her eyes locked on Rarity's slightly wandering gaze. Bad habit from talking too much to Light: keeping constant eye contact helped to keep him focused. Otherwise, ponies tended to shy away from the intense stare. She realized it well enough, but it was kinda hard to stop at this point. If Rarity was creeped out by her wide eyes, she brushed it off incredibly well. She hummed and tilted her head to the side: closing her eyes that Applejack felt a little lost for not being able to look into. "Well, you already know how it started, of course: Light and Spike coming in to find me in the town hall and how I assessed his condition." She hummed again and tilted her head the other way. Applejack unconsciously tilted her head slightly that way herself. "Oh, but there was also the business of what came before. Apparently," Her eyes opened and she leaned suddenly in: her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, and her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "-the two of them came from nowhere else but Sweet Apple Acres." Applejack blinked, and she leaned in as well. "The farm? Light dropped by?" Her own voice had oddly dropped as well, though she realized it as Rarity nodded seriously. She shook her head roughly and leaned back out, checking slightly over her shoulder to make sure Spike was really gone and not conveniently standing by the stairwell to see her slip. Seemed a right karmic thing to embarrass herself after Rarity had doted on him. Thank the Princess he'd freaked out and run off. Least something good had come out of Light's amnesia. ...Where'd dragon boy run off to, anyhow? She turned back to Rarity and coughed behind a hoof: her face slightly flushed. "W-What were they doin' at the farm?" She tried to scrunch her face as seriously as she could make it after having just acted shamefully like Rarity. "Did he come by lookin' for me? Did Spike tell y'all what happened when they got there?" A thought occurred, and she stepped forward: Rarity leaning back with a placid look on her face. "Did he say anythin' 'bout how Light was lookin' 'round there? Y'all know that if he's really got amnesia then figurin' out what he still remembers should be the first thing-" Her impassioned tumble was cut off with a literal flick of Rarity's pastern, and then a hoof was pressing against her lips. She stared down at the white limb for a physically quiet moment before she flicked her eyes back up to Rarity's unimpressed face, where she could almost kinda see a bit of a bulging vein on her forehead. "Yes... yes... Applejack, thank you for the..." She inhaled sharply as her head rose, and she nodded once as their eyes made contact again. "-many questions. I will do my utmost to address your... concerns." Applejack nodded with Rarity and her slight seethe: switching often between staring down at the hoof still on her lips and Rarity's expressively tired face, because there wasn't much else to do as Rarity had her eyes closed and seemed to be just... thinking. Or resting. Or wasting Applejack's precious time. Nodding every once in a while and murmuring things too softly to hear- did Rarity know she still had her hoof on Applejack's face? Why was she so bent outta shape? Well- that was kinda Rarity's thing, but didn't she realize they had a crisis on their hooves? What was the word... didn't Rarity have any urgency? She eyed the stairway. Her hooves felt itchy. She didn't like sitting around thinkin' so much. She wasn't Light; she liked action. Doing things. Solutions. If Rarity didn't... get over herself soon, then she was gonna find herself leanin' on air. Rarity's eyes opened, and Applejack perked to attention. Finally. One deep breath, and- Rarity's hoof didn't move. "I'm sure you realize that Spike was the one who identified Light's condition and that I merely suspected it, and that was only because the two of them went to Sweet Apple Acres-" Applejack made a grab at Rarity's hoof, but Rarity surprisingly swatted it away. "-and they went there because they were looking for one Ms Twilight Sparkle, not you, darling. No offense." Rarity's eyebrow raised and her mouth pursed, as if she was waiting for an objection. Applejack just stared blankly back for a long moment, before they eventually both seemingly realized that Rarity's hoof wasn't going anywhere. She continued, with a dangerous look that said something weak about objections. If Applejack really wanted the hoof off her face, then it wouldn't be there. She was just... humoring Rarity, was all. Didn't mean a thing. "Now, I believe while they were there they had a run-in with your darling young sister-" Rarity gasped: her voice surprisingly delightful for what they'd been discussing. "-who I must say sounds the most charming young filly in all of Ponyville. We simply must look into setting her and Sweetie Belle up for a meeting; I do think they would get along so well." This time, Applejack did swat Rarity's hoof away, and kept it at bay as she stared at her slightly surprised face seriously. "Now hold on there. I thought we'd been through this a while back, and we both agreed that puttin' them together was like to jes' goin' right ahead and settin' the town on fire." She loved Apple Bloom, with all her heart. Sweetie Belle- from what she'd seen- was a perfectly fine little filly. Apart, she knew very well that they got into more than their fair shares of messes. Together... She liked Ponyville: her family and the Rich had just about built the darn place. She didn't want it to fall apart. They stared at each other for a long moment as Applejack's eyebrow climbed up her face. One pair of eyes slowly calculating the odds of pushing back against a much stronger and more violent force, and the other filled with visions of screaming ponies burning to a horrible death at the hooves of two very energetic fillies. White flashed in at the edge of her vision, and Rarity's other hoof was suddenly over her mouth. "Hush dear, I'm trying to speak." She let what should've been Rarity's aggressing hoof down as she silently cursed Light for ever introducing her to Rarity four years ago, while the proven hypocrite continued to speak relentlessly: not even looking at her. "Anyhow, the crux of the matter is that, well- Light apparently remembered Apple Bloom quite well! Or, well enough to know her name, at least." Applejack's eyebrows jumped again, and she hummed a muffled exclamation. Was about all she could do short of getting another 'hush dear.' Rarity nodded, and smiled slightly: the expression bleeding heavily into her conversational tone, despite the thick vibe in the air. "Yes, it came as quite the shock to me as well, and that was actually after Spike told me something even more interesting about how he realized Light had amnesia at all. He said that- oh..." She trailed off, and her free hoof came to rest under her chin as her smile fell. "Ah..." Her expression became contemplative; she softly jerked her head back to looking at Applejack, who raised her brow questioningly. In response: Rarity jerked her eyes back away, and Applejack rolled her own exasperatedly. Now what? Rarity, chewing her lip, eventually met her eyes again with a slightly nervous, slightly cautious stare. "Now, darling, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, so if you would just keep in mind that... this problem is a work in progress, and there's nothing to get upset about prematurely." She took a deep breath, and her stare somehow became even more glimmering. "And... with that in mind, it's worth noting just how well you've been taking this so far- and I really am so, truly in astonishing admiration of your inner strength. It really is very commendable-" Her impatience boiled over at the third compliment, and Applejack finally pulled Rarity's hoof down roughly. "Would 'ya jes' get on with it!?" she barked, and Rarity recoiled back as much as she could with Applejack holding her hoof: surprise clear in her eyes. "I ain't no porcelain doll what you'd find in a china shop! I'm a big filly, and I can handle it, Rarity, alright?" Rarity met her shout by- what else- screwing her face up in indignance and turning as far away as she could while Applejack still held her hoof. That was why she kept a hold, actually: Rarity wouldn't be able to escape into some haughty dismissal if she couldn't escape. She continued to stare expectantly at the side of Rarity's admonished face as she pointedly kept her eyes off Applejack: occasionally taking small peeks at her only to shy away as she kept her intense stare firm. She could only hope it was beginning to burn. The silence didn't last forever, thankfully. Eventually, after she seemed to run the entire gambit of possible emotions: Rarity sniffled softly and nodded with a small frown on her face, though she still wasn't looking at her. "Alright, Applejack." she murmured, quietly enough that she had to perk her ears to hear. Rarity slid her gaze sideways until it was resting on her out of the corner of her eye. "...I won't coddle you." Applejack didn't say anything. She only nodded once: letting Rarity's hoof fall away to her side as its owner took another deep breath, and looked slightly up to the ceiling. She'd like to believe it was a bombshell, but Rarity had a big flair for the dramatics. Could be as small as anything, really. She was a bit nervous... not like she was made a' steel or nothin'. Finally, haltingly, Rarity turned to stare at her again. Something about her stare felt... different, and there was suddenly a soft pounding in her ears, growing louder with every second. The near-silence of muffled voices bouncing up through a wooden tunnel sucked itself away as the world grew dim, and there was nothing left of the library at all except sad blue eyes staring into her shocked green. "...Light didn't seem to know who you were... at all." And there it was. Applejack was quiet, then, as Rarity went on: her demeanor genuinely regretful and her tone surprisingly considerate, for what it was worth. "Apparently, while they were there, Light asked Spike several times if he knew who it was that owned Sweet Apple Acres. Not for nothing, either: he didn't show any sign of recognition of the farm at all." She was having a little trouble focusing at the moment, but even she could feel the hoof laying gently onto her shoulder, and the soft voice was a match to the big, blue eyes. "He didn't even know the way there. Spike said that it... seemed as though Light simply picked a direction and 'got lucky.'" She chuckled quietly- but Applejack didn't see the humor. "I can't say that part seemed all bad. I admit: I wouldn't fall to pieces if Light forgot where I lived as well." She tried to smile- she really did, but she couldn't quite manage it. Just a little quirk on the edge of her mouth that turned back down in a second, and Rarity coughed quietly. Met the floor with her gaze for a moment, before it came back up to her sadly. "I'm sorry. That was in poor taste." Applejack swallowed, and nodded. "...'s fine." Her voice came out dry, and her throat clenched painfully around the words. Her hoof came up to rub at her suddenly sore throat, though she continued to stare mostly into space. Rarity, at least, seemed to jump at the chance: stepping back from Applejack and smiling slightly. "Why don't I get you a glass of water, darling? Or punch?" The words clicked, and Applejack's eyes flew to the suddenly moving fashion expert that was going somewhere she shouldn't be. "Why don't I pop into the party downstairs for just a moment and quickly just check up on-" "No!" The shout tore at her already torn throat, and her hooves felt surprisingly sore as she jumped to a standing position- like she'd been sitting for longer than she had. Rarity, well on her way to the stairs, started back from the sudden exclamation: her hoof caught halfway between one step, and her mouth open in surprise. They both stared at each other for a long second as Applejack realized that, yes- she had just been the one to say that. Once it became fully clear that Rarity, staring expectantly, was waiting for a follow-up: Applejack swallowed again, and tried to clear her throat. "No, Rarity- please don't go see Light," she stammered, then cringed at the gravelly sound of her own voice. Just look at her. She was fallin' apart. Rarity turned to her: her brow wobbling in confusion as she worked her jaw for something to say. Couldn't blame her; Applejack wasn't sure she'd know what to say if it was her standing there. Outright beggin' for her to not to do something as simple as just seeing him... She shook her head, and sighed in frustration: turning half away from Rarity to stare up at the window. It was well into the night now, and it was only then that she wondered how long they'd been talking. Felt like forever; felt like a minute. Something about staring into the sparkling night unnerved her, so she dropped her hat over her face, and simmered in the quiet darkness for the moment she'd have before Rarity'd find some words. Light didn't remember her. He hadn't just forgotten everything or nothing: he'd forgotten her. He remembered his name, his manners, and how to sit down, but he'd forgotten Applejack. He could even remember Apple Bloom, for Princess' sake. But not her. It felt like a blow in the gut. It felt like a kick in the teeth. She knew she shouldn't've been, but she was takin' it mighty personal. It hurt- what else was she supposed to feel?! After all they'd been through... All they'd said... All they hadn't... How could it be her..? ..! It clicked. She gasped; whirled around; galloped right up to Rarity all at once until they were nose-to-nose and startled blue was pressed right up to wide green. "Ah got it! Ah got it!" she shouted right at Rarity, spittle and all; smacking the hurried motion of a hoof looking to shush away, and grabbing the frightened fashionista by the lower shoulders. "Rarity, ah know how ah can get Light's memory back!" Rarity's head was shaking: she was already trying to peddle some hogwash about calming down and thinking clearly, but Applejack didn't care. She was too busy shaking Rarity back and forth! Everything made sense and she felt so smart! She slowed her shaking just long enough to yell more words at the growingly dizzied face, only marginally slowing her pace. "Rarity, are y'all absolutely sure that Light don't remember me even a smidgen?!" She was pretty sure Rarity nodded aside how much she was being shook, so she nodded right along as her mouth buzzed. "Then- Then that's it! That's it, Rarity!" She threw her hooves around Rarity's withers, and something audibly popped as she squeezed her tightly. "That's it! That's it! That's it!" She could kinda hear Rarity trying to wheeze something through the hug, but her blood was pumping and her heart was pounding and there were stars in her eyes- too many to count! She knew how to get Light's memory back, and it was so darn simple. Light didn't remember her- who cared? Well, she did, but she was gonna use that. She could just make him remember her. If they just talked, then she just knew she could find something of her in that empty head of his. And if Light remembered her, then he'd remember everything. Because they were best friends. > Chapter 45 - The Theory > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow wasn't freaking out. Light Flow would never freak out over something like this. Light Flow had grown beyond petty little freakouts like he maybe- might've- could've been having anytime before tonight. Light Flow was, for all appropriate intents and otherwise, completely fine, and of the highest constitution possible for a pony of his size, stature, and composite background. He was, if nothing else, a bastion. An emotional bastion. Nightmare Moon's cold, covered hooves pressed in like a vice on either of his shoulders: squeezing and abating in random intervals to keep a match to the desperate pants that he had to keep deepening because there just wasn't enough air in his body to compensate for the fact that he had two souls in his body. Two souls in his body there were two souls in his body oh sweet stars above somepony help him get it out. The drowsy whirlpool of panic nearly swept him away for a time he'd long since stopped counting, and it was only the mild-tasting awareness that he was panicking that kept his head above the cold water lapping at his struggling neck. Really, he was doing remarkably fine considering- -he was freaking out he was freaking out and everything was wrong because nothing was right and every time he tried to find something to focus his eyes onto it would get bigger and bigger and squish and squash because reality was warping from the fact that two souls were sharing the space of his body what if he exploded what if his soul and both souls burnt like a star and he was left cold and alone and soulless like the spinning spinning spinning feeling in his chest that made it so hard so hard to breathe that he had to keep breathing breathe harder breathe harder he needed to breathe he needed to breathe please breathe please don't stop breathing- There was the panic again: viciously throttling his mind into cruel submission. Shoveling nonsensical gibberish like fetid trash over each niggling little thought that was actually conducive. How helpful! How wonderful! He loved how his special little mind worked! Tonight was a great night to be Light Flow- he was so lucky! It was too much; all too much all at once with the constantly babbling streams of the same terrible thoughts whispered over and over in his head like there were ten ponies talking over each other struggling to make themselves heard and they were all too dumb to realize they should stop just stop! He couldn't think. It was too loud. He could barely stand to keep his eyes open anymore. Everything moved when he looked at it and it gave him such awful vertigo and he wanted it to stop to throw up he just wanted to be able to think again! But he was. He could. He was doing it right now. Revelation. He was thinking just fine. He was reasoning- analyzing. There he was: making clever little metaphors for each dizzying height of every mountain made from the same tiny molehill. Look, he'd just done it again! He wasn't insensate; dead to the world, but he was... insensate. He couldn't really... define the sort of... disconnect he was feeling- or, not feeling, to his body. To his myriad emotions that he knew were all drifting so lamentably down a languid creek to uncertain mindlessness- and now he was making metaphors again. Nothing ever changed. He was able to form coherent thought. He was able to put aside the momentary mania. He was able to pontificate. And, perhaps the most telling contrivance: he was able to identify that he was panicking. And he knew, perhaps inexplicably, that everything was fine. Huh. To be frank- as he was quickly finding himself able to do in the dizzy, spinning background- nothing was wrong: or, at least, he couldn't say with clear certainty that anything was truly wrong, per se. He wasn't a psychologist. Actually, just a few minutes ago, everything had been rather right. The soul may have been in his body, which, again: was of an undetermined wrongness that he was trying not to focus on too hard for his own sake, but the other hoof still held a death grip on the fuzzy fact that he'd finally achieved his dream. That small island of conceited, emphatic joy still sat in the sea of his body, even amidst the typhoon that he was. A warm, cozy retreat deep within the cold storm. A comfort in dark times, and how dark this time was. Or maybe it was just that soul he'd assimilated still spreading that wonderfully unnatural warmth. Could be. Didn't change the feeling either way; it was just a detail. He'd like to hold onto it. Checking down the list: everything he looked at may have seemed distorted, but it was a deep-rooted fact nested in his sense of logic that reality was just fine. Any sight to the contrary was a diagnosable symptom of his dissociation and massive panic. Easy as that. He didn't know for certain that anything bad would happen to him with another soul in his body, and maybe that was disconcerting, but it was hardly on the forefront of his mind or the true crux of his panic. He'd get to that- just as soon as he could control himself. Maybe he was a psychologist. Or could be, at least. Play pretend. A reasonable facsimile- hey, maybe he could trick ponies into thinking he was studied in psychoanalytics and make an illegal practice out of it! Finally make an income by swindling certainly uncertain suckers into false emotional security! If he'd had any measurable semblance of mindfulness, he would've smiled at the thought. It was still so funny in that laughably unfunny way how absolutely perfect his clarity was right now. He could see, label and detail every underlying message to his panic, but he couldn't force a single opposing thought or action. Half of his mind trapped like an emotionless prisoner while the other half beat itself red in a brutal fit. It was an uncomfortably familiar feeling. Not so funny as it was squeamish. He'd shiver if his body wasn't already violently doing so ad nauseum. In any case: no matter how familiar the tactic or how painful the memory, Nightmare Moon shockingly wasn't doing this to him. She was right there: trying to keep his body breathing steadily. She'd been right there, from the time that he'd stood like a statue with his hooves on his chest as his breathing slowly anted, and he realized what had happened. She'd come right to his side as he'd failed to reconcile any of the increasingly terrifying thoughts that had piled in; shock carrying him away like a river, making his motor functions lock, and leaving him unsupported and tilting backwards. She'd caught him by the shoulders, thankfully for his head, and though She'd started by trying to shake him to awareness while demanding that he calm, She'd eventually evolved. Applying pressure to his shoulders in attempted time to his out-of-control breathing, and not doing much otherwise but for staring into his constantly moving eyes from a safe distance. He was becoming less and less scared of those wide, draconic slits. He didn't know if he liked that. Why was She so nice to him? No, that wasn't the right question. That had never been the right question, and he'd been blind and half-dumb to continually bemoan it. Stupid foal was right: he'd been acting like a child pointing hooves. Why hadn't She always been nice to him? Maybe that was a stupid distinction not worth answering, if it even needed answering outside of what the question itself inherently answered, but maybe it was worth the thought until his body allowed him input. Maybe it deserved to be considered. For posterity. For... a clear conscience. Where to start? Was there time to start from the beginning? Perhaps not. He'd be brief; here, alone in his mind. He couldn't remember when they'd first met- the otherwise unaccountable time having likely been around a decade ago- but making reason out of his foggy memory lead him to believe it was probably not long after his cutie marking. Had it been implied, to himself, that his gory hallucination at the time was Her doing? Tentacles dripping from the shadows and tearing his body from itself- had She shown that to him? Maybe, or maybe it had been his own, hopped-up-on-adrenaline mind. He'd had enough imagination as a foal to believe himself great and powerful, so total insanity wasn't that far off. It probably wasn't all that important in the grand scheme. It certainly didn't change what had followed. She'd been very cold when they'd first met. Even colder than She was now, if such a thing was posisble. Endlessly brisk, brusque, and often especially brash- oh She was so brash. He'd often thought to call Her an overbearing witch, if such a thing wouldn't have earned him a psychological thrashing. She would come to his dreams- sometimes smirking and sometimes snarling- and just speak to him. Doing nothing but simply telling him things on no seeming end. It was so extensive; he couldn't even distinguish the things he had learned from his daily life from the things he had learned from Her. Theories on magic- and now he remembered just how little he knew before- lessons on sophistication- which, as a whole, he was attempting to entirely forget- and more- just so much more. After so, so long- it all kind of blended together. So many days after so many forgotten nights of learning. His lexicon had never been the same- and neither had his confidence. Heavens, She was disparaging. But... in those many forced lessons... was She callous? Was She ever... cruel? Was there even a worthwhile distinction to be made between the varied shortenings of manner, temper and care, or was it just worthless semantics? He thought so, and... he didn't think so. The cold of the winter does not, in itself, imply a total lack of warmth. It does not deny the existence of the summer: only asserts that they are, in fact, different. She'd not been callous. Not cruel. She'd never hit him. She'd not overtly belittled him without cause. Perhaps She'd not been traditionally friendly, but still. She'd never given him any reason in those times to see her presence as an explicit negative, even if he'd never remember Her come day. She had always been, if not kind or even nice, then at least... decent. Was that enough? Wasn't it? He had a funny feeling... If the curtain had been pulled aside in its proper time, without the pain and the betrayal, then maybe he could have- would have welcomed Her as a friend. A mentor. A- ... But it had changed. Two years ago, it had changed. She had changed. That day... that dumb day that had destroyed his life, and cost somepony else theirs. It had been small ways at first, like randomly passing out. He'd always been drowsy at his desk, and he'd always adored the dreamy idea of falling asleep on a book, but the frequency then and onward became dramatic. Near every morning woken the same: somewhere starkly away from his bed. And he'd just brush it off; think it was normal. Just... Light Flow, acting just as crazy as he'd always known himself to be. It was small things, of course. Until it wasn't. Oh, that was what he was reading last night? Oh, he'd put that book there? Oh, I fell asleep? Oh, It's morning? Oh, it's night? Oh, I went into my cellar last night? Oh, it's this month? Oh, what's this black stuff on my fur? Why does my mouth taste like tar? Whose influence was it, that made it all seem so ordinary? Such a gradual escalation of events, that he hadn't realized he was being boiled alive. Annoyances reasoned into habits with the passing of time, and habits forgotten for perceived monotony. The pages of his mind earmarked and ripped off one miniscule corner at a time. She'd tried so desperately to exert Her failing control... and for what? What had She really accomplished, other than to destroy what little peace of mind he'd ever had? So much done in shortsighted anger... but was it anger drawn from hatred? And if so: at whom? Did it even matter? Should it, to him? Was She even angry to begin with? Perhaps then, but what about now? How did She feel now? He sighed, and let his hoof come to his head in a long-worn feeling of fatigue: the cool feeling calming a rising, uncomfortable heat in his head. So blissfully cool; that soul-filled warmth may have been starting to wear on him... He'd lost so much of those years on sleep not his, but that was only one of his torments. The seemingly endless torments afflicted by the cold turned bitterly callous. What did he even say? What did he think? Without the anger, what did he feel? It hadn't been deliberate. It hadn't been calculated. Did that make it worse, or better? Was it better- easier to imagine instead that the damage done had been precise- meditated? That the creature who'd done this to him had done it out of pure, knowing malice? A vindictive mind? Would it be easier to forgive the proud figure of a strong mare who'd seen his transgressions as defiance, and thought to punish him for it? Something so easy to understand, so nearly tangible that- with minimal effort- he could probably fool himself into believing? Was the reality better, then: than that? A maniac. A madmare. Lunatic. ...It still wasn't cruel. Harmful, thoughtless and vain without end, but not done from a place of anger. Not towards him, he didn't think. In the way that She spoke to him; acted towards him: it was obvious. She'd never truly meant him any harm. The opposite, especially now, would be evidently graphic. Her anger was gone, Her mania was restrained, Her guile was... manageable. And now: here She was. Considerate. Teaching him Necromancy. Giving him a soul as a gift. Helping him through a panic attack. A friend. A mentor. A... It should have been easier to forgive Her. So much time spent so far gone from the world, and so quick to anger and actions unconscionable: She clearly wasn't in Her right mind. He knew that. Psychologically, he understood Her. He might've sympathized. Maybe even empathized. It should've been so easy to forgive Her. When he noticed, finally, he couldn't say for sure how long it had been. A touch. Feeling. Long enough that what would have been the cold first sting of the touch had warmed minimally; though he couldn't say it wasn't the difference of the effervescent warmth that now seemed to generally pervade him. He did feel oh so cozy as a general affection: maybe that was why he was so willing to think about Her on end? He did fundamentally despise Her in every quantifiable way otherwise. ...Probably. The world had returned to him somewhere along the way, and Nightmare Moon really enjoyed touching his cheek, didn't She? He felt almost compelled to jerk away, with the turns his mind had taken. Back alleys and dank, dark roads full of confusion and confrontation, and he'd come out marginally more suspicious than he'd once been. He even wanted to, for a moment. Almost forced himself to. But what real purpose would it have served, even to him? He'd not reevaluated any of his stances, only taken firmer stock. He wasn't any more disgusted or disgruntled at the contact than he'd once been. If he did... he just didn't think he could put his heart into it. He shifted, and the metal pressed to his cheek... chafed, just more than it should've. His fur was wet. Again? His shoulders sagged, and it was then that he really noticed how heavy he felt. Like his withers had been tied with lead, and his head drawn with weights. He wanted to lie down: maybe even on his bed, for once. He sure did miss it, and indolence in general. With all this possession and memory-loss and ostensible murdering of crows, he'd been far too active for his usual tastes. If he was still alive after the world ended, he was gonna sleep for a week. Sweet, dreamless sleep. Moving any more would have expended energy too little and too precious to waste, so his next and only motion was to then look listfully up at Nightmare Moon. He tried not to look pathetic, he really did. Try not to tighten his eyes. Don't let his lip wobble. Stop his ears from drooping. You're pathetic Light Flow. He might've failed. The silent lines of Her long watching eyes caught on attention as the relative focus in his expression conveyed, and they creased for the motion of Her hooding eyes. Slightly more piercing from a stance of vigilant concern, as Her head turned an inch. Sharp fangs glinting pale in the low light as Her mouth quirked in a noiseless exclamation. "You've returned." The soft tone of Her voice was as smooth as it ever was, but... for whatever reason, he couldn't help but imagine an edge of wear to it. There was no catch, no waver or break; but perhaps, for want of a flaw: just a misting of gravel. How long how they been speaking, now? Without the fall of the sun, or the rise of the moon: everything seemed... stagnant. Even the cold air pressing in seemed too caught for a breeze. Maybe it was just them: trapped as they were in an endless scenario in a forgotten castle, but the world felt rather like a photo still. Would he want to remember these moments, when they were over? He still remembered his mother, and Zecora. Stop it. Even with his newfound inner warmth, it was still a chill to feel the air pressing again at his fur as he lifted his head away from the hoof. He shook his head just to feel the motion; letting his eyes track the halting sway of the hovering limb as it stilled for a moment, then fell to Her lap. What a thing to say... She'd made it sound like he'd actually gone somewhere. "It's not like I really left, you know," he murmured lowly. He let his eyes rise up, to Her watching, searching face; feeling the melancholic turn of his felt frown rise into a smile: bitter with something he didn't quite feel. "I was only having a panic attack. Hardly a day trip down to Las Pegasus." His voice didn't sound as bad as he'd imagined. He could only lose it by doing nothing so many times, he supposed. Maybe he'd actually earn that wear soon. Nightmare Moon must've found his joke marginally funny: Her smile rose even further, and She chuckled fondly in such a way that showed all of Her sharpened teeth at once. "It is just as well. I can only imagine how you might fare amidst so many so outspoken. It is a wonder you found even that farm mare to be your friend." The cadence of Her words ended in a decadent purr that set the fur along his back prickling, and She must have seen, as She openly laughed with Her teeth again. Every single pointed tip on display. Why did She do that? Seriously- why did She feel the need to constantly intimidate him with Her especially alien features? Was it simply instinctive; did she not realize She was doing it? No- there was no way; everything She did was extremely concerted, even when She was overcome with rage. He... wished She would speak to him... just slightly more candidly. Even a bit less reserved, in the way that she was reserving her affectations for him, would be incredible. He knew She was capable: behind the posture and the cunning; the guile and the calculating force: She was more. He knew She was considerate, even behind the pure intelligence. The way She would rein Herself in when She lost control: it spoke of how She cared for his well-being. Her deceit was so backwards: an inherent honesty to every word that somehow belied the grandeur. It nearly seemed lackluster, at times. She simply seemed... ill-fitting. Like... everything about her- the pitch coat, the gleaming segments of armor from a time displaced, even and maybe especially Her face- the way it all meshed together sometimes made it seem so ingenuine. Feigned. She was a pony, so why were Her features so? Why were Her eyes so bestial: so foreign? Cut up and long like a snake's venomous furrows; why were her eyes not soft and round, like his? Why could She simply not relax; allow Her features to soften; lose that weathered edge of quested vengeance? She was so strong; the strength of a Goddess, but She needn't always be strong. All of the intelligence, the depths of wisdom and surprising humor: what would it seem without that regal edge? He could still remember... he'd pictured Her so different as they'd... laid together. Her stomach to his back, and with his memories of Her simple, faded color: he'd put such a different face to that voice. Truly... what might She look like... without those alien artifacts? His face was sullen: he noticed too late. He'd gone quiet: too long without breathing. By the time he'd picked up on the fact that he'd never laughed alongside Her, it was too late even to make pretend, and She was already peering closer at him. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and- no: he shied away as he realized it was concern, not curiosity. Even if he was trying to wish himself out of the nearest window, he could still feel Her gaze inspecting him all over. Stopping first at his restlessly kneading hooves that he tried and failed to stop, then at his still chest behind which beat three hearts, then his face began to burn. Was he blushing? He hated blushing for Her. What had She done to deserve his flush? The feeling lessened, and he dared to peek as She leaned back and towered over: seeming contemplative. "You..." She trailed off, and tilted her head to the side. "Have you still reservations left of your breakdown?" Her questioning was accompanied by a lean forward: to look invasively into his eyes. Somehow, incredibly as he was so hung up on details, he only really noticed how close She was as She took hold of his face. His cheeks smooshed between her cold-plated hooves, and he sputtered indignancies as She leaned his head up so their eyes could meet. All incredibly demeaning- but buck himself if he couldn't do a thing about it! "Are you truly recovered so fast?" She murmured, tilting his head this way and that as She studied him. "Your gaze seems sharp, if quite meek, yet your reactions remain as dull as usual." Her brow jumped, and She hummed a laugh. "Though, perhaps that is more reassuring than anything. Some things may only change so much." Now he was blushing and he felt like a fool! He pushed his hooves up against those holding his face like a child's, and surprisingly, they slid off. He blinked bemusedly as he'd truly not expected his rebellion to bear fruit, though he quickly turned his independence to work: staring angrily up at the placid face so far above him. "I'm just fine, thank you," he retorted, and Nightmare Moon only smiled humorously at him. Because She was not threatened, or offended, or unamused, because he was just her little plaything, wasn't he!? ...Well, yeah, he kind of was. His ego deflated all at once, and he sighed as he hung his head tiredly. He licked along the backs of his teeth for a moment as he stared at the floor, before he returned his gaze up to Nightmare Moon. "Alright," he conceded. "I am still a little... affected from my... erm... breakdown." it felt a little silly to call it that and not a panic attack, but he'd settle for Her terminology. Reticence over semantics would just hold them up; he wasn't all that attached to something so superficial. ...Felt a little reductive, but what wasn't when it came to Her? She nodded at his admission: seemingly quite pleased with Herself for calling it out. "Yes, it was as plain as the moon." He tried not to snort a laugh at the blatant satisfaction in Her voice as She raised a hoof to his shoulder: patting it as gently as steel and harder steel could be. "It is the matter of the soul you absorbed, is it not?" Electricity jumped up his spine, and he jerked in a rough shiver: causing Nightmare Moon to draw back from her hold with a nearly affronted look on Her face. He'd apologize, just as soon as acid and sparks stopped filling his mouth and fire stopped playing in his nerves. It was the mention of the soul- he'd admit it: he'd been pointedly avoiding thinking about it the entire time he'd been lucid again specifically because he knew it'd set him off like this. It was in his body: that was an incontrovertible fact, as much as the concept boggled his mind. Discounting the logistics- which in no lesser terms fascinated him just as much- the soul was in his body. It was in him. That raised- like- a million questions. How had this happened? Was it just contact? If it was just contact then why hadn't it immediately been absorbed the moment he'd first touched it? Did it require conscious effort? Had he even made a conscious effort? What constituted a truly conscious effort in such a medium as something so comparatively arbitrary as touching an object, magical or not, without the aid of his magic? Would complications arise from the impromptu aggregation of his willful acquisition? If not, then what were the benefits? How many souls could he hold at once? If the limit was infinite, then that called into question the ethereal nature of souls and whether they occupied any definable physical space. If they weren't physical then how were they perceived? Regarding that: why did their perception require a specialized spell or otherwise special circumstances? For that matter: were they even imperceptible when removed from the body? What was- "Light Flow!" The shout wasn't so distracting as the shaking was. Of course, it seemed one had been ineffective at drawing him out of his trance, but both had done the trick. As it was, when he focused back onto Nightmare Moon's scowling face, it was made all the more difficult to see the expression as Her hooves were jerking him roughly back and forth by his shoulders. He'd gotten distracted- but thinking about the soul didn't fill his head with mind-numbing, all-consuming, heady, delectable, inescapable need anymore! A win for his overthinking mind! He could teach himself! He placed his hooves on the ones shaking him- and thankfully, they stopped. Not so gently, or quickly, but he was soon brought to a still all the same. Well, not all the same: his vision was still slightly fuzzy from all the shaking. He wasn't all that appreciative of that. He blinked away stars and dizzy afterimages, and tried his best to focus and smile mildly up at Nightmare Moon's slightly blurry face. He pasted on his best penitent face: exerting an aura of cute, nervous uncertainty. "I'm- um... sorry..?" Nightmare Moon's face began to unblur, and he could see better the sight of Her nonplussed expression, and her climbing eyebrow. His throat ran dry, and all he found himself able to do was edge slightly back: still smiling like a fool as Her hooves stilled in the air. Oh, why did he make himself such a fool for Her? She was the queen, and he was Her jester, and as a long-suffering queen might sigh and fitfully indulge the witless jester, so too did Nightmare Moon indulge him. Her eyes met his, locking him in place from his slow backwards scooch as Her hooves fell imperiously to the floor. "Do not apologize," she intoned, and he was more sure than ever his eyes would pop out from his head from staring too hard. She ticked Her frown to the side in a testy grimace, and narrowed Her brows onto him. "You were thinking, were you not? Of souls?" Sense trickled in at his hasty bid, allowing him to quickly turn his focus on nodding fervently. As it always seemed to, his nervous demeanor somewhat amused Her, and Her frown halved into a smile. "Good," She murmured: straightening Her back and leering down at him, such that She was literally towering. "Tell me of what crossed your eager mind. We shall start from there." Start? Start what from where? He babbled momentarily, though in less time than he usually did. Surprisingly, he found the words almost easily, for once. "Well- I wasn't so much thinking about anything in particular, I-" He swallowed, and, though he wanted desperately to stare at the floor, forced himself to fully meet Her expectant gaze. "I was just... thinking about the logistics of... what I did." The stark honesty of what he'd admitted felt momentarily freeing. Was this what it was like to be Applejack? Being directly questioned and providing an easy answer in few words? Not deliberating for minutes at a time for every word? It was... disconcerting, being so upfront. But in an oddly... good way? He didn't think he liked it. Nightmare Moon's eyebrow ticked up, and he was suddenly reminded very much more of Applejack. "I was thinking about the actual cause of the soul absorption, actually!" he barked on complete instinct. It was obvious he'd been too reminded of his friend. Applejack had always had a certain way of making him fess up whenever he got silent, which was most of the time, and that way usually started with a very dangerous raising of her brow. Nightmare Moon seemed mollified at his slightly less concise answer, if also disgruntled. "I had already told you of your power over souls. It is because of your cutie mark." She frowned, and Her regard of him became altogether cooler. "What did you not understand of it? Need we remark upon it again?" It was always an odd meshing of feeling whenever he became frustrated with Her. A messy cross between the slowly diminishing fear, the growing empathy, and the ever-present awe. He frowned right back at Her expression, and found some of the tension in his shoulders abating for aggravation. "I... understood that part just fine, actually. I was really thinking more about... why." Her frown deepened, as did Her pertinent brow. "Why what?" He didn't often get angry: not anymore. He'd had issues as a child with his fits of delusion, and he'd had issues as an amnesiac with not knowing what was going on, but he'd more or less mellowed out over the years growing up. He preferred dry methods of expressing himself as of late: they tended to burn so much more. Implying he had a problem tended to make most ponies really uncomfortable, and him very amused. But... there was just something about a terse pony that really set him off. Even if that pony was the towering Goddess that held his life in Her hooves. "I was thinking about why my cutie mark allows that, you freakish giraffe!" The first shout was knee-jerk as Her two word response had made him so inexplicably angry. Something tugged at his mind- something important. But then, as Nightmare Moon's lids jumped and he leaned forward on his shout, he happened to find something burning hotly in a deep, neglected pit of his chest. Indignance. Righteous indignance blistering like a sore in his heart, and he was sure he knew why it was there. She'd had the gall to assert Herself over him when it came to souls. He'd bucking show Her. "Souls are ethereal, aren't they?! But they're still conditionally visible, so obviously, they must be comprised of some kind of measurable energy, probably magical!" He thought about stepping forward, but stomped his hoof instead, because he was mad, not insane. "If souls exist on some magical frequency, then that would explain why they can't be altered or interacted with by regular physical means; any amnesiac idiot could figure that out!" -that would explain... Nightmare Moon opened Her mouth, but he continued: his nostrils flaring as his desire to keep screaming won over. "That would also explain why the only way to physically interact with them would be though means of a spell, because you have to match their magical frequency to act upon them! It's basic Arcanic Theory!" -if that were true, then... "It would account for the average, stupid pony's inability to even see them, because, again, if you somehow still couldn't imagine it: souls, like certain other magical frequencies, aren't on the visible spectrum!" The urge to pace was overpowering him, but he knew, even behind the red, that stepping towards Nightmare Moon in anger was over the line. So, he turned, set his sights on the door, and began to pace towards it: still yelling, though now mostly at the approaching floor. "Souls must exist on a level of frequency only directly susceptible to Equine magical means, because what in Tartarus' name would it be otherwise?! It's the only explanation that makes even some sense, and I'm only half unsure of it because I don't fully trust my own knowledge of modern Arcanic Theory!" -if souls exist on a wavelength, like mana, then... He reached the door faster than he'd expected- the room really wasn't all that long and there wasn't much debris in his way- and now he stared up at its mockingly brown surface hatefully as his voice bounced loudly off it. "That's probably how souls are bound to living creatures in the first place! They're bound to a creature's fount and their mana rather than their actual body, unless it's really some dumb, spiritual thing, which I also don't understand!" Even as his anger was constantly bubbling over, the idea that the glorious science of souls could somehow be related to the ego or something was absolute poison. He bent his leg back, and kicked it forward at the door as hard as he could. The resounding thunk echoing out into the otherwise quiet, empty room was the only satisfying thing about what he'd done, as the door failed to budge an inch, and his hoof throbbed in pain. "Who even designed this stupid door anyway! It's wildly impractical and disgustingly ostentatious!" he screamed: filled with rage and balancing on three legs as he held his aching fourth to his chest. Really, though. The door was huge- easily three or more times his size- emblazoned on its flaking, dull, wooden surface by an imperceptible pattern- which he would guess was somewhat like the one at the castle's front door- arched- because everything had to be arched in this castle- and it apparently required incredible strength just to open it. Or the hinges were rusty. He turned to face the room: Nightmare Moon a distant black speck at the back of its stair-bordered body. The idea of Her being so small may have made him laugh five minutes ago, but now it only made him angrier because how dare She act that meek to him?! "Back to my original point!" he loudly began again, as he limped back towards Nightmare Moon. "Having dissected the theory if not the exact science behind a soul's existence, it only makes me wonder all the more about me and 'my breed!'" He slurred as he mimed the words She'd used earlier, just to mock Her all the more. -but then again, if what he'd imagined were true... His breath caught as he hobbled forward- was it because of fatigue or because he'd just had an idea- and he nearly stumbled; only barely catching himself, and though his vision sort of fuzzed over as his chest ached, he continued to scream at the approaching, unmoving black blob. "The only certifiable conclusions I can possibly reach, knowing what I might know, are that those with a cutie mark in Necromancy are physiologically different, either from the time they're born or some change they undergo when they get their cutie mark-" Finally, exhaustedly, he came back around to Nightmare Moon. He couldn't even bring himself to look up at Her; literally, he could not find the strength to look up at Her face from his position nearly doubled over. He was out of shape. Terribly so. Sure, it was mostly because he'd hardly stopped just to breathe amidst his rant, but he couldn't deny the physical factor. His lung capacity was abysmal; reading all day just wasn't conducive to fitness. He should spread the word. That sounded like a niche tidbit. Between the long stretches of screaming, such that his panting voice was now hoarse, he wasn't really all that angry anymore. He could barely remember why he'd been mad in the first place; his head was mostly just swarming with little, buzzing ideas about soul frequencies and conditional awareness. Still, he'd left a thought unfinished, and between every fourth or fifth breath, he found he could squeeze a few words in. "-or... a Necromancer's natural arcane wavelength... is completely... completely different from a normal pony's..." He wheezed- panted- gasped- finally managed to take a deep swallow that felt far too dry, and put his weight back down onto his fourth hoof. Vision returning: he blinked bemusedly at the four long, black hooves topped at their ends by dazzling silver shoes, and for a moment, couldn't for the life of him remember who they belonged to. And then, probably because of the heavy silence that constantly echoed through the castle halls, he remembered where he was, who he was talking to, and just how he'd spoken to them. Her. Nightmare Moon. Goddess- Queen- ostensible monster. He'd had a nice life. Out of everything, he was probably going to miss reading and Applejack the most. He just wished Applejack had been more amenable to his idea of a book club, though. Would've combined his two great loves. ...Yeah... When he finally found the courage to stop cringing and, to a lesser extent, gaping, he carefully- oh so cautiously slid his eyes up to Nightmare Moon's very likely furious face. He expected fire and brimstone. Something along the lines of 'how dare you raise our voice to me, you insignificant whelp, prepare your mind to break and body to die.' He didn't expect... Her smile. "Buh-" He couldn't help the noise that escaped from his still-gaping mouth, because really, out of every possible thing, he'd never expected his angry screaming to result in a positive reaction. That seemed- well, a little backwards, didn't it? Nightmare Moon was smiling at him, and it wasn't any ordinary smile from Her- no, it was... genuine. It wasn't the sharp teeth on full display or head thrown back and cackling kind of joy he'd come to expect from Her: it was... just a smile. Soft. Relaxed. Almost... normal. He blinked, and for that one second after, he could swear he'd begun to imagine Her without the helmet. "What are you... smiling for?" he whispered, and it was only a whisper because he didn't want to call it a rasp. His voice had torn badly from exerting his voice, and he could already feel his throat beginning to burn a little. He half wanted to rub at it, but... the way Nightmare Moon was leering at him... Her smile, one of the most muted expressions he'd yet seen from Her, parted in a near-silent exclamation. His lip curled in confusion as Her eyes traveled up to stare somewhere behind him: the distance apparently more captivating than he was. "I'm... reminiscing, child..." She murmured: Her eyes closing gently. Sweetly, and softly. Her voice a breathy whisper; he could almost say the moment was... pleasant. What... had happened here? Had the sheer discrepancy of him yelling at Her caused him to phase into another reality? He might've liked that- though he'd put so much effort into bothering the ponies in his home universe... Be a shame to start all over. With Her shoulders relaxing on a silent sigh, he was left to ogle Her seemingly melting form in disconcerted awe. Almost on instinct, he jerked his head to the side: his eyes catching again on the door behind him. Though... No- he was an idiot for even thinking about escaping. For something as little as the door being too heavy; he was once again sure running away would never pan out. Nice thought, though. Running always was. He returned his gaze to Nightmare Moon: seemingly in some kind of nostalgic bliss. What the hell kind of memory could be so sweet- and triggered by his yelling at Her, no less- that She would relax the way She was? The way She'd done a very good job of proving She was incapable of? "Would you- uh..." He smacked his lips together, and his voice nearly sounded a bit less graveled. "-care to... share whatever you're... reliving?" He didn't think it was all that big an ask, really. Part and parcel of having a night-long emotional confrontation was candidness. Might as well try enforcing that, for once. Was that impertinent or insolent of him, to ask of Her memories? He hoped She wouldn't see it that way, because his second thought had been whether it was, and second wasn't so far down the mind's totem pole. At his question, Her eyes fluttered barely open, though they stayed a distracted stare on the distance. "You... recall that I mentioned... other of your breed, don't you?" She whispered, barely loud enough to hear. It was breathy. It was uncomfortable. He fidgeted, because his only other thought was to run and jump out the window. "...Yes?" he eased, uncertainly. "Is it... am I... like them..?" The very idea that She had known somepony so similar to him, that was so similar to him was... eugh. But then, She nodded, and the tense knot of uncomfortable, wriggling incertitude in his chest grew larger. "Yes... you are... very much like..." She murmured, trailing off tonelessly. And then, very slowly, Her head began to tilt down to him. He nearly flinched back as Her glassy, vacant eyes met his; it was only through a very concerted effort that he continued to stare into them. And that was only because he really felt he should. He'd never been one to pass on opportunities to learn. There was that old saying that 'eyes are the window to the soul,' and as untrue as he knew that was based on foundational thinking sans any definitive calculations on soul-to-optic logistics, he still bought into the general sentiment behind the big, fat, stupid lie. It was difficult to read Nightmare Moon- impossible, even- but he'd never come as close to really understanding Her than when they were... engaged like this. Whether back to stomach, or eye-to-eye: the connection was never so whole. He'd been trying all night, and he'd come so close to seeing behind Her veneer a few times, but... there was just some... something to this stare. A metaphorical, unseen line of communication: in his head alone, as She was so very far from him in every way. And... how far She still was. So glazed: Her eyes were, like those of a corpse. Lightless and half-closed; cold and gone. So far away in Her past, in so many nights so past; how many would have met their end, for Her to ceaselessly watch? Innumerable. So many gone. So much lost. To gaze is to remember, and to remember is to eventually forget. That was what he read, in those deep furrows of cyan blue. A loneliness, at something far gone. And still, he tried to read deeper, even as that far-gone light came back from the past. "How did it feel, to take that soul into yourself?" Just the first syllable was enough to shock him out of his blind staring; blinking into focus as Nightmare Moon had returned from Her vacation in the past. But only very marginally: Her face, though less still, less grim, kept a sort of off-tune vacancy. Even as he shook off the muted trance, he felt a chill settle stubbornly over his pelt; even as blue light flickered so gently around the end of Her horn, and his breath quickened, the motion of Her raising one hoof in front of Her seemed... stilted. He'd been wrong: it wasn't nostalgic bliss she'd felt, thinking of Her past. It was sadness. A deep, true sadness. ...Who had She been remembering? He was beginning to think it was instinct that drove him to scoot back: away from the dangerous little spark of magic. Though he hardly felt afraid as he half-stared up at the glowing little crackle. He couldn't really manage the mood at the moment, besides how ridiculous it would be for Her to hurt him. The iridescence of a unicorn's magic around their horn was nearly directly proportional to the amount of mana they were channeling, and it didn't seem like She was planning anything large. Nor did he think Her... in the mood. Such a small fizz: hardly creeping further than even the tip. What might it look like at greater power? "Pardon?" Was he stalling, or did he just want to see what She was about to use Her magic for? Maybe he was still trying to process the... cavernous, all-consuming void of loneliness he'd seen in Her eyes. He still felt cold, thinking about it. He knew She was old, and that She'd been gone a thousand years, but... well, he couldn't really imagine it. Not right now. Nightmare Moon chuckled quietly in Her throat as She stared down at her own, hovering hoof; the limb turning slightly as Her eyes roved around it. "Perhaps 'tis a strange question, but you must understand my curiosity." Her voice, oddly smooth for Her seeming mood, was at quite the normal volume, but comparatively, to measure against the norm: it was... small. It was heavy with an emotion he... couldn't quite place; lightly disconcerting in a niggling little way, made even more as the light at the top of his vision grew just so. A shine brighter by a half-measure: to match against itself at it crackled to life around the near top of the high shoe over Her raised hoof. She hummed: a strange little lilting tune he didn't recognize. The intense quiet made it very clear the sound of fabric sliding against itself, and his attention jumped as the snap of a undone buckle rang out. "Your art is inherently a curious one, and it is simply something that I have always wondered. Perhaps not as fondly in some times as others, but wondered all the same. It never seemed to leave my mind." The shimmer of magic floated barely down: its manifest sound quickly drowned again by the noise of cloth rubbing out of place. "I was never able to pursue your special craft myself, though there were times that I very much wanted to. Times that I felt envious of those who did, and those whom I knew. Times... that I dreamed of it." The sound stopped, for just a moment. "Had you guessed that?" The break in the steady noise of magic working against straps was jarring, and he didn't realize that he'd been so invested in the pure expression of simple work until he was shaking his head to clear the fog. Nightmare Moon's unchanging expression stayed still on the back of Her hoof, to where one silver line of a square strap was now hanging off the middle of what looked to be a strong cloth belt. Focused, or vacant? What was happening? He blinked. "I'm... not sure if I've really thought about it, but..." He trailed off for a moment, staring widely at the strap dipping slightly in time. "...It makes sense, in a way. It would explain your certain... fixations." His throat felt dry. How long had it been since he'd yelled at Her? An hour? Two? Which time? The first? The second? He swallowed. He'd barely even thought before blurting out his half thought, and he half wanted to take it back. "Why weren't you able to study... it?" The question was barely managed through his focus on the one hanging strap, and the other, far more burning questions in his mind. It was nearly silent for the few moments after he'd spoken. The soft warbling sound of magic, and the tense pressure of the air. The magic shifted, and then came another harsh snap. "There were many reasons, in those times." A heavy breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding left him, taking with it some unassuming sense of anticipation that had pricked at his shoulders. Once more the magic lowered as he trailed it, and the busy sound of cloth unfolding filled the background as Nightmare Moon continued. "I would like to say that it was my position. That the vaunted Princess of the Night would have been soundly denounced for pursuing things seen and thought so debased. A ruler lives and dies by the public, and my death would have been swift if discovered." Even in the quiet and dull intonation that She'd said it, and through the toneless, grey scape of Her face: the words themselves still sent cold shivers creeping along the small of his back. He could barely force them down; focusing his best on that warmth still inside him, instead. She never said it, and he'd never taken the time to give thought to it, but of course that's what She was. Celestia was the holy Day Princess, and Her sister, sitting at such opposites in so many ways, was the Princess of the Night. She was a Princess. Equestria's Princess, lost a thousand years in time. Did... She have legitimate claim to the throne? Oblivious to his existential shock: Nightmare Moon continued in Her account; Her face showing its first change since She'd started in a tiny, grave deepening, as Her voice followed. "I would like to say that it was what I thought of myself holding me back. That somewhere deep inside: I believed the same, and wished myself not fall in such a way." She grimaced: the expression seeming so radical from what it had been in a moment. "Would that I had such ideals." Snap. The magic moved down; Her voice grew deeper with an edge of remembered heat. "Perhaps it was my sister. She so hated the darker side of magic, and there is no lesser word than abhorrence for what allusions she held of Necromancy. What she might've thought of it... What she might've done..." The sound, the movement stopped. Nightmare Moon's mouth gaped listlessly open as Her eyes seemed to grow even duller; caught completely in thought between scant words separating Her from what she'd already begun to say. He, too, felt stilled. But then, Her eyes tightened, and the very tip of Her mouth curled strangely up. A slow first movement, then came the next verse in the instant of an odd noise from Her throat; the rest of Her face following uncannily behind, only quiet and pale for a moment before She was chuckling. There was no breath behind it, no emphasis. No laughter. A knell. He could only stare. He could only imagine. The lifeless laugh kept for moments longer than he thought he'd be able to stand, only trailing as he was becoming certain the sound would creep past crawling on his skin and into his very bones. She sighed languishly as it trailed and died: the noise itself trailing with a lightening tone of something cynical as She cocked Her head. "Well... it would still be far less than... what she did." Something sick burned in the back of his throat as the busy noise of magic and cloth returned; Nightmare Moon looking for all the world unaffected by Her own grim words, if measured to Her appearance moments before. If anything, She seemed almost... amused. He just felt sick. He'd never... In all his years... playing and dreaming so desperately for a sense of darkness... he'd never dared to imagine a moment so... macabre. He shook his head roughly as She hummed a tune approaching pleasant, but the disturbing scene still stuck stubbornly to his senses. He wasn't sure it would ever go away. Behind his eyes, as he blinked, and as he felt the latch of his throat shift... he could still see the sickening, rictus movement of Her jaw. Like strings jerking at the joints of a puppet. Not felt. Not real. She turned and twisted Her head in time with Her work; not speaking for a long moment until came another snap: leaving the fourth and final buckle hanging to the side just above where metal encircled the bottom of Her hoof. But the horseshoe stayed. Hoof out, magic glow wrapped around its bottom and pastern, but... not moving. Still staring down at the limb with a smile that did not at all reach Her blank eyes: nearly again seeming glassy with foggy memories. Her magic cut out, and Her hoof slowly lowered to the ground. Her eyes didn't move: staring forward sightlessly. "Would you like to know the truth of the matter?" He started, to hear Her voice. Quiet and hollow; sitting so unnerving and completely at odds with the small smile She wore even then. An unfitting thing: sitting so stilly, yet he could almost imagine it was a only step away from brittle. Did She even realize She was still smiling? The silence stretched as his mouth stayed shut, and he only stared. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer, to speak: it just... wasn't really occurring to him. He could, anytime now, say whatever he wanted to undoubtedly break whatever trance Nightmare Moon had fallen into. Move the conversation right along: away from the awful silence, and the dispirited disparity of a mare too blind to see Her scars. But he didn't. And still, She spoke. "The truth is... I don't know." His skin chilled: the superficial feeling a painful contrast that made the moment seem so grave as Nightmare Moon laughed emptily again. Open and long and bordering on hysterical, and it trailed into a seething giggle as Her other, still latched hoof rose to rest over one of Her eyes as Her head shook slightly. "There is much... so much that... I can no longer recall. Large swathes of my life lost appear simply... blank, while other parts- wrong parts- somehow seem almost fresh to me. Precious things I once held dear now appear so... distorted." When She spoke on the tail of her insane laugh, Her voice was quiet and sad. Far too close to warbly as he'd never imagined possible, while She took shallow breaths like she was struggling even to speak. Yet still Her one open eye remained dry: only glimmering mournfully with something too forlorn for words. But then, he was sure he might cry instead. "The days I left behind were once such... powerful reminders of my... my resolve." Her eye closed, and Her face tightened in some phantom pain. "The beliefs I held... the ideals I once thought were so much stronger... I- I cannot-" Her voice cracked. Her other hoof came up, out of Her long, silver horseshoe for the first time: and he could see, as She laid it to the side of Her helmet, how the front of that once-hidden and shaking limb was speckled in small spots of blue fur. "...I cannot... I cannot even seem to remember why..." She whispered tightly, and in that moment, like the world had slowed to a crawl around him: everything he thought he knew about Nightmare Moon seemed to shift before his eyes. Where once he saw the tyrant Moon Goddess who'd destroyed his life and toppled his kingdom... ...now he was only seeing a mare. "...why it is that I am here..." > Intermission - The Amnesiac > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Applejack had a plan, and that all started with letting Rarity go, and going back downstairs to see Light. The first thing was easy enough, though Rarity had been real ornery at bein' put down. Her mane had been in a big ol' muss from the crush, and when she'd finally stopped screaming at Applejack, she'd pouted indignantly and firmly said: 'I am not going down there looking like this!' Applejack couldn't have cared less how she or anypony else looked 'less they were muddied head to hoof, but then Rarity had gone and trotted up to her bag to get some kinda fancy comb she 'parently kept on hoof, so Applejack had just gone on ahead of her. No time like the present: that was one of her own adages. Now, making shallow steps down the broad steps of the stair-tunnel: Applejack kind of wished Rarity had skipped the primping and just come along with her. Because as she'd passed the open kitchen on one side and approached the bottom floor, she heard something. A telltale 'clip' 'clop' of hooves on varnished wood echoing up the tunnel. Somepony was coming up the stairs, and as Applejack perked her ears to hear a deep, low grumbling, she was vaguely sure she'd heard that grumble somewhere before. And as that pony came up before her, she found she could've really used some mindless flattery. "Miss Twilight! Fancy seein' you here!" Applejack said in her brightest tone: tipping Her hat affably up in greeting to the purple pony in the tunnel before her. A'course, she was only pretending to be happy to see her. Not for nothing: it was 'cause Twilight Sparkle, the big fancy city mare who'd come by the farm earlier in the day after Applejack had been preparing for the celebration and dealing with family crisis after family crisis, had been altogether lemon-faced, sour-mouthed, spit-on-your-hooves rude. She didn't hold much against the mare, and if she'd take effort to apologize for her implications and whatnot, then she'd be pleased as punch to get to know the real her. 'Till then, Twilight was just a rude Canterlot mare who'd said something about how she 'wasn't in the mood for making friends.' And she hadn't seemed to have improved her 'what a quaint little farm' mood since this morning. Her head was bowed down low, her withers were tense, and from under her neat purple-and-pink bangs simmered a tired stare that set Applejack's haunches instinctively rising. What had her goat? The put-out mare, Twilight, sighed heavily: raising her head to more directly meet her eyes. "Of course you'd be here, too. The 'friendliness' of this town never ends." She groused, then quirked a brow, and Applejack had to remind herself that Twilight Sparkle was the type of big-wig city pony that held a grudge for being punched. "It's not that 'fancy' to see me here. This is my welcome party, isn't it?" Applejack blinked away the pretty thought of tying Twilight's front hooves to her back, and cocked her head in confusion. "It is?" She reached a hoof up to scratch at her head: playing as dumb as possible. "Heck, I was sure this was Berry Punch's sobriety party." ...She really had thought that. What was on that invitation Pinkie gave her? After the first few years and the first couple thousand parties, she'd stopped looking at the details and just skipped right to the time and place. Bless that filly's heart. Twilight looked even more put-out for a quick flash of angry eyes, but then it deflated in a second as she shook her head, sighed, and bowed her head back down. "...Whatever," she mumbled. "Say congrats to Berry and her bucket for me." Applejack blinked bemusedly and pressed herself to the side as Twilight pushed right on past her: head bowed and hooves low to every step all the way. Like a kicked puppy dragging its tail behind it. She didn't have to think very hard about what to do. "Hey, Twilight!" she called after her, just before she rounded the bend of the stairs. The purple mare stopped in her tracks, and though she didn't look back or raise her head, it was obvious she was listening. ...This wouldn't be that hard. Just... swallow her pride, and put her best hoof forward. It was the neighborly thing to do. Applejack set her jaw, swallowed something stony, and then let her frown rise into a hard little smile. "I'm sorry If'n I came on too strong; I been told I can be a bit much meetin' new ponies. Didn't mean to offend or nothin'." She blinked deeply, took a deep breath, and smiled wider. "An' by the by: welcome to Ponyville." She'd said it briefly, just 'cause she was brief, but she really did mean it. She didn't hate Twilight- she was only a half-rude stranger she'd known from the morning, nothin vengeful- and there was no reason not to try to cheer her up just 'cause she didn't much like her. It was outta her values. Her piece said: Applejack turned from the mare who seemed like the day had kicked her somewhere delicate, and trotted down the stairs. Her ears perked as she stalled slightly, and though she mostly heard the sound of the other mare going her separate way, she'd also heard something else. Something that... might've just sounded like 'thanks.' ...Still wasn't sorry, but she guessed she'd just take what she could get. Smiling, shaking her head: Applejack rounded the last bit of bend, and trotted down into the party. Shucks, how long had she been up there? The party as she'd left it had been sort-of small, sort-of loud, and mostly relaxed enough to tell that everypony who'd showed up right on time was more-or-less the kinda pony who'd show up right on time. Rarity was that way, and though he'd usually end up failing, so was Light. If it had been up to Applejack, she'd have showed up fifteen minutes late. And with all those ponies that only showed up when things started to take off, the party had kicked into a heckuva swing. She stepped past a none-too-modest group of ponies bouncing and banging their heads to a heady, bass-heavy groove that she didn't for a second believe was coming out of the gramophone that was playing earlier, and through another small crowd that- oh no. She recognized that pony. Her eyes tried to stay firmly locked to the direction of where Light had been sitting, but it was difficult not to turn and look at the loud call in her direction. "Hey Applejack!" A slightly short, slightly round, and very bright yellow mare had hailed her from a group standing and chatting to each other. Her off-golden curls bounced jovially as she waved to the passing Applejack, and though she tried- tried very hard not to engage, something instinctive turned her head. And as she met the grassy green eyes of Carrot Top, she could only wonder why her Granny's lessons on being polite had screwed her over so bad. "Yeah- hey there, Carrot Top," Applejack called back, and immediately tried to keep trotting forward through the shifting, gyrating mass of ponies. But then, of course, a hoof on her shoulder stopped her, and she was forced to turn to see with puckered lips and beady eyes. Carrot Top, smiled back at her, and now everypony she'd been talking to was walking over, too. "Now, where do you think you're going, farmmare~" came the uncomfortably sultry drawl of a pony who, surprisingly, wasn't even drunk. Applejack shifted shiftily back as two more ponies came up to flank the mare who was now running her hoof up Applejack's shoulder. One, to her left: a truly golden haired grey pegasus who smiled genuinely at her, and the other to her right: a deeply purple earth pony who seemed... happy. That one, at least, had some manners. A purple hoof smacked away the yellow one creeping way too close to tickling at her chin, and two scarlet eyes blinked apologetically at her. "Sorry, Applejack. You know she's just teasing." Applejack swallowed as she flicked her eyes quickly to the mare with too much nerve for her own good, who seemed to be mouthing something like 'no I'm not.' She returned her eyes to the right, and nodded jerkily. "S'alright, Berry. I'm used to it." she replied: slightly shaken by the attempt at 'teasing.' She wasn't and she never would be, but Berry Punch nodded anyway: her smile surprisingly reaching her not-sunken eyes. "Yeah, don't feel bad. She hits on most pretty mares, especially if they're all rugged and handsome like you." Applejack blinked in shock and dropped her mouth into a gape as Berry's smile in a second became so suave, and there was suddenly an extra-loud burst of laughter to her left. Without warning, the grey pegasus previously standing to Carrot Top's other side dropped down between the two grinning mares: hugging each of their necks into her chest. They seemed surprised, if Applejack wasn't sure they had stopped picturing herself in their beds, but then a grey face smiled up at her, and one yellow eye sparkling with mirth met hers. "Aren't they so funny! They've been trying to hit on each other all night, and now they're hitting on you!" She cracked an honest grin as Derpy Hooves squeezed the now-blushing couple of flirtatious ponies to her chest, and suddenly, everything seemed a little brighter. "Yeah, I get what you mean." Her own smile grew that much more menacing, as she leaned down and met the embarrassed eyes of the trapped ponies. "Looks to me an awful lot like they're jes' tryin' to make each other jealous." Both Carrot Top and Berry Punch's eyes grew wider, their faces grew redder, and they both shouted separate denials while trying to wriggle away from the iron-hooved mailpony at the same time. Applejack just leaned back and laughed into the air along with Derpy. Bingo. Looked like Carrot Top might finally stop making passes at her every time they saw each other. Be a relief: only so many ways of sayin she wasn't interested without gettin' mean, and she'd already been a few times. Applejack's laughter slowed to a halt, and she wiped a good-natured tear out of her eye: staring back at the town's resident best friend. "I'd owe y'all an apple cinnamon if you keep 'em comin' after me, Derpy." she offered warmly as she turned, and the grey mare gasped in delight: both eyes sparkling with joy even as the right traveled up. "You got it, AJ!" she cheered, and with a charming giggle, she planted one big kiss each into the yellow and red manes of her captives. Applejack chuckled as she trotted safely away, listening to the near-distinct sound of two mares yelling at a third, while the third just laughed and laughed. Warmed her heart, it did. Wasn't always those three got along like they were. She resumed pushing her way through ponies both familiar and not: offering a howdy or two as she reached the edge of party central. Coming out to the far right side of the library was a relief, and some kind of bunch in her shoulders unknotted as her sides freed up. And then, there he was. Her heart flipped in her chest, and her teeth found her lip unconsciously as she took one step towards the lonely brown figure. A hunched-over unicorn sitting at the sad little pink-and-purple table by the window: staring glumly out of it like he was the only one in the world. ...Wearing a brown party hat. And... he also wasn't alone, because there was a pony she recognized sitting across from him. Well. Applejack trotted forward cautiously: coming up at the edge of the table just in time to catch the tail end of the pale-colored earth pony's sentence. "-arrangement ruined! And then, they demanded I give them their deposit back! I mean, can you believe that! It wasn't even my fault- it should've been Daisy they were yelling at!" Roseluck, one of the least exciting, somehow most excitable mares in town had taken the seat across from Light, for whatever reason. She was leaned back on her small stool and chattering quickly at the pony across her, who didn't seem to be paying any attention based on how longingly he was staring out the window. Light Flow. Her best friend, being chatted up by one of the most boring mares in town. She'd save him. Neither pony had noticed her approach, so they both jumped as she roughly slammed her hoof into the table. Two sets of eyes immediately came to her, one irritated and one... she tried to focus on Roseluck, first. "Alright, Rose, ah think Light's had just about enough of yer blabberin'. Why don't y'all go find yer sisters and see if they got any more patience for it than all'a us here do," she asserted: leaning forward on the table in a way that made her seem much taller than the gardener. It wasn't that she looked down on gardeners and flower-sellers or nothin', just that they tended to be a mite less tested than farmin' types. Wasn't anything wrong with that, no: she'd just prefer somepony less... flowery. Roseluck, though... Most of the time, she was a sorta meek type. The kinda pony who, if somepony shouted at 'em, they'd flinch away and make 'emselves real small. The kinda pony who ponies tended to forget about when they weren't themselves makin' trouble. Sometimes, though... there was something... in her eyes... Something that unnerved her. In a single second, something passed across Rose's face too quick to catch, and Applejack's breath caught. Something too piercing to name stabbed at her chest, and it was all she could do just to lean on the table for support as their eyes met. Hard eyes. But then, the feeling disappeared, and Roseluck smiled beautifully at her. "I will now that you're here!" she chirped peppily, and pushed herself up and away from the table. Applejack stared after her with wide eyes and weak hooves, as the unassuming flower salesmare disappeared into the crowd. Freaky. Roseluck was freaky, and she always forgot to watch herself around her. She only stared after the... weirdo for a moment longer, before she slid herself into the chair she'd occupied just a moment ago. For more reasons than one; her hooves wouldn't stop shaking... She put her hooves up and rested her face into them as she took a moment to just... breathe. In and out, and in and out. "Thanks..." The voice was so familiar. So near to monotone, yet so full of uncertainty and hidden emotion just beneath the surface. So quiet, but how loud he could get- put her right to shame. It was the voice she'd heard near-daily for so many years. It was a voice she heard laughing warmly in her dreams. It was a voice that made it all go away, because when he was around, all her problems were just so small. Her hooves dragged off her face, and as her eyes met those two big circles of pure brown, it was suddenly like they were on the farm again. It was like none of it had ever happened- the amnesia- the heartbreak- the invitation- Everything was okay. She smirked, and rested her chin forward onto one of her waiting hooves. "What'cha thankin' me for? I didn't go askin' after it." she drawled: smiling daringly at him, waiting for him to bite back. His smile would curl. He'd close his eyes, lean back, and sigh: nothing less than a smug smirk on his face. 'You're right, I don't know what I was thinking,' he'd snark at her, and she'd laugh, and pelt him with an apple. He'd jump up yelling about manners, but then he'd take one off the ground and throw it right back at her. They'd go runnin' around trees and over hills, and he'd just never catch up. It was always so easy. "...Well, I really appreciate what you... did. That pony was... inane." His eyes met the floor. His hooves shuffled together. His ears dipped low, and his shoulders rose up as he leaned nervously into the table. His voice was quiet and meek, and full of something so close to gratitude that she'd... never... He'd... thanked her... She didn't realize she was crying until she tried to smile and tasted the salt. Light Flow, the pony who very clearly didn't remember a thing about her, jumped to attention across the table as she sniffled loudly, and drew a hoof across her face. "Oh! Did- Are you- I'm so- Please don't-" he babbled, reaching his hoof across the table towards her, and it was so close to Light that she couldn't help but choke out a wet laugh. She shook her head sadly, and dropped her hooves to lay on the table as she took an deep, unsteady breath. "S'alright, don't you worry none," she kept laughing: still feeling in every moment how more and more of her face heated and wet. Still, she reached out for his hoof that he'd offered and took strong hold of it: smiling back at the pony with nothing but strangeness in his eyes. "You're welcome, Light, I'm just... lookin' out after ya." She tried to keep her smile, but as Light jerked his eyes between her face and their hoof-to-hoof contact, she knew he wanted to let go. She felt him tug away. So she let him go, and it hurt so much. He cradled his hoof close to his chest like it'd been burned, and she shook her head: trying again to wipe the flowing tears out of her eyes as he focused his attention on himself. So close to Light. So strange. Look at her... She'd made such a fuss 'bout not crying earlier, and now here she was: fallin' apart. She needed to get a grip. Wasn't anything new that Light was forgetful. Just... needed to get a grip. She took a deep, calming breath, and though she didn't feel at all calm, and her eyes were still slowly leaking, she focused on Light. "Y'all don't remember me, do you?" she asked softly, and as his head whipped up to hers, it was obvious she wasn't really asking. He had the eyes of a pony run out into a busy Manehatten street. It was so obvious, as he stuttered for words and shook his head, that he had no idea what was really happening. "N-No! I- I mean- yes, of- of course- there's nothing- I wouldn't- I know-" Applejack laughed and shook her head: bending herself down over the table as she reached a hoof out across it, and her eyes were all the wetter when she looked back up at him: still smiling. "Come on, Light," she teased: her voice nearly warbly beyond comprehension. "...there ain't nothin' y'all can hide from your- your-" The words caught in her throat, and she bit her shaking lip as something in her chest broke. She doubled over: shutting her dripping eyes and whispering at the table, because she just couldn't manage any better. "-your best... f-friend..!" She stopped herself just short of a full sob: shaking uncontrollably for a long moment of tense silence that she wanted, in every second, to just end. And Light only... sat there. Doing Celestia knew what as Applejack... broke down. It was almost too much. Every second she looked at him she could only remember everything he wasn't. Everything he'd lost. Everything she'd lost... But it was Light. It was her best friend. She had to help him. She raised herself up: forced herself to look blurry Light in the wide, shocked eyes. Her face was a pickled disaster, she was sure, but she was nothing if not determined. So she bit her lip, uselessly wiped her eyes again, and promised herself she wouldn't ever collapse again. "I know y'all got amnesia." Her voice was worse than she'd ever heard it, and what she'd said barely came out through the thick coat of tears. But still, she sniffled, and as Light opened his mouth on what she guessed was knee-jerk reaction, she leaned forward and cut him off. "Y'all can't go 'round denying it. There ain't a single thing you remember 'bout me, and you should, 'cause there's a lot there!" The fierce batter of her words made Light physically recoil, but she didn't stop, even as his head began to shake and jitter oddly to the side. "We been friends longer than I can remember, and ah live on a farm, Light!" She slammed her hoof to the table, then jabbed it to the air. "Ain't much to remember out there 'cept trees and apples, so stuff like you an' me tends to stick out!" He tried to get up, then, but Applejack lunged across the table. Her hoof caught his, and as their eyes met, she saw his were filled with fear. She shook her head as his mouth gaped, and she tightened her grip as he tried to tug away. "I know 'y'all wanna run away an' pretend like none 'a this ever happened, but ah'm not lettin' you!" She was becoming frantic now: she could realize that. Her voice was getting too loud, and one or two ponies at the fringes of the party were looking their way with wide eyes. Light was looking back at them, too, and as he jerked his head between them and her, his weak attempts to yank his hoof away from her became almost frenzied. But she wouldn't let go. She'd never let her friend go on living a lie. She'd never let him lie to himself. She closed her eyes. She shook her head. She screamed. "If y'all can look me in the eyes right now, and tell me from the bottom of your heart that you remember my name, then I'll let you go!" She opened her eyes, and stared back into Light's. Fear. Sadness. Something too foreign to even describe. Like nothing and nopony she'd ever seen before. A pony lost in his own head. Too confused to even know what to feel. Recognition. "...Apple... jack..?" She'd never known joy. She'd never known relief. Not until those reddened, puffy lips parted, and nothing less than her name stuttered out on a soft breath. She blinked up at him through amazed tears, as the constant leaning pressure on his hoof went slack. She could hardly believe it. In a single moment, he'd said her name, and completely stilled in his attempts to escape. Now, he stood, halfway out of his seat: staring widely down at her. She nodded: kept nodding even as she mouthed nonsense and reached her other hoof out to grab at his. "Yes-" she managed, and Light slowly began to fall into a sitting position: his wide eyes never leaving her own. "...that's- that's me, I'm Applejack..!" He nodded slowly: his mouth opening slightly and his eyes still directly on hers. "You're... Applejack." he whispered, and something exploded in her chest. She was already halfway onto the table, but now she launched herself the rest of the way over it. Her hooves met him first, and by the time he'd realized to shout in surprise, most of her body was already wrapped around him in a hug. "Y'all remember me..!" she whispered thickly: rubbing her face and her tears and snot wherever she'd happened to land on his torso. He smelled like sweat and grime and ink and something foul but that was Light! It was Light, and he was supposed to smell like he never showered, because the dumb colt never did! She felt his hooves pushing up against her body, and she laughed through her teeth into his fur. He'd never liked hugs- never liked admitting he liked hugs, anyway. She allowed herself to be pushed back mostly onto the table, though her hooves were mostly held by his own, and her head was still halfway into his lap. His lidded eyes stared down into hers, and her joyful smile stalled at the sadness in them. He bit his lip, and turned away: pushing her fully back onto the table. "Please... don't do that..." he murmured, and she wasn't sure he'd ever heard him speak so softly. Applejack kneeled on the table, frowning as it wobbled slightly below her, and gnawed at her salty lip as she tried to catch Light's gaze again; his head stubbornly stuck out to the side: his eyes on the window. His hooves, now resting on the table just aside hers, shifted restlessly. "...Light?" she ventured, after a moment of hesitation. His head tottered- and for a second, she was sure he was about to look back at her, but he only sighed, and sagged his shoulders. He shook his head, and another, deeper sigh broke through his silent lips. "...I've got amnesia, Applejack..." came the quiet admission, and her heart skipped a beat at having it said out loud. Having him admit it. She blinked in muted shock as his hoof came off the table and rested against the yellowed panel of glass beside him: still staring out through it, though she could nearly make out his reflection in the darkened night. "...I know you must be confused, but... you have to know that I am too, because... I still don't even know how it happened..." His hoof slid down the polished yellow glass, and his head dipped. He shook it once, then turned: their eyes finally caught again. His were so... strangely... clear. Sad, and regretful. "I woke up this morning a stranger in my own body, only barely cognizant of where I was, and not even knowing my own name," he murmured, and a quiet gasp stalled on her lips. He... didn't know how he'd gotten amnesia? He'd woken up this morning as an amnesiac? It hadn't been... late last night, or sometime when he was deep in the woods? Something that would've made sense? That made things... just a mite harder... "Well- you know your name now, don't you? That means you must be able to-" She scooted forward as she spoke: brushing her hoof up against one of Light's. The effect was immediate. He tensed, grimaced, and jerked his hoof back away from hers. Memory flashed behind her eyes in a second, and she muttered a restrained curse as she shuffled back. "Please don't touch me, I'm- It makes me uncomfortable." he seethed through gritted teeth: holding the hoof she'd grazed to his chest. His hoof jerked back. Held to his chest like it'd been burned. She pursed her lips, and nodded: taking a sharp, stuttering breath as she rested her head against her chest for reassurance. "Okay," she managed, raising her gaze back up to meet Light's wary eyes, though a few tears slipped out for the trouble. She grit her teeth, and nodded again. "...Ah won't touch you again 'less you give me the go-ahead." She was used to this. He'd been a lot like that when they'd first met. It was alright; she'd just start from scratch. At that, a small, little smile grew over Light's grey, stormy face. She met it gladly: eyes still glimmering, and began to scoot backwards off the table. Was crazy a' her to clamber up onto it in the first place; she wasn't a filly no more- "Woah, what kinda party are you having over here, Applejack?" ...But before she could fully get off the table, she was stalled by a loud, raspy, boisterous voice coming in on her right. A voice she was never happy to hear, and one that usually spelled out some kind of imminent disaster. Applejack set her jaw, pasted on a frown, turned her head- and sure enough, it was exactly who she'd thought it was. Saunterin' up to the table like she owned it: a cup of non-alcoholic punch in her hoof and a cocksure grin on her blue face. Eyesore mess of a mane swept up over her shoulder- and Applejack was once again struck by the doubt that its color was natural. "Rainbow Dash." came a dual set of groans, and then both ponies who'd made them turned to look at each other in surprise. As Applejack had set her jaw and begrudgingly greeted the varmint, so too had Light sagged his shoulders and acquiesced to her presence. "Y'all remember Rainbow Dash?!" She couldn't help herself from leaning over the table and shouting accusingly at the brown unicorn, whose reddish mane shook wildly as he stuttered denials. Well wasn't this a mighty fine how-do-you-do. Wouldn't remember his best friend but he'd remember the apple-filchin' varmint they both agreed was a pest! What'd she ever done 'cept stuck by him his whole life!? Rainbow Dash, the forgotten third party, stared between the farmer glaring venomously and the nerd trying desperately to shrink into the floor. She frowned, and seeing no other option: clambered up onto the table between them. "Whaddya mean 'remember her?!" she shouted down at them, as both ponies stared up at her in half-shock and half exasperation: both of them leaning away from the table and her hooves on it. Dash smiled brashly at the attention as she'd grasped it, and raised her mug of watered-down juice to the air: grinning victoriously. "Who could ever forget the most awesome pony in Equestria!" she crowed: flapping her wings and shaking out her mane in a daring show of her stunning looks. She hoped the rest of the room was watching. But then, nopony cheered, and then, Applejack cleared her throat. Dash, feeling absolutely no eyes on her, frowned, and turned to look down at Applejack's face attached to a huge eyebrow. Woah... "Applejack, hey dude, what's up with your face?" she questioned: leaning and peering down at the farmer's white freckles, which for once seemed to be kind of... grey? Her expression immediately took a one-eighty, and she quickly set to rubbing both hooves furiously over her own face, but Dash had seen. Ooooh- she was hiding something! "Have you been crying?" She gasped, and leaned back in awe as Applejack, still rubbing her face, shook her head violently no. But that was a huge lie, and Rainbow knew it. "No, you totally have!" she cried, flapping once into the air, and hovering down around Applejack's head to try to leer closer. "Your cheeks are all, like, matted and stuff! And your nose is all runny and gloopy, and your eyes are all red, and your-" "Okay, miss observant!" Applejack yelled suddenly: throwing her hooves off her face as it had apparently become very clear there was no hiding from the Dash. Her cheeks- matted fur- bunched red with anger as she scowled up at the airborne pegasus still holding her cup. "I been cryin'; y'all happy now?!" Rainbow Dash, the most thoughtful pony in Equestria, frowned thoughtfully. "Why would I be happy that you've been crying?" She scoffed, and rolled her eyes: looking down at Applejack doubtfully. "What do I look like- an evil monster and the best flier in Equestria?" Applejack, who wasn't nearly as thoughtful as Rainbow 'thoughtful' Dash, continued to frown angrily at her: poking a hoof up at her face- but she couldn't reach. Couldn't hit her if she tried, anyway. "I think you got a big mouth! So don't you be goin' 'round spreadin' the word, you hear me!" she threatened. Rainbow gasped: genuinely offended at the implication. She curled herself up in an affront in the air: cradling her mug and its precious contents to her chest. "Woah, come on Applejack, I'm not a snitch!" she cried out, in absolute shock that anypony would ever even think that about her. Did anypony think that about her? Had ponies been talking? Who'd been spreading that around?! She had to go stop this rumor before it became a fact. She leaned back on the air, taking a cursory glance around the room to see if anypony was mouthing her name. "You know what, Applejack- I've gotta go." She glanced back at the farmpony, who was now predictably confused. Figured: it was hard to keep up with her in pretty much every way. She was just too fast. Rainbow shook her head, and flashed her most awesome, most dazzling smile to set Applejack's mind at ease. "But don't worry, your secret's safe with me!" With that, Rainbow 'confidence' Dash tucked away her latest confidence and leaned back: spinning in a tight half-roll to right herself and fly back towards the room. She already had an idea of who'd go around talking about her like that... Damn that Thunderlane and damn herself for choosing the biggest gossip on the weather team as a drinking buddy! As Applejack watched Rainbow Dash fly over the heads of every pony in the room before ducking down into the crowd, she found herself thanking whatever lucky star was hers that their paths only crossed once or twice a week. Aside wherever she must've laid low when she wasn't making trouble, she only had to deal with Dash on actual business every so often. The weather team had Sweet Apple Acres and its weather needs on file, thank Her Highness, but Rainbow Dash was a surprisingly dedicated captain. 'Parently kept a real close eye on scheduling conflicts, and brought 'em straight to her when anything affected the farm. She appreciated that kinda ethic. She didn't appreciate the 'apple sale' sign she'd stuck to her flank last time the calendar called for sun on watering day. "Did you notice?" Applejack blinked, and turned to Light. His face was... focused, in a way that usually meant he was thinking real hard about something, and his eyes were zeroed in right in the direction that Dash had flown off to. She stared at him for a second, turning her eyes and tilting her head to try to see whatever he was seeing off in the crowd, but there wasn't much except some ponies who plain didn't know how to dance. "Notice what?" she questioned, frowning as she turned back to Light: still staring intently with narrowed eyes. "How Dash just ran off all'a sudden? Er- flew off." Not that she was complaining. Really, she'd be more like to cheer seein' that multicolored tail vamoose. But then, Light shook his head. "No..." he murmured: his voice deep with thought, but still weirdly airy. "The entire time she was here, and even when she flew away... she never spilled her drink." Wha- Applejack peered down at the table. The spotless, no- hoofmarked table that, aside the prints of two different ponies, was spotless. She braced herself with one hoof, and leaned down off her stool to inspect the floor. Slightly dusty, but otherwise no stains or drips anywhere. She leaned back up, and furrowed her brow as tried to think through everything that had just happened. Four hooves climbing messily onto the table. She'd passed the mug off to hold on her wingtip, then passed it back to her hoof in an unbroken, fluid motion. She'd leaped into the air, but kept her mug even. Constantly flapping, and even leaning her entire body down at an angle to look at Applejack, but her drink stayed aloft and completely still in her hoof. She'd rolled easily in the air: entirely upside down for a fraction of a second, but... Dash had let go of her drink before she'd begun the turn- spinning in the air like she was lying in bed- then caught it in her hoof as she came right-side up again. And she'd done it so quickly, so easily, that Applejack hadn't given even a single thought to all she'd done: watching the entire time. Her punch had never spilled. Applejack sighed: placing her hooves across each other on the table, and leaning heavily into them. "That mare..." she muttered, shaking her head, and looking back up to where she'd flown off. "All the talent in the world, an' she still can't stop actin' like a filly." Light, across the table, nodded. "She could be truly great, if given the chance." Applejack leaned off her hooves: narrowing her eyes at her friend, still staring firmly into the distance, whose focused eyes were growing... darker. "I might only wonder where she'll be in a year's time..." He sounded... different. "Light?" she eased: peeking around at his face with concern. With only the call of his name, Light jerked like something had stung him, and though she immediately felt her concern jump as she leaned up onto the table towards him, he was already looking her way with normal, brown eyes again. "W-What?" he mumbled alarmedly, but it was gone. The... thing she'd seen in his eyes was gone. Something... wrong. Something dark. Something not Light. His eyes... weren't blue. They never had been. She was losing it. Applejack shook her head, staring down at the table and feeling how her tight chest slowly began to relax. "Nothing... It was nothing, sorry. I was 'jes-" she stopped mid-word, and looked back up to Light. His nervous, brown eyes stared back at her: the curiosity and fear within clear as day. She chewed on her lip for a moment before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and cleared her throat. When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with a gentle ease. "-I was just wonderin'... what else y'all remember 'bout... Rainbow Dash." She didn't want to talk about Dash even a little bit, but... he clearly remembered her, and talking about what he did remember might help him realize what he didn't. At her suggestion, Light's face screwed up into a scrunched mess of confusion and reservation. "I'm- I'm not sure I really..." he began with a nervous lean away, but just as Applejack was opening her mouth to reassure him, he stopped. His mouth gaped slightly open as he stared blankly over her shoulder for a moment, and though she narrowed her eyes and leaned to check, there was nothing there except the wall a ways away. She turned back to him and... his eyes were clear. His mouth was closed, and he was staring at her with open, genuine honesty. "Okay," he said, and he'd said it normally. Not mumbled or muttered or stuttered, and for a moment of stunned silence, Applejack wasn't sure if she was still talking to the same pony. But then, he cleared his throat, glanced down at his still hooves on the table, and began to speak. "There still isn't much I remember, and most of the things I do remember tend to just... bubble up. One moment of nothing, then the next there's something there. Rainbow Dash was like that." He shrugged his shoulders: something about the casual moment seeming strange coming from him. "Spike and I were just coming back from the farm- your farm, wasn't it?" he suddenly tilted his head and asked her, and she only had a moment to nod before he was nodding too: smacking his lips. "Yeah, we were coming back from your farm when I asked Spike where we should be going next, and he said we were supposed to go find a pony named Rainbow Dash." He took a short breath, and hung his head: a clearly frustrated expression on his face. "That was all it took to remember her, and then I kind of wished I hadn't." he scoffed: rolling his eyes, and supporting his cheek on a hoof. "Things keep coming and going, but some other things keep sticking, and now all I can remember about Rainbow Dash and her freaky schema is how mad she makes me." The aggravated tone, and that stark outlook, it was- it was so close. Applejack found herself smiling, as she had the last time Dash had come up between them. "Yeah... y'can say that again," she cracked, and as Light regarded her for a long second, he smiled. His hoof came off his cheek, and his eyes focused more entirely on her from where they'd been roaming. "Yeah? Does she annoy you as well?" The way he was speaking was gradually losing its edge- its wear of fright and vulnerability, and as the mood around them lightened, Applejack found the smile on her face becoming... less forced. She blew out a breezy breath, and shook her head. "Y'don't even know the half of it." She narrowed her eyes, and leaned in as her smile became more daring; Light leaned in closer as well: clearly interested. "Can't even count the times I found her trespassing' on mah property, an' this one time- think it was about a year ago- I found her sleepin' up in one'a my trees like I keep tellin' her not to." She snorted out a quick chuckle. "Reckon' I might not even be able to tell this right- So, I find the varmint nestin' up in a tree like some kinda bird, and what do I decide to do? Well, I turn 'round, and I jes' give the tree a good hard buck s' what I do." Light's eyebrows jumped as his smile grew wider, and Applejack nodded. "It was like rainin' pegasi. There's a big shakin' up in the branches, and a couple 'a huge bangs, and Dash just comes crashin' down onto the ground from up above, headfirst!" Light was already laughing, holding his head and leaning onto the table, but the story wasn't done yet. She waved her hoof: catching his wavering attention as he struggled not to fall off the chair. "An, an- you'll never guess it- when I walked over to her lazy butt to kick her up an' to see if she was still breathin', she wasn't just breathing, she was still sleeping!" And then, Light did fall out of his chair. Went ahead and started rolling around on the ground like a little colt with his hooves grabbing at anything he could reach. Applejack leaned up over the table, and shouted down at him with a painfully wide smile on her face. "Can y'all believe that? She's lyin' there, covered in sticks and leaves with her hooves all around her after knockin' her head all around, takin' the biggest fall I swear I ever seen, and she's still snoring!" Applejack leaned back, a proud look on her flushed face as Light curled up onto the floor, clutching his stomach and howling laughter like it was the best thing he'd ever heard. Made sense. Some things could only change so much, and Light always loved hearing stories about ponies getting hurt. 'Specially if that pony was Rainbow Dash. ...He'd sure liked it the first time she'd told it to him, alright. Applejack, smiling, leaned over the side of the table as Light's laughs started to peter out, and she caught one teary eye open and staring back at her. "Y'all had yer fill, or should I start tellin' 'bout the time Dash thought 'paint drying' meant 'paint dried?'" Funny story 'bout a barn, a barrel, and a spelling mistake, but she left that part out tellin' it. Light, only barely managing the motion through wheezing out coughing laughter, violently shook his head as he braced himself up onto his stool. "No... No- please- I've- I've had enough." he gasped, laying his hooves against the edge of the table: staring down into his lap as he took deep, panting breaths. Eyup. He wasn't much to look it, but Light had a real appetite for jokes an' such. Usually he really only liked bad jokes and stories about- again- ponies getting hurt, but when he found something he liked- well, she'd found it. Applejack coughed into her hoof: Light's eye bouncing up to her as he seemed to finally find his breath. "So..." she drawled, smiling wolfishly, and perking her eyebrows at him. "...y'all remember me now, don'tcha? I mean- kinda hard to forget all the times we goofed 'round jus' like this." She tilted her head and rested it onto a hoof: waiting to see him nod, and tell her all about how his amnesia was all cured with the down-home proven remedy of laughter. Granny'd be proud. Except, as she stared expectantly, waiting with a smile to hear Light say the magic words that would make it all go away... ...his smile dipped slowly into a frown. He opened his mouth, and Applejack's brittle heart began to sink... "We're BACK!" The shout was sudden- loud to boot- and then every eye in the room was looking in the direction of the call and the loud 'slam' that accompanied it. She knew she'd looked, and she was sure- then proven Light had too. He was staring off into the crowd the same as her, and just like her, he probably wasn't seeing much of anything. 'Cept the crowd. 'Cause the thing about sitting at the edge of the room with the whole party aside them, was that kinda separated them from ponies coming in and out the door. "Y'all know what that's about?" she asked Light, and as he turned away from his stare, his face was just as lost as she felt. He shrugged: seemingly clueless. He usually was; not much change from his normal self, there. Applejack frowned. That voice had kinda been familiar, though... Wasn't that..? "Hiya!" And suddenly, there was Pinkie Pie. No better word for it- Applejack yelped in surprise as the pink pony that always knew how to be where she couldn't have been was suddenly at her side. She held a hoof to her racing heart as she struggled to re-find her balance after almost having fallen off the stool, and as she fixed the heart attack-inducing pony with a wide-eyed stare, Pinkie only grinned happily. "Pinkie! Y'all know I ain't got the heart 'fer yer random-as-heck surprises!" she cried: hoping that for once, that pony with the wild blue eyes and the impossibly fluffed pink mane would just listen! But Pinkie Pie, bouncing slightly yet still managing to put a hoof to her nose and giggle, seemed to hear her just as less as she always did. "What are you talking about, Applejack? Of course you have a heart! You're not the tinpony!" Pinkie patted her on the back twice, leaving Applejack staring blankly for answers that plain weren't there. Pinkie then turned to Light, who was staring widely at her with something like fear on his horrified face. "Hiya, Night-Light! How is it wherever you are?" She bounced on her hooves as she spoke, and that quick hop somehow ended with her standing right next to Light, and leaning on two hooves over the table in front of him. He shook his head rapidly, babbling some nonsense for a moment- though Applejack couldn't blame him- before his eye caught on something to his side, and he stared blankly after it for a long second. Applejack turned to look too, but there was nothing there. She turned back to Light- and his face was suddenly stony and focused on the still grinning, still tapping her hoof to some other beat, Pinkie Pie. "Pinkie, why do you call me that?" he asked: his brows deepening with serious consideration. Huh. Pinkie Pie- whatever was going on in that mare's head- only tilted her head to the side, and hummed something that didn't mesh with the music in the background. "Hmmm... I dunno!" she chirped, leaning off the table and then forward to poke Light square in the nose. "Maybe because you're such a bright and warm pony!" Applejack snrk'd. She quickly covered her mouth with a hoof and tried to look nonchalant, but the damage was already done, and Light was glaring at her. Ah, well. Some things, y'can't change. She shook off the ironic moment, and turned to Pinkie Pie, who was... staring widely at her. "Um- hey, Pinkie," she stumbled, because when had she come back over here? She blinked, and those baby blues a hoof-length away blinked too. Applejack coughed. "Well- er- y'all know i'm just pleased as punch you're here, but-" "Applejack, you always say you're 'pleased as punch!' Why can't you be jazzed as jelly- or mirthful like marmalade?" The sudden interruption had Applejack stalling on the next word, and by the time she processed what was happening, Pinkie was frowning thoughtfully and staring up at the ceiling: knitting her brows together and muttering what sounded like sets of words. There was just no right way to talk to Pinkie Pie. Once again, Applejack shook her head, because what had she been saying? "Pinkie," she tried again, a little more forcefully, and Pinkie Pie's bright eyes looked her way again. "-Y'all were the one who made the ruckus at the door, ain'tcha?" At that, Pinkie nodded. Applejack stared at her, and Pinkie stared back. ... Pinkie gasped. "Oh, I forgot!" "There it is," Applejack mumbled: leaning on a hoof as Pinkie quickly turned, and began bouncing to the swelling crowd. Her voice floated out behind her, even with the thumping of some bass somewhere drowning most background noise out. "So, I know I should've been here to help Twilight meet everypony she has to meet tonight, but then I realized the party was missing somepony really important! And a party's no party if everypony's not invited!" By the time Applejack slid her eye from Light, who had his eyes firmly trained on Pinkie, the pony in question had already reached the edge of the crowd and disappeared into it: shouting over her shoulder the whole time. Only seconds later, she reappeared, dragging an unfamiliar pony behind her by a hoof. "So I raced on over to her house to get her here, and wouldn't you know it: she said she wanted to meet you two!" The pony, who she wasn't sure she remembered ever meeting before, was more or less flying through the air at the speeds Pinkie was approaching. By the time she came to a stop in front of her and Light- still grinning devil-may-care- the poor mare she'd ensnared had all four hooves off the ground. Heck, it'd been real impressive if she weren't a pegasus. Applejack looked the pony up and down as a set of slowly flapping wings gently carried the yellow mare to the ground- though, she sort of stumbled forward as her last leg unlatched from Pinkie Pie and came down faster than her wings. Long pink hair set in a nearly straight, wavy mane flew wildly as two sea-green eyes flew open in shock- or they might've already been wide with panic. Either way, Applejack shuffled quickly forward and threw a hoof to one of the mare's flailing limbs, just barely catching her before she fell flat on her face- not least of all 'cause her wings were lookin' more like cardboard than feathers. A squeak came from somewhere near the floor where the mare's head was, and Applejack frowned. Was that her? Sounded more like a mouse than a mare, but she'd heard worse. Well, no she hadn't, but she wasn't gonna tell the mare that. She heaved a grunt as she pulled the mare to her hooves as gently as she could, which was surprisingly difficult. Pegasi tended to be pretty light 'less they were huge, bulking monsters- crazy story, that was- but this mare was... well, it felt more like an earth pony was pullin' at her hoof, to be honest. She'd never felt a thing like it. Applejack blinked in honest confusion as the mare stumbled to a crouching position while still holding onto her hoof, and for a single second, their eyes met. One aqua eye nearly hidden behind a long drape of pink hair running down from her ear, and the other wide with- yeah, that was terror, alright. But then... those eyes closed, and the mare took a deep breath. A long, quiet breath, and she slowly tilted her head up until it was angled over her own. Then, in one motion: she let out the breath she'd held, tilted her head down to Applejack's, and opened her eyes. Aqua eyes that she could make a guess were usually more nervous than Light's, but then, they were filled with steely resolve. There was something... hypnotic 'bout that firm stare. "Uh... howdy?" Applejack managed through her intensely curious expression, trying to shake her hoof up and down in a greeting. "I'm..." She looked down at her hoof. That wasn't moving. As she tried to move it. "Applejack." She wasn't sure if she was still quite awake as she flicked her gaze back up to the mare with some kind of death-grip on her hoof, who had suddenly spoken in a very quiet, yet... incredibly strong voice. Not a waver nor a tremor. Like a mountain. She blinked. Couldn't do much else, really. "...Yeah, that's... me. How do y'all..?" She swallowed, and though she really felt like she should check over at Light, she found herself... unable to look away. From that... steely stare. Aqua eyes... Somethin'... hypnotic. "I'm sorry- I can't do it!" Suddenly, and just like that, the mare jerked away, and Applejack felt as though some... something had been torn from her. She placed a shaking hoof to her chest, over her heart, and leaned over the table as she took shakys breaths; the yellow pegasus mare flinching her whole body back, and throwing her head to the side in an awkward grimace as she backpedaled. But then- Pinkie Pie was there. The mare only got a single step back in a head-down retreat before her butt bumped into Pinkie's side, and then the much pinker pony had a hoof around her side and began to usher the suddenly shaking stranger forward. "It's okay, Fluttershy! Just go ahead and tell her, like we practiced!" The mare- Fluttershy- was shaking her head very fervently no. Her soft, terrified aqua eyes trained firmly on Applejack and pupils shrinking by every second Pinkie pushed her forward- but Applejack was somewhere else. Somewhere lost in a memory's memory, of something that had happened a long time ago. Fluttershy? ... ... ..! "You're Candy Voice!" ..? Applejack had opened her mouth, but it wasn't her that had spoken. All eyes turned to the pony that had apparently been forgotten, as he'd suddenly taken a precarious lean onto the table. His intense gaze was focused entirely on the oddly named Fluttershy, who herself was staring back at him with a strange look on her face, but all of that seemed a bit... ...had Light just remembered her? Or... hadn't he? Her friend shook his head, not taking his eyes off her, and pointed the one hoof not supporting him at the mare. "I remember you! It was- it was so long ago- we found you in the forest! You were crying over your mouse dying..." he pointed his hoof at himself. "-and I- I cheered you up!" Applejack's jaw dropped. Remembered Rainbow Dash. Seemed to remember Pinkie Pie. Remembered... somepony it'd taken even her a few minutes to remember. Didn't remember Applejack. Her head hit the table, hard, and she groaned out in a pain that was more in her heart than her head. "Is he gonna remember everythin' else except me?" she muttered, before taking a deep breath, and pushing herself back up. Fluttershy- the mare she also remembered now- was no longer being stronghooved or pushed forward by Pinkie Pie, and was now simply standing and mostly hiding her face behind her extremely long mane. Pinkie was just standing and smiling to her side, though that was an extra wide smile. "Wow! You see, Fluttershy? I told you they'd remember you!" Pinkie giggled and snorted once: throwing her hoof around the mass of hair's neck, and rubbing her face to it. "Light's like an elephant! He never forgets!" Applejack blinked tiredly, and turned to the brown unicorn with amnesia across the table, who unfortunately seemed too into staring creepily at Fluttershy to realize the irony. ...That seemed 'bout right. Half of a sliver of yellow face peeked out from pink hair, and as the quartered aqua eye was staring directly back at her, Applejack was struck suddenly by how... meek it was. It wasn't steely. It wasn't resolved. It wasn't even a bit hypnotic. Talk about a split personality.... or a splittin' headache. Where'd that mare with the iron hooves and the fiery eyes go? "U-Um... y-yeah, Pinkie..." murmured Fluttershy, as a smaller bit of her face peeked out. Her eyes- so strange- flicked restlessly around the room throughout the entire small movement, until they stopped first at Light, lingering for a long second, and then came to Applejack. They both stared at each other. Pinkie Pie clapped a hoof to Fluttershy's back, making the poor pegasus jump and yelp so pitifully that Applejack's heart clenched. "Come on, Fluttershy! Just tell her what you wanted to tell her!" Pinkie... wasn't much for the subtlety. Though Fluttershy pleadingly looked first at Pinkie's wide, grinning face, she wouldn't find anything except a flat wall of unflinching positivity there. She swallowed audibly, and turned haltingly back to Applejack. She took one step forward, away from Pinkie Pie- and that seemed a big step for her- and did her best to keep her constantly wavering gaze on Applejack. As she cowered. "Um- It- I'm- You already know I'm Fluttershy, but- -Um." She was remembering a bit more about that day she and Light had met Fluttershy, now. Applejack sighed, and turned her head to the side so she was looking at the wall and her ear was angled right towards Fluttershy. The mare was quiet. And shy- shier than anypony had any right to be. She didn't know her from Adam Apple or nothin', but that one short walk all'a those years ago had pretty much told Applejack exactly how to make Fluttershy comfortable. An orange filly with golden hair set in pigtails over each shoulder was walking alongside a slightly tall, very lanky yellow pegasus filly as they approached a bubble of white clouds high in the sky. The orange filly turned to look at the yellow pegasus at something she'd mumbled, and the pegasus had yelped as their eyes met, and hid her face into her long-ish pink mane. Don't make eye contact, for one. "I- I wanted to... ever since I was a foal.. I'd wanted to- um- well... ...I- I wanted to thank you... t-thank you... both." Applejack's ear perked, and she took a quick peek back around to the suddenly vocal Fluttershy, who had... seemingly found a second wind. She was still looking down at her hooves, but she'd mostly stopped shaking, and though her face was red like a tomato, her eyes had stopped flying about the place. She'd been a lot less shy as a filly. What had happened to her in the past... er, six- seven years? Applejack diverted her eyes again, though she felt a little silly talking to the wall. "If'n ya mean 'bout what Light an' I did way back when, don't you worry none 'bout it." She shifted slightly on her stool so her back was resting against the table. "Was just a matter of helpin' a cryin' filly lost in the woods: nothin' too special 'bout it." There was a moment of silence- besides the pounding party music- but then Fluttershy spoke again: her voice nearly... at a normal volume? "It... it was a long time ago, and it must not seem like- like much... But... when you walked me home and told me about what it was like living on a... a farm..." There was a pause, and Applejack had to fight herself to stop from looking. "...And, what you said about... passing on, and becoming... one with the natural flow of life... That everything... even when it dies... everything is still natural..." She couldn't stop herself from looking- just a little peek. Fluttershy was turned to Light: her eyes still very firmly on her hooves as she chewed relentlessly at her lip. But then, just as Applejack was turning away, she jerked her head suddenly up to stare directly at Light: a brilliant gleam to her expression. "If it wasn't for the things you said... back then, then I wouldn't... be here. I wouldn't have moved to Ponyville, or started- s-started taking care of animals. What you told me really..." Her face seemed to scrunch up: her cheeks reddening even more if such a thing was possible, and- if her eyes weren't playing tricks on her- a little line of something wet trailed down her cheek before she jerked her head back down again: her shoulders shaking slightly. "...really... inspired me." Applejack turned in her seat, to stare with wide eyes at the weeping mare, who for the past seven years hadn't ever even crossed her mind. ...Y'never really know 'bout the consequences of your actions. "Well, er- Fluttershy. That's- I gotta say, that-" she stumbled over her words for a moment, though she fell silent as she took to rubbing at the back of her neck: looking down at her seat with shame at her bumbling. Her hoof rubbed against the edge of her hat, and almost mindlessly, she let it travel up to rest on it instead as she blew out a deep breath. She looked back up to Fluttershy, and tried to let the feeling in her chest speak, instead. "That's... really touchin'," she admitted, and she couldn't deny her cheeks felt a little red. She glanced over to Light...and he was staring down at his lap: his face a sullen, dark shadow. She blinked: her brow furrowing in concern; though she turned back to Fluttershy a moment later. "I can't speak too much fer what... Light wants to say, but... knowin' that ah had such an effect on y'all... when ah didn't even remember y'all 'till just now... heck, makes me feel..." She swallowed heavily, and shook off the urge to look away: continuing to stare firmly at Fluttershy's hidden face. "...really terrible." There was no visible reaction from Fluttershy's mane of a face except that her body might've shuddered a bit more, but Pinkie Pie actually gaped at her. With... what might've been the first even slightly angry face she'd ever seen from the mare. Kinda gave her the shivers. But she wasn't done, and she shook her head energetically. "-That ain't all!" She glanced to Pinkie Pie, and relaxed slightly as her face lightened a bit. "...I mean, It makes me feel awful 'cause we never saw each other past that one day," Applejack ventured carefully, and like a lantern, Pinkie Pie's face lit up again. She sighed in relief: focusing her entire attention on Fluttershy again, and smiling slightly. "What do you say me, you and Light go out 'fer lunch sometime, an' you can talk all 'bout how you been since we last saw each other?" She glanced over to Light to make sure he was fine with that, and to see if he'd shaken himself out of his trance- but he was... gawking at her. His face blank and flushed, and his jaw moving soundlessly. Why? What had she said..? ..! Applejack slapped a hoof to her cheek as it grew very warm, and turned to shoot a burning stare into the wall. Light still didn't know much about her. He didn't know they went out to lunch all the time. As friends. With how much she'd thrown herself at him... and without him without fully knowin' just how many things they normally did together, as friends, an invitation to lunch might've sounded like... ...Did she just ask Light out on a date... with Fluttershy?! "Oh, Fluttershy, isn't this great!" The cheer came from Pinkie just as Applejack was thinking about leaping onto the table and jumping through the window, so when she looked back to the two mares sitting tableside, Pinkie had already thrown her hooves around Fluttershy and reared up to hug her to her chest. The mare- who she remembered was surprisingly strong- seemed a little more like a teddy bear as Pinkie swung her around in a crushing actual bear hug. Pink hair flying and hooves grasping for something to hold onto; her face was finally revealed, and it was pained. "You've been waiting so many years to finally see them again and then when you do they say they want to be your friend, and oh- it's just like how I always dreamed you must've been dreaming about this moment!" Pinkie slowed, finally, and though Fluttershy seemed dizzied and limp in her hold, Pinkie looked at Applejack with no less enthusiasm. Eyes sparkling and mouth chattering a mile a minute. "She'll be there, Applejack! I'll set up the time and the place and the reservations and the tables and the chairs and you guys are gonna have such a great time!" Fluttershy, only barely leaning up with her hooves trapped beneath Pinkie's, flicked her eyes nervously up to the pink mare's face. "Um- Pinkie Pie..!" she whispered, but then, Pinkie squeezed her to her chest again, and whatever she was about to say was lost in a wheeze. "It's okay, Fluttershy! Let your auntie Pinkie Pie take care of everything!" Applejack watched it all with no less fear than Fluttershy must've been feeling. Suddenly, Pinkie Pie gasped, and Fluttershy was relegated to being held by a hoof under her stomach- was Fluttershy really small or was Pinkie Pie even bigger than she'd thought- and the pink mare looked up to the ceiling as she put a hoof under her chin. Humming a loud tune that sounded... almost familiar. "Let's see, so Applejack's met Twilight, and Light's met Twilight..." Pinkie's back leg suddenly jerked, and then, like the ends of her body were being pulled, one of her ears perked up. Pinkie kept staring at the ceiling and shaking her head: tapping her hoof into the air as she seemed to check through an imaginary list. "Pinkie Pie's met Twilight, and Twilight's..." Her left eye- just her left eye- winked, and a incredibly loud growl rumbled out from her stomach. Pinkie nodded: smiling. "...upstairs meeting Rarity right now!" She gasped, and turned to slam her hoof into the table so suddenly that even Applejack jumped. "Do you ponies know if Rainbow Dash has met Twilight?!" Pinkie Pie... well, it was sort of a demand with how serious she sounded. As Applejack groaned in confusion and looked Light's way: Light, too, looked just as confused as she did. Glancing back and forth between her and Pinkie Pie, who was now staring burningly his way: he shrugged nervously. "Well... Rainbow Dash was on the Official Overseer's Checklist, and Spike said that Twilight had a copy, too, but I don't know if-" That was all she needed. She slammed her hoof to the table again: smiling brilliantly. "But there's no room for buts when friendship is at stake!" she cheered, and at that: she turned and ran away. She pushed herself forcefully into the crowd as several disgruntled pony shouts echoed through the room, and Applejack wondered whether anypony had been hurt yet. ...Pinkie was the only pony she knew who could run like that on just two hooves. There was actually one time she'd done the whole of the Running of the Leaves on just her back legs, which everypony she'd asked had agreed was impossible. ...Also, she was still holding Fluttershy. Not that it was any less important, but some things just had to come second. Applejack, shaking her head, turned back to lean onto the table. "That mare's got one speed, and that's breakneck," she groused. Light, who was still looking out into the crowd, only nodded: openly ogling the rest of the room. Suddenly, there was a loud, familiarly raspy shout from somewhere at the other end of the room. Applejack turned again to stare widely into the crowd, which a large part of had stopped dancing to also stare and to point at something... that seemed to be approaching... Pinkie Pie burst out of the crowd, now... carrying a whole pegasus under each arm. Applejack leaned back with a hoof on her hat, feeling like she should've whooped or hollered as Pinkie Pie ran up to the table: a large smile on one of the three faces there. Fluttershy, under Pinkie's left: still seemed too shocked to understand where she was or what was happening. She felt for the poor mare, she really did, but heck if she envied that kinda position. Rainbow Dash, under Pinkie's right: with a scary scowl over her face, and an empty mug clutched tightly in the only hoof not dragging along the air. ...She seemed to have spilled her drink quite a bit, if the big purple splotch on the fur of her face was any looker. Because Pinkie Pie was a ride just too wild for any sane pony. As Applejack left her mouth gaping in an attempt to say anything, Pinkie Pie giggled, and gave her and Light each a large smile. "We're gonna go see Twilight, now! See you later!" And then, Pinkie Pie turned again, and ran off into the crowd. Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and all the energy in Equestria's bounds along with her. She and Light were left alone at the table, as the music and the noise of ponies partying trickled in. Though it still seemed... a mite quiet without that mare around. It always did. Was regular enough to wish she was somewhere else when she was there, but when she was actually gone, ponies tended to miss her. Hard not to; all eyes were usually on her, one way or another. "...touched by Chaos..!" Applejack turned and perked a curious ear and a frown towards Light: looking intently after where Pinkie had disappeared. "Pardon?" Cyan eyes. She blinked, and Light's sullen, brown eyes had tilted back to her again. "I just said that she was touched in the head, is all," he murmured, though his face seemed too reserved for the insult. Like he didn't really feel it. Applejack sighed, and tried to smile back at him. "Y'all don't gotta say that." Light shook his head and turned it to the side, but she leaned forward and tilted her own to catch his eye. "Ah know she can seem like the devil wearin' pink, but y'all know she only ever wants to make ponies laugh." She snorted, and Light's eye slowly slid towards her: a smile growing on his face. "Heck, there was a time she actually dressed up like a rodeo clown 'fer my birthday. Did a whole routine an' everything. Granny loved it." Light chuckled: her own laugh joining it. She nodded, smiling, and looked out into the recovering crowd affectionately. "Reckon the town'd be a much quieter place without her, and that'd be a much worse place to live." Light's laugh petered out, and he shook his head: smiling good-naturedly. But not... fondly. Applejack, though she still felt heartened by Pinkie's humor and cheer, couldn't help but frown. When she looked past the table, past the immediate and the loud: towards the unicorn with the quiet smile on his face and the blank eyes, she still felt... something was wrong. It was still wrong. It still wasn't Light. She bit her lip. "Light," she murmured, self-consciously rubbing her hooves together, and staring down at them. She didn't know if Light looked her way, but she kept speaking anyway. "I'm... I didn't mean to... invite y'all out like that without checkin' if it was alright first..." She flicked her eye up, to see Light staring her way with lidded eyes and a quiet frown on his face. She grimaced, and looked back down to her hooves. "I shoulda made sure it didn't... weird y'all out... it's not like- 'tain't anythin' big, or nothin'... I mean- we used to go out to lunch all the time, so..." She petered out. The memory of that old 'all the time' bringing something hot into her cheeks. "I was just tryin' to be nice, 's all..." she whispered, closing her eyes and trying- trying very hard not to cry again. It wasn't anything big. It was just lunch. Just like they did every other week. But not to him. He was all full'a the wrong ideas about the two of them. He still just... didn't know Applejack. "Hey..." She opened her eyes with a gasp at the soft call, and in a moment: turned up to see the steady brown hoof offered to her across the table. She blinked away something blurry as she turned then to Light, who... had a soft, warm look on his face. A sweet smile. Lidded, comfortable eyes. So unlike him... but almost... almost... She mouthed his name silently, and haltingly reached out to press her hoof against his, not entirely sure if what was happening was... happening. She met his eyes again. Soft. Warm. His voice... a whisper... "I would love to go to lunch with you, Applejack." She blinked rapidly, feeling with each one how something warm trickled down her face unbidden. "Y-You would?" she creaked out, trying to lean closer over the table towards him. He nodded slowly, spreading his smile into a shallow grin. "I will. And..." His eye drifted to the side, to the window for a long moment of staring, until he returned those tender eyes back to her: reaching his other hoof to hold hers on both sides. "...there's something I would really like to share with you..." he whispered, as the world seemed to grey around him. Was she awake? Was she dreaming? She'd... had dreams like this before... But... there were too many ponies here... and she hadn't ever had one'a those dreams... She nodded, transfixed, as Light leaned closer, and whispered softer. "There's just something else I have to do first." Her gaping mouth was already a frown- but she shook her head as he began to rise up. No. Don't leave her. Not without saying... "Will you wait for me?" he whispered, standing above her now: his hoof still holding hers tightly. She never wanted to let go. She didn't want him to go. But she nodded anyway. And his hoof let go of hers. He left, then. Quietly, and without another word. Trotting off into the crowd in... some direction; his eyes never once coming back to her. She was left a mess: gasping for shallow breath on the edge of the table, as she tried to remember where she was and what was happening. And then, a few minutes later, she began to stare out of the window. Her hooves crossed over themselves; frowning into the cold, lonely night. The full moon high in the sky, looking almost different from how she'd remembered it. The party around her still going strong. It'd be that way 'till the morning; ponies were supposed to stay up all night to celebrate the night before welcoming the sun back. Light used to love the tradition. Fifteen minutes later, the cracks started to show. In everything that had happened before her best friend with the strangely suave voice and the lidded eyes stood and walked away. There was something very, very wrong with how he'd left. How had she not seen it during? What... had gone through her mind? It was like she'd lost all sense. It was like... when he started talking... everything just turned sideways. Precisely one minute later, she remembered that Light's eyes were brown, and not blue. And then, she stood up. > Chapter 46 - The Soul > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was... shocked. He'd never been so shocked, he didn't think. Not even when... no- nothing was comparable! He had no hyperbole or similes! He was shocked silent, and while that was fairly common for him, it was no easy thing to render him mindless. Thinking was pretty much his- his thing! All of this, this sluggish, hanging feeling, was because of Nightmare Moon, like it always seemed to be. The mare who held his brand. The mare who tugged at his reins. The... sad, old mare sitting with blue-speckled hooves to her head, whispering something in such a low tone that he couldn't even hear. Her silver horseshoe forgotten on the ground; the segment-plated artifact of war now... a stark reminder. Of a time gone, and a... purpose lost... He swallowed, and as it had with the three times before it, his throat felt just as dry as before. Irony... oh, how he thought he loved irony. The search for a pair of glasses, eventually untimely found on the head. Talking trash behind someone's back, only to hear them cough from behind yours. To lose his memory... only to find out... She had as well. That She had been gone from Equestria for so long, that now, She couldn't even remember Her life before. It might've made him laugh, once... now, it only made him feel cold. What must She be thinking, if She remembered so little? What drove her? Why was any of this happening, really? A million thoughts were running tirelessly around the tracks in his mind, while he hugged his hooves close to his chest, and uncomfortably watched the... pain deepen in every line of Nightmare Moon's perfect face. Something that he thought would have made him so happy... ...yet, the only things coming to mind were ways to make Her better. He took a shallow breath, as Nightmare Moon leaned further in on Herself: her wings reaching off from her back to pitch against nothing. Shading Her lower body in impossibly dark colors as a stifled, keening groan exhaled from Her shaking voice. A profound, creaking noise. He let his hooves fall from the warm comfort of his cold chest, and down to the cold floor. He stepped forward, then again: biting his lip, and clenching against a deep, unsure feeling. He stopped, for the last time, and took a shaking, unsteady breath. For his life, he'd never forgive himself. He embraced the Night. Light Flow gasped in exertion as he rested his head into the soft, warm stomach of Nightmare Moon. Black fur obscuring most of his vision, but he could see, as little as he could see, how that one hoof with its blue color shook just aside his head. Her whole body was shaking. Or was that him? He hated it all. He hated the soft sound of unsteady breathing tickling gently on his pressed ear. He hated how, with every breath, more and more of her septic scent swirled around him. He especially hated just how warm her fur was, when it should've been cold and sharp like daggers. He despised it, and he couldn't stop the gnawing, rending pain in his chest as he felt so... safe. It was all so wrong. He squeezed his eyes closed- because he just couldn't stand to see any more of Her- and as though the moment couldn't be any worse, he felt two weights press gently onto his back. He felt the exact moment that Her body began to ease against him, and every breath She took was calmer and slower against his cheek. "How you must loathe this," came the quiet murmur from a voice silken smooth once again: little reminder of any flaw left remaining. How it must have felt. How She must have wished to gloat, as he demeaned himself and everything he'd tried to tell Her he stood for. "Thank you." He shook his head, and forced himself to tear away from that warmth. Stepping backwards as he pointedly looked down at the ground: trying immediately to forget how... comfortable that had been. It was because... it was the right thing to do. Not because he cared. Not because he thought of Her as... his mother, or somepony that he loved. It wasn't anything to do with him and Her at all. It was strictly a moral dilemma, because... er- Applejack would've thought to do it. That's right, It was all because of Applejack. Yeah. "Don't... ever mention it," he mumbled, as the hard lined bricks in the floor formed laughing faces. He frowned harder, and shuffled his hoof forward to dispel the illusion. Stupid eyes doing stupid things to him. Rather than a chuckle, or a laugh made at his expense, Nightmare Moon only hummed. Softly and lowly; a noise without antithesis, for how gentle it was. Well... it was kind of Her antithesis, if he was thinking about it. It should've been. "I think that I might need to," She murmured, and though it stung his tattered pride, he forced himself to look back up to Her. Her lidded eyes and Her small frown... he grimaced all the harder to see them, as they were so genuine. He wanted to scream at Her. He felt the pushing, kneading, sallow rage in his heart at seeing Her face so mannered. 'Why are you not leaping forward with fire on your breath and lunacy in your predatory eyes?' he wanted to say, to scream. But then, She sighed, and sunk Her head, and that fire doused with something once again so cold. "You should never have seen me in such a way, much less come forth to offer balm. To lay prone my vulnerabilities, after all that I have done... all that I may do..." She scoffed softly, and raised Her sunken, hooded eyes to the ceiling. "It is a ease I do not deserve." She shook her head, and lowered it again to the floor, as Her voice sunk lower. "It is a comfort which I renounced." His mind was working: putting pieces together and stowing files away in a large cabinet he'd taken liberty to label 'ways to save the world,' even as something he'd convinced himself was necessary to build up began to crumble. He was beginning to glean something. Something that... he felt he should've figured out a long time ago. But it was only barely, and he would never again leap forward onto a bridge half-built. For now, he only had one thing to say. One thing he felt... was perhaps as foolhardy as anything he'd ever said. He took a breath, and let it out. He opened his eyes, and focused them on Nightmare Moon. "So move on." He blinked sedately as Nightmare Moon's head whipped up, and he did not flinch away as two slashed pupils wide with something he'd never claim was shock rested onto him. Her mouth slightly agape; her posture: frozen. He blinked again, and found that his eyes were tired; though, he hardly felt it as took another breath, and continued to speak clearly. "Pick yourself up. Carry yourself forward, if you think you need it. Don't dwell on it if you hate thinking about it so much." He was losing confidence that had come out of nowhere with every word while those eyes continued to bore into him, so he averted his eyes, and spat out the last three words that he knew were so much more important than the rest. "Forget the past." It was a hollow tirade said with the urgency of an old stallion sitting drunkenly outside a drug store, but he'd said it all anyway. Even if his mouth was threatening to catch ablaze and his brows were flirting desperately with the wall he was staring at. It was a poor attempt at giving advice, though still decent for what seemed like the first time in his life. He would have to try harder if he was going to... do what he was becoming sure needed to be done. For the both of them, he'd try harder. When he finally stopped feeling like a jester in a pillory near a pie sale, he turned to look at Nightmare Moon, who thankfully had Her eyes to the side: a contemplative frown drawn against the furrowed cleft of Her brow. Though, almost as soon as he turned to look, so did She; She must have just been waiting for his eye to catch Hers. When their eyes met yet again, there was something different to Her stare. Something immediately noticeable; it was far less... reserved. Where just moments before She had seemed like every moment was a struggle to stay focused on the now, yet now, there was a sense of freedom. Not to say it was a grave change: She simply looked more like Her old self. And as She spoke, Her voice, too, was lighter. If still slightly downcast. "You... are far from persuasive, child." His cheek stung with phantom pain from the sudden auditory slap, and he worked his jaw as he thought back on his long history of pratfalls. Would now be a good time to play dead? Because he felt a little bit like he'd just been shot in the heart. But then she breathed out a hum of a laugh, and as he looked back from his burning gaze to the window, She was smiling. "...But I believe in the weight of the pony speaking rather than how hopelessly emphatic they may be. If anypony else had come to me speaking such things in the most heartfelt of tones, I would have them escorted to a very cold place where they might sleep away their intoxication." He gaped at her with wide, frowning eyes. Was She trying to commend him or insinuate he belonged in a dungeon?! But then, as he grew all the more affronted, She tilted Her head just slightly to the side, and Her gaze grew softer. More fond. "But as they came from you..." She shook her head: closing Her eyes and chuckling softly for a beat until She turned to stare off to the side. "...I think they may just sway me..." He stared for a moment, before he hurriedly slapped a hoof to his face, and flung his head to the opposite direction that Hers was. "You're welcome..." he mumbled muffledly through the limb hiding his flushing face. ...But that reinforced his idea. He filed Her words away into the cabinet. He coughed as he turned in a huff back to Nightmare Moon, but whatever dumb thing he was about to try to say next stalled on his lips as he took in the small, subtle motion of Nightmare Moon flicking Her hoof towards Herself. Her face was relaxed and comfortable as She repeated the motion, then again, and it was only by the third time She'd done it that he realized She was beckoning him. ...What'd he have to lose? As he took cautious steps forward, his eye was definitely drawn to the hoof waving through the air. It was the one hoof which She'd taken so long to free from Her shoe: the one hoof with its odd, blue speckling over its front. Dots of smaller blue fur began at Her knee: growing in size going down until the fur around Her pastern was nearly entirely blue, with the barest hints of black shining through. But it was only the front. Only behind Her extremely high shoe: an uneven single streak of color. Like it was meant to be hidden. He couldn't help himself: the mystery was enthralling. "Why does your hoof look like that?" he questioned, as he came to the very stoop of Her seating, and seated himself. "It... kind of looks like you kneeled in paint." At his question, Her brow... furrowed as if confusion. And then, as She brought Her hoof to Her face and turned it around, Her brow jumped. As if in shock. He watched placidly, though inwardly hopeful, as Her face took a tangled dive into deep, confused waters. It must've been cold: She really did look truly shocked to see the blue coloring as She turned Her hoof around and around in front of Her, seemingly to check if it was somehow spreading. But then, as his hope for an epiphany grew at the near panic in Her shrinking eyes, something smothered the rising emotion in an instant, and the growing tension in Her shoulders sagged. "It was... a reminder," She murmured as She narrowed Her eyes onto the blue aberration: Her frown nearly a grimace. As She shook Her head and lowered Her slightly trembling hoof, he found the question dying on his frozen lips. Of course he wanted to ask what it was a reminder for, but he could only throw himself forward so many times at once before he had to take a moment! And of course, for the few seconds it took him to find some spare courage under a rock, She had already turned impassionate eyes onto him. "Give me your hoof," She demanded. It took a moment of staring to sink in, and when it did, he shook his head bemusedly. "What?" It was a dumb moment for him, and She would have been justified in racing right off the track onto one of Her fits of rage. He would've expected that from Her. He... didn't really expect Her to sigh, shake Her head, and to fix him with a less harsh, more calmly requesting stare. "There is something that I must teach you now, and for this, as I was taught, I require your hoof." Her own hoof extended, to bob in the air expectantly. He stared at it: shocked speechless by the benign ask for moments longer than he'd ever care to admit. Once, he would've smacked her hoof away, bared his teeth at Her, and declared that he would never consider taking such a deal from a devil like Her. Now, though he kept one cautious eye on Her still face the entire time, he reached his hoof forward, and placed it carefully into the giant pit of Her bared hoof. Her massive, bared hoof with its perfectly cut fetlocks that almost completely eclipsed his own. The hard edge of her sole itself didn't quite ring around his limb, but it did still dip in to touch Her frog a little bit. Her normal, pinkish, almost heart-shaped frog. He once would've figured it to be scorched red by Tartarus' flames, or somehow completely round like the moon. Maybe even a grotesque pit of writhing, red flesh as befitting a true nightmare. But, as he was learning, She was quite like a normal pony in many more ways than he ever would've guessed. ...Filed away. He tore his eyes away from the slightly terrifying sight of Her hoof under his, and though the intimate skin-to-skin contact made it a little hard to speak, he swallowed through the block and found Her tender eyes. "Alright... we're- holding hooves." He licked the backs of his teeth nervously, and shot a glance to the side. "What now?" Her eyes were warm and soft, though only for the picture of their contact. Even as he spoke to Her, Her eyes were still on their hooves clasped together: Her mouth gaping open slightly in a quiet exclamation that narrowed as She silently smacked her lips together. And when She spoke, it was quiet, and intoned. "I have failed to teach you anything thus far... as with every step into your demesne, you leapt in giant steps ahead of me." She turned Her eyes up to his, and that smile became ever so softer.. "Of this last practical item that I know of Necromancy, let me make one final attempt to be a mentor." He swore something popped in his ear just then, though he didn't know what altitude they were at besides 'somewhat high.' He was sure it was just nerves, though- he was very nervous. She was right, though: She'd failed pretty spectacularly as his mentor so far. Whenever She'd begun to tell him of his abilities or something he was capable of, She either stopped short or he cut Her off, and then he'd miraculously figure it out himself. But he wasn't quite feeling any epiphanies coming on, so whatever She was about to teach him, She was probably actually going to teach him. It was momentous. A moment too large for words. So, he simply nodded. Her teeth bared slightly as She smiled larger: a pleased feeling appearing to well behind Her eyes. "Very good," She whispered, and at that, a small, nervous smile of his own grew. "What are you going to teach me?" he asked, then grimaced slightly, as the words sounded far too schoolhouse. It was too late to take them back, as in a another moment, Nightmare Moon focused down at their holding hooves. She pressed gently upward, and, feeling that he should, he pressed gently back. "You have learned, of your own accord, how to take and to subsume the souls of living creatures." The feathery pushing sensation on the most tender part of his hoof seemed to triple as something glowed at the top of his vision. "Now, as it is the extent of my learnings, I will teach you to free what you have taken." He flicked his eye up- Her horn was glowing just barely- then back down to their hooves as his breathing quickened. "Is that possible?" he asked lightly: licking around his lips as something akin to excitement began to spark in his chest. "It's not just- gone? It can be taken out?" She nodded- and he gazed back down. That raised questions. Many questions, like: Was the process painful? Was the process long? Was it difficult, and was it like taking souls? Is anything lost or gained in the process? How, exactly, did a Necromancer 'eat' souls? But he didn't vocalize those questions, because one or more of them sounded dumb and redundant. Instead, he went for the practical jugular. "How... did you learn to do this? And... anything that you know?" He licked his quickly drying lips, and flicked his eye up to Nightmare Moon's face, which had, at his question, grown slightly caught. Everything else he'd learn through experience. This, as was pertinent to possibly saving the world, was practical. He waited for a moment, feeling almost like he shouldn't have asked as Nightmare Moon seemed again glassy-eyed and vacant, but after only another few moments, She suddenly shook Her head, and took a sharp breath. "I have known Necromancers in the past, as I have said; and I have sometimes sought after my curiosities of the art in the past, as I have said," She intoned, though just barely, as She rushed through the words and seemed almost out of breath by their end. He could only wonder how much She was actually remembering, and what She'd only filled in. She shook her head, and took a huffing breath: raising Her glowing eyes to his. "That is neither here nor there, Light. Please, allow me a moment of solace, and focus on my lesson." His mouth gaped slightly open as he felt... slightly admonished, and without his consent, his ears drooped to press against his head. "I'm... sorry," he admitted, as he cast his eyes to the floor. Nightmare Moon, though he wasn't looking at Her, sighed. "Simply..." She began, then stopped, then, in a moment, something began to warm between their connected hooves. He perked up and looked towards the odd sensation, to see a small glow shining out from the crack in their physical meeting. "-simply focus deeply on the conjoining of our hooves. It will be necessary for you to enter a meditative trance for the process of manifesting a soul." He blinked, again looking up at the blue sparkle around her long, black horn for a moment, then returning to the identical light under their hooves. "You want me to... really focus?" He flicked an eye back up to Nightmare Moon's waiting face, and managed to crack a wry smile. "Because... if I do that, you might not be able to get me back for an hour." A chortle echoed out through the hall, and Nightmare Moon returned to smile back down at him, though slightly reproving. "If you retreat too far into your mind, know that I will drag you back." She pressed up, and he pressed affirmingly down. "Now, focus." The slight threat set a shiver along his spine, but only at the threat. Still smiling: he returned to staring at their hooves, shaking his head all the way. And then, he began to stare. At the conjoining shape of their hooves together: one too small lying above and on the one far too weighted for the reverse, and the small, shimmering glow between them. Such an odd pair: so unfitting, yet so alike in the myriad things they weren't. And the warmth. Like a small, flickering candle held just barely close enough to feel, yet never so close as to burn. Kneading against his flesh in the breeze that didn't exist- but it was still exhilarating. So dangerous to feel that warmth so close yet to keep it trapped between them, when he could still feel the very edge of his frog against the cold rim of the other hoof. A teetering dance balanced on a ball of fire. And just under his: it was Her frog. Soft, and warm- though the sensation was very less through only his sole. He could imagine yet more, especially thinking of his own feeling against Her sole. The subtle pulsing of veins against the taut skin. The plush, bare skin. The vulnerable, open skin. So vulnerable. So very intimate. It made him feel warm, to be so close to Her. To anypony. It made him feel so warm. Warm... Warm... Warm all over... everything was warm.. like... he was submerged in water... Yes... it was just like he was floating on a pulsing wellspring of warm, soothing water. It flowed under his skin, yet always pushed from the outside; it never touched within. Surface deep; a ghost of sensation, for what could be truly felt merely skin-deep? It raged, the tide outside: thrashing against his body, but never brutal. The river seemed to breathe, in a way: rapids throbbing in endless time and lifting him up as much as they cast him down. Yet still, it was an equilibrium; it was metered. For as much as it rose, it would always fall; it would unceasingly return. Yet the warmth never abated; the warmth never changed. It was skin-deep, yet felt much further below as well. The surface hid below: a shining torch of inner heat. It radiated the essence of something powerful; his body was a source. As it burst, his body pulsed. As it pulsed, his skin warmed. A balance. Every action added; every feeling had a source. It was without; it was within. The cold tide was without; the warmth was within. "Light Flow... Child... can you hear me?" He murmured against the voice tickling like barbed feathers at his ear: flicking the appendage lazily as he continued to drift soundlessly on the eternal ride of continuous balance. A teetering dance. "You barely stay connected to the physical world as it is, don't you? It was a true ease for you to reach profound meditation. It is nearly concerning." The words were... blue. They brought a tugging weight of heavy blue into his... profound meditation: nearly making him sink below the precarious perch of rushing water. Would the words kindly leave him alone, so that he may enjoy the still moment of peace above the chaos? As without, so within; the voice was without, and his temper was within. He wished he could control the voice, rather than his temper. Temper without; voice within. "Focus within. Cast aside your ascended pleasures, and remember the worldly flame. Between our hooves: you must recall the flame. Recall your purpose, and hold it to yourself." He didn't want to... He wanted to stay disconnected... But still, he wasn't mindless, and so, he allowed the warmth to fade minimally. The rivers to abate. The rapids, to quell. As without, he was within. As within, he was still without. And without, as his body grew cold, he could again feel the floor beneath him, and the flame against his hoof. The words, he'd always known, were Nightmare Moon's, and again She whispered into his ear: her cold breath tickling his fur. "Feel how the warmth moves. Feel how it pushes, and desires freedom. Feel how it seethes." He sighed deeply, and took one long breath in as he zeroed down onto the warmth. One by one the composite feelings fell away as the warmth grew against his senses, and those he feared the sensation of forgetting the floor and falling, he welcomed the freedom therein. And therein... he could feel the fire. So hot on his hoof, yet kept away from burning. Struggling, struggling; it couldn't reach him. It only warmed him, as it screamed for release. Pushing.... pulling... kneading... pleading... "Remember it. Don't forget the flame. Now, look for that feeling within yourself. Feel the warmth, and find it. Find the warmth within. Find it." Within... Within... Within, he was warm. At the touch of a million- no, a trillion flickering flames casting shallow light over his body: warming his skin and burning his flesh. Cracking and charring his skin; scarring and soldering his flesh. He, too, burned as a candle. He, too, was a candle. With the warmth without, he was one. From the warmth without, he found within. Pouring liquid fever to his cast, and as he was filled, so too, he was emptied. Of the warmth within, he was left empty. Of the warmth without: he was filled. And as he was emptied, so too was he found something within. The warmth without left his body cold, as it could only ever be felt skin-deep. And as his body grew cold, he could see so clearly from where the warmth within sprung. From his body without, so he found within; he found the source. He found the epicenter. He found three. Three within. A trillion without. "To subsume: an act of will. To relinquish: the same. Grasp hold. Believe it is yours. "Let it go. Bring it out." For the first moment, he wanted to weep. As one solitary flame within brushed against his will, he could swear something within spoke to him. It told him to hang on. It told him to let go. It spoke of running. Moving. Loneliness, and things left behind. A new life in a new place, and it was all so strange. It screamed of home, yet he could not hear it. It cried for what it had lost, yet he was deafened. One day, may he learn to hear. One day, may he learn to listen. He pulled. Something hurt; his eyes flew open. His body jerked forward, and he stumbled onto hooves he'd forgotten he had. The world without pressed in: the cold air around him, the dank castle air, and the absolute silence for it had been so long forgotten. Everything that was Light Flow filled in where he had shoo'd it away, and as he took deep, gasping breaths for a chest that ached so deeply, he found that something was different. He was... colder. Something was wrong. The warmth within was... chiller. He shook his head, shut his eyes, and tried to reassert himself. Where was he? Castle. What was he doing? Meditation. Why had he been doing it? Because Nightmare Moon had told him to. Why had She told him to? He gasped. He whipped his head around- turned- trotted- saw- Leaned down to hold in his hooves: a small ball of light drifting on tiny wisps just above the floor. His mouth made odd shapes and odder gasping noises as his eyes filled with the sight of the small orb shedding embers of light: his hooves shaking regularly as he held the floating object aloft. Its shallow light casting glowing flickers over his frog that crept like cinders into the air and snuffed out. So small. So precious. So whimsical. Like everything he'd ever dreamed. It bounced stoutly in the still air as it glowed from deep within its epicenter, only dipping down for as much as it rose slightly up: the shallow movement only surface deep, as far within- he could see the movement. Many tiny lines of inexplicable light moving and rotating around its core. Its own epicenter. It was just as he'd last seen it. The intermittent shifting movement within- the deep glow- the lack of scent- it was a soul! The magical code for a living creature: separated from flesh and mana yet still holding imprint! Held within: everything that a creature was. This was an entire creature! It was the warmth! He felt like a foal as he raised his hooves aloft, soul and all, and let out an excited cheer, but he didn't care! He'd done it! First, he'd taken it from a creature, and now, he'd taken it out of himself! He could do it all! He could take them; he could use them! He could even- He frowned. It was a different color. The runaway track in his mind that had been well on its way to celebratory junction stuttered to a crashing halt, as he leaned the soul back down to his head, and peered closer at it. It... had been grey, hadn't it? The soul he'd taken from the crow? Now its composite lines of magical code were... blue-ish... Cyan? Almost the same shade as Nightmare Moon's eyes, but a bit darker. Kind of steely- bordering on almost grey, actually. But still: the soul from the crow had been very obviously grey. A dark grey. He blinked, and looked up from the soul. Nightmare Moon was standing a few hoof-lengths away from him- She'd either moved or he'd stumbled forward further than he'd thought- and there was a small, nearly proud smile on Her face. Her hooves were together in Her lap, and She stood tall and mighty- -but then, as he looked Her way with a confused frown, She frowned as well. "What is it?" She questioned, as he flung a million questions at Her with his eyes. "Why do you not leap in joy or cry in accomplishment?" Her head tilted and She raised an eyebrow. "You should take the cause for celebration now; we have but hardly long before we will need to begin moving." She turned to look out the window, now behind him, as Her eyes narrowed and his spine tingled. "No... Not very long now at all..." she murmured- and no that wasn't fair! He scowled heavily, and turned angry eyes down to the soul he held aloft. He tilted his hoof slightly to the side, and the soul- almost as if it really was physical- began to float slightly away. He stopped the lean, and the soul returned to a floating equilibrium. Interesting. But not nearly as interesting as the fact that the soul had changed color and Nightmare Moon was telling him they were just about out of time! He'd have to move quickly, even for this. He took another deep breath and one last angry glance down at the soul, before he let the emotion go, and turned mostly even eyes to Nightmare Moon. He extended both hooves out: Her eyes returning for the motion and brow jumping slightly as he apparently proffered the soul to Her. But he shook his head, and thrust his hooves forward insistently again. "Do you know why this happened? It changed color." he demanded, trying to keep from scowling too overtly as Nightmare Moon blinked bemusedly, and leaned closer to him. Her horn sparked- Her eyes began to glow, and She let out a considerate hum. He waited patiently for exactly one second as She seemingly studied his soul intensely, before he jerked his hooves back: hiding the soul behind his side as Nightmare Moon leaned away with a half-frown. "So?" he ventured obviously. She hummed again: the sound bordering very much on grating as She nodded seriously. "Yes... there was a chance this might happen," She affirmed emptily with a light tone in Her voice. He leaned forward with a very expectant expression, and after a moment, Her mouth made a small 'o' of exclamation.. "Oh... it is nothing serious. You simply took a different soul out of your body, rather than the crow's." She hummed lightly. "It is hardly something to worry about for now." And then, like She hadn't just said anything at all, She began to stand. Starry mist swirled obscuringly around the heels of Her hooves as She stalked forward: walking past him and his gaping mouth casually as he got a big eyeful of Her aberrant cutie mark. "Come," She spoke over Her shoulder: turning back as She'd taken a few steps forward. She lifted Her hoof up to frame the door far behind Her: a calm face doing little to soothe the fire in his chest. "The heroes shall arrive before too long, and it would be pertinent to greet them." Three things- and he had to think fast. One: the soul he'd grabbed wasn't the crow's. Out of the three flames in his heart that he'd grabbed at, he'd grabbed the wrong one- and there were three. It couldn't be his, since that would've killed him, he was certain. It was another. That meant two things. He'd had two souls inside him even before he'd killed the crow, and Nightmare Moon had known about it, judging by her blaisé reaction and Her telling him. Two: their time was out; the heroes were coming. Nightmare Moon was currently standing between him and the door, attempting to shepherd him towards it, and generally acting as though everything were completely fine. That meant he was out of time to figure anything out about Necromancy, and to dissuade Nightmare Moon from taking over Equestria. His plan as had been formed twenty minutes ago was already falling to tatters, since it'd relied heavily on an actual timeframe in which to dissuade Nightmare Moon from taking over Equestria. Three: Nightmare Moon wasn't fine, because he could very clearly see, even as Her face kept a light, easy edge: how tense Her withers were. The steely corded tendons were pulled taut with anticipation- and even lesser: Her wings were sitting ill-fittingly on Her back. Not quite rustling restlessly, but almost quivering. That meant Nightmare Moon was nervous, and that meant... ...his plan might still pan out. It'd be difficult, but Nightmare Moon was obviously uncertain about confronting the heroes. With everything he knew about Her, and with how close She'd allowed him to come to Her... Empty, hollow degree. Sad, vacant eyes: focused on the past. Tender, shallow breath against his cheek. ...he may just be able to talk Her down. But first. Light checked down at the soul in his hooves- a stranger's soul- and clambered to his hooves. Momentary confidence shriveled and he flinched as Nightmare Moon smiled at him, and beckoned him again to the door, but that, too, was momentary. After a second of internal pepping, he broke a deep breath, and put his hoof firmly down! ...Which made it look like he was stepping towards the door, but he wasn't! He shook his head, and cradled the one hoof he'd relegated to holding his soul close to his chest. "Wait!" he called, and though it would've been more dramatic if Nightmare Moon had been able to turn in shock, She still raised a curious eyebrow to him. He swallowed against another bout of heady doubt, took a quick peek down the the cyan soul he held, and fixed steady eyes on Her. "Before we go, you need to tell me a few things. Things that- that I deserve to know before we... conquer Equestria." The words sounded stupid and felt like solid embarrassment coming out of his cottony mouth, but he kept a firm resolve. Even as Nightmare Moon quirked an odd grin, and generally gave off a posture that made him begin to feel like a comic book hero. "'Conquer Equestria?'" She barked out a quick cackle of a laugh: staring down at him fondly. "Child, you make it sound so grave. As though you expect me to topple gates and begin to plant heads onto pikes." She shook her head with a chuckle, as if She wasn't an elden Goddess of combat. "You have my word: when it comes time, Equestria shall simply fall prone at our hooves." 'Our hooves.' He shivered, and Nightmare Moon, perhaps seeing his reticence, had Her smile fall slightly. After a moment, She spoke: a weary edge of impatience on Her voice. "...Very well. If it would set you at ease for what need be done, then these few moments we have shall be yours." She glanced to his side: out of the window, and Her eyes narrowed. "...But we only have scant moments." He nodded, relishing the confidence holding a soul gave him. "I only need a few," he assured, and Nightmare Moon quirked Her frown to the side. He swallowed, and licked against his teeth. "First," he began, then... First... What was first? One thing, then the other. Simple. Just... what was the thing? His mouth stuttered open, and as the first thing he could think of crossed his mind, he blurted it out. "Whose soul is this?!" The shout was unplanned, unthought, and generally a very poor decision, but it was the first thing he'd thought of, so he thrust his hooves forward after only another moment. He tried to keep his gaze even and stern as Nightmare Moon's frown turned unimpressed, and her brow ticked up. After a moment, when She seemed to finally get that he wasn't going to relent, She groaned, and rolled Her eyes. "You tell me," She scolded, and he recoiled away from the harsh tone: cradling the soul again to himself. She sighed, and Her frown grew somewhat less puncturing, as did Her tone. "Think on it for even a moment, and you may find an answer. It is a simple exercise, so simply think." He blinked haltingly, still keeping firm hold of the soul, before he looked curiously down at it. That moving, glowing, usually floating ball of light that had once been somecreature. If he thought about it... Just- really fast... He knew a soul was the coding structure for a creature's personality; like DNA, it was the essential being of the definable sense of self that sapient creatures could claim to have. And then, even the simply sentient creatures had souls as well, if not so much personality. Everything had a soul- except, maybe bugs. Just because he hated them, and he didn't want them to have souls. And those souls could be taken- as he'd done with the crow two or so hours ago- but normally... well, he'd never been around something dying to see- he'd never been so lucky- but he assumed they just... disappeared. Souls didn't exactly stick around after death, or he'd have seen them around gravesites and such. It was really too bad: he'd only ever showed up to deaths mere moments after it happened. Even when his old neighbor- his old neighbor- had been ill in the hospital, and she'd asked to see him before she died, he'd gotten waylaid by a traveling book seller, and shown up apparently just five minutes after she'd kicked the bucket. ...He'd been younger then- but wasn't he glad he'd never had to have that bedside talk. What was he saying? He'd never been around anypony dying before- that's right. No, in his entire life, he'd never been anywhere close to a dying or soon-to-be-dead creature- ..! His free hoof, which had been occupied with tapping idly against his chin, stilled in a single moment as a shallow breath stalled on his lips. His shaking, flapping lips uttered absolute silence as he slowly, so carefully brought the soul up in front of him. It floated there, in his own two hooves, glowing a soft, steely cyan. Steely cyan. "Sweet heavens above," he whispered in disbelief: his hooves failing him as he fell backwards onto his butt. Staring deeply into its web-like depths, as if it would allow him to peer into its past. To see if what he thought was true, was... true. But it was. When he'd grasped it in his chest, he'd seen. He'd heard it cry for a far-away home. He'd felt it wish for solace. It was her. It was Zecora. It hit him all at once. The sadness- the guilt- the horrible, rending pain that he'd felt as he'd watched- listened- heard that sickening snap. And he could still remember it. Even as he shut his eyes and wished it away, he still saw the exact moment that her neck had turned far too much, and the snap. The golden rings shattering. The bones jutting wrongly from taut, shaking skin- because for a few moments more, she'd still been alive. How must it have felt, to have her neck twisted beyond repair? The fraying sensation of muscles that were meant to protect snapping against an irrevocable force. The disconcerting motion of the bones leaving their sockets, and dragging shallow cuts into skin that never should have met bone in the first place. Limbs falling limp. Her mouth filling with blood. Lungs fluttering weakly. The last few breaths tinted with iron. Veins bursting- nerves pinching- mind replaying every endless torture as she wondered with every fading sensation just when it had all gone wrong. And the worst part was... ...Light still couldn't cry. He gasped in exertion as, for the second minute in a row, his eyes stayed stubbornly dry from his attempts to force himself to cry. He tried again: shutting them tightly enough that it immediately began to hurt, yet in every moment, it could only continue to hurt. He could not cry for Zecora. He wanted to. He even felt sad enough to. He understood very well that her death- her blood was on his hooves, but he just... couldn't... Somewhere, deep in his chest, when he thought of every horrible moment... When he considered every awful, visceral detail of the zebra's last, forced moments... When he pictured the jutting bone, and the leaking blood, and the avoidable loss... When he remembered that snap... hearing it endlessly ringing out in a gradual crescendo in his ears... there was some- some feeling... deep down in his heart that he might've thought was... ...excitement. When he opened his eyes again, they were wan, and tired. Tired with the weight of yet another something that he had come to realize over the course of the night. Something he might've preferred stayed buried, for the loving sake of his own fragile mind. When he looked back down at Zecora's soul, it was with steady motion and firm feelings: turning his hooves around to force the ball to bob and spin erratically. Playing gently with everything that Zecora was, and feeling nothing of it. And as he stared down at her soul, with its shifting beauty and depthless intrigue, he couldn't stop himself from smiling. Because it still made him so happy. He sniffed back empty regret and turned his sunken eyes back up to Nightmare Moon, who looked upon him with sullen lines and a sadness in Her eyes that he could not match. How odd, that She might feel sadness, when it was dying so quickly in his chest. He hummed something odd as he flicked his eye back down to the soul- and felt again, how happy it made him- before he met Nightmare Moon's eye yet again. "...I'd like to put this back soon," he murmured, and then he swallowed as his throat was so unexpectedly dry. So scratchy. Nightmare Moon studied him for a long few seconds: her lidded, shining cyan eyes glimmering with... an entire gambit of emotions that flickered far too fast to catalogue. He saw sadness. He saw surprise. He saw... a worry. But then, Her eyes closed, and as they opened they were filled with soft, readied acceptance. "Very well..." She murmured back, and slowly, She strode towards him. As if by second thought, Her horn lit, and Her forgotten shoe picked itself up into the air. "...If that is what you wish of it, then we may devote some time in the future to bringing the zebra back from the brink. I am not so cruel as to deny you your reparations," She continued to say as Her silver horseshoe came to rest in Her path, and in a flash of light that blinded him just as She stepped towards it, it was again soundly attached to Her hoof. She came to a stop in front of him, and regarded his diminutive form with an unsettlingly reproachful half-lidded stare as She stomped her perfectly clad hoof to the ground. "But know you may not always have these chances, child." Her stare grew dimmer, and Her hoof extended to gently curl against his ear. "Whether by mine own command or the world's turn, you cannot forever choose this shallow path of Kindness." Her touch was cool against the rising heat in his head, and so he allowed himself to relax against the hoof sweeping across his mane as Her grim degree chilled him. "I would wish you rid of this sentiment, as you should forget a soul for what it once was. At a pony's death, or even upon the forced removal of their soul, they can no longer be called a pony. It is simply a soul. It is simply yours." Her voice dipped down, to a whisper. "What lies beneath the common creature's heart as I reign above, I would have but for you. That is my gift to you, Light. You may have any soul you desire, if you would only follow me to the future that I deign. "Stay aside me, and you may have anything. Any life you desire. Anything." He swallowed heavily: feeling how that sick feeling in his chest leapt with joy at the prospect. The idea- the sheer decadent idea of such dominance. To desire a soul, and have it upon a mere command. If Nightmare Moon took over Equestria, then She would probably have him installed as a prince. A Prince of Souls... desiring death and having it, all at his leisure. At any time he spoke, he could just have a pony... killed... A soul... brought to him... At any time he desired... To do with as he pleased... Grasp hold... Believe it is yours... He broke a shallow breath, and slowly opened his eyes against the hoof that had made its way to his cheek. "You're saying that you would allow me domain over the entire kingdom's souls?" He slid his eye up, to stare blankly at Nightmare Moon. "That you would allow me to take any I desired, at any notice?" Her eyes, lidded and powerful, seemed to glow at his words. Her touch was so cold on his cheek. "Yes... you may have anything you desire, child..." She whispered, and he could no longer deny the harsh note of discordant love in Her voice. The obsession. He'd been afraid to say it. He'd been too afraid to even think it. No. Not this. Let it go. Bring it out. He lifted his hoof barely up, and Her glowing eyes immediately caught on the soul there. "If I have dominion over souls... then they are mine to give just as much as they are mine to take." He pushed his hooves further up, and the hoof on his cheek fell away. "I want this one to go back to Zecora." He kept a steady, unwavering gaze, even as Nightmare Moon stepped uncertainly back. Her eyes were filled with... so much bewilderment, as She'd literally offered him death rites to the entire kingdom, and he'd seemingly refused. But honestly... he didn't really have the will to refuse extreme temptation. Even then, everything that he was, was jumping and screaming for him to just nod happily and trot along after Her. It sounded like everything he ever wanted, and it was a massive effort to keep his face from twitching for as madly as he wanted to just say yes! Death and gore... Life and souls... It really did sound like his destiny. But his heart... and even that nagging note that reminded him he had a destiny to fulfill... it all seemed a little quieter compared to the voice in his head that sounded so much like somepony he knew. A voice along a whispered breeze carrying the scent of summer days and apple stalks. A voice that told him he was better 'n that. So, better he'd try to be. He continued to keep his apple-scented morals steady as Nightmare Moon took a deep breath: leaning Her head down against the plates of Her armor, and knitting conflicted brows together. He wondered just what She might've been thinking behind that heavy expression. It seemed like his stance on doing relative good had thrown Her for a loop. Threw him a bit for a loop, too. Honestly, it was kind of way out of left field. Hadn't he once declared he'd like nothing more than to overthrow the government and see Princess Celestia fall dead at his hooves? He barely seemed like the same pony as that little colt with the overblown propensity for calling things stupid. He'd seemed a little stupid himself, back then. Finally, Nightmare Moon shook off Her reverie, and raised Her head: Her opened eyes sparkling with stinging apathy; though, a still note of endearment lingered within. "It astounds me, simply how much you have seemed to change from that cowering little colt." Her eye narrowed, and, as though She were ashamed, She averted Her gaze from him, and dropped Her voice. "If things were different, you may have been very Kind indeed." He scrunched his face up in confusion as he processed Her words, and She turned to stare towards the door. That was an odd amount of emphasis on the word 'kind.' Did it mean something? He was currently hovering questioningly next to his world-saving cabinet, wondering whether it should be filed or whether his filing system would suffer from the unkempt and premature classification. ...He threw it in, just for the hell of it. He shook his head, and focused in time to catch the critical side-eye Nightmare Moon shot him. "...It is nearly time, and every effort I have taken to stall the heroes has failed." She stepped away, towards the door: Her face falling into a grimace to match the severe tone She'd adopted. "...My actions may have even accelerated their growth. Virtue is much like a cockroach: it never seems to just die." She began a quick trot forward: barking over Her shoulder. "Come! We have no more time for talk of the future nor of the past! We must make haste to prevent the heroes' ascension!" Heroes' ascension? Very quickly, and without taking his eyes off Nightmare Moon, he pressed his hooves against his chest, and focused. Took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and focused. Recreate the feeling. Subsume. Synergize. Connect. Make the soul become one with himself. Soul without: come within. Become one. With a deep breath out, he opened his eyes, and let his empty hooves fall away from his warm chest. He scrambled quickly to his hooves, and made to gallop after Nightmare Moon. He had one chance. If they went too far and found the heroes... then win or lose, he'd experience a loss. He had to do it now, when they were still alone. "If there's no time to discuss the past or future, then let's discuss the present!" he shouted, and Nightmare Moon's gait stalled. Her head whipped around to focus on him just as She came up to the door, and as he quickened his pace, he was able to pass Her. His hooves ached from hours worth of standing, but still, he skidded to a stop with his side to the door and his steady gaze on Nightmare Moon: staring back at him with a tense glare. He met it. even as his skin prickled, and his spine tingled, he met it. She growled: a deep, thrumming reverberation come from Her massive chest. "Light Flow," She warned, and his tingling ears nearly wanted to drop in fear from the dangerous edge. A glimpse of sharp teeth showed, and Her face hardened. "You test my patience. Know that I hold you in high regard, but I will not be stalled from the future any longer!" She looked past him, to the door: narrowing Her eyes as they grew distant. "My last effort has failed, and the bridge is repaired." Her eye returned to him, and She took a step forward: Her eyes flashing with something dangerous. "They shall be in the castle soon, and they might only wander for so long before they find them!" Even as She encroached and bared Her fangs, he did not relent, nor give ground. He stood firm and tall, with a set jaw. "Find what?" he questioned hotly, and Nightmare Moon opened Her mouth in an affront. But he wasn't done. "If we're running out of time, then I'll talk fast, but we need to talk, and we need to do it now!" Her mouth fell into a gape: an odd sight with Her teeth aligned as they were. She stuttered to respond- an especially odd sound from Her- but he was perfectly fine to talk. "We cannot confront the heroes as I am, and as you've hidden so much from me!" He wasn't quite shouting, but his tone was raised, and it showed in the reflection of Nightmare Moon's angry, glowing eyes. "You taught me above all else that knowledge is a weapon, yet you've left me completely defenseless! I don't know who the heroes are! I don't know what they're looking for in the castle- or why it's still in the castle!" He stomped his hoof. "I don't even know what will happen after we defeat the heroes! You've told me nothing of this- this new kingdom that I'm only assuming you're going to create!" Nightmare Moon's face was a terrifying visage of god-like rage and vitriol. Every tense line accenting the snarling teeth She held in a large scowl, and every popping vein along every uncomfortable line of bone seeming dull compared to the burning fire in Her lidded, draconic eyes. Even Her wings were beginning to pitch slightly: a terse showing of momentary calm before the pounce. But he held his ground. His faith was his shield, and he held faith that She'd never hurt him. "You have to tell me, before it's too late, and I find something on my own you clearly don't want me to find!" he demanded: showing his best side in a hot, steaming pout of a face. He stomped his hoof again, and Nightmare Moon literally snarled at him. He kept going: even as spittle landed by his stomping hoof. "You've been hiding something from me, and I want to know what it is! It's not just that we haven't spoken about it: you're keeping the identity of the heroes and the source of their power a secret, and I want to know why!" It might've sounded childish. It may have even come from a childish place, because- honestly? He was angry, and he did feel entitled to an answer. She could not claim to love him, and that he could have anything his heart desired, all the while keeping him blind and complacent! He would not be that for Her. If he was her knight- Her prince- what have you, then he needed to know! It was his right to know who would die for his temptation! It was a long battle of will, it felt: as they stared each other down. One of them: a seemingly all-powerful Goddess with magic such that She could heft the moon itself upon Her shoulders as duty. The other: a barely grown unicorn with too-short hair, a small horn that couldn't cast any spells, and a face best suited for foals to laugh at. Yet still, as these forces clashed, one found the other would not topple. And as it was only a few seconds that they stared at each other, so did Nightmare Moon relent. "Very well. I shall tell you of who it is that will die tonight." Her face, fallen suddenly into a frigid pit of detachment, hardened in a grim, bitter moment. The foreboding harbinger of what was now soon to come. "And we shall see if you may remain so Kind." > Intermission - The Secret Agent > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bon Bon was a very principled, very stern mare. Those weren't just her own words- though she would describe herself as such- that exact phrase had been on a mental reevaluation for the EIA some years back, which she had only been allowed to see because she had such lofty principles. 'A very principled, very stern, cold mare. Her unshakeable dedication to Her Highness and the Crown borders on rabid obsession and is, at times, sincerely frightening. There is no seeming end to the lengths to which she would go if those lengths were asked of her by the Princess.' She prided herself on that evaluation, however negatively worded. She'd even had a copy framed and put above her bed- and then she'd taken it down and had the frame and its contents burned, because keeping physical evidence of her being an EIA agent was liable to backfire eventually. So when she realized that Light had gone missing- to the bathroom, as her beloved idiot had said- she'd reacted exactly as years of training and more years of duty in service to the beloved Celestial Crown had instilled into her was correct. She identified, she concentrated, and she acted. Her hooves pounded the pavement relentlessly as she threw herself headlong into the rushing wind. The cold air bit and stung at her coat as she ran, but she barely even noticed it through the pounding, rushing sensation of her blood pumping in anticipation. Her charge had disappeared, and it was her final duty as bestowed to her by Princess Celestia that she keep him safe. Whatever it took, and wherever she needed to go, she would find him. With a hard right turn, she dangerously skirted the edge of a precariously placed bush, and rushed past the grey fountain of a rearing mare with a very ridiculous hat on her head. She left Chancellor Puddinghead and Town Hall far behind as she took concerted, steady breaths: eyes focused firmly on the bridge ahead, and the forest far beyond. "Lyra, I need you to stay here, okay? I'm going after Light." Golden eyes- good eyes, narrowed in concern, and a minty green hoof that she wanted more than anything to grab hold of and never let go slipped up to rest on her cheek. "Be careful hun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." As if Lyra would ever do the safe thing. She was running over grass, now. Every quick step forward shifted uncomfortably off an incline or a rock or a stray patch of mud: forcing her to slow her hurried pace. As she crested a hill and came to a head at the edge of the Everfree forest, she came fully to a stop, not much of her own accord. Her breath was still even- still steady, but she took the moment of looking over the endless scape of greyed, darkened trees to rest. To rest, and to fish a hoof into her saddlebags. With a flip and the sensation of many things bumping against her hoof: Bon Bon found the small circular object she was looking for, and pulled it out. A plain, wooden compass pointing due east, but she knew it was wrong. This was the compass that had been enchanted with a lure to Light's cloak. Where that cloak went, Bon Bon could follow; an unfortunately useless artefact in its current state as earlier that morning Light's cloak had been ragged and covered with oil, so she'd chosen to leave it at his cottage. But that wasn't the only thing it could do: it was just much easier to follow Light's cloak. Bon Bon, holding the compass in a hoof, took a deep breath, and brought the object up to her head. Focus. Focus. She felt with little prodding the telltale warmth of her mana beginning to churn within her veins, and as she took a deep breath in, she let it flow with the deep breath out. With another moment and the manifestation of her target in her mind, the breath as she let it out began to tingle upon her lip. A shining blue light began to gleam above the dazzling glass case of the compass, and slowly, as she took another deep breath, the still needle kept on stilts within began to move. Shaking and shuddering: the tiny needle crept to the side; Bon Bon continuing to breathe as regularly as she could, while keeping a strong mental image of the brown unicorn in her mind. After a moment, it was done, and when she opened her eyes, the compass' shell was emitting a very subtle blue light, and the needle within was pointing south-southeast. Shaking very slightly, and moving east ever so infinitesimally. She'd been right. That was the direction of the old castle. She narrowed her cerulean eyes in grizzled determination, and dropped the compass into her saddlebags: closing the pack with a flick of her pastern. The Everfree laid out seemingly forever in front of her; a very lost little unicorn somewhere amidst the dark trees and darker thoughts. Again: she began to run. "Where do you think he's going? Does he have a hot date tonight he forgot about?" She turned to look bemusedly at her lover: a deeply contemplative look on her perfect face, though it dropped into a childish smile after a second. Bon Bon shook her head and sighed: continuing to dig around in her pack that she'd set on her stool. "If any part of the failsafe the Princess placed has failed and he's managed to remember Her, then he's likely being led to the location of Her probable return upon dethroning the Princess." The words felt like poison in her mouth, but she kept a brave face: narrowing her eyes as she raised aloft a compass, and spitting the words in disgust. "The Castle of the Two Sisters." "Ooh~ Sounds like a super hot date spot!" The memory had Bon Bon sighing, even as she trampled through the brittle undergrowth. Lyra continued to prove to her that she'd never make it as an agent, even for every day that she begged for a badge and 'the rights to arrest anypony she wanted!' She didn't need to wear a badge to inspire, and she didn't need to arrest anypony to make a difference. Even for as much as she loved Princess and Country, as Bon Bon took a running start and leaped across a yawning chasm too wide to step over, she could only ever have the courage to take that forward leap as she thought of that minty green idiot. And... that stupid, redhead unicorn. She'd do it for the both of them. For Lyra, and for Light, she'd even fight the Moon Herself. It wasn't about duty anymore. Bordering on obsession or no: Her Highness- her Goddess was gone, and Nightmare Moon was left. This was about saving those she held dear. Bon Bon ran on. "Before I go, there's something I need you to do." "Besides staying put? What, you need me to hold the table, Bonnie? I don't think anypony's gonna try to take your seat while you're gone." Lyra said it as a joke, and Bon Bon even smiled, but there wasn't much humor in the moment, and even Lyra couldn't keep her ever-present grin. But still, as she strapped her bag to her side, Bon Bon put a hoof to her marefriend's shoulder, and looked her seriously in the eye. "Applejack is going to want to go after Light, but that can't happen. She needs to be kept safe until dawn, and she needs to stick close to Twilight. Whatever happens, I need you to keep her here until the Celebration begins." She smiled, and pulled Lyra into a hug. Whispered into her ear. "Can you do that, sweetheart?" With a whispered sigh, Lyra's voice tickled into her ear. The sweetest sound in the world. "Of course I can do that, honeybon." The exerted pressure of a rope tugging at her body was painful, but even the botched landing on the other side of the raging river- and the seethe-worthy scraping of her side on the dirt- didn't hurt as much as that last moment had. That last, aching moment with the mare she loved more than anything in the world. The mare she'd do- was doing anything for. Bon Bon pushed herself to her hooves with a grimace, and tugged at the rope she still firmly held. The hooked other end of the grapple she'd tossed over a hanging branch caught, but then Bon Bon braced, jerked, and tore the entire branch off. The splash of the branch she'd used to swing herself over the violent river was a grim reminder of what could've befallen her, but it was far from her mind as Bon Bon began slowly reeling her tool in. Inch by inch, until she was holding a sopping wet metal claw that she dumped unceremoniously back into her saddlebag. Sorry, Rarity. It was a very nice hoof-stitched bag with her cutie mark embroidered onto it, but it was going to have to suffer a bit of water and mud for the imminent end of the world. With a prayer that her seamstress wouldn't one day bite her head off: Bon Bon, ignoring the slight pain in her shoulder, turned from the river and began to run again. Past dead, greying trees in every direction and flank-high grass that hadn't grown in moons: she ran. Thoughts of what she'd left behind in her head, and the thought of what she was running towards. She ran, and she ran, and ran... ...and before she knew it, she stopped running. Bon Bon slowed to a halt: heaving tired breaths like each was her last. She stumbled another step forward, and leaned a hoof onto a nearby tree that she swore she'd seen five or more times. At least, since she'd stopped seeing the patch of black ivy that looked like a heart. And she'd only begun seeing that after she'd narrowly avoided the same patch of Poison Joke four times. How long had she been running? What time was it? Bon Bon, though tired and dripping with sweat from actually countless hours of running, leaned off the crutch of a tree, and used the hoof instead to look into her saddlebag. For the... umpteenth time, she pulled out the wooden compass that had been imprinted with Light's magical signature, and stared dizzily down at it. And just as it had been the last billion times, the needle was spinning wildly in circles. Useless. This entire thing was useless. Damn forest made everything harder. Bon Bon groaned, and let her butt fall to the prickly forest floor. She continued to heave hot breaths as she threw the compass back into her saddlebag- fat load of good it'd do her, anyway- and rooted around instead for something it only took her a few seconds to find. The object she pulled out was less magical than her magic compass, but far more valuable. It was a hoof-held golden mechanical watch: emblazoned on its front with the beautiful crest of a branch of the Equestrian Special Forces. Each branch had their own special insignia, and the EIA logo sported a lovely closed book under a cute little pony head that simultaneously saw, heard, and spoke no evil. On the book's front was their motto: an antiquated Old Ponish saying that basically equated to 'Inform the Princess.' She thought it was very aptly concise, and she was proud to carry the logo of the EIA everywhere she went. It reminded her of her faith and her duty all in one, while keeping a due metaphor about how her time was solely for the Crown. Or for running around like a brain-dead chicken. And when Bon Bon flicked the ornate cover open to stare down at its polished white face, she found that after all the time she'd been searching for the castle, it was now... Sweet Celestia she'd been running around a long time! Bon Bon threw her head back and shouted in aggravation: closing the watch face and throwing the delicate instrument back into her pouch without a second thought. Dusting stray bits of grass mulch off her flank as she stood: Bon Bon cast angry eyes around her surroundings as she tried to decide which ultimately meaningless direction was best to run in. But then, as Bon Bon was taking her first steps forward, a noise stopped her. A deep, low growl: rumbling and peaking at its edges as though through blackened lips. Her face fell into serious conviction in an instant; her hoof edging forward as she turned slightly to catch the source of the growl in the edge of her eye. It was huge. Lumbering forward on four, patchy golden-furred paws that left deep imprints in the dirt: each paw sprouting three ill-fitting toes, which themselves ended in large, black claws that gleamed in the scant moonlight. Its torso was giant enough to smother her and lean enough to tell its strength, yet its sides were gaunt and heavily showed bone. From its back rose two thick bones of wings covered in their gaps by thin membranes: a distinctively red hue to their veined, see-through surfaces. Where a tufted tail should've been at its rear instead sprouted a huge, segmented length of red chitin: the pointed scorpion's stinger a remarkable contrast to the rest of the creature, though as it arced high and swung threateningly through the air in a violent rattle, Bon Bon was sure taxonomy didn't matter much to it. A head sporting once-fluffy lion's mane, yet atop it sat two scarred lengths of sharply-tipped horns. Its face, too, was lion-like: a predator's nose flaring to take in her scent, bestial eyes wide with wildness and hunger, and massive rows of yellowed-red teeth inside rubbery black lips sharp enough to tear her apart in seconds. It was a manticore, an aberration of Chaos, and it was much bigger than her. The massive mismatched monster trampled forward through the grass on its clumsy, heavy paws, but she knew it didn't need dexterity. It had strength in incredible spades: an obvious fact made all the more apparent as it stepped onto a long-fallen mossy log in-between them, and the hollow length of wood shattered into flying splinters as it pressed carelessly down. All the while, the silent clearing filled with the sounds of its snarls. Low and guttural and never-ending: a lesser pony would've been driven mad by the intent therein. The animalistic sound's inherent intention of ripping its prey to bloody shreds certainly had a way of cutting to one's core. She only watched with calculating eyes as the huge thing never took its hungry eyes off her: covertly slipping her hoof to her side to reach into her saddlebag. Other creatures- smaller, more intelligent creatures- may have seen any movement at all as an act of aggression, and flown into an immediate frenzy. Not that manticore. It must've been completely mad with its clear hunger: its deeply red and slotted eyes sparkling with everything besides reason she could think of. As it was, as she pulled the small metal nub out of her bag, it could've been an apple for as much attention as the beast gave to it. A mistake it would come to regret. Now, she only had to wait. And she would not wait long; mere moments after she crouched low into a ready combat position, the manticore threw its maned head back in a bone-rattling roar louder than all the rest, and began to charge forward. Huge paws big enough to snap trees and ponies alike reached for her only just ahead of the terrifyingly grinning mouth full of letter opener-like teeth- but she was already gone. Gone fast enough to even avoid the huge globs of drool it sent flying ahead of it. Because as the manticore had rushed closer, Bon Bon had leaped into the air. From her crouch: she'd flipped high into the air and turned so her entire body was upside-down like an arrow, all so she could swing her hoof and extend her weapon. The small nub turned into a small length of plated steel, and as she fell in scant seconds, she landed with purpose directly onto the back of the manticore. Everything rushed in, and in the moment that the manticore realized that Bon Bon was no longer in front of it, she was already on its back. As it turned its spitting head to bite at her, and its tail reared back to sting at her, Bon Bon had already wound up, and thrown her considerable strength into whacking the manticore's horn. It was no ordinary retractable baton she wielded- though it would've been just as effective with how strong she was, not to brag- it had also been laced with a very potent electrical effect. As soon as the specialized ward cast along its edge detected significant concussive action, it tripped a mana lattice engraved into its handle to discharge. Just a few thousand volts- nothing fatal- and only at that point of impact, thankfully- got to love those geniuses in the COMS and MR&D. So, as it was, when her stun baton made impact with the spire of bone that connected intimately with the manticore's skull, there was a fur-raising shock of magical energy in the air that set her fur on end and teeth slightly chattering, and the entire body on which she stood jerked and then went suddenly stiff. Bon Bon stood taller atop the mound of flesh as the manticore began to tip forward, and just as its face met ground, she bunched her legs together and sprung forward onto flat-ish grass. The gargantuan sound of a predator's body flumping onto the forest floor behind her was satisfying in ways she couldn't ever express, and she had a gratifying smirk on her face as she turned to regard the creature. The mighty manticore with all its most terrifying traits: laying comatose on its side after being delivered a significant electrical shock tertiarily to the brain. Its sides were still rising well enough, but there was so little movement otherwise that she guessed it probably wouldn't be standing again for a while. Her smile began to fade as she retracted her baton, and stowed it away into her pack. The night was cold and dark, especially out there in the Everfree, and as she could already hear... ...howls. A wounded animal in the forest at night wouldn't survive very long. Especially in the Everfree. She turned: keeping a furrowed brow atop her head as she made her way out of the clearing. Even as she left the manticore she'd concussed behind, there was determination brimming like hot coffee in her heart- and how she'd love a cup right now. It was eat or be eaten in the forest, and all she'd done was protect herself from a hulking monster looking to rend her limb from limb. There was nothing to feel ashamed for. It was all for them. The Crown was gone, and it was all for them. Bon Bon began to run. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Exiting the dank depths of the woods- and entering into the foggy air of the open ravine, more importantly- was completely refreshing in a way Bon Bon hadn't realized she needed. It was a little more evident when she turned sagging eyes to herself in the brighter light, and found her coat brown with dirt where it wasn't greying green with mulch. The hues were even beginning to blend together with the copious amounts of sweat she'd exuded from the hours of running through the forest. She looked ugly. Bon Bon needed a shower. And a cup of coffee. ...And a plate of hayfries. She sighed in half exhaustion: turning her sunken eyes up to the open, cloudy sky. The stars were shining brightly- she'd imagine they were happy, if the rumors about them having a mind were true. Then her eye found the moon, and though she already knew in her rational mind what it would look like, she still couldn't stop herself from the slight, instinctive flinch. Pale and blemish-free. The Nightmare was free. She walked Equus once more. What would become of Equestria now? Princess Celestia- it was anathema to even think, but She was truly... gone. By now, Nightmare Moon would have certainly found Her, and with the standing orders the Princess had given to the upper echelons... Stand down. Do not fight. This is not a conquering, this is my willing cessation of my rule. Equestria surrenders. ...Equestria was crownless, and Nightmare Moon was poised to stand up. The only other possible contender for the throne would have been- no, She had been sequestered into hiding, last Bon Bon heard. It hadn't been an EIA operation, but apparently She and a small faction of the royal army were well en-route to their allies in Abyssinia by now, with orders to only return to Equestria at next dawn. Whether that would take a few hours, or a few years. Come another day, a Princess would return to them. She stared at her hooves for a moment, taking rhythmic breaths to calm herself, before she shook her head, and set her sparkling eyes forward. For what remained of the Crown. For Lyra, and for Light. Her muscles were burning from the run, but she didn't let that stop her from trotting forward to the edge of the ravine stretching out in front of her- because that burn could never match her burning desire to enact justice! ...Cliché, she knew, but she couldn't help what really motivated her. The famously infamous hole that stretched as a little-known part of Ghastly Gorge to the southwest and eventually tapered at the local cliffs of sheer rock to the northeast was just as grand and mystifying as she'd last seen it, though there were a few immediately evident changes. The impenetrable wall of fog that swirled around the opposite cliff wall seemed... thinner than usual. Even the entire thick atmosphere of the jungle-like cliffs was almost palatable compared to its regular choking bulkiness. When she took a breath, it actually felt like she was breathing. It wasn't like that the last time she'd come. The wall of fog was actually so thin that she could almost make out the towering outline of the ruined castle just beyond it. If she squinted. Feeling an odd sense of dread: Bon Bon looked down from her focused stare at the cloudy horizon, to where there should've been nothing but air between the two massive poles sitting lonely at the cliff's edge. But where there should've been nothing, there was instead a bridge. An ancient looking plain rope bridge with even plainer planks tied to its suspension that seemed... perhaps too molded to stand upon. This... was bad. The only bridge leading to the castle had been out for recorded history, and since all paths through the Everfree just lead confusingly back to the bridge posts, the broken bridge was the only way to get there. But nopony- not even the strongest fliers nor magically gifted of any race- had ever been able to penetrate that wall of fog to fix the bridge; like the Everfree itself, the fog seemed entrenched in an inert area of influence. If the bridge was back, then... ...She was beyond it. Light was beyond it. She needed to hurry if she was going to save him. Bon Bon set her jaw, her eyes on the foggy horizon, and her hoof onto the bridge. The immediate swaying, squeezing sensation of being suspended in air above a precarious drop too far to even measure set her heart squeezing. Other ponies- lesser, non-winged ponies- may have fallen to their knees in fear. Understandably so; the prospect of falling to her death was- it wasn't pretty. But Bon Bon was a very stern, very principled mare, and she did not often cow to her fears. Not when she had a duty to fulfill. So it was that she trotted carefully forward across the bridge, and even as her heart leaped with every step that set the entire aged structure creaking, she never hesitated for longer than it took her eyes to find the next plank to set her hoof onto. Feeling the entire way: the immense pressure set upon her shoulders. With all the time she'd taken to find the ravine, Light had undoubtedly made it across the bridge already, which meant he was at the castle already, which meant Nightmare Moon had probably found him already. Intelligence and common sense suggested that She was going to use his presence and personal proximity to stall the ascendant Wielders- their only hope. Her next step was faster, and the bridge groaned under the weight of her haste. She needed to- The first snap of corded fibre broke the soundless scape of the night, and so as it broke that quiet calm, it was unmistakable to Bon Bon's strained ears. As was the subtle sound of fraying rope, and the second snap. And though she had long since thrown herself into a desperate gallop towards the approaching wall of fog, it was still far too late to outrun the sound of that third, heartbreaking snap. Then the bridge began to fall away. Bon Bon gasped in thin air that she suddenly realized was far too thin as her entire body dipped with her next step. She didn't have to look back as the terrifying feeling of near-weightlessness flipped so subtly into the exact feeling of plummeting, but she did look down, and she would forever curse herself for looking down. She saw in slow-motion her hooves leaving the eroded planks and the broken supports as they fell away from her: traveling so much faster towards the fog than she was. She saw the dark void below. Too far down to even see the bottom. For a single instant, she saw her own, broken body. Bon Bon moved. Forcing herself to drop fast enough to get her hooves onto the falling planks was frightening, but it wasn't anywhere nearly as frightening as the next moment in which she bounced off the object with nothing under it, and came to just barely wrap her hooves around the escaping, whipping-in-the-wind, length of browned rope that had for whatever reason snapped somewhere halfway down. She gasped in sudden exertion as the entire momentum of the bridge collapsing hit her all at once: the wind and the uncontrollable gravity buffeting her as her curled body turned and flapping in the crushing fall. The planks whipping in the wind- and she could only assume by the lack of agony that they'd somehow avoided hitting her. She blinked: her eye caught the fog approaching fast. She grimaced as she flicked her hoof to wrap most of the rope she was holding in a few, tight loops around her limb in a short second. It might cut off circulation, but it also might keep her alive, and she'd rather lose her limb than her life. The fog was approaching too quickly to process much of anything except the sensation and the adrenaline. so she only had the few options. The rope tugged at her pastern, and Bon Bon braced for impact: her mind racing. If the fog was solid, she'd be crushed by the speed and the planks falling ahead of her. If the fog was soft, then she'd pass right through it and be smashed against the hard wall of the cliff. If the wall was solid enough to slow her but thin enough to pass through, then- Something hit her- and Bon Bon felt pain- saw darkness. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Bon Bon, otherwise known as Special Agent Sweetie Drops in direct service to the Crown by way of the EIA branch of the Equestrian Special Forces, came to, she was only vaguely aware of a few things. One: a dull, thobbing pain in her head that made her immediately groan and wish for more whiskey. Two: the scent of misty air tickling her nose that was so familiar but she was having a hard time remembering why. Three: a subtle sensation of swinging, swaying, so close to falling but it was almost like the feeling of being suspended or- Everything came rushing back, and Bon Bon gasped, and flung open her eyes. An indifferent, grey wall of swirling mist was the first thing to greet her, and as she breathed in yet another lungful of the heady air, it was immediately noticeable that it was so close. Identify. Internalize. Think. The bridge had broken. She'd fallen: grasped hold of the end of the rope, and rode it down. Braced for impact as she hit the wall of fog- and it seemed as though she had been knocked unconscious as she'd traveled through. Prognosis was good; mental exercises were showing unlikely result of concussion or significant impairment. Physical reconciliation checked- Bon Bon seethed. She looked up through one grimacing eye to the sight of her limp hoof above her: tied around her reddened, raw pastern by a thick cord of rope. The ugly sight of her tied flesh had her wincing even further than the actual feeling as the limb had already mostly gone completely numb. She was hanging by her hoof above the chasm. The darkness far below her, and the moonlit sky far, far above her: blocked slightly by the grim silhouette of her hanging rope, and the outcrop it was tied to. Every breath threatened to spin out of control; Bon Bon looking down from her hanging limb and placing her other hoof to her chest as she tried to keep herself calm. How long had she been hanging? Not that long: her hoof hadn't gone blue or been rubbed to bleeding yet, and she still had trace amounts of feeling in it. It must've been a significant amount of stress either way, though. Could she have dislocated it? Bon Bon flicked her eye up, and tried to wiggle her numb limb. The slight movement from within the cocoon of rope was a good sign- but then her entire body dipped, and her adrenaline spiked as the sound of creaking fibre filled her ears. Quick as a flash, Bon Bon took in a huge breath, braced what little she could feel of her hoof, and hauled herself up. The rope had already begun to coil away from her hoof covered in sores and welts, but as she grabbed firmer hold of it and swung herself barely forward to throw her other hoof up, she managed to catch herself just as its miraculously-tied end unraveled. She hung there with both hooves holding firmly to the drooping end of rope, and now she began to sway and tilt even more in the air. Turning by way of the wind: she came to look at the jagged rock wall not more than a few hoof-lengths to her other side. Every breath was coming deeper and deeper, and she was suddenly very aware of how lucky she was to be alive. Wrapping the rope around her hoof- bracing- grabbing hold before she fell- that was all training and instinct, but if it hadn't been for the fog wall slowing her descent... She blinked, and began to sway her back hooves under her. Breathing evenly with the exertion as she dipped back, then forward, then further back until her body was nearly straight with her momentum, and then she was tipping forward. Brace. The rock wall was just as hard as she'd imagined it to be, and affirmed her thoughts that she'd be suffering a broken bone or twenty if she'd hit it at full speed. As it was: when just her hooves took the full brunt of her swing before the rest of her body, it still sent a painful jolt through her teeth. But as her body impacted the wall, she pulled the rope taut- and held it. Bon Bon took deep, concerted breaths as she took a single moment with her head curled to her chest and her body against the cliff to just breathe. In, and out; in, and out. And then, she opened her eyes, and agonizingly stretched her back out. The soft pads of her frogs stung and probably began to bleed as she firmly held herself by her back legs to the sheer face of the cliff, but then she pulled the rope to her side, and took her first step up. Breathe. Breathe. Hold firm, and keep going. Every step made her aching muscles burn. Every moment she felt all over again how her hooves chafed from the intense friction of holding the rope as tightly as she could manage. Her lungs felt like fire with each breath of thin air. Her nose had begun to bleed at some point, and she could taste the iron trickle running down into her mouth. Her ears were filled with the sound of her own pained grunts. Yet still, Bon Bon continued to climb. Over and over: she grabbed another length of rope, took another step that filled her body with pins and razor-sharp needles, took a deep breath, and then did it again. Gravity pulling her relentlessly down; her resolution the only thing keeping her going. She climbed. When one reddish-brown hoof that had once been cream-colored crept shakily up over the side of the cliff and met dead grass, its owner knew it was only the very beginning of the end, and relaxing would have certainly killed her. When its twin came to rest upon it, it was followed on its heels by a face covered in red from more places than one. Red cheeks, red nose and red ears- but cerulean eyes burning with determination. Nostrils flaring with seething breath that would never ever quit. Most of her body had long since stopped registering any signal other than pain by the time Bon Bon hoisted herself over the edge of the cliff, and as she swung her third hoof over and let go of the rope, it was nearly too painful to allow herself to push up one last time and roll over onto her back. The grass under her- it hurt. The panting air in her dry, open mouth- it hurt. Her hooves, rubbed so raw that they had begun to bleed slightly- oh yeah they hurt. But she was alive. Her pelt was riddled with cuts and bruises and she was bleeding and numb in too many places to count, but she'd scaled the cliff. She'd survived. And there was no time to celebrate. The poking, shifting sensation of the myriad things in her saddlebag caught between her body and the ground was the first real indication that she needed to move, but as she gradually opened her stinging eyes, she found an even better one in the sky above her. The completely white moon. Equestria was in danger. Her voice was ragged and torn as she raised it in a throaty groan as she pushed herself to her hooves, but there was nopony around to blush at her masculine chords. Lyra would've even called it sexy, knowing her. Sweet Celestia did she miss those golden eyes. Her hooves- and she sucked in a furious scream of pain as they throbbed- found the ground under her, and amazingly: the immense sound of creaking bones was the least of her concerns as she stood. She took a slow step forward- and stumbled. Her chin met the ground faster than she could think, and the world tipped sideways for a vague second of lost consciousness that all too quickly slapped her awake with a miraculous new pain. She spared an eye for the hoof that hurt so much more than the others- but then quickly bit her tongue and jerked away. She knew ponies with purple fur. She was not one of them. Her hoof was not supposed to be purple. Tartarus damnit. It was a frightening thing to confront her own injury. Every time she looked at it through the corner of her eye, it seemed to throb even harder. Not to mention the small springs of blood leaking from her sores. The longer she sat, the longer the grass would run red, and the higher the chance that she'd pass out. Nopony liked admitting they were injured or needed help, but Bon Bon was injured, and how she wished there was somepony around to help her. But she was alone. Alone on the other side of a broken bridge that all of three ponies had crossed in the past millennium. Maybe four ponies in the entire world knew she was out here, and only one could possibly help her, and if her junior agent did that, then she'd be putting this entire operation in jeopardy. So, Bon Bon did what needed to be done. First, she found her emergency canteen in her saddlebags, which was absurdly difficult on her back. It was ultimately worth it, though, to douse her burning flesh in the cool liquid. With her hoof cradled close, she took a moment to shudder and luxuriate in the momentary relief before she snapped her eyes open and let her empty flask fall to the ground. She was lucky she'd packed the gauze- luckier still her bags had survived the trip- and how lucky she was that nopony was around to see her bite her lip and snort back blooded tears as she began to wrap her pastern in the white cloth. It stung- mother bucker it hurt! Son of a stinking mule- it hurt! She spat out the torn end of the length of sterilized gauze, and tugged a final time- muffling a tortured shout into her lip as her bound hoof roared in pain- but it was done. Her bloody, swelling pastern was neatly bound in thick wraps of white that would keep the worst parts of injury at bay. Sweaty and red-faced: she inspected her hoofiwork for a moment. Turning her limb around and around to see if anything else was immediately wrong that she might have to fix. It wasn't broken. It wasn't bleeding tremendously. Not dislocated nor completely useless. Just a quick wrap and the swelling would eventually die down thanks to the fact that it was also an open wound, which saved her the trouble of taking her pocketknife and doing some impromptu letting. Self-fixing. Leave it and forget it. ...If only she could. She sighed, and rolled herself over onto three hooves. At least the other three were okay enough to support her, and though cradling the constantly-aching fourth to her chest was a reminder that her agile potential had been more than triply reduced, it did make all the other pains less noticeable. Small blessings. After gathering the few things that had fallen out of her pack, Bon Bon began to slowly limp forward; three hooves and a sense of sickly knowing deep in her chest that she couldn't quite shake off as she crept into the undergrowth. The massive greying plants of a forest struck dead each a solemn reminder of what she was walking into. What she was soon to face, and how daunting it was even then. She'd never intended to challenge Nightmare Moon to one-on-one combat. Something that insane would have required immense amounts of anti-species gear of all three kinds, and she'd packed light for the sake of moving fast. But now, even her paltry goal of somehow smuggling Light away seemed impossible. She limped on. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The eminent tower of the castle's entrance loomed overhead. Once sturdy grey walls broken down through time into improvised windows, to shade with midnight colors the forgotten memories of an age nopony remembered, and of things nopony had seen. The moss-covered steps to a castle once flush with life left behind. Simple bricks laid in odd patterns in the grass only telling whispered stories of what had once been. The massive arched door lovingly emblazoned with a crest of a kingdom killed by treachery left carelessly open. The momentous open hall to welcome processions and dignitaries alike now faded beyond memory; arches high above webbed over and forgotten their purpose, and even the ceremonial platform looking over the room had long since fallen to join the ever-present rubble. The entire room was covered in rubble, and for Bon Bon, the secret agent with three workable hooves, it was a complete nightmare. She huffed a annoyed breath as her one good front hoof bumped again against a stray brick and nearly sent her toppling. She fixed it with a heated glare and kicked her good hoof into it: the small object unfortunately not being flung away as she'd hoped as it instead exploded into a thick mist of dust. She coughed and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to wave the dusted relic of architecture currently floating around her face away. Ugh- some brick dust had gotten into her mouth! This place was sad. Sad and pathetic. When she finally stopped breathing in millennium-old clay, she set her weight onto her front hoof again and tried, again, to see if there was anything in the room to give her any clue as to where Light had gone. Five identical hallways across the giant circular room that each told her nothing about anything. Every structure had crumbled; every tapestry had fallen to dust; every hoofprint was lost under old garbage. Whether it had been beautiful in its own time, it was pretty damn ugly now. Since before she'd joined the EIA, or probably even been alive, Princess Celestia had regularly commissioned works of art depicting this castle in its prime. It wasn't so often: maybe one new painting every four or five years, which made it all the more impressive that Canterlot Castle was absolutely covered in the works. In every hall and every room of the white marble palace there likely hung a masterwork of brushwork and oils of striking landscapes which brought to life stout grey walls and vibrant, living stonework. Portals to the past through which could be seen the immense history. Arches painted in bright motifs. Stories carved into the stony mold. Opulence in common quarters and colors. Blurry recreations of tapestries that the Princess had once gone on record as saying were: 'Mere shallow pools to the depth of striking detail there once was.' Magnificent, sweeping works across entire rooms capturing the minute details of thousands of lives lived within these walls, that the Princess had sighed and said were just 'far too still.' She had seen ponies driven to tears over some of the beautiful works on display at the castle. Even felt some strings being tugged herself, a few times. Yet the Princess only ever seemed to frown looking at them: something sad to Her small expression. Bon Bon shook off the memories of the oil-soaked scapes, and as the colors bled away, she was left again in the quiet, cold halls of grey. She'd begun walking forward: chosen to enter through the middle hall, but she was beginning to regret that decision. Her thought had been that the most generic entrance would yield the widest possible net of visual area in which to spot dweeby little colts, but so far she'd only seen the endless sights of grey tunnels. And they seemed like actual tunnels, because she'd gone down some very prodigious flights of broken stairs on the way. Some, unfortunately for her, lacked steps: forcing Bon Bon to improvise. She wouldn't elaborate. And even though she was now covered head to hoof in grey brick dust as well as blood, sweat and grass, she continued to limp on. Thanking every moment of stumbling down slopes and passing collapsed walls that the pain in her hoof was gradually fading. Except for the single moment in which she accidentally clipped her injury on a stalagmite of corroded bricks. She'd continued, eventually- after falling to her knees and seething for a minute or three... But as it was that she traveled through the dark, dank tunnels, she was not-too-soon rewarded with a sudden opening, as the tunnel she'd been traveling through opened up into a large, circular room that extended far up. Though she felt slightly more relaxed at seeing the end, finally, there was nothing of immediate interest in the tower room besides more bricks and rubble. So she continued forward to the first door she'd seen that hadn't collapsed since she'd started walking. Bon Bon stepped out into the open air: breathing in her first cold breath of fresh air in... who knew how long, as she was faced with something altogether new. The grey path of stone bricks she'd trotted along continued out in a straight line: flanked by strangely green grass as it lead into and disappeared under... a mountain of bricks. Where once had been a street- she was only guessing by the darker bordering on the road in front of her and the general layout- there was now a catastrophe. The path she was on lead a medium distance away and right into a large, circular facsimile of a roundabout, yet only the front quarter of it was visible as around it and to the foreseeable horizon there were only ruins. Not... even. It was just bricks. Mounds and mounds of decayed bricks that had fallen apart so long ago there weren't even foundations left. Nothing to tell buildings apart from towers; nothing to separate pathways from garbage dumps. Where in Tartarus was- Something clicked in the back of her pain-riddled, exerted mind, and if she'd had the free hoof to do it, she would have clopped herself in the face. Instead, as she was three-hooved and battered beyond belief, she settled merely instead for biting her lip. Her already-bruised lip that twinged in more pain than she'd been expecting, making her cringe slightly. Not her smartest move, but nether had been coming here. And as she was only just now remembering, she actually did know where 'here' was, as well as where Light probably was! Because she'd seen a map of the castle before! Deciding that, yes, it was worth it: Bon Bon set her butt onto the cold stone, and put a hoof to her face just so she could sigh into it. She'd totally forgotten- because all it took for her to lose composure was extreme amounts of pain and fatigue, like a wimp- that a part of the mission briefing a week ago had involved her getting very acquainted with a hoof-drawn map of the castle grounds, courtesy of Princess Celestia Herself. Her Highness had been so generous as to personally draw her a map, and she'd gone and wandered around like a lost idiot. Really, she deserved capital punishment. Maybe they'd reinstate flogging or branding for her and her possibly world-ending incompetence. Would be the least of what she deserved. As she should have remembered, the castle was built into a large, hollow hill: the outside parapets and ramparts massive deterrents to protect a large city in the middle hold. The 'castle' was really a massively walled settlement, and the 'walls' were.... okay, they were still walls, but not to defend the diarchy: they were meant to defend the ponies within. And the Sisters' thrones and quarters were both in... the outside walls. And she'd made a blind beeline right for the ruined city in the center. And now she was still sitting around wasting time thinking about how dumb she was. Dumb or not, she had a job to fulfill. She was just glad Lyra wasn't here to tease her. She spared her one good hoof to roam about in her saddlebag as she swept a critical eye around what remained of the city grounds. The grass had held up surprisingly well, considering they were still in the Everfree. Oddly kempt, too; most things in this forest tended to just erode and fall apart. That gave her slight hope, though- as she pulled her continually-useless compass out by a hoof- that it might actually work. She stared down with skepticism written across her face as the needle within the small wooden object dipped and swayed and spun. But slowly, very slowly, it began to stabilize as each unhelpful pass against north was met with a slight resistance. And slowly, the needle ground to a halt, and gradually began to turn the other way. She felt a hard smile coming to her face as the needle finally landed on a definite direction of east-southeast, and tilted unmistakably up to nearly touch against the glass. That was the direction Light was in, and that confirmed her thoughts. It was the direction of the old Throne of the Moon. Smiling, Bon Bon turned to throw the compass back into her bag so she could get a move on and find Light- but something stopped her. Something just in the corner of her sharp eye. Something that changed. She twisted away from her bag to stare carefully with wide eyes down at the compass again: not daring to blink as she watched the slight movement of the needle within. The slight movement became quick. The needle was tilting down. Fast. Bon Bon was a very principled, very stern mare. Yet in that one moment, she could truly say that she felt fear. > Chapter 47 - The Mare > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- From the first, quiet moment after Her words settled in the still air of the kingdom capital of a land long lost, Light Flow was sure he'd finally gone completely insane. That, or his ears had suddenly begun malfunctioning, because what the hell else could it have been? He misheard things all the time- unheard things, as Applejack sometimes said, and there he was thinking about Applejack, so that explained why her name was on his mind and definitely not on Nightmare Moon's lips because Her saying that name was just out-of-this-realm fantastically crazy. But- just in case he wasn't totally raving mad- he allowed the question to stutter off his cold lips that had a moment ago been so hot. "Say that again..?" If his legs weren't feeling weak and his heart wasn't hammering in his chest where just seconds ago it had been so proud, Nightmare Moon would have seemed downright comical with Her hooked upper lip and the grim glint of dispassion in Her eye. At least after he'd done such a good job of standing up to Her just- it was just a second ago. But now he was barely staying on his hooves, and every moment that he heard anything besides the hollow echo of Her bleak reverie was a blessing. A blessing of missed quietude, and how he would come to miss that assured silence. How he would miss that blessed warmth from within, as a growth of incertitude gleefully smothered it. How he would long for that ignorance. "Oh? What is wrong, child? It is said that confidence blinds, but does it also deafen?" Her voice was so quiet, yet so heavy with acidic scorn that he was on the edge of falling to the cold ground with every word. A tone that had been so familiar, yet had quickly faded to a laughable memory. Now, the pure apathy of a millennium lost burned in Nightmare Moon's gleaming eye again. Her menacing stare dominated his every thought as Her head slowly bent to his face's unmoving side, and Her scentless breath washed over his ear with foreboding intent. The fur of their cheeks was nearly brushing: a touch that may have been intimate, once, yet now his fur prickled at ends from a profound sense of danger crawling on his skin. "You asked for whom has come to stand against me, and as it is your fervent wish, I will again name them by their most righteous sin." It was low and quiet and so frighteningly close to monotone, yet the intensity below was so giant. Confusingly opposite enough that he felt smothered for air deep in his own chest by the sheer lacking in Her breath, while She just continued: oblivious or simply uncaring of his stilled breath. "Twilight Sparkle, the genius ascendant wielder of Magic reared for the sole purpose of my opposition." He found himself mouthing the words recurrently as Her slow, resolute degree wriggled through the walls of his mind. Crawling into the weakest cracks of his psyche, and beginning to fester and burn behind every thought. "Rainbow Dash, the Loyal savant stuck in the past and obsessed with her fillyhood dreams." His head shook on its own as color filled his senses, and he could see in a flash the sight of a kaleidoscope with far too much running red. He blinked again and it was gone, yet She remained. "Rarity, the Generous seamstress weighed by responsibility and shackled by family to mediocrity." His tongue met his teeth and he tasted sooty ash- the taste of burning fabric. The more he prodded, the more and more metallic it tasted. "Pinkamena Diane Pie, the Laughing aberration disowned and touched in solace by Chaos." His ear flicked, and for that single moment, Her words were swept away by the deafening sound of a choking laugh cut short. Then, a silence. Then, Her voice. "Fluttershy, the Kindly mutant undergone subjugation and discrimination for the crime of caring." He tried to utter something- but found his throat choked by indecision at the last moment. He nearly coughed, but even that stalled in his chest by the sheer fear of the action. "And oh- how heinous is Harmony's choice for its last virtue." Every instant to his unblinking eyes was another new instance of creeping reds at every pulsing corner splotched by flaming grey as reality itself burned down around him, but he could still hear, in those few words, how She smiled. "It is for their passed and waiting lifetimes lived in blind pursuit of a virtue they will be remembered, yet for as gilded as their future is, it remains an indelible tragedy that you would have first come to know each and every one of them by name." And he could imagine so clearly, as something too cold to be tears bunched in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, the sight of Her painfully grinning fangs. Wide and gleaming. Sharp and deadly. "And how you know the last of them. How you wished you could have her. How you imagined yourself to be hers. "How you know her Honesty." He'd been despondent the first time She'd said it. Sure in his most rational mind that he'd misheard, or that She was lying, or that there could've been any other explanation because there just had to be. It was too cruel to be real. How could his life have been so traumatically wicked to have heard her name? How could his life have been so cruel?! But there was no avoiding the cold, bitter reality of it. And as She again spoke that name in a restrained, giddy knell, he knew, without a single doubt in his brittle mind, that She was telling the truth. "But how well do you truly know Applejack, when all you've ever done is lie to her?" In a single moment, Light Flow shattered. Applejack. It was Applejack. Applejack was one of the heroes. Applejack was in the very same castle that he was in right now, on her way to defeat Nightmare Moon. When Equestria was threatened, and when the entirety of their nation could have been called on to defend their faith, it had been her. When a prophecy had been penned by an old fool who'd styled himself wiser than a scared little colt, it had been her name written on the next page. Of course it had been her. Of course it was Applejack. Everything suddenly made sense- while the burning world around him slowed and dulled to a static halt. This was why Nightmare Moon, even besides his underdeveloped talents in Necromancy, would choose him. Why She needed him- out of an entire world of smarter, stronger, all around better ponies to choose from- to help Her stop the heroes. He'd long since been extremely wrong: it wasn't about the physical; it was never about physically stopping them. Why would he need to? If She'd thought it necessary to kill them, She'd have done it Herself. Or contracted an assassin. Or crept into the mind of a newborn foal and twisted their thoughts and memories around for their entire life until the day they were finally considered sharpened enough to rend all that was good limb from limb- this wasn't even really about the heroes: it was about something greater. It was clear that Nightmare Moon feared one thing above all: Harmony. The heroes, who She considered practically untouchable, were the champions of Harmony. That was obvious, and whether he still felt lingering doubt about Harmony and its power, it was very obvious Nightmare Moon did not. Fate had not writ the premature deaths of the heroes tonight, so they simply would not die. Chance didn't exist; Harmony deigned every action made, and there was no escaping it. He would accept that as inexorable for now. But fate had writ an alternative. Harmony, for whatever reason, had deigned Nightmare Moon an out. Those heroes; those mares- six mares, shrouded in the mists and mires of the Endless Night- had long since been prophesied to win against Nightmare Moon if She were to aggress them directly and on Her own. Whether She was ultimately dangerous and cruelly efficient was... a heavens-sent given, but it simply didn't matter. Something contrived could- and would happen at the last moment, as though life were a badly thought-out story with too-important protagonists. But not if he were there. It was natural. It was the inherency of an argument. There could never be one certain outcome: life dictated alternatives. If one thing didn't happen, the other did. If you did not move, you stood still. If you did not eat, you went hungry. If you did not live, then you were dead- there was always an other. Something has tampered with the storybook. The complete loss of the heroes is a possibility. If the heroes did not win, then they would lose. There had to be an alternative. He was that if. He was the fork in the road that offered that alternative. This story- the story of Nightmare Moon- had two possible endings, and he was the 'or.' He didn't know why and he might never understand it, but in Her story, Light was the plot contrivance. He was Her impossibly lucky third option that only became apparent at the last minute, and it was made all the worse because it was such a natural contrivance. He could stop them because he knew them. They knew him. Barring two, they all even liked him. Pinkie Pie and her endless lobbying for them to reconcile from first impressions gone wrong. Rarity and her nagging propensity to mother him after he'd lost his own. Fluttershy with her life built on the fragile back of his childish words. Applejack... If he stood in their way and made himself Nightmare Moon's living shield, then they would never be able to do what must be done. Even if they found the reason- the minority vote- the urgency to try, he only had to stall them out, and how he knew he could stall. All he had to do was stand in the heroes way so they couldn't act. That was all he was here for. That was what Nightmare Moon needed him for. ...Your special connection to the passed isn't why you were brought for this night... ...A pony at the end of their rope can be exploited indefinitely... ...Do you believe in destiny... She'd told him. She'd told him to his face. It wasn't him. It was never him. It was always them. He was 'special' because he knew them. That was sad. It should've made him feel sad. He wasn't special, and he never had been. Nightmare Moon didn't need him for anything he could do. Not because he was a Necromancer, and no matter how abnormally close they had become, it wasn't because She loved him. It was because he could be leveraged against the ponies that knew him. That he knew. That he loved. And now he was putting them in danger. Those wonderful ponies that had never left him alone, that he would never willingly call his friends. When they were on their way to fulfill a great destiny that would undoubtedly cement them into Equestria's history, he was here: being groomed to stop them. He was their opposition. He was their villain. It should've been sad. ...But it wasn't. He wasn't. Because he wasn't thinking about it. Not a single thought at all. Not to what would happen in the eventual conflict between he, Her, and them. Not to what they might think, seeing him with Her. Not to what She would make him do to them. Not even to what would come after. Emerald eyes like jewels cut wide with horror. Seething with rage. Creased with tears. In the moment after Nightmare Moon had finished speaking, a million thoughts flew at once through Light's head. Too fast to reasonably catch any one thread, yet still: he thought. And in the immediate moment after, he came to a conclusion. Light Flow did not shatter, because Applejack- all of his friends were in no danger at all. The prophecy as that 'old fool' had written it apparently only had one ending: that Nightmare Moon was defeated, and that the heroes won. The Sun would return to the throne, and Equestria would return to peace. This sojourn down an alternate path was somehow wrong in a way that he didn't understand, and that meant it could still be averted. Until the book opened to the page on which he appeared, there was still a chance he never would. The book could still be correct. If he somehow got himself out of the way, Nightmare Moon would still be defeated by the heroes as She'd always meant to have been. But... was that really what he wanted? Maybe... maybe this wasn't going to play out exactly as that letter had said. Maybe it wouldn't be six mares emerging from the night with the sun upon their shoulders- but the sun would still rise. No matter how he felt about it, he knew intimately how much worse life would be otherwise. He'd been positioned to stop the heroes, but it was a position with a lot of leverage. He could trot out on the heels of Equestria's new dictator: personally ushering in the age of the Night as Nightmare Moon's favored. They would build an empire on the backs of the populace, benefitting nopony but themselves, as typical and self-serving as all villains were at their core. But- no matter how sick to his stomach the idea made him- he could also do the opposite. It wasn't that he cared about the stability of the kingdom or restoring the Pure Goddess to Her throne or anything so mindlessly patriotic; there were simply facets to his life that he'd miss, otherwise. Plus, it really did seem as though allowing Nightmare Moon to ascend to the throne would radically change his life, and that was never something he would abide by. He'd die before he had to change anything about his lifestyle. He could prevent Nightmare Moon from ever confronting the heroes. He could save them the trouble, and the pain, and whatever resulting fame they would see after. He could keep them safe. He could keep her safe. Maybe it would be okay to play the hero, just this one time in his life. For Applejack, at the very least. He blinked- and his eyes were dry. They always had been. He took a deep breath of still air- and for the first time it felt so clear. No longer was he choked by indecision; nor throttled by fear. He set his jaw, and he looked Nightmare Moon in the eye. She'd stepped away from him in one easy movement sometime in the past few moments: a sickening scowl on Her shadowed face, which cut such angry lines against the pure metal of Her helmet. Always prepared for an attack, yet Her heart was so strangely open. She was so easy to rile; so tempermental. So susceptible to insult that She would lose Her mind at merest mention of fault, yet still be so quick to fall to self-loathing upon reminder of Her weakness. Lashing out; pitying Herself. She was hiding something big: She had been this entire time. He was becoming sure he knew what it was. He spared a glance to the side. The too-large door at the edge of his vision. Closed, not locked; it'd be easier if it was. There was a decent chance She could knock him aside and simply slip out, and in that case he'd have absolutely no way to prevent this. He'd just have to give Her a reason to stay. His heart beat steadily: resolution coursing through his veins like virile lifeblood. He wasn't scared. He wasn't thinking twice, nor thrice, and he could forget about quarce- if that was even a word... She was gonna have to go through him to get to Applejack. Her voice drew his attention from forming plans, and their eyes met again as Hers narrowed in clear disgust: Her scowl deepening enough to show teeth. "Wipe that sickening look from your face, child," She hissed lowly: a sound full of enough vile, harming intent to chillingly raise the fur along his spine. "I know what you must be thinking, yet I cannot even conceive of the folly." She straightened Her plated neck, looking down on high and towering over him as She so loved to do. "Abandon thoughts of heroism now, Light Flow, before you lose yourself in the fantasy. You know your destiny is with me, and me alone!" With the slightest raising of Her voice, he could hear the power that thrummed below the surface: Her wings unfurling from Her back with a great, sudden force and shading Herself as a dark shadow. Yet still, Her eyes so full of rankling discontent shone as two terrifying points of eerie light in the shade. He was not moved. His back straightened- for as tall as it made him seem against a mountain- and raised his head to stare back into that cyan inferno that only burned all the brighter for his trespass into them. Flashing angry eyes and snarling like an animal certainly made Her seem unhinged, but nothing could disguise Her true nature. It unfailingly shone through at every critical moment. She was lying: to him, and to Herself. He furrowed his brow as menacingly as he could manage, which admittedly wasn't much. "You're such a hypocrite," he spat scornfully: watching as the rage in Her eyes roared. The blue fire in Her gaze leapt higher. But he didn't stop. Didn't move. Didn't falter, as he continued to speak. "You know that you've become a fairytale in the years you've been gone." He spoke as a fact: staring resolutely up to Her face as it horribly twisted in elden rage anew. "There's not a soul in Equestria whose foals aren't reared to fear the terrifying tale of the monstrous Nightmare Moon." His nerves flared in anticipation and he sucked in a quick breath as She took a step forward: the movement far too quick to see until the step had echoed and She was that much closer. "Do not speak of my situation so broadly as though I've no presence!" She snapped; nearly roared. "I know of what tatters my reputation has fallen to, and I know well how it hurts!" Her shadowed eyes flashed all the brighter as She raised Herself higher. "And I know that there will be a sure recompense for dishonoring me as Equestria has taken to!" She stepped forward again; he was forced to step back: the edge of his hoof grazing solid wood. Nowhere to go, he'd just have to stand his ground. "Do you intend to harm me with petty slights against mine own pride now that I've allowed you close?! Know that I care nothing for-" Her voice dipped. A flaw; something pregnable. "Don't even pretend that you don't care how ponies think of you!" he shouted: his interjecting scream just loud enough to eclipse Her lowering tone, such that She went silent for a single moment that he took to step brazenly forward. And miraculously, She stepped back. She always did. Every time he stepped forward, She would step back. A Goddess retreating from a little unicorn. It boggled the mind. Her face was a snarling visage of animalistic insanity that seemed to grow less stable every second as Her wings quivered and pitched, but he didn't let the threat deter him. She wouldn't act on it; he had to have faith. "Nothing matters more in the entire world to you than how ponies perceive you, and for the longest time now, I'd thought it was all that: your pride. That you deemed it a- a slight against some vain, Godly conceit." He shook his head fiercely as he spat Her honorific, and in that moment, Nightmare Moon pulled her lip taut around her fangs. A soundless hiss. A meaningless show. It was always meaningless. "But it's not about how you believe yourself better- it's not your pride- and it's something you've said that's made me begun to think you don't even have pride!" He blinked- and Her face was inches away. "You would dare?!" The force of Her roar was so loud- so unexpected that for the immediate moment after, he was more than sure he'd gone deaf. There was nothing else to comprehend in that single moment of inevitable fear besides a dull, yet somehow still deafening ringing. For all that lived in Her voice, there was so much less true malice in Her eyes than he'd expected. Except he had expected it. With his next blink, he could again perfectly hear how Her voice rung off the walls. He could again hear the frenetic pitch in-between the rage of Her seething breaths. He could hear himself shout back. "I would dare!" In that moment, as his voice peaked louder than he thought himself capable of, he felt a senseless source of brilliant, welling power within himself. A force of boundless, tasteless vigor that swelled his confidence, and for that adrenaline-fueled moment as he stared down a snarling Goddess very well bent on his due harm, he couldn't say that he'd ever felt so brave! Feeling as though nothing could ever hurt him: he thrust his face forward, and for the slightest instant, their noses brushed. Such an intimate gesture of which the sentiment was immediately torn to shreds by the deep growl rising from his chest as their heads came inches from butting. "You spoke within the hour of the things you'd renounced! The things you say you don't deserve! As if you had given something up! As though it were something noble! As though you were doing something thankless!" He blinked as something cloudy tickled the corners of his eyes: slightly itchy. The stifling ambiance of the room had quieted so much, and all he could hear was his voice: so confident and dauntless! "Why would you act so humble if you're so intent on seeming like a Goddess?! Why would you be so kind to me when you're supposedly planning on tyrannizing Equestria?! Why have you still not told me your plan?!" Every breath, between every spat syllable at volumes loud enough to tear his throat and rip his voice, felt hotter in his cold mouth. The persistent itch in his eyes grew with every blink, and it was nearly beginning to burn. The heat in his chest was rising like a wonderful fire! "Tell me what you're hiding!" he roared, and for the faintest moment, he could swear he felt something whisper along his puffy lips. But then, it was gone. Nightmare Moon's face seemed caught in a single moment halfway between molten fury and quaint surprise, and as Her head raised again to tower over him in a dark shadow, he noticed for the first time how the starry expanse of mist billowing from Her head seemed very disquieted. The miasma shook and juddered in jerking affronts within the space of the air: a quaint motion for something ostensibly gaseous, yet for as free as it seemed it also seemed just as tethered to the mare which cast it. And it was then that miasma wreathed her face all the more from the light. The stars within did not twinkle; stilled, they were. It nearly seemed like a storm. Violent and malevolent; lashing against the bated air, yet keeping within itself an unchanging calmness. She, too, was like a storm. Light shook his head, which had seeming grown foggy at staring momentarily into Her mane. He caught himself, barely, from gasping from the exertion of grasping his attention back, though he anxiously licked along the backs of his teeth for familiar comfort. He'd slowed, become distracted, and nearly lost momentum. Something... had felt very strange in the recesses of his aching chest for a moment, and for that single moment that he had felt so strong, he had felt so much more. It was intoxicating. It was familiar. It called for him to reach for it. Yet he'd stalled. And... he didn't know why. Now, he was feeling a drawn-out sense of dissatisfaction creeping over his withers. As for how shocking denying the feeling had seemed to him, he didn't have time to give it much more thought. If he was going to call Her out, on everything he'd been suspecting, then he couldn't stop now. He had to keep going, no matter how the air as he turned seemed wisped in purple. He just had to ignore it, like all the rest. He had to stop Nightmare Moon before Applejack could throw herself in harm's way. This wasn't about him, this was about finally doing something for her. This was all for Applejack. He swallowed heavily to clear his dry, aching throat, and turned back to the pricks of light shining against the purple sky. "To say that you'd renounced comfort, and ease, makes me think about everything you've been saying, and the way you've been acting all night." He felt a strange unsteadiness- an odd dizziness, suddenly new to the moment as he spoke, though he was sure it was from the returning thinness in the air. He blinked haltingly: seeing in the backs of his eyes snippets and flashes of moments he'd honestly prefer to forget, hearing all the while ghosts of whispered clues he'd dismissed for monotony. Taking his breathing as calmly as he could manage, as he sifted in a second through the things that had once terrified him. Breathe, think, then speak. "You're... deliberately acting contrary to how you feel, aren't you?" As he spoke, he turned his attention away from those glinting pricks of light: grimacing as he forced the tired memories of what had happened through the night to resurface. It hurt just about as much as any other emotional pain he'd suffered through to recall their single-note interactions, but the truth lay therein. "You keep flying off the handle and lashing out, but you always just barely restrain yourself. You... you keep contradicting your own image." An ascendant Queen of Nightmares who would usher a child close and seek simple penances for thoughtless wrongs. Claiming platitudes to be meaningless, yet offering many in turn. How had he not seen the inconsistencies before? Where had his mind been? He placed a hoof to his head: the tight-knit knot of concentration bunching all the worse on his brow. "You've said, on multiple occasions, how you intend in some way to save Equestria, and when you speak of your sister, you speak of her as though She was some awful villain- though She did erase my memory, to be fair." he conceded, knocking his head for the point. He'd never liked the monarchy or the government on general principle, but now they'd hurt him personally. Now, he felt justified for moving into the woods and screwing them out of his rightful taxes. He shook the tiring recollections of old opinions away, and focused on the next cold breath over his tongue. "I'd thought that was all the typical blustering of a comic book villain too vain to concede that they're just evil, but as the night went on, and you kept... acting so high and mighty..." He sucked his cheek in and bit at it in a moment of relentless indecision, then shook his head slightly and let it pop out silently: sure for the first time in a while that he was on the right track. "Whatever you have planned that you still haven't told me... I think that you really think that you're doing something just." Affecting apathy. True regret. Shedding tears despite Her claims at stern grandiosity. Denying midnight tales while playing directly into them. What was real, and what was She trying to prove to him? He raised his gaze, to meet the glowing eyes of a figure too shadowed too make out: unmoving from how She'd been last he'd looked. "It makes me wonder all the more why you're pretending to be a monster." She did not react, yet still he felt emboldened to have said it. It had sounded incredibly stupid in his own head, but on his lips, it'd sounded... intelligent. "It could simply be that you've confused evil with righteousness; that you see your coming reign and its obvious wrongs as a kind of justice, but then..." He slowed, feeling again a cautious nagging feeling on his nape, but he physically shook it off, and forced himself to continue through a small grimace. "...if you were really some insane, imperialist monster looking to reign as a dictator Queen to freely torture and break whomsoever you pleased... then I don't think you'd be so..." He chewed on the word for a moment of heady uncertainty until he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in a breath. "...sad." His next breath came warmer, and with it went his last doubt as he picked up speed. "You have conviction in how you act, but every time you're really pushed it turns up shallow, and you pull back. As though it's difficult to even be what you're pretending is yourself." He bit down on his tongue to refocus himself because he was beginning to wander a bit, then straightened his back; he was hoping he looked far more impressive than he felt. "I still don't know what you're trying to do in deposing your sister, but... I do know that you're not really evil. "You're not Nightmare Moon." There was nothing. No sudden intake of breath. No sharp turn of Her head. No flash of light signaling that the curse upon Her had finally broken at his words and that She was finally free from the demon that had driven Her to unconscionable acts- there was only the silence. It made sense, though. Whether She'd been consistently lying or acting deliberately contrary to throw him off, there had just been too many... moments, to not arouse suspicion. To not seem ill-fit in retrospect, or seconds after, or even in the moment. Moments... when the veneer had broken. A quiet moment of tender embrace, and a spiteful smile shared beyond armor. A tirade made within a dream to justify a lifetime of wrong. A wordless plea for him to fight Her; for him to stop Her. The first of many wistful moments of forgotten conceit. A reverie filled with so much lost; so much guilt. So much resignation. So much restraint. So many apologies. A blue hoof. If She wasn't lying- if She wasn't acting- if She wasn't insane- then why did Her own actions cause Her so much grief? Every time She began to bare Her fangs and act as the monster of foals' nightmares, She stopped Herself, and apologized. Nightmare Moon was a foal's tale. A midnight fright told of an evil monster that spirited disobedient foals away to grind them into stardust, who had once tried to take over Equestria in an age very long past. A devised caricature of the most reprehensible traits that could be ascribed to a potential ruler, fed to foals alongside candy and costumes. In retrospect: a doctrine. A bitter pill made tasteless by grape juice, but the joke was on them: he hated grape juice. He'd assumed that She was the myth come alive. That the myth had been written after Her. That wasn't the mare he'd come to know. Not the mare he'd seen in Her rare lucidity. She'd never told him Her goal. Why? She'd never spoken of Her past. Why? When he'd assumed that She was just as monstrous as the mare who stole naughty children away to tear them into the tiniest shreds of celestial dust to use in Her mischief, She'd never corrected him. Never said contrary. Never acted otherwise. Yet She'd still told him She was sorry. Why? He felt yet more pressing on his bottom lip: ready to continue his argument and to aggregate the facts, but he let the desire die down. He only stared: holding his trembling lip firmly and his eye steadily on the black figure silhouetted against the night's sky of Her own self. The anger, cathartic as it was, was only right for the moment. That one moment spent in a feverish fervor, to prove to Her and him of his intent, was only right as long as She was snarling back. Whence Her anger had gone, he would follow with assured confidence and a quiet consideration. That was certainly best, for the moment. He would be patient with Her, if She proved Herself patient with him. There was something very profound about the first moment Her shadow began to dim. There was nothing altogether remarkable about the easing of Her shoulders- which themselves were only visible as Her body again seemed less black and more dark- yet he could not ignore how the tightly-wound tension bled from his chest as Her face came into view. And he could not deny the sweet sense of vindication as he caught Her eyes, and they were not filled with livid temper popping hazardously like burning acid, but instead were sunken and haggard as She seemed, in a single word: sad. "It is very well," came a voice, and came the shivers along his spine as that voice- so much like a stranger's- was unadorned by any drawling affectation. "-that you have come to unmask me, my inquisitive child." He was again entirely unnerved in less than a second as, despite Herself, Her sorrowed frown curled up for a single hum of a humorless laugh. "I had begun to believe you too complacent to ponder anything truly meaningful. Nothing intelligent, and certainly never incisive." It was only a moment, and Her smile fell again. "Perhaps that is why I had foolishly begun to believe myself safe from your scrutiny." If a mare could seem depressed and impressed at the same time, he would've described Nightmare Moon as such. "You lulled me into a masterfully false sense of security in the most genuine fashion, and for that, I must applaud your witless guile." He blinked. Was that an insult, or a compliment? Which way did She want him to take that? Couldn't She just default to either slapping him or hugging him instead of being so gods-damned ambiguous? Whether he felt affronted or cheered, he lost the chance to speak as Nightmare Moon sighed and bent Her head forward. His sense of danger jumped as the end of Her horn, nearly low enough to point at him, brilliantly shone to life with trickles of light. Thankfully, the feeling immediately plummeted as the same glow coalesced around the edges of Her helmet, and not his throat. With a firm, glowing grip around its nose guard and the sides of its neck plating, She slowly began to slide the helmet upwards. Silently, yet so carefully did it ease over Her ears which folded forwards then back, and climbed across the incredible length of Her horn that held the metal in place. The gentle ministrations for Her own doffing were mesmerizing, and watching as he was almost felt a very certain kind of wrong. In the back of his head, though, he was freaking out. The idea of Nightmare Moon without Her helmet- it seemed incomprehensible, Without any of Her armor, really. He couldn't picture it; he didn't dare to, it seemed so conceptually erroneous. It was like a guardpony without their armor, or a bureaucrat without a tie, or Applejack without a hat: it was just untenable to have one without the other. He'd never imagined he'd ever see Her without it. He'd never dared to dream She'd let Herself relax that much. Yet despite the untowardness of it all, he was soon witness to the sight of the foreign plate of hollow blue metal floating in the air, alongside a mare he could scarcely believe he knew. Her pupils were round. "You are the first since my banishment to gaze upon my naked face, Light," Nightmare Moon murmured: a look of intense, forlorn discomfort on a wide breadth of face he'd never imagined could be so plainly Equine. Bare fur- a calm expression- normal looking, cyan eyes- the entire moment was beginning to feel impossibly surreal. Was he still breathing? Best to breathe a little faster, just to make up for it. Her helmet whispered down to hold itself sternly to Her side, and he was struck further by the inherently militaristic impression of the gesture. "In the moments I took to face my sister before coming here, not even was she witness. I can scarce believe I've truly gone mad enough to allow you this." Her frown deepened: it became nearly repressive. "Cherish this privilege, Light." He'd... never imagined Her face without Her helmet covering fifty percent or more of it. Light Flow, feeling far more than was showing over his still, dumbfounded face, felt his eye naturally drawn to the right. ...And even if he had, it seemed as though he would have imagined it completely wrong. "It's... blue," he breathed in a moment of unrestrained awe, and in that moment as Her eyes widened, he remembered how shocked She'd been at the sight of Her own hoof. Perhaps he would've been just a bit more tactful had he remembered sooner, but then, the damage was already done. Her polished hoof flew in an instant to touch upon the open side of Her neck: to rub against the wide stroke of pristinely blue fur that dominated the area which had been uncovered. First did it relentlessly explore a patch there, then did it desperately touch the side of Her face, and as though She could see the pattern of Her mismatched coloring with Her hoof, Her shoulders sagged all at once. Her helmet set itself gently down almost by an afterthought, to sit idly and ominously at Her side. "Of course..." She whispered, softly enough that he had to strain to hear. "...simply more forgotten." ...Was it too harsh to make fun of the odd pattern She apparently sported? It wasn't Her entire previously-covered face that was blue, only a jagged section running from Her neck to Her cheeks and an curving arc between Her eyes, though he couldn't say it wouldn't look better if it was just... all blue. It nearly looked like some kind of... Zebrican war paint as it was. Made Her seem like a bad impressionist doing it as a hobby. He wouldn't say anything. He'd just- forget it. She straightened then, adopting the same heavy expression of resignation and so little indifference that, along with the new color, he could scarcely believe it was really Her face. "It surprises me to imagine my fur colored thus, yet it is all the same for how little it matters now." She blew out a short breath: Her expression growing more painfully reflective. "It is only another remnant of that which I abandoned, and that which I had forgotten." The moment continued to grow heavier as She sighed, and swept a hoof across an eye glimmering with shocking wetness. "Though, for all I have changed in my dim past, I must tell you that I truly am Nightmare Moon." Her head shook as Her voice caught: the motion seeming wan to his disbelieving eyes. "I only wish I was truly emulating such a... feared figure, but it is rather the other way around. History has not been kind to my likeness." There was too much to think about. Her face- Her fur- Her past- What did- How did- What did She- Why was there- A hoof rose to his head to feel the slowly growing pounding there, but he wasn't sure he remembered doing it. "You're... cognizant of that..?" he stammered: the first thing to come from his mouth the first thing that had come to his mind, which he immediately regretted as sincerely as he did for anything so likely to get him punched. He sucked in a breath and stepped back in an abrupt panic as he very often did when his hooves broke his teeth, but for how untoward it sounded, Nightmare Moon only sighed again: hanging Her head slightly, as though She couldn't even... look at him. "Do you think me so lost that I cannot separate right from wrong?" She murmured tiredly, and Her voice was so tired. "It is much as you said," Her dim gaze raised, then, to meet his. "-I know very well when I have gone too far, and I know more than most the face of true evil. It is for the separation of good and evil that I have..." She trailed off, then blinked. Once, twice, then too many times as a full-body shiver wreaked through Her. Then, Her head hung once more. Tired. "...prepared." He shook his head- just because it helped him think. Kept shaking it as minutely as he could, because he was thinking- oh was he thinking oh so hard about oh so many things and oh so many thoughts were running around his head but nothing was really quite quantifying the fact that Nightmare Moon was fully bearing Her feelings to him Tartarus below what did he even say to her now?! Though Light was really more used to dumping his own problems for others to listen to, as Nightmare Moon sat stilly on Her hinds in front of him: looking for all the world like a completely average pony- minus the wings, size, color and horn- he was gradually piecing together a few possibilities for comfort. Of course, every thought was just a little waylaid by the angry little voice in his head that said he should never comfort Her, but he'd mostly learned how to ignore it by now. Just a dull drone, really. Light blinked, and licked his lips. Flicked a glance skittishly to the side, before taking one step forward. The echoing step drew Nightmare Moon's attention and Her head raised: sure proof that She was sad, but not comatose. That was new for Her; She usually enjoyed one end of the extremes of violently awake or morosely absent. He bit his lip: staring widely at the floor just between the two of them for a moment before finally deciding to buck the pomp and say something. "You really are just pretending to be evil." It was a statement, and he'd delivered it as such: causing Nightmare Moon to crease Her brow a little in some slightly affronted emotion that he could've said something to alleviate except he couldn't really help that he was sounding just a bit monotone. He... was thinking a little too fast. Slow... slow it down. His next breath came slower, though he hadn't realized he'd been breathing very hard. Or thinking so fast. Or maybe he was actually thinking too slowly, because there was really a whole lot he needed to think about. The point was- "Okay, so... if I'm guessing right with what you've told me, before your banishment you... developed some sort of plan to overthrow your... mostly peaceful sister, and..." he trailed as his words caught up to him, and his next thought was so incredulous that he couldn't help but adopt a horrified expression of honest confusion. "...subjugate the kingdom... for... some virtuous purpose?" The blatant contradiction deserved to be shot down and used as evidence against him in an unfair trial that would see him locked away forever for criminal irrationality, but instead of any of those things, the ever-depressed gaze of Nightmare Moon actually brightened slightly at his words. "...Mostly peaceful, hm?" It was a whisper, and on its tail Nightmare Moon scoffed slightly. So slightly that it may have been a short laugh- he just couldn't tell. He quietly intoned a dull, dumb monosyllable: the end of his mouth quirking up strangely as Nightmare Moon closed Her eyes, and began to straighten Her back. Though She'd hardly been sitting for incredibly long, Her back cracked and popped noisily as She shook out Her withers, then rolled Her shoulders. She took a long, deep breath: shaking Her head- which he maybe thought looked a little like She was trying to shake off Her blue fur- before, as Her posture was finally completely straight and still, She opened Her eyes. Still round; not vengeful, but less saddened. More... purposeful. "Let me tell you a story of my sister in times past, and how I came to the terrifying realization of conflict's inevitability." > Chapter 48 - The Madmare > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Let me tell you a story of my sister in times past, and how I came to the terrifying realization of conflict's inevitability." She spoke: a more sure, decisive tone to Her voice than a moment ago. The words carried a powerful edge of consciousness that... didn't usually remind him of Her. Oftentimes when She spoke to him it only sounded like pomp and bluster inflating Her voice- though, that might've been his less-than-stellar attitude towards Her. This, though, sounded important. Important and attention-grabbing enough that most of the questions that had been on the tip of his tongue slipped back into his throat. His rear found the floor almost reflexively, and he stared forward with a new expectation brimming behind his thoughts. Sure, he wanted to know why, exactly, She had dropped what... was now looking like a façade. He also wanted to know if She was also just feigning the insanity and the restrained bloodlust, because if She was, then She was just a phenomenal actor, and She deserved his full and most genuine commendations. Also it'd pretty much destroy all trust he held in Her, but that was the sort of thing he'd have to decide in the moment. Before they began, though... "Do... we have time for a story?" he spoke cautiously. He spared a look over his shoulder to the door just behind him. The ominous, looming door. He looked back to Nightmare Moon, who was regarding him curiously, and softly shrugged his shoulders. "Aren't all the heroes already... in the castle? Won't they find whatever they're looking for soon?" It was a valid question, and for it, Nightmare Moon's downcast stare lightened a bit. Her mouth parted for a subtle understanding hum, and Her eye tracked far to his side- to a plain, grey wall, as he saw. Nothing special about it. "Do not concern yourself of it, my child," She murmured, narrowing Her eyes further onto the- it was just a wall. "The castle is large and fraught, and their goal has been hidden quite well." He quirked an eyebrow: ready to rebuke before She abruptly continued speaking. "Even further: I have taken it upon myself to lead them astray with spectres and tricks at every turn. They shall not have an easy time of it." His first thought was, of course, to ask how She was doing that, but he only made it as far as opening his mouth before She brought Her hoof to Her chin and lightly tapped it there: contemplation, or frustration, written on it. "It is rather difficult, however. They are all remarkably competent in their own ways, but it is particularly difficult to stay abreast of Rainbow Dash." Huh. So annoyance at Rainbow Dash was a universal thing, then? That proved four years of arguments right. Her attention returned to him from where it was seemingly nowhere, and he decided to just shut his mouth for the time being rather than say something derogatory about Rainbow Dash. "We will have to proceed promptly as it is. We have even less time to waste than we'd once had." It seemed as though She had it taken care of. No skin off his flank: She was really the only one standing to suffer from his... acquaintances finding what they needed. Oh, alright, they were his friends. The scathing beams of moonlight arrayed in long patterns behind Her made for an excellent backdrop to Her straightened posture, and how She stared up at something on the wall behind him: a reminiscent, wistful look on Her face. "It was... too long ago to remember, now, when my sister and I wrested the world from the grasp of Chaos and founded our new land of Equestria." The wistful sense of Her expression diminished: replaced by a small grimace. "An age very long past, yet the scars of the time still burn." Her eye fell, not to him, but to the floor. "Ruling came far too quickly for us, young as we were, and there were suddenly eyes upon us at every turn. Ears pressed to every door we hid behind. Our every decision newly affected lives beyond our own, at scales far larger than even I, for all my ambition, had ever imagined." For as quiet as the story was, his heart was hammering in his ears. The founding of Equestria? She'd been there? What was he thinking- of course She'd been there: She was Celestia's sister. It didn't matter if She wasn't ever mentioned in the history books, or if the history books left out... anything about Chaos- whatever that meant- the only thing that mattered was hearing it from the source. If that source was telling the truth, at least. He'd append every nugget She fed him with a neat little asterisk for the time being, until he could be sure it wasn't a total load of horseapples. Nightmare Moon, with Her voice so plain and quiet, trailed off with a quiet grimace at the floor: looking as though She had tasted something unexpectedly foul. "As difficult as it had become for us, we agreed upon a solemn vow. A promise to each other to uphold the values- the virtue we had earned through adversity, that had brought down the Tyrant, and that had brought us to our rule." His skin chilled, and his breath caught in his throat as Her darkened eye rose suddenly to his, and Her voice became altogether bitter. "My sister broke that vow." She fell silent for that heavy moment of far-off scorn at something he couldn't ever even hope to see, so he felt emboldened to speak, for once. "What do you mean when you say virtue? You've said it before in different contexts, and you haven't ever really explained what you meant by it." An inexplicable new thought popped in between his others, and he hummed thoughtfully. "...Does it have something to do with Harmony?" It didn't necessarily have anything to do with Harmony; virtue was just a word, but She always had a very strange kind of emphasis whenever She'd said it. Something a little tart; a wholly unsaid meaning in the weight of the otherwise completely innocuous word. Or maybe it was wishful thinking- he sure loved to wish that anything that was happening was easier to understand. As easy as, say, ascribing an arbitrary secondary meaning to an ordinary word based on nothing but a wild hunch from his inner ocean of random conjecture. That was about where he was sitting for ease, at the moment. Maybe that said something about how twisted this all was. His heart fell for a moment as Her face, at that word, largely scrunched in apparent pain. He nearly bit his tongue and apologized before she sighed wearily and nodded: looking almost ashamed to do so. "You... have the right of it, as much as it pains me to remember." His mood flipped; he inwardly cheered for the wonderful part of his brain that had randomly thrown that out, as Nightmare Moon's forlorn stare drifted past him. "For all that I can no longer recall leading to our genesis, my sister and I were once the wielders of the Elements of Harmony." His celebratory track cut short, and he tumbled off the congratulatory caboose as a huge ball of confusion fell onto the tracks. Every bone in his body was broken including his skull; his brain had become a gelatinous soup.. "The what?" he blurted out, realizing only a moment after that the question was stupid. Even then, though, he couldn't think of anything better to say: just standing dumbly with his mouth open as Nightmare Moon stared at him with a vague, almost genuinely concerned quirk in Her eyebrow. What in the name of all that was unholy were the Elements of Harmony? Were they weapons? It sounded like it, if She truly was implying that She and Her sister had used them to defeat some vaguely-named tyrant. Though, if they were connected to the force of Harmony, which Nightmare Moon spoke of in such fear... Realization dawned on him, and then he did know what to say. "Are they what the heroes are looking for?" he once again blurted in a hurry, though he felt less obsessively admonished for it this time. Too often was he too reluctant to speak; if he had the answer this time, he was going to give it! Nightmare Moon seemed shocked at his forwardness: leaning back shortly and blinking slowly as She just... stared at him. "...You are correct, Light." She spoke, after a long moment of silence that had made him want to crawl into a hole and die. Her brow furrowed into itself, and Her mouth clenched in with consideration. "Forgive my surprise, I had only thought you able to be led to answers." The blow landed, and he was immediately winded. Rocking back on his hinds as his mouth gaped mournfully open: he stared up at the shadowed ceiling with a silent plea. Why couldn't anypony just take him seriously? Wasn't he doing well with his forward attitude in questioning Her? He was trying his best, Tartarus damn it! He quickly shook off his melancholy, though not without a self-pitying tear in his eye, and he returned his attention in time to see Nightmare Moon nodding to Herself. "Yes, it is indeed the Elements of Harmony which are soon to be at their beck, and levied for my doom." She sighed, and shamefully averted Her gaze from his. "...Though, considering they are powered through committal to virtue, I cannot be so jealous as to say that I were at all worthy to wield them, instead." She seemed momentarily preoccupied with feeling sorry for Herself, so he took the opportunity to frown, and criticize. "They're powered by virtue?" He thought about toning back his incredulous tone a little. He did not. "Like- good-naturedness? How does that work?" It was a little bit muleish to be so skeptic at a time like this, and knowing that just as well as he did: Nightmare Moon turned an expression of admonishment onto him. "Be not so prejudiced, Light!" She chided, and he recoiled gently back as She shook Her head. "I had told you not to think lesser of the power Harmony holds for its name, and I had truly meant it. Harmony is never to be underestimated." He bit his tongue and affected a reproached sulk as Her gaze hardened. As She continued to speak, Her tone grew suddenly darker: a very odd relic for how Her face seemed, now. "Harmony is the force that suffuses the very earth we walk upon, and to align yourself to it is to be granted tremendous power. The mighty trees, the swift rivers and the vast fields: the monumental strength of Equus itself." Something in Her jaw tightened, and- as his constantly overwrought stare immediately noticed- Her horn lit to bring Her helmet into the air. As the pure colored metal turned and came to face Her, something in Her expression changed, and something in the air shifted. A sparkle of light at the corner of his vision had him blink to clear it, except it strangely flickered again. Again, in a different spot, and Light raised a hoof to rub at the eye. What was wrong with him? Wasn't he past seeing things, or was he regressing? That was just great... Before he knew it, he was probably gonna forget his name again... And then he saw the light in his other eye. And then again. And then again. And then more. Sparkle. Crackle. A sharp tang of audible energy that startled him fully, and his ends of his fur prickled as purely visible branches of electricity filled the tight space around Nightmare Moon's helmet. It had happened all at once, and yet he'd long felt the build-up in the charged air around him. It was powerful; it spoke of destruction in silent words that he could feel tickling his fur. Watching the tendrils of glowing light that danced and snapped in volatile motion along the surface of the metal was just as terrifying as he'd always imagined it would be when he'd thought about how pegasi did their work. The weather team handled the dangerous form of energy often enough to reach his ears from Rainbow Dash's boastful mouth, though she never seemed to read the kinds of papers he did. About how careless pegasi misusing their magic could end up dead, or worse. He'd often thought about trying to tell her off for being so reckless, but then, wouldn't that have been like kicking a puppy? Unlike Rainbow Dash, he was sure Nightmare Moon understood what She was doing: Her face far away and Her eyes laying stilly on Her helmet. The face of pure, silent concentration: lit in dull flashes of light to reflect the dominance in Her gaze. Now that was awesome. "The bonds between ponies strengthen, and for their reverence to fealty, they themselves are afforded greater strength by the will of Equus," She intoned gravely: Her voice booming with force that was suddenly very underscored as the relatively inert electricity easily doubled in its intense motion along the metal. It shook and rumbled and even the motion itself produced a sound like pitched screaming, as though the power held within was raging. He was suddenly very afraid to be sitting no less than four or five hoof-lengths away. He couldn't even escape: only press his lightning-lit body against the unmoving door, and hope beyond hope that Nightmare Moon really did know how to play with electricity. The surface of Her helmet was barely recognizable as it shone from the light of the innumerable chains and vast arcs of glowing electricity, and Light was no longer entirely sure the increasingly rising ringing wasn't going to render him deaf. Not until he heard Her speak again, and saw the helmet bob into the air: sparks trailing out behind the distance and dying in the air. "With the Elements of Harmony amplifying and acting as a conduit for the power they share-" In a single moment, She thrust the helmet toward the floor, and if he hadn't already been pressed back against the door as much as he physically could be, he would have jumped further back in terror as the metal met floor, and something exploded. His breath was suddenly forced out of his chest as the air around him tugged toward the point of impact, and although it had been far too quick to see, he imagined that the tendrils of white-hot electricity had leapt in every direction as it violently discharged. Crawling along the receding air like fire across rope, and impacting the wall- the floor- his body; the intense arcana scorching every surface the purposeless bolts could reach. Like an explosion, and the visceral shrapnel that followed. It wasn't the blast that killed the most, it was the aftershock. Except- that wasn't what happened. He'd never closed his eyes- though he sort of wished he'd spared himself the blindness- so although the impact had consolidated into a painfully bright flash of light, when it faded and he could see again, he could clearly see that nothing around him was scorched by the erratic consequences of what She'd done. There was only a small crater of blackened stone rubble sitting underneath a calmly floating helmet. "-Gods will topple, and miracles are made possible." He blinked- kept blinking rapidly as he struggled to return to calm; tearing his eye away from the helmet that had burnt through solid stone to stare, completely astonished, at Nightmare Moon's quietly solemn face. Not beserked or manic at Her wanton show of destruction, only... silently reflective on what She'd just done. ...As should he have been. It took many moments for him to regain his posture, and Nightmare Moon allowed him that. It was maybe the least of what She could do for him, though She probably could've easily done more. He didn't really begrudge Her for Her inaction, though. Only setting her helmet again to Her side, and staring down at the hole She'd made between the two of them as he held a hoof to his chest and tried to forget the mental image of his charred corpse. It was difficult for him, even more than it usually was- which, admittedly, could've been a tad higher on his priority list. As it was, he'd narrowly avoided death or the direct threat of death tonight... too many times to count. The normal sorts of introspection and reflection that kind of thing would've caused might've been... too large to just ignore anymore. Eventually, he found himself staring down into that hole as well. Feeling for once, the creeping sensation of a looming end on his shoulders. It was a heavy-hoofed way to make Her point. She was very fond of doing that, he realized. He could only stand the silence of thought for so long, so he raised his gaze from the reminder, and he met the knowing gaze of the mare who had once seen an empire topple. Such an ancient stare; a half-blind gaze that had seen more than he ever would. When it wasn't frenzied... When it wasn't manic... It just made him feel so small. What did he know to deride anything She said? "I understand," he murmured quietly, and for that, She finally nodded. "The Elements themselves are no weapons; Harmony holds within itself limitless power, and it affords portions of that strength to those whom righteously carry its Elements." Her reverie was a stolid mirror to the immense excitement that had captured the atmosphere only moments ago, and even for that, Her voice dipped lower with Her gaze. "It was that power which my sister turned away from. It was a ceaseless wrath that took her, instead." She seemed bereaved in that small moment: so much so that he nearly talked himself out of saying what he'd wanted to say. But as She hung Her head, shook it from side to side and sighed, he had to remind himself that She'd done it many times before and that She'd recover. "Why would She... turn Her back on such... such power?" he murmured hesitantly, and Her eye raised to meet his as he frowned. "That sort of thing seems... intoxicating." Even as he spoke of it, the idea of limitless power was extremely enthralling. Never mind what he'd do with it- he'd be able to do anything! That, itself, had to have been a universal want, right? The Elements of Harmony... Too bad he probably wouldn't qualify to bear any of them... The things he'd do... Oh, it was a twisted thing to imagine turning them on Celestia. He had to wonder exactly what they were, though. The physical possibilities of apparently all-powerful magical artifacts certainly begged something grand and staggering, but could otherwise in reality be totally small and benign. He didn't know a lot about artificing, but he did know the classic joke that an ordinary piece of paper could detonate a tavern in the right hooves. And something something- a unicorn walks into a bar. Though he'd said it sort of lightly while imagining far worse, Nightmare Moon's face began to... darken, in a way, at his words. Something like a cynical scowl beginning to grow over Her face. "Yes, you would imagine the benefits would focus the mind to Harmonic perpetuity," Her scowl only deepened as Her reply came out in short tones, and he began to wonder if he shouldn't have said anything. "-but perhaps even believing that undermines what Harmony regards as true virtue." He knew- for sure- that he shouldn't have said anything as Nightmare Moon forcefully stomped Her hoof: a pure anger returning like an old friend to Her face. "It is surely no easy thing to keep such touted values within oneself, and so did my sister prove herself so much lesser than I once thought she was." She sneered, and at that, She tossed her head angrily to the side as Her wings audibly rustled unsettlingly on Her back. "My sister was once Kind, Generous, and endlessly caring, yet the mare- the monster that took her place over time was too diminished to even be called her shell." She spat: her once calmed posture growing noticeably more tense as She spoke with sudden vitriol in Her voice. A new sort of fire was beginning to kindle in Her recently rounded eyes: a fire that was far more calculating than purely destructive. A fire that knew why it burned. He felt like he was watching the beginnings of a house fire, but for the life of him, he wasn't sure how to go about dousing it. He'd thrown down the kindling, lit the match and walked outside, but even then he sort of wished he could go back and give a second thought to whether the insurance money was really worth it. It seemed thinking of Her sister made Nightmare Moon just a little angry. "What did She- well... do?" he managed, somehow. What else was he going to do at that point? Travel back in time thirty seconds and say 'actually, it doesn't really matter why your sister changed, let's talk about something less obviously traumatic for you.' Might as well go along for the ride if he was gonna strap himself in so tightly. He knew some pertaining details of Celestia's possible evils, even besides what She'd done to him. Of the surviving history that was still open to the public, his lackluster searches through dusty library corners and information desks had turned up records protected under religious significance of Celestia persecuting Black magic practitioners in... rather gruesome ways. Ritualistic immolation, for one. If that wasn't morally objectionable, he wasn't sure anything short of genocide would be. ...Had She committed genocide? The way Nightmare Moon was beginning to snarl- again, very unseemly for Her new face- he wasn't sure his guess was so far off. "It began as innocuously as any fall from grace: with simple slips." Her eye fell down as She rolled Her shoulders, and Her stance slightly widened- which reminded him of a pegasus preparing to take off. "She would speak with terse meanings at meetings with foreign dignitaries, as though she found them unworthy of respect. As though those whom we had taken such lengths to ally with had suddenly become so untrustworthy. As though she had begun to see them as enemies, as I came to suspect her of." Her breaths were coming in deeper- hotter as Her nostrils flared and Her hateful stare unto the floor narrowed. "And it only grew worse when I confronted her of it. When I dared to attempt to remind her of what she'd promised to me- to Equestria, she would take it as an affront! Accusing that I were somehow naïve! As though it were petty politics and imperialism that felled Discord, and not the magic we shared! As though he would not have killed us all if it were not for the Elements!" He was losing track of where She was going, and as She stomped her hoof again- hard enough that that stone beneath Her hoof splintered- he wasn't sure She was seeing all that clearly anymore. The rounded light of lucidity behind Her eyes was growing dimmer: less pronounced against the flaring blaze of rage burning within. He wasn't sure She was still talking to him, anymore. He had to do something before this got out of hoof. He gently cleared his throat, and tried to speak up. "So you decided to-" He was cut off before he'd even finished one sentence as Nightmare Moon suddenly threw Her chest forward, and Her wings flared open. The two magnificently kept limbs were just as beautiful as last he'd seen them with their gleaming black sheets of pristinely kept feathers, though he only had a glance to appreciate them as they simultaneously and very forcefully flapped in very clear aggravation. He was buffeted by sudden wind; forced to cover his eyes as Nightmare Moon screamed yet more of Her frustrations. "Year after countless years did I stand idly by, hoping that she would one day see sense as indignity after indignity were laid from her hooves, until I was paid for my indolence by her most rank betrayal!" No longer did Nightmare Moon need Her most terrifying of features to seem dangerous: the posture of immense strength She commanded in Her tensely towering pose and manic, snarling face was telling enough to strike a profound unease into even him. For as intimate as he was with Her temper, he still wasn't sure if She would always stop Herself. For something as grave as a betrayal between sworn sisters, Nightmare Moon might just lose all sense. "Long had I claimed the Thestrals, they who were mocked and reviled through history, as my beloved, and they as my devout, yet even for my love my sister's hoof could not be stayed!" The lunacy was returning to Her eyes, darkening the newly-ordinary gaze with something that seemed far more chilling than it had ever been before. Something was beginning to happen. Every strand of his fur was standing on pins and needles as a charge in the air began to build and shift, and as his hooves were struck by a sudden weakness and he fell to a stunned seat, the scene began to change before his eyes. From the air, so thin as to dry the mouth upon a taste, did visibly dense clouds of mist began to bubble into plain existence. Building from nothing until puffs of smoke were tangible and textured white, and as they swirled into a halo above and around Nightmare Moon's raised head, they began to darken. "She would drive those I loved from their homes! She would claim their ancestral land as her own, and provide them nothing!" Nightmare Moon howled as the wind- suddenly a tempest around him that blew his mane about his face- raised its pitch to meet Hers. Her conjured storm clouds grew in mass around the tip of Her horn by the second, until the ceiling was entirely obscured quickly enough that he could've blinked twice to miss it. No longer was the quiet night a refuge, for a storm had descended upon him. And nowhere was safe. "What choice did I have but to go to war with her, for nothing if not their sakes?! For the sake of sanctity itself?! No other creature would dare object to her evils! I had to make a stand!" Her bellow was accompanied by a frightening flash of light, and it was suddenly clear by a delayed rumble that shook through his bones that Her storm was a very real thunderstorm. The clouds above them did not stay idle; thunder ripped and clear bolts of restrained electricity lit disparate sections of mist in terrifying shades of singled-out anticipation. Yet even as he stared, his heart racing and his breath stilled; his form pressed low to the floor and his hooves shaking relentlessly: the storm never struck. It only threatened. War. The Banishing War. The cause of the Banishing War. "My sister refused every peaceable option offered, so I only gave her what she'd always wanted!" Her entire form was shaded to the point of a nearly blind shroud, except for the moments that the rumble would shake through his bones, and a flash of lightning illuminated her for the barest moment. And in that fleeting moment, he could see how She scowled so bitterly. "Even then, she was not satisfied! Even then, she could not show compassion! Not to her sister; not even to our subjects!" The air was becoming thick from the forming condensation to the point that it was beginning to choke him, and he didn't think there was anything he could do about it. He put a forearm over his mouth just to help remind him he was breathing as Her form flashed again from the lightning, and he watched as Her eyes were the last to dim. Eyes that weren't even staring at him. "Depravity became her most trusted ally, as she slandered my name to the point of revulsion among even those once ambivalent! No tactic was below her, not even performing her own atrocities while ascribing their blame to me!" Every word came more hatefully; every tone clipped more and more of its own tail as though She were violently snarling and slurring, though he often couldn't see Her to know for sure. In fact, half or more of what he was hearing he was only piecing together over the storm, so She actually might've been yelling about adoring her sewn possibilities. Even when he couldn't see Her, though, he knew where her eyes were. He knew where Her mind was, and it definitely wasn't there with him. The world She described... it was unlike any he'd ever heard, but so terrifyingly close to those he'd once imagined. Exciting nights spent under the covers with a book and a candle, reading macabre stories of death and decay while imagining how cool it would've been if Equestria was a much worse place. Though, for the frankly disturbing amount of time he'd thought about the alternative as a foal, Equestria was at peace, and it'd been that way for hundreds of years. The only race that ever even came close to making trouble these days were the dragons, and that hardly surprised. The atmosphere, physical and mental, had become too hostile to believe, especially for how they were still indoors. Blinking every half second barely helped as the wind made it impossible to see: his only comforts Her words and the tangible weight of the door on his back. Never had he been so afraid to hear of a war. "Hamelet had never fostered me or mine, yet my sister did not hesitate to have it destroyed on merest speculation! The order slipped from her lip, yet it was said among the masses that it came from mine! What justice lies in that?! Where is the peace you say she keeps, if not in her actions?!" Too much was happening to think straight, and his overwrought mind nearly sent through a screamed question about the Sonic Rainboom. For as much as Hamelet's destruction intrigued him even through a literal indoors thunderstorm, there was something more pressing. For his own edification, and because he couldn't stop thinking about how the storm might've been affecting the millennia-old architecture. He couldn't let this go on: he had to snap Her out of it before the castle came crumbling down around them. Raising his voice high enough to hear it as even a whisper over the storm was painful enough that his throat would reap the consequences, but still, he tried. "What about you?!" he screamed, and it was clear She'd heard him: in the next flash he could see Her eyes were finally on him, though still burning with hate. He choked back a half-formed breath full of humid vapor into the crook of his forearm, then raised his head again to scream through the buffeting wind. "All you've done is talk about what your sister has done, but what about the things you've done?! How are you any better for the things you're going to do?! What gives you any right over Her to lead if you're both just..." Monsters. He trailed off into a choking cough that clogged his nose with humid foulness, though his ragged recovery was stalled as his ear perked, and even over the deafening noise of the storm Her words cut through it as though it were dead silent. "Celestia is not worthy to be compared to me! Her evils were done out of a growing cancer in Her blackened heart that infected even our own land! Everything I have done, I have done for Harmony!" Her voice boomed through the raging whirlwind, and he whipped his head up to stare towards Her as the painful chunk of dread that had built in his chest shattered and burst into leaded surprise. Had he died in the storm and gone to purgatory, or had just heard what he'd thought he'd heard? Another flash; another rumble. The manic rage on Her face had stilled. He mouthed unheard words silently as, gradually, the wind around them stilled and slowed to a halt all at once. The ever-present rolling of thunder quieted to a gentle rumble in mere seconds until that, too, was just gone. There was a flash of lightning that was suddenly alone, and even the dark clouds from which it all came began to lighten, then thin, then entirely did it all disperse. A storm conjured in a minute, then dispelled in countable seconds. He was left, then, sitting on the floor staring at Nightmare Moon, as Nightmare Moon stared back. "You're doing it for Harmony..?" he whispered again, though this time there was no storm to throttle the words into silence. This time, as Nightmare Moon's still, stunned gaze met his, he could see the denial in Her eyes. Her head shaking slightly at his words, then the thin line of Her mouth gaped slightly open to deny nothing. She'd acknowledged it. For all that he'd accused, and all that she'd pointedly avoided it, She'd finally said it. As his breathing quieted from its shallow frenzy and his nerves respooled, he slowly began to find his hooves. One hoof under him, then the rest, and as he stood silently in front of the motionless figure of Nightmare Moon, something finally changed in Her disbelieving expression. A minor crack in the reflection, then Her emotionless frown was suddenly less so, yet much, much more. Her mouth quirked- jerked oddly, as though She'd tried to say something but forgotten the words, and then Her eyes fluttered closed as She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. She took another, and another to make up for it as Her wings folded down onto Her back, and Her tense shoulders shivered down into a kind of resigned ease. And then, She spoke: a quiet regret clear in the thick tone of Her voice. "It had not always been my intent, to do as I am." She whispered, and then, he was sure his head would just explode. Nightmare Moon's face- a face that he'd thought he'd known in every flavor- tightened in a very clear pain that he'd never seen from Her; a pain that She seemed to feel physically. "In the time that I last walked Equus, I had only wanted to depose my sister for whole good." Her voice caught, and His vision blurred as She choked back a clear sob. "She had changed so much, and grown so cold.... For all my jealousies, I truly believed I was doing the right thing..." He had to forcibly shake the blur from his stinging eyes, and as he did, Nightmare Moon had too. Her eyes were open and her gaze was straight, yet tinged red and full of tears. A strength somewhere within, as She made Herself so vulnerable. "I saw what havoc the endless peace wreaked upon my sister. How the days of stagnation wore her mind and frayed her nerves, until she began to break that peace." Her frown wobbled between words, and then, Her shoulders were trembling. The idle thought he'd been chewing on about Celestia in a better time immediately disintegrated, but by the time he'd stood in a mindless rush to make sure She was okay, the shaking had abated, and She was nodding haltingly: sniffling wetly through the motion. "It was a constant question upon my mind during my banishment. Even as the silence stretched on and my hatred for her grew, there was still a part of me that... that wished to know." Her eyes fluttered with shining tears as She shook Her head, and Her mouth gaped open for a silent moment of quiet reverie. A lastingly uncomfortable moment of thought that ended as She closed Her mouth with a breath, then a sigh. "And... then I found the answer." Her voice lightened at those words, though he'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise as She took a long, shuddering breath: Her tears running newly fresh streams down Her cheeks. Her next breath was stronger; the next, rhythmic. He joined Her after a moment: breathing deeply in time with his racing heart, as the two of them synergized without words. And then, She frowned, furrowed her brow, and raised Her voice. "My sister and I were born into strife, and it was through that strife that we found our ascension." She swept a hoof across Her face, and there were fewer tears in its wake. Her voice continued to rise with every word; She was finding Her resolve, as he continued to lose sense of Her. "In all the time I was alone, I came to realize that it was the peace we brought about that caused my sister to fall. In the absence of fire, her heart grew cold, and Equestria suffered the consequences." Another breath; the emotion overflowing in Her voice as She clearly struggled to contain it. "For we, high as we are, who live so long in such calm, what choice is there but to fall?" She took that moment after to focus on calming Her breath, and in that moment, he knew he had to speak. "But- but isn't there?!" He immediately lost control of his voice, and his hooves- itching with adversarial energy- carried him forward an intensive step that he reversed just as quickly. He needed to focus on his breathing; in, and out. With an added reminder to himself to stay calm, he swallowed, and again focused himself onto Her tired, glimmering gaze. "You're- you're speaking as though there's no hope for you or your sister. I- I don't know how long you've lived, but..." His confidence fled as he tread into deep water, and his eyes instinctively found his hooves. "-just because you're long-lived doesn't... that doesn't necessarily mean you'll... fall..." He bit his lip. These metaphors were too heavy and they were making him feel stupid. He didn't know where they'd detoured from necessary evils, but She was obviously saying that immortality necessitated a depression of morals. That... however Celestia had changed, it was because She couldn't handle living so long in such... peaceable times. He couldn't disagree more. He had to, from the depths of his blackened heart, believe otherwise. What hope would there be for his future otherwise? For as impassioned as he was, Nightmare Moon only stared at him: a reserved, weary glaze to Her still-leaking eyes. As he sat there with his hooves in his lap, staring meekly up at Her with a lean to his back and a bent in his ears, She only seemed occupied with something far away. Until She blinked, and something new gleamed in Her eye. "The problem roots far deeper than my sister and I, I'm afraid." He stared at Her, befuddled, as She took a sharp breath, then opened Her eyes to him: a clear purpose returned to Her stare. The tears were slowing. "It is the entire concept of a lasting peace at all that causes us- any of us, to fall." He swallowed back a half-thought, stupid protest as Her gaze tracked to the side: to one of the many windows along the far wall. "Very few alive have seen as much as I, and what I have seen is how Harmony can only decay in the absence of antithesis." Her eye swept back to him for a startling second, then returned to the window as Her brow narrowed. "In the time of my life, I watched as generations passed without a true evil arising. There were many small injustices, but never had their way of life been threatened, and so they grew complacent in their ways of thinking." He knew where She was going. He saw what She was saying. And for as little as he comparatively knew of the world, it was bringing a sinking sickness into the pit of his stomach. She turned back to him, then, and Her cheeks were dry. Her gaze was full and weighty, and there was a piercing sight to Her stare that froze him in place. She knew. He didn't know what She knew, but She did. "It is as such now, and it is for that reason that I must step forward." The ceiling stretched higher above him before his eyes, and She grew with it: seeming a mighty giant for the sheer authority in Her steady voice as She spoke. "My sister has allowed the Equestrian ideals of Harmony to fade from the mind entirely, such that a colt could live in fear for his life simply for pursuing that which he is meant for." Her hoof raised; it slammed into the floor. "I cannot allow this to stand." The mighty impact shook the floor beneath him- or maybe it just shook him- but either way, the numbing awe preventing him from speaking was broken, and he sucked in a breath. "So you're going to destroy the peace?!" he cried in a breath, and as he shouted, he stepped forward. Drawing closer to Nightmare Moon for no other reason but for emphasis, as he vocalized without a pause to think. "If you want to teach Harmony, then teach Harmony! Even if providing an evil will somehow strengthen the peace, you're still doing evil!" Didn't She see how self-defeating Her plan was?! Trying to create peace by tyrannizing Equestria? It made no sense! It was- it was a literal contradiction! It was like- trying to end hunger by killing everything everywhere! Whether it worked or not, it just wasn't worth it! While he inwardly voiced every argument he could think of, Her eyes narrowed further as a shadow crept over Her gaze. "If I could trust myself with such beliefs, then trust that I would cast aside my ambitions without a second thought." He was shaken from his mental screaming by the scathing hatred in the hiss of Her voice that had seemingly come from nowhere, and it was all the more startling that She seemed to be directing it towards Herself. But then, She shook Her head and blinked once, and the shadow was gone- just gone. Her voice raised with a waver- "The rationale of it matters little," -then, it firmed. "I know well that the populace simply could not accept the ideals which I preach. Too many have forgotten their morals; too many have already forgotten Harmony." He immediately wanted to dispute that. He wanted to espouse the virtues of the individual and the inherent goodness in everypony. Spout complete schlock about how society was in a golden age and that crime was down and the average pony would never know tragedy. But he didn't, because he'd be lying. A dimly-lit sidewalk spattered red. A loss he'd never fully remember. He shook off the long-faded memory of a city he'd never known, and focused just in time to watch Nightmare Moon raise Her head proudly: a glinting drive in Her eye. "Murder and mayhem goes unpunished every single day, and It is because Equestria's citizens are fragmented and disparate. They know so little of hardship that they refuse to see the light of Harmony." Her jaw clenched, and She swept a hoof out through the air. "In my reign, there will exist so few freedoms that those who remember will be forced to embrace what few they can." A burning shock blurred all sensation for a long moment of lost confusion, and as it faded, he became aware that he was staring at Nightmare Moon in horror. A figure who he'd once thought rational and in control, yet now he was seeing She made up for a sore lack with a large abundance. "If I do not tear Equestria apart, then these problems will only continue to worsen. The corruption growing in the highest echelons will spread and corrupt absolutely, until our land becomes a living cesspool. What I am doing-" Her face hardened as Her eyes closed, then they opened with a powerful intensity. "-it is my duty. As Equestria's Princess, I must fragment the kingdom so that it may one day rebuild itself better than it was." She was insane. Well and truly insane, and it was all the more difficult to believe because She seemed so lucid. He'd thought insanity was about a loss of control and inhibition, and doing things you'd regret as soon as sanity slipped back in. But then, even as She spouted total nonsense, Her eyes were clear and purposeful. No amount of cloying wrath clouded Her mind as She confidently spoke of bringing about total anarchy for the greater good, and She seemed to clearly grasp that concept of a greater good. Not lacking for lucidity, but just so fundamentally broken that She could completely fool Herself into thinking She was making sense. But She wasn't. She... wasn't making sense... was She? His hoof found his head- and it didn't help. His clear-cut lines of morality were blurring before his eyes: the shapes of good and evil seeming frighteningly similar in the growing fog. A fog that entangled itself between his every thought: clogging the works of his mind and gumming every attempt to clear it. And then, Her voice began to whisper in. "I saw what happened when our land's state of Harmony was not constantly tested. In the absence of strife, virtue only decays. Equestria must know adversity to be safe." That was true, he wanted to say. He mouthed the words to test them on his tongue, and they made sense. Time wore down all things, didn't it? Even morals? Nothing was exempt: that felt right to think. "There must be a villain for virtue to prosper. Without adversity, there is no challenge, and without challenge, there is no growth. Can ponies raised to know nothing but peace really be trusted to lead in times of war? No... No, of course they couldn't. He tried to imagine anypony from Ponyville forced into combat- and he couldn't. The friendly smiles, the pleasant ambiance: it was baked into the individual. They could never stand up for themselves if something terrible were to happen. They'd probably all run around like headless chickens as their homes burned down around them- none of them would be able to just take charge. "If the ponies who embody their Elements are not constantly tested upon them, then they could never be worthy." That was right... They were all so flawed... they would never be able to embody virtue... "If even the Gods are not safe from immorality, then what hope is there for your friends?" So little hope... What had they done to be worthy of the Elements of Harmony..? "Their lives have been short, and full of peace. They have never known war, or loss, or true evil. What hope do they have for maintaining their virtues when faced with the unknown?" That was true... It was all so true... "In the land we will make, there will be no place for their weakness." A better place... for sure... "You must trust that when the time comes, I will be justified in having them executed." No... No. No! "No!" The shout ripped from his throat with such primal vocation that it immediately burned his throat, but he relished it. He luxuriated in the pain because he knew that pain was wrong. He knew that She was wrong, and what She was saying could never come to pass! The run began as a step forward: a mistaken amble that he nearly retracted, but then, he began to move. The fog was sloughing away. The questions he'd once chewed on through his youth were once again being forgotten. His regular rational thoughts of real, tangible things were returning to them, and as he embraced the feeling of sensation that he'd grown to trust in his heart, he knew that snuffing it would only be a crime. Everything She was saying was total inanity. Though he had thrown himself forward as quickly as he could, he still had to cross the short distance between him and Nightmare Moon, and in that distance that he could only clear so fast, he was forced to watch as the surprise in Her eyes faded. His advantage was lost, yet he kept going. When he reached Her, and he planted his hooves into Her chest, She only stared down at him with a quiet mourning. "You can't do this!" His shout was desperate, and it didn't help the image as he roughly tried to shake Her, but She hardly budged. Even for his entire, reared weight on Her chest, She still stood tall and unaffected. He stared up at Her pleadingly: begging Her with his gaze to reconsider. "Please! There has to be some other way to save Equestria!" All he could think about was flashing in the dark space between every blink, and his wonderful thoughts of her freely fueled his desperation. "With enough effort, you could teach the citizens to be better! You could incarcerate everypony who's too stubborn to change! You could reward the good, and punish the bad!" He couldn't control himself at this point, and he was sure that fact was very apparent to Nightmare Moon, because he'd begun to imagine the scent of sweat and apple shampoo, and then his cheeks had begun to wet. It was stupid and immature and he hated how little he could stop himself, but still, he kept shaking Her. Kept screaming. "You can write harsher policies! You can hire assassins! You could just abolish the stupid aristocracy if they're so corrupt!" He tried to blink the tears away, but that only freed more to crawl down his cheeks. His shoulders were shaking; weakening to the point that he could barely support himself on Nightmare Moon's stoic chest anymore. So he laid his head forward until it brushed soft fur, and tried not to picture that it was orange instead. His hooves fell forward, around Her waist, as he thought of shining blond hair like bales of hay. "It'll never work like you want it to... It's dumb and self-defeating... It's crazy... It just doesn't make sense..." And then, he could only sob. Thinking of beautiful emerald eyes that would pop and bleed into the white. Mixing with the red, and clashing so terribly. He didn't want Nightmare Moon to win. Screw Equestria and screw everypony in it, he just... he just... He didn't want Applejack to die. A weight pressed itself into his shoulder, and his head flew up with a gasp as a second joined it. He immediately tried to look up; to back out, but then, he was pressed firmly forward, and his next instinctive sob was muffled by the fur. It was disgusting, what She did to him. The things She made him feel were unnatural with all that She'd done, and he swore he'd see Her dead or worse for them one day. And even with that thought screaming through his head, he let himself relax forward into Nightmare Moon's embrace, because he just didn't know what the hell else to do. "I know," came Her whisper, and it was suddenly so much harder to stop himself from sobbing freely. His mouth gaped uselessly open as he babbled thick nonsense, and the bunching pain in his cheeks began to swell. All the while, Nightmare Moon quietly shushed him and whispered small kindnesses the likes of which She'd probably never even experienced. That was how they stayed for a moment; for an hour; for the night, until his snot had long since run far down Nightmare Moon's coat, his throat had run dry, and his tears had finally, finally slowed. It was then, when his whimpers had quieted to inaudibility, that Nightmare Moon whispered to him. "I know it doesn't make sense. I know it's not going to work like I think it will." More tears slipped out seemingly in spite of his attempts to control his breathing, but he was able to choke back his quiet whimpers enough to cough out a response into Her stomach. "Then why..?" She sighed, and the hoof that had for so long stayed idle on his shoulder pressed gently in. "Because it is all that I have." Again Her hoof pressed in, then again in time with Her breathing to reassure him as his next breath was sharp. "For as little and as long as I'm able to remember, this plan of mine has always shone brightly in my mind, but it shines alone. So little of my life before the war and before my banishment remains, and even of the war, I have no idea whether this plan was part of it." A chuckle reverberated out through his cheek: humorless and wan, but still he pressed himself into it for even the slightest comfort. It brought little. "I suppose the possibility remains that it was nothing but a whim of mine that I once scoffed at and discarded without a second thought. For as insane as it all sounds, it very well might've been." Her voice dipped. "But it could have just as easily been my life's passion. It may have once been all that drove me in opposing my sister. And for that possibility, I cannot abandon my path." He shook his head; tried to make himself sound stronger than he felt. "Then just... don't. It's not too late, you can still stop yourself..." His hooves grasped tighter; Her hooves stilled in their rhythmic press, and a sigh raised Her chest against his cheek. "I have killed, Light Flow." And then there was a flash of gold rings and jutting bone, as Her voice affected a faint murmur. "I have already dethroned my sister, and declared my intent to the kingdom. There is... no turning back." Something in his heart shattered. One final press into his shoulders, and though he'd long since lost the last of his tears, he wished he could've mustered a few more just then. "I am sorry, Light Flow, but I truly must do this. I am resigned to my fate, and though I know Equestria will revile me through history, I will act in evil's stead. I am willing to destroy the land I built, only so that it may not destroy itself. "I cannot ask you for your forgiveness, for I can never forgive myself, but I must ask that you try to understand. "You must try to find the strength to join me." Acceptance. He allowed himself to be pushed away, then, and as he stared up at Nightmare Moon with tears on his cheeks and a growing dullness in his chest, Her eyes shone with something just as resigned as he felt. "It is time," She spoke, and he agreed. It was time. He did not move from his spot where Nightmare Moon had hugged him as She stood, and began to walk past him. He did not look up as She stalled for a moment at his shoulder, and there was suddenly a flash and a mild taste of burning in the air. He did not make to move after Her, even as he spared Her a glance and found Her pitying gaze from two long, slashed pupils, and a coat of blue metal hung on Her head. She beckoned him in a single word to follow, and he said nothing in return as there was a soft sound of shimmering, and a tremendous creaking filled the air. Fresh air billowed over his fur. And then, he was alone. He'd failed. The door had swung open behind him as he'd sat in useless repose, and Nightmare Moon had walked out. Towards the heroes. Towards wherever his friends were waiting for Her. Pinkie Pie, who had never given up on annoying him. Rarity, who always knew just how to set his heart at ease with snippy remarks. Rainbow Dash, who he'd always thought was the second most beautiful mare he'd ever met. Applejack. He was going to miss them. He stood, then, and his bones ached for the movement. He'd not been sitting where he was for very long, he didn't think, but the time had worn on him. A slight, pinching pain in his joints as he clenched the muscles in his withers, and stretched out his legs behind him. Was it going to hurt? He began a slow trot forward, then. A mild amble, really. A slight, sombre jaunt through the room. He supposed he could've moved a little faster, but he sort of wanted to savor the moment. It was the first time he'd been alone all night, and who knew when he'd have another chance to be alone with his thoughts? Who knew what was going to happen after? His breath was coming in steadily and in rhythm with his hoofsteps, though it was a concerted effort. Really, as he brushed aside stray bricks and trotted widely around a toppled pillar, it was nearly impossible not to succumb to the pounding in his ears. How his heart raced. How every hoofstep dragged more and more until it was like he was wading through mud. He was feeling that creeping end over his shoulder again. Looming. Staring at him. Waiting for him. But the more he thought of it, the more he was just delaying the inevitable. So the inevitable came. And very soon- sooner than he ever wanted- Light Flow stood at the window. Looking over the edge, and staring down at the grey scape below. Thinking of summer days and apple stalks. > Chapter 49 - The Arrest > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Falling... Pounding... Rushing... A sheer slate of grey... Fear... Pain. And then, Light Flow became very aware of a complete and utter darkness. It was the sort of darkness he'd imagine would exist in a fictional void: perhaps one in which dark rituals and unholy creatures lurked. The kind of void he'd loved to read about as a foal, had wished he could emulate in some way, and that had inspired him to bug his mother to paint everything in his room completely black. Never mind that he couldn't find his door in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom; he'd never been so happy to feel so perpetually brooding. That sort of void that he was imagining was that special, fictional sort of void that didn't exist in real life, and that was actually quite dissimilar in every notable way to the one he was faced with. It wasn't encompassing, soundless, lightless or thoughtless. So really, he was just wishing he was experiencing that kind of void instead, because the one he was in now was a huge letdown. For one, he could obviously think, so that pretty much crossed the possibility of some kind of afterlife or in-between off. That really sucked; once he'd worked up the nerve to actually jump from that window, he'd kind of gotten excited halfway down about seeing what came after life. Of course, that had almost immediately replaced itself with a very real, screaming fear at twirling end over end of himself through the air and being buffeted by the constant wind and feeling the stinging in his eyes and opening them just in time to see the ground approach and then all he felt was- Light Flow groaned, because his head hurt, and there was something agitating it. A kind of shaking- bumping- swinging motion that just wouldn't stop. It felt like he'd gotten onto a carriage with an upset stomach, and then that upset stomach had evolved into full-blown nausea, so now he was really just wishing he could get off before he could vomit all over the nice ride that he'd probably get thrown out of soon. Though... he did feel sort of nauseous, didn't he? There was something very wrong with that, but for the life of him, he wasn't sure what it was... No, wait- he was sure. He couldn't do anything for the life of him, because he should've been dead. How did he know that? How... was he thinking? He murmured in quiet discontent at the revelation, but that was strange- his mouth felt kind of cottony, but he had a mouth. He... felt pain? Hadn't he thrown himself out of a window to his death? What was- A yelp- a distinctively female yelp pierced his ears, and he was suddenly aware that he had ears. Ears that heard more than he felt the wind as he fell, and while his immediate fear was that he was about to relive what he'd thought was his sure death, the next sensation in line was hitting the ground. And opening his eyes. Light blinked rapidly- but that should've been impossible. Grey grass and mottled grey trees met him- but that couldn't be right... Sounds. Sense. The beating of his heart- not stilled in his not smashed-open chest. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. He counted off in his head, then sucked in a deep breath. Cold. Sensation. Ground under his hooves- he still had hooves. His mane tickling the back of his neck- was he alive? There was a total silence in his ears. Grey grass and dead trees around him. Imperceptible amounts of filtered light. A persistent mugginess. He was in the Everfree forest. Nothing felt strange. Not at all; everything felt just fine. Nothing hurt, aside from his head, and he obviously had all his bones and whatnot. Was this what his own personal Underworld looked like, or was he really..? A scuffle. A clear noise made by something shuffling in the packed dirt. And Light was suddenly very aware that, for all that he was unsure of his mortality, he was splayed out on the ground, staring at nothing with his guard completely down, in the possible middle of what was assuredly the most dangerous place in Equestria. And- that was fear. Yep- uh-huh- he was definitely feeling fear for his very kept hold on his miraculously inscrutable and completely whole life. It was a huge shock that he was still alive, but that could wait until he was going to stay that way. His nerves were still waking up- give him a break, he'd thought he was dead- so it took a few false starts to get his hooves under him. If it was a wild animal that was currently stalking him, then at least it wouldn't make fun of him for slipping on his own hooves and smacking his chin into the ground twice. He really had to count the small blessings, because he'd just gone through a certain-death experience, and he predictably wanted to henceforth savor the little things in life. Eventually, he got there. His hooves felt sluggish and now his chin ached, but he eventually stood, and whirled around to the source of the noise that might've come to kill him again. Or for the first time. You know, he probably shouldn't have used the term whirled around, because he'd really just turned around- he was lucky to be standing at all, alright?! His eyes swept through the very same-seeming sights of grey plants and dead flora, to land on the one thing in front of him that wasn't some shade of grey, and that very much wasn't dead. Just like him, somehow. A mare. A creamish-colored, completely stained-with-brown earth pony mare with curly purple-and-pink hair. Her wide, cerulean eyes were fixed entirely on him: standing with three hooves on the ground, with the fourth wrapped in dirty grey bandages around its pastern and kept at her waist. A slightly brown, very translucent soul spinning within her chest. Barely visible at all, like the last time he'd seen it. He knew her. Immediately, he remembered her. Had she been carrying him on her back? No- that didn't matter. The secret agent. What was her name? That didn't matter, either. "It's you!" "You're alive?!" Two voices clashed; two ponies flinched, then stared at each other in confusion. He'd shouted out an accusation, but what had she said? He was- he was alive? What? That brooked many questions; so many that he wasn't sure which one to chase after first. Did he start with the obvious, go for the slightly less obvious, or for the completely unexpected? One of them had to speak first, and it really made him question the skills of the supposed 'secret agent' when he opened his mouth before her. "What do you mean I'm alive?" He threw the obvious question out as soon as he could: stopping the mare with her mouth half open, which then gaped open uselessly. Beat her to the punch; now if only he could get out of this mess without getting punched. It was a very clear memory in his mind: the dulled pain of having his legs swept while his body wasn't his. He'd like to avoid anything like that happening again. As the rather poor excuse for an undercover cop shut her mouth, then opened her mouth, then shut her mouth, Light Flow couldn't help but feel a very sweet sense of vindication. Watching her grasp piteously at something to say as he'd so clearly thrown her off was just as intrinsically satisfying as he'd always thought it would be, and- whoa, was this what it was like to be Nightmare Moon? Nightmare Moon. His hooves suddenly felt very... weak under him, and it took a great deal of effort on his part not to fall down. The most he did was stumble slightly back, and for his condition, he thought that was pretty good. He could remember... the last thing he remembered was Nightmare Moon's throne room, and Her egress from it. Her bid for him to follow Her to stop the heroes from finding the Elements and defeating Her. She'd left him alone with his thoughts of his friends. Alone in a room with many windows. He supposed She'd never imagined he'd have the nerve. He barely had. Something did feel strange. He shook off the sudden, full-body nausea, and blinked rapidly to drain an image he wanted to forget from his gaze. He breathed in, then out, then firmly locked the intrusive thought into a box for safekeeping. Or just so that he'd never have to think about Her again. It was silent, he realized, and so he threw his head back up. The mare- the liar- still hadn't recovered from whatever was occupying her: still staring widely at him as though she couldn't believe he really existed. And, if she had thought he was dead, then she had a pretty good point. But- well, how would she know if he'd been dead or not? For that matter- what was she doing here? As he stared at her mistrustfully, he couldn't help but notice- her soul was barely moving. It was spinning slightly like all souls did, but that way it was spinning seemed... stilted. She was obviously flustered, so her innermost reflection should have reflected that, but it wasn't. A mare of mysteries he had no time to ponder. Light put a hoof to his head, and seethed into it. "You know what- never mind," he muttered: shaking his head, then throwing his hoof to the side as he fixed the mare with an angry glare. "What are you doing here, anyway?" He swept his eyes around at the surroundings, just to make sure. "Aren't we in the Everfree forest? How did I get here?" The mare- the mare who he could remember had once hit him in the leg- jerked slightly at his voice. He could tell she'd been lost in thought, because for as often as he'd experienced it himself, the signs were very clear. She blinked, and, almost as though she was seeing him for the first time, recognition flooded her eyes. And then, the recognition was entirely smothered by another look. A guarded look. She was about to do something sneaky, wasn't she? Her posture immediately changed in the moment after; her hooves came closer together, her back straightened, her head rose and her mouth curled into a pleasant smile. All at once and so suddenly, he was looking at a mare completely different from the one that had stood before him only seconds ago. And when she spoke, a voice he did not remember came from her mouth. "Oh, sir, I'm so glad you're okay!" came the sunny, cheery, nauseating voice from a mare who was only pretending to be ditzy. The mare- the big fat liar- nodded: her smile growing wider, if such a thing was possible. "I'm an archeological major doing research on the old kingdom, and I found you lying collapsed in the middle of The Castle of the Two Sisters! Why, I'd positively thought you'd gone and died!" She hummed a laugh, and waved her hoof. "I'm just as pleased as a pony skull to know you're alright!" She giggled openly and annoyingly at that, though Light could only curl his lip in disgust. What kind of a metaphor was that? Pony skulls smiled, sure, but it was a weird thing to just say. Was it because she was pretending to be an archeologist? That was just- Oh wait, he pretended to be an archeologist to hide his special talent. Maybe he should think twice before making fun of imposters. Make fun, he would not, but get mad? He would still do that. His disgusted look bled into a very easy glare-because he was angry at her- and he firmly stomped his hoof, drawing the attention of the mare with nothing but insincerity in her eyes. She was smart, he'd give her that. She'd deflected the question, provided an answer for her own, and presented a completely benign front all at once and in a false voice. Unluckily for her, he knew better, and her lie wasn't even nearly perfect. He'd forgotten once, but never again. Her soul was still stilted. "You can't trick me; I know who you are. I remember you, and what you and Princess Celestia did to me," he said in as firm a voice as he could manage: a tone that brooked no misunderstanding, and at that, the mare's expression stilled. The cheer on her face chilled, and she was left smiling aimlessly, as the stare in her eyes grew dimmer and dimmer. Until that smile turned upside down, and her brow narrowed. "Alright then." In retrospect- not such a great idea to promptly uncover the undercover secret agent who had already proven she could totally kick his butt. In a flash, she moved, and before he knew what was happening, he was laying flat on his stomach. Too fast to see anything besides a blur of cream, though maybe his reaction time was thrown off by his recent possible demise. His hoof was quickly grabbed- jerked- then twisted behind his back, and his yelp in pain was then muffled as his head was pushed forward into the dirt. The shock turned into adrenaline in a second, and as soon as he was cognizant, he began to furiously squirm against the heavy weight of the jerk mare who was kneeling on his back. He felt the mana in his veins begin to flow; gritting his teeth as he imagined poking her in the eye with a shimmer of red- but then, he let it fade away. A voice- a chillingly familiar voice was reminding him of what had happened the last time they'd struggled. Anti-magic horn ring. He couldn't give her a reason to nullify his magic, not when he might need it later. With magic firmly disallowed as a potential option, Light resorted to writhing and squirming, but no matter how he moved he just couldn't dislodge her. There was- ouch! Her hoof was digging into his back! Wasn't one of her hooves bandaged? How could she- was that a latch being clicked? And then, there was something cold and metal around his hoof. He had a sinking feeling all of a sudden. "Light Flow, you are hereby under house arrest under suspicion of colluding with the Nightmare Queen to overthrow the Crown, as well as multiple additional suspicions of violating the sanctified ban on all forms of Black magic." Her voice was no longer sunny- but at least he recognized it now. It was a sweet voice, drizzled with something bitter. The voice of a mare who'd led him to a tree house in the woods. The voice of a mare who'd pretended to be his best friend. A voice that stilled his blood within his veins, as it firmly stated his worst fears in an intense, droning monotone. "There will be a pending investigation into whether you have killed, maimed, or otherwise harmed anypony or anything under the influence of or at the bidding of the Nightmare Queen, and at which time such acts are discovered, you will face legal repercussions." This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening to him. "I am required to inform you that you will be subject to multiple forms of interrogation until such time as it is fully understood the extent of your general wrongdoings and specific violations of Equestrian law, especially in regards to your usage of Black magic and the measurable scope of your overall Black magic corruption. "If it is discovered that you have broken the 49th Celestial Commandment outlawing all usage of Black magic-" Her press into his back firmed, and he was suddenly breathless, or moreso. "-you may be subject to the additional devotional punishments of the Solar Church." He was breaking out in cold shivers all over now, but he could barely help it. It felt like every muscle in his body had gone completely numb, and he couldn't do anything except gape uselessly as her steady voice droned further in his ears. Holy fire. "Following your absolution in the eyes of The Pure Goddess, you will be sentenced to a variable jail time, after which time has been served you will be released on parole without the use of your magic." The grip around his hoof tightened and drew back: forcing him to lean uncomfortably up as he grimaced in silent pain. "Neither I nor any serving officer are compelled to offer you any additional or compulsory rights or freedoms, as stated under the wartime statutes detailing the handling of traitors to the Crown." He'd been wrong. He wasn't alive. He really had died in that fall, and now he was in Tartarus. "Upon returning to civilization, my investigation into your actions as taken through service to the Nightmare Queen will begin. You are legally compelled by the Holy Crown of Equestria to comply with any and all investigatory actions. Failure to do so will result in further or compounding jail time pending additional punishments or restrictions." It was all too surreal. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a trick. He must've been dead, or he was still in that room with Her and She was using magic on him again. It had to be anything but reality. The grip on his hoof loosened. "I am not compelled to explain any further rights to you, nor am I required to reexplain anything I have previously stated, nor is your explicit understanding of this arrest required. Neither myself nor the Crown are liable for any physical or mental damages, but if you believe you have been treated unfairly or discriminated against, you may request court time to express your grievances in a minimum of eight to twelve months." The hoof that was still pressing into his back finally eased, and bit by bit, the weight on his back retreated. His hoof bent back to his front, though it ached... But the slight pain made it all too clear that this was reality. This was real, and he was being arrested. And he couldn't even sue for trauma. Great. Light groaned in a mixture of pain and misery as there was a soft stepping of uneven hooves, and the extremely dirtied mare who'd just ruined what little life he'd had trotted out into view and promptly sat down. As there was so little to look at, his eyes were drawn to the stained saddlebag slung over her similarly stained waist. It was adorned by its speckled-red latch with the cutie mark similarly sketched on her flank, and it was flapping closed as the mare trickily fished out a sheer silver band with her teeth. The band clicked open with a latch from a quick jerk of her head, and was messily guided onto the hoof that wasn't bandaged. It went click again, and though her new accessory was quite plain, she seemed more than pleased with it. And then, she turned her eyes to him. Dull cerulean eyes, brimming with total mistrust and a foreign sense of antipathy. "...You can get up now," she stated dryly after a moment of shared staring. The tone of her voice was back to normal- less frightening- but otherwise completely disinterested. For the mare who had just detailed the rest of his future at the hooves of the government, she didn't seem too preoccupied with his fate. Her soul still wasn't active or especially visible, so there was either something wrong with her, something wrong with him, or she was just a complete sociopath. He knew she was a mule, at least. Rather than stand- because screw her- he huffed loudly, and pressed his body further into the dirt. His silent objection was met with as little as a dry stare: followed by a rolling of her eyes and a sigh, for which she stood up. Panic flared in his veins as she began to trot towards him, though for how he braced for her to stomp his brains out, she only reached her good hoof down towards him. "Come on, get up. We need to get out of this place before it eats us alive." He stared widely at the hoof being offered to him, before focusing his stare on the mare offering it. The once-creamy, secret agent mare who had been the one to pin him was now offering to help him up: nothing but faded apathy and a slight anticipation in her eyes. He didn't like her. Even despite all that she'd done to him, he just plain didn't like her. It wasn't looking as though he had much of a choice in the matter, unless he really did want her to stomp all over her face, so even though it made him feel like a fool, he cautiously reached a hoof out to take hold of hers. He was immediately jerked forward with such strength that he really didn't have a choice but to stand. So stand, he did. He glared at her for his mistreatment, to which she only stared blankly at him. The stare-off only lasted as long as it took his gaze to track downward, and as it did, it suddenly became very apparent what that cold feeling was. "What... did you put on me..?" he murmured absently: staring widely and unabashedly at the identical silver bands around both of their conjoined hooves. In the second after, her hoof slapped his away, and he wincingly cradled the aggressed limb closer to himself as he studied the new, foreign object on it. It was a metal ring: big enough to fit around his pastern, but small enough that he couldn't just slide it off. Entirely form-fitting, and it didn't even chafe. Certainly not a hoofcuff, though he was being arrested. What had she said..? He was going to be put on parole after his... 'devotional punishments?' Like there'd be anything left of him afterwards... "It's a magical imprint tag." He looked back up from his depressed pondering to see the mare frowning stonily, which he was beginning to feel was a usual expression for her. As his attention was on her, her frown deepened. "It's a preventative measure to keep you from wandering off until we get back to Ponyville and I can start interrogating you." He blinked, and stared bewilderedly back down at the... 'magical imprint tag.' Awfully concise name for a magical gadget, but still pretty fancy for a souped-up hoofcuff. There was probably no running away to hide in the forest for the rest of his life as long as he had it on. There went his forest hermit backup strategy. "How does it do that?" was his next question, and he looked back to his new arrest officer as she scowled at his question. Her tense posture and tapping hoof were clear indications she wanted to get going, but she'd never told him he had the right to remain silent, so he was gonna talk. He'd just been freed from an applicable eternity spent with an insane moon Goddess, so he was going to enjoy what little time he had. Also he might have recently died, but he was feeling surprisingly apathetic about that. Her eye flicked out to her left, then found him again. She unceremoniously held up her own banded hoof. "See mine?" she asked, and though he didn't really like the condescension of asking whether he could see, he still nodded. Her stony expression broke, and she finally smiled, though he didn't really enjoy the meaning behind the smile. It was sort of... sadistic. "It's linked to yours, and if the wards they're both imprinted with detect a distance of more than twenty-five yards between them, yours will incapacitate you." He sucked in a breath: jerking his gaze back to the band around his pastern that was apparently dangerous. "And how does it do that?!" he cried. He'd mostly felt a little dead since he'd been summarily told that he was probably going to prison for the rest of his life, but knowing that he was now very firmly tethered to this mare was helping him to feel a little more alive again! Funny how imminent danger did that to a pony! His panic was throttled and muffled by a more quiet fear as his hoof was forcibly lowered by another, and he was suddenly staring directly into the sharp, cerulean eyes of the secret agent. "Calm down, it's only preventative. It won't hurt you as long as you stick by me." Her words were punctuated by a lean back, but even as she retreated, he very much wanted to scream that he couldn't calm down because there was a dangerous magical object on his hoof. But with the way she was staring at him, with her eyebrow raised like that, made him think a few more times than twice about it. Though he was feeling more than a bit dizzy, so he put his hoof to his head. It was a sad stand-in for leaning on something, but there wasn't much around besides the dead trees, so he'd have to deal with what he had. And what he had was a headache. "I'm... really being arrested..." he murmured, and hearing it out loud made the feeling so much worse. He looked back up from the ground to stare at the mare: feeling a sense of still mortification beginning to spread through his cold cheeks. "This is real? I'm not- I'm not actually dead?" The word felt heavy in his clammy mouth, and it only weighed heavier on his mind. When he'd woken up- realized he was alive after he... he could remember the fall... and the pain... It didn't seem fair. It didn't seem right to have done all he did... to then be punished... His next breath was sharper as he raised his other hoof, and closed his eyes. He'd spent so long up there in that castle... doing all he could to stop Nightmare Moon, and now... There had been so much he'd wanted to do... There were so many new possibilities... A feeling was welling up in his chest, again. A feeling he'd bared his heart for, that had followed him for his entire life, and might stay with him until he died again. He'd wasted his life. Touch. A hoof on his. His eyes flew widely open, and they were met with the abject color of pure cerulean: a beautiful color marred by a swatch of guilt-tinged remorse. She was right in front of him, and there was a soft frown on her creased face. "Try... not to think about it, Light." Her hoof lowered from where it had rested over his, and she promptly averted her guilty stare from his. She turned from him and began to trot away, and in a single moment, something shifted in her chest. There was a flash of color behind her soul. For a single moment and right before his overwrought stare, the boring brown flickered, wavered, and he caught a glimpse of shining cerulean blue. Shimmering and slowly spinning with sadness. And then it was gone. Painted right over by see-through, silent brown. Light blinked rapidly as he tried to burn the quick image into his eyes. He'd barely seen it, but he had seen it. He was going on the assumption that he'd stopped seeing things since he'd been given his wits back, so he was trusting that he really had actually seen that. But if he was sure he'd seen it, then he knew what it was. Her real soul, under the obviously fake one. And she was sad. She was walking away: the sparse light flickering down from the canopy bathing her dirty body in subtle rays as she passed through a dense thicket of plants. He could hardly believe he'd seen what he saw; the change of emotion from the dry mare was- Wait... He cast his gaze up, as fast as he could, to the canopy above. Light trickling down. Shining, bright light. He gaped openly at the sight, for... every reason he could think of. He blinked, then blinked again, and- just so he wasn't imagining it- blinked many more times after that. But it stayed. The bright light of day filtered down around them: visible even through the choking array of the Everfree's dead leaves. It was day. He'd done it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As Bon Bon walked slowly away from the miserable unicorn with dried, runny red encrusted all over his sides, she was very glad she'd been trained to cover her emotions. Her additional precautions, as well, if Light had regained the apparently inherent ability of a born Necromancer. For all that she was calm and collected on the outside, her heart was pounding in her ears. Her slow gait stilled between steps, to listen carefully as the crunching of dead grass underhoof began behind her. Slow and unsteady in its own right, but following. She began to walk forward again: ducking her head and grimacing to avoid overbearing foliage and branches bearing down. A dead, leafless bush scratched along her bandage, but she barely felt the sting. Between every blink, she still saw what she'd seen, following her magic compass. Behind every breath, she could still taste the scent in the air. In the back of her mind, it was all she could think about. Jutting bones. Broken skin. Twisted, bent hooves. Teeth scattered over the stone. The blood. The running. The spatter. And now, he was walking behind her. On his own four hooves, which were no longer noticeably broken or twisted out of socket. After he'd finished speaking to her, with his mouth full of the teeth that she was sure she'd left on the ground in the castle. The sight she'd been witness to was as awful as any she'd ever seen. Rarely did her missions intersect with death, and never had she failed to prevent one. But there had laid Light Flow: dead on the cold, grey ground. She suppressed a shiver, and spared as quick as glance behind her as she could. Light was, thankfully, following a couple hoof-lengths behind her. She'd expected his head to be morosely down at his hooves, but it was up: sharp, red eyes focused on her and immediately meeting her gaze. Her heart skipped a beat and she returned her stare forward, cursing herself for being so unprofessional as to look in the first place. Light was going to have to make a trip to Town Hall to change his documented eye color, because they were pretty permanently red, now. A clear sign of corruption. Once upon a time, that would've been all she needed to slap cuffs on him for breaking Black magic laws, even without the whole... resurrection thing. It had probably been that whole resurrection thing that had pushed his corruption over the first stage. But that should've been impossible. There was a Necromantic spell to prevent and reverse death, but there was just no way Light had learned it. Not in the time he'd been under surveillance, and certainly not in the span of a single night. Yet he'd still come back. Long, long after she'd hefted that sagging bag of bones onto her back, wincing for the feeling of empty skin and grimacing as the cold feeling of blood began to seep over her coat, he'd... come back. That bag of bones had stitched itself back together when she wasn't looking, and now, he was fine. Nothing noticeably off about him at all, aside from the bloodstains he still hadn't noticed. She had to wonder, though, what had lead to his death? Did he know? If he did, then it only made her feel all the worse for arresting him. A patch of twisted black brambles came up before them, so she turned to duck behind a tree. Hopefully Light had seen her go around, though it would've been really funny to watch him stumble through the thorns. He probably didn't need the brutalizing after the one she'd given him. She wished she could tell him that it wasn't as bad as she'd made it sound: she felt the need to comfort him pressing on her jaw, but she had to clamp down. She'd had to put on a tough front. For the safety of her post, she had to cover as much as she could; play dumb and brutal for as long as it took until the all-clear came through and she could let Light go. She'd still have to interrogate him, but Her Highness had been fairly clear that charges wouldn't be pressed upon Light. Nothing that had happened was his fault- unless he'd actually done something while she wasn't looking- and the political clime was lax enough that they could safely skirt by the edge of the old, antiquated laws. He'd be able to return to his old life none the worse for wear, just as long as Light hadn't actually killed anypony. She just- couldn't tell Light any of that, since it would've implied that they knew all those things, which would imply they'd been watching him, and... well, the Crown simply couldn't let anypony know about that kind of surveillance. Bon Bon was just glad the EIA hadn't been allowed to kidnap ponies off the street for a few centuries, otherwise the entire problem with Light could just be solved with a carriage and a few suits. She really hoped the all-clear would come soon, though. After all... She flicked an eye down as she walked, to see the light dappling the grey grass. She'd never forget the moment the sun had risen as she'd crossed that fixed bridge she'd once fallen off of, and she could feel the warmth crawl over her. Raise her eyes to Her Majesty in the sky, and know that she was safe. Feel the profound peace of being loved in her breast, and know, without a doubt, that she could smile. Her Highness had risen over the Night, and the Nightmare was over. For all her loving faith, Harmony had emerged victorious, and her burdens were made lesser. All she'd done for the Crown; all that she'd sacrificed had been repaid in that single, glorious moment. Everyone she loved was safe, and soon, she could go home. It had seemed even sadder, then, that she'd been carrying Light's dead body on her back. But he was alright, now. She was going to have to ask Her Highness how he was alright when they got out of the Everfree, but the important thing was that he was safe. Nightmare Moon had been defeated by the Elements of Harmony, and Light, as well as Equestria, was safe. She just didn't know how, yet. > Chapter 50 - The Healer > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So, you live in Ponyville, don't you?" The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information." Okay... running into a wall with that... How about..? "How did you know where to find me?" The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information." He frowned. Had that sounded colder than the one before it? Best to try again. "How am I going to be interrogated when we get back to Ponyville?" The mare walking ahead of him did not slow down. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information." Light Flow was feeling sort of snubbed. He supposed it was to be expected from a government mare like her, but the cream-colored secret agent was even tighter-lipped than the depictions of her job in books would imply. Those types of ponies would kick doors down and pose dramatically and declare that they were Bond. Bonding Agent. She wasn't doing any of that. Well- she had kicked down his front door, actually. Maybe she would've shouted her name if he'd had the presence of mind to gasp loudly and ask? The mare with a limp that was somehow moving at a faster pace than him was just... shutting him down. They'd been walking for about an hour- trotting around brambles and crawling under fallen trees and jumping ravines- and in all that time, she wouldn't tell him anything about her or her job or what was happening. Completely understandable and he'd be the same way, of course, but he wanted to know! He hated being so clueless! Her total, business-like silence did give him time to think, at least. And as he swatted fronds aside and trudged through the undergrowth, reveling in the simple sensation of living, he was thinking. Mostly about Applejack, though when his mind wasn't totally dominated by the wonderful picture of the least agreeable pony in the world, he enjoyed random thoughts about the night's events and the coming days. A little about his previous death and his incoming incarceration, though he tried to keep anything too intrusive at a low rumble. The day had come, so Nightmare Moon- Nightmare Moon- had probably lost, which meant his friends had won, but that didn't mean they hadn't been hurt. He didn't care so much about most of them losing a leg or three, but Applejack? Even Rarity, to a certain point... He just hoped the few of them that he actually cared about made it out alive. Rainbow Dash could probably stand to get maimed. Would knock her down a few pegs. Of course, he couldn't think about the night's outcome without thinking... about the Night. He didn't really want to, though, so whenever She entered his head, he just tried to focus on the rhythm of his walking hooves, instead. Ignoring those dark, slotted eyes in the back of his head step by step by step on the grey, grassy walk, until- oh good, there were those gleaming green emeralds, again. The pony whom he loved, kicking back in the sunlight with the day dappling her glowing orange fur. Forehead damp with sweat after a day's work; legs rippling with working muscles under the skin as she stretched them out one by tantalizing one. The scent of sweet apple blossoms on the breeze as she softly sighed: the least objectionable sound in the world... ...Yeah, the pony he loved. It had used to frighten him to admit that, but it just didn't seem so hard anymore. Actually kind of... nice. He loved Applejack, a whole lot. Probably from the bottom of his heart, if that tired hyperbole was even applicable. She was... well, she was... She was beautiful, for one. And sort of saintly, except where it counted, thankfully. He didn't really have to think about the reasons why he loved her, it was just... The feeling in his chest when he thought of her- it was just right. Time spent with her was just better. He guessed that... admitting something so benign just seemed... easier after all he'd been through. He wondered if he should tell her? Would he have a chance? His eye fell down, as he rounded a tree after the retreating purple-and-pink tail ahead of him. He'd nearly forgotten who he was walking behind. And he didn't even notice she'd slowed down until he nearly bumped into her. Cream fur scrolled into his downcast vision, and he managed to stop just short of crashing into the panting mare with her head down. The big, tough, secret agent mare with the lolling tongue and the sweaty forehead, as he saw when he trotted around to her front. Her eyes were unfocused and her head was hung, but she still met his curious gaze instantly, and the small hesitance there was instantly covered. "I'm fine," she stated forcefully, though he actually hadn't said anything. Was she okay? What was normal for her? Did he even care? Though she clearly wasn't fine by anypony's standards and he could tell she wasn't fine, she raised her head steadily, and she took an unsteady step past him. "Let's... let's go. We need to- we need to..." It was obvious several seconds in advance that, as she wobbled forward on her one good hoof, she was going to fall down. He had plenty of advance time to notice, think about what he wanted to do, think again whether he really wanted to help her, before finally deciding that it would probably be best for both of them if he didn't let her pass out. Oh, but how wonderfully spiteful would it be to just let her smack her head on the ground. Best to reel that thought in, though. He needed her to carry her own weight. So, he stepped forward, leaned down, and let her falling body crash into his outstretched hoof. His legs buckled and he blew out an exerted seethe as the mare's weight fell onto him: her head pushing into his neck, and her hooves clutching at his withers. Now his ears were burning, and he was immediately regretting his decision to be kind. He was barely fit enough to hold a book, and he could already tell he needed to put her down, quickly, before he collapsed with her on top of him. Never mind that it would seem compromising: her head was nestled into his neck! This was officially violating his ban on all Light-to-stranger contact, and he hated it. His teeth chattered from the stress as he spied a good-looking tree by their relative side, and he slowly shuffled towards it. The mare's breath was blowing hotly across the back of his neck: uneven, lilting gasps fluttering in her chest as her back hooves dragged lifelessly behind them in the dirt. What had happened? She'd been just fine a minute ago, and now she couldn't even stand? He was worried about her. Granted, it was mostly because if she died, then he'd be more or less collared to her stinking corpse thanks to the stupid tag on his hoof. Also he'd... feel bad, or whatever. Not really. The tree accepted the mare's grasping hoof in his place readily, and she collapsed into it instead as he breathed a silent breath of relief. He rolled the muscles around his withers to relieve a little bit of the growing soreness, as he turned his attention to the red-faced, panting mare who was just about hugging the arboreal giant. "Don't... I'm just... taking a second..." Her raspy response to his continued silence was punctuated by a throaty cough, which really just sealed the deal. The mare was sick, and he could clearly spy the most likely suspect for her illness, even as she angled her body to hide it from him. He leaned down towards the mare, whose eyes snapped open and steadied on him as he sat down. Her expression was hard and very unpleasantly cross, but her lips stayed firmly closed as he gently reached a hoof out to touch his frog to her forehead. Clammy and sweaty and hot. "You're burning up," he murmured, and she shook her head dismissively. With a mental note to slap her if she started to pass out, he dropped his gaze to the shaking hoof she was keeping at her chest. His hoof crept cautiously out to take hold of it, and though the mare fixed him with a tempered, reproachful look, she still let him gently guide the limb away from herself. Her stare wasn't nearly as threatening as Nightmare Moon's, anyway, and her sickened state only made it seem all the weaker. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled her limb out of the shadow of her body, and he bit his lip: something unnameable flicking on like a switch in his brain as he took in the sight of the red. The heady, beautiful, iron-rich red so distinct amidst the dull grey background. Focus. It was just blood. Don't get weird. Noticeably. He could freak out in his own mind all he wanted. She was bleeding: the dirty grey bandages around her pastern slowly staining in a growing wet blot. He could see, tilting her limb around, that the cloth was beginning to fray in the few small places where red was seeping through. Her wound, whatever it was, had reopened. Depending on how long it'd been since she'd actually been wounded, it made sense she'd finally collapsed. There was a point where the body naturally overwhelmed the mind, after all. He almost wanted to say she deserved it. ...But she probably didn't. Well, maybe she did. Or, maybe she didn't. Urgh. "When did you bandage this?" His question was answered by another shaking of her head, before she pulled her hoof away from him, and then, very foolishly, tried to push herself to her hooves. Her breathing hitched and her legs shook as she leaned into the tree; he only watched impassively as she managed to get her back legs up, before they slid out from under her and she fell forward: smacking her head into the bark as she cried out. Her eyes were growing glassier with every labored breath she took, but there was a notable determination there as she turned her gaze back to him. "In... my saddlebag. A pill... Energy sup-supplement... I need... I need it..." she managed to choke out between heavy breaths, as the sweat continued to pour down her matted forehead. Her teeth grit, and a bout of noticeable shaking broke out over her tense body: broken eventually by a seething, whimpering groan. All the while, he sat back and watched. Silent and still, but he made sure to make up for comfort in judgement. This... was very sudden, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. On the one hoof, he'd be entirely justified in leaving her to die out here, but on the other hoof, he'd never survive if she died out here. Even if he got the dumb tag off, she probably had ponies expecting her back at Ponyville who wouldn't be ecstatic to see him arriving without her. He could get his revenge on her for helping the Princess erase his memory, and it would only cost him his second life. Decisions... decisions... Yeah, he should probably help her. He was angry, not stupid. Light shook his head, and reached to grab hold of her hoof again. "You don't need energy. Trying to force your body to move like this is just going to kill you." The limb was guided into his hold with little prodding, and at his mental prompting, the mana in that placeless source of power began to churn. "You need treatment." Treatment that would have to come from him, he didn't say. She was lucky that, barring an actual medical professional, she was stuck out here with him. The next best thing: a fact that she was trying to use to throw him into prison. What? No, he wasn't bitter. Perish the thought. He felt her tug weakly away, which really spoke a lot about her condition if she couldn't overpower him. Her eyes, though, were still full to the brim with a fierce strength. "What are you doing?!" Her angry grumble was more like a mumble, and he wasn't impressed in the least by her attempt at intimidating him. She'd have to grow fangs for that to work. He'd been trained, he supposed. A rather unconventional sort of training, but he'd learned a lot from the experience all the same. Small blessings, again. With the memory of having faced down a livid Goddess, Light let a familiar, proven hardness creep over his frown. "I need to see your injury if I'm going to do anything about it. At the very least, I need to get this dirty bandage off or it's just going to get worse." His firm statement shut the agent up for that moment, though her eyes were still narrow and full of distrust. That was fine, she didn't need to trust him, she just had to let him look. Now, how to go about this..? Her breathing audibly ramped as his horn lit and he tugged the end of the wrap out from itself, then began to unwrap it from itself loop by loop. He could tell by the way she tensed that the contact was making her uncomfortable, but she'd just have to deal with it. Not his fault his magic did what it did... He had to admit, she was biting her lip pretty well. Too hard, though, and she'd bite right through. The cloth fell away easily enough for the outer layers, though with each pass the bandages underneath were exposed, and that red stain beneath just grew and grew. Pass by pass until the bandages were thin and thickly colored, then there was suddenly resistance. He tugged again at the moist, red-stained cloth, and the mare noticeably flinched. The cloth must have fused to her skin with blood. Or it was just stuck: blood was pretty sticky. Either way, this was going to hurt. He was just glad it wouldn't hurt him- He ripped the last layer of the bandage away in one, firm motion, then braced for impact as the silent air filled with the mare's shout of agony. But it was only a short cry, and not an agonized scream, as he'd expected. And when he cautiously opened his eyes to see her face, he only found her gritted teeth grinding together, and a very slight glimmering tear at the corner of her narrowed, cerulean eye. A very strong mare, but he'd known that already. He'd even tried to catch her off-guard by not giving a warning, but she'd handled the pain remarkably well. It was actually almost... off-putting how butch she was trying to be. What was she trying to prove to him? He gradually tore his gaze away from the mare struggling not to show weakness to inspect the uncovered wound. Immediately, he felt the pressure behind his wide eyes as his nostrils instinctively flared, and he took in the cloying scent of sickly sweet iron coming from the disgustingly blackened, swollen, pockmarked pastern. A familiar, slightly comforting scent, but also- ew. It was... difficult to remain as confident in his ability as he'd felt a minute ago when he was faced with the mare's obviously serious wound. Whatever had happened had clearly happened right around the pastern, as was obvious, and the thin skin there had swelled to disfiguring limits. And, squished as it had been by the bandage, the flesh was all the more puffier and... dense. Nearly right on the bone, too: no wonder it hurt so much. Where... was her fetlock in all the mess? He couldn't tell; it was all too swollen. There was blood welling from the small, rubbed pocks all over the black flesh, and judging by the dried flecks around each hole, it had probably clotted before he'd ripped the bandage off, which was good. That meant less bleeding. The bad thing was that- guessing by all the swelling- all that irregular clotting had screwed up her blood flow, and then all the dirt and grime of her romping about had let infection enter the limb, which only made the swelling worse, and... Well, it was a whole mess, and he wasn't even a doctor. From a regular medical standpoint, he had absolutely no idea how to help her. He couldn't even make a guess as to how it had happened. What sort of trauma led to such an awful injury? Had she been mauled or what? But the mare- the complete stranger- seemingly had some kind of faith in him. She was staring at him with clear pain and dormant anger in those tired blue eyes, but she was letting him look at her wound. She'd let him unbandage it. Whatever she thought he could do, she must've wanted him to do it. Did she know? A short time ago- yes it was just a short time ago, despite how long it had felt since then- he'd been nose deep in a book about Flesh Manipulation. A terribly-named subclass of Necromancy that involved the manipulation of flesh, obviously. Manipulation, recombination and longevity, but most importantly: restoration. He'd been in a terrible state at the time, what with the screaming Goddess in his head and the many growing holes in his memory, but he was better now, and he'd actually managed to glean a lot from those books. Nothing he'd had any use for yesterday night- it was the day after, wasn't it?- but now, it was all coming through clearly. Now, everything he'd learned might finally be useful. Finally, he could actually practice Necromancy! Granted, a subclass, but still. Very exciting. He was beginning to feel a bit inappropriately giddy, so he occupied himself by gently touching his hoof to the swollen limb: listening to the mare seethe as he explored the satisfying feeling of full flesh and warm, welling blood under his frog. It was probably the wrong thing to do, since it was really just exciting him even more. The wonderfully squeamish sensation of small holes of open flesh rubbed raw rubbed open was beginning to make his heart race, and the feeling was only amplified all the more by its intoxicating warmth. He didn't even mind the slightly nauseating sensation of swelling; he was just enjoying the chance to feel, while imagining what he could do. There was a unstoppably fast sensation of growing exhilaration rising in his chest; a nervous shudder stilling his breath for a quiet moment of relaxed bliss as he ran his touch down to gently touch upon her hard heel. He wondered if she was prepared for the pain; did she really want him to heal it for her? Necromancy was illegal, did that mean she was willing to break the law? Was he? Yes, of course he was. What a dumb question. His own hoof had been very stained with the running red of her wound, and as it trailed across hers, it left a small streak of crimson across the dirty black. It was a very intimate, very beautiful moment he was enjoying, as the mare bit her lip and tried not to shiver from the pain of what he was doing. He could care less. Touching her wound really didn't have anything to do with his magic, he kind of just wanted to make the mare hurt for what she'd done to him. Also, because he was a freak and he got a very perverse enjoyment out of touching blood and sick, but the preferences he'd trained into himself as a foal were far less important than the revenge. With his hoof still exploring hers, he flicked an eye up, and caught her unfocused, twitching gaze. "I know a spell that can help you," he murmured, and her eyes focused onto his. A hope, smothered instantly by a reproach. She knew what he meant by spell. "I- I c-can't. That's... that's illegal. It's- it's profane. Sac-sacrilegious." She was beginning to shiver from her illness, now- or was it the forest's cold?- which only made the bravado she forced into her voice sound all the less impressive. For a mare denying precious magical aid while being stranded in the middle of the Everfree, there must've been a serious dedication to her religious views behind that stoic façade. So Light pressed insistently down onto her open sores, and waited until she stopped shaking in pain to speak. "Listen, this isn't that serious, but I'm assuming you know how bad our situation is, and where we are." He stopped to let that sink in for a moment: watching the visble war on her grimacing face for a moment until he spoke again. "You've been lugging this lame thing around for... who knows how long, and it isn't gonna go away before we reach Ponyville." He tugged her hoof slightly higher, and a small shimmer of red trailed down from her clenched lip. There it was. "If you wait until then, it will be serious." Deciding to spare her the cliché do you want to lose the limb or your pride speech: he went silent to allow her the moment to think, as he cast his eye down and tried to work through what spell he would actually use. He'd learned a couple, though he'd never tried any of them... He'd had the time to learn the most basic theory and the methods of casting, but he'd been stopped short of actually using any of it. Typical distractions like possession and mental regression: it was always something, wasn't it? As he ran his hoof over her swelling flesh again, a quiet, devilish little voice whispered that it was probably best he was testing his magic out on somepony other than himself. And he agreed with it pretty readily. Wasn't like he was overly fond of this mare. The only problem in having her head combust or her liver explode would be the subsequent reckoning from the government. He wouldn't miss his longtime stalker, that's for sure. Was it twisted to be considering her accidental death while playing with her wound? Yes. Yes it was. After everything he'd been through last night, he figured he deserved to be a little twisted. A short, pained seethe brought his attention away from the dark, and he realized he'd accidentally pressed down too hard, and now there was blood spattered a bit up his hoof. He blinked, and tried to communicate he was mildly sorry through a sheepish glance, though... since her one eye was screwed shut in pain, it was a little hard to tell if it got through. He let his hoof hover away for the moment, and in the moment after the mare broke a heavy breath with a gasp. "F-Fine," she muttered through a shaking jaw, which contracted jerkily in an evidently difficult swallow. She nodded her head shakily, though her eyes were all on her hoof. "Fix- fix me. I'm- I'll allow this... this one time, just- I just want you to make it hurt." He blinked bemusedly, and he almost opened his mouth to ask before he stopped, thought, and realized he didn't care. Whether she wanted to punish herself or punish herself, it didn't matter to him. He was just the bonehead with a collar and a sick handler. He furrowed his brow, and set his attention onto her hoof: doing his best to keep his mana circulating and getting used to the anticipant feeling of preemptive casting as he stalled for a moment. A moment that felt pretty massive, since it... it was the first Necromantic-adjacent spell he'd ever cast... He'd waited his whole life for this moment: for the chance to touch another in the most intimate of ways, and change them from the inside-out. Necromancy involved two basic parts: half spiritual manipulation and half physical, and now he was about to complete his experience. Of course, it felt all the more bitter that he was wasting it on her. He'd have much preferred a rotting corpse to practice on; he was sorely missing the company. But, putting the resentment aside, he needed to decide which spell would help her the most, the fastest. Which spell... Which spell... What treatment comes first..? What came first in the medical method..? ...Ah! He nodded to himself. That would do nicely to begin with, and it would work quite well with that. She'd be on her hooves in no time. ...She just... wouldn't be able to tell she had hooves. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bon Bon was sure she was going to die. From the pain- from the sin- from the sheer embarrassment of letting her condition overtake her when she was trying to keep it cool! What a great first impression to make in front of her charge! But the pain was probably the frontrunner, as much as it made her want to vomit to admit. Or maybe that was the pain- or the vertigo- it was just so hard to tell when everything hurt. Except- except her hoof. Her hoof was just growing so numb... It was worst behind her eyes, she decided in a moment as she struggled to keep them open. The pounding in her head that had grown and grown that she'd ignored until she could barely see straight and the path ahead had begun to look like wavy lines that burned in her vision like the hot lash of a barbed whip- bad memories! But then- as she hung her head and threw it back with a heavy breath that stalled in her throat and made her cough raggedly- the worst pain was probably her chest. It felt like fire was running through her veins- like she'd been dared to drink lava on a barracks razzing, and now it was just sitting and eating through her stomach. Hyperbole- she knew it was just hyperbole- but it was so hard to stop from screaming! She- she had to remember- if she screamed, then the predators would come. She had to make sure they weren't found... She- she had to keep a low profile... Had to- had to remember her training. Her training... Keep out of sight... Keep- keep away from isolated areas... Blend into crowds... Never... never let a target catch you alone... Never... never go to dinner alone... Dinner... tonight... what- what's for dinner, Lyra..? Lyra, honey..? Honey... cool... sweet... sweetheart. Lyra, sweetheart... Come- come back to bed- it's so hot... Get out of bed- it's too hot... Hot... The hurt... Lyra, you're hurting me... Stop... Stop the hurt... Sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... The hurt... Didn't mean to hurt you... Hurt. Pain. A sting- ouch! A pain- a real pain she felt on her cheek brought her screaming back to reality from a foggy void of names and numbers and scenes she'd tried apologizing for. She blinked muggy memories out of her bleary eyes that still hurt, but it was easier in a moment to remember the hurt. The pain of her sickness. ...Her sickness- her sickness! She'd lost focus, and she- she'd given Light permission to perform magic on her- but how long had she been out? She- she needed to identify. So, she identified, as her sleepy mind was telling her to. And what she identified was Light's unnatural red eyes staring at her with muted concern, as his- his horn was glowing bright, shimmering red. Her nerves on edge- the wrong feeling of his mana brushing up against hers. He was doing his spell right now! She tried to say something, but her mouth- it felt oddly cottony. Everything was beginning to feel sort of cottony- even the pain was beginning to grow... numb. The sickness felt... faint. She shook the feeling of clinging cobwebs away, and tried again. "What- what happening? How long... been out?" Too few words were coming with far too much difficulty, and she couldn't figure out why. Her tongue felt- didn't feel like anything. Her jaw- no. Was she still breathing? When she tried to- she couldn't make her body- Everything felt- nothing felt. She couldn't... why did everything feel like she was staring at it through water?! "Hey. Hey, focus." Light's voice snapped her out of a spiral, and the reminder of the unicorn was a sober realization that she was Special Agent Sweetie Drops, and she should've been more alert, damnit! She couldn't just let this happen without her consent! Wait- no- she had acceded to this... Celestia damnit, she needed to focus... It was... actually easier to focus, all of a sudden. Without the pain blinding her every other second, she could really focus onto the shock of red in her vision, as it stared at her stilly. The red- Light's expression was a mixture of intense concentration, exertion, and a very real exasperation. "I need you to- I need you to not pass out or drift off while I'm doing this... so you can tell me if blood starts leaking out of your ears..." His tongue drifted out between his lips, and he bit it as his eyes unfocused. The shimmering she'd not heard in her ears until then grew louder as his horn shone brighter Then, the light dimmed slightly, and his eyes focused on her again. "I need to know if that- that starts to happen... 'cause I want to watch." She didn't feel annoyed at his disregard for her wellbeing, but then again, she wasn't really feeling much of anything. Even the concern was- it was just the barest sensation. Like a gentle brush of emotion. It was very strange- she couldn't feel the pain or the sickness or the ground underneath her, and if she hadn't just peeked down to see if she was still laying on it, she could've sworn she was flying, instead. Had Light drugged her? No, he didn't have anything on him; she'd checked his body when he fell. So, it must've been his spell. What spell had he used on her? Some... kind of anesthetic? She'd not been briefed on any Necromantic spell like that. She should've been more critical when he'd said he could help her- but damn her, she'd considered herself lucky to have suppressed the urge to vomit when she'd given him the go ahead. Not just from the pain- abjectly allowing a Black magic practitioner to... to practice Black magic, and not just near her, but on her?! If word ever got out, she could forget about excommunication, she'd probably be slapped with jail time to go right along with Light's! That was bad. Even if she couldn't muster the feeling to go along with knowing, she still knew the typical punishments for Black magic practitioners, and it was conceptually sobering. Light had a fair chance to dodge his sentence because he'd been magically compromised- he couldn't help what he'd done, before or after. But for Bon Bon? It had been said by certain zealots in the past that dying was a preferable alternative to Black magic corruption, and she'd agreed with that sentiment once upon a time. Oh, she was eating crow, now. Didn't matter if times had changed; she hadn't always been the friendliest pony around the agency, and there were more than a few officers and bureaucrats who would jump at the chance to see her in chains. She... She wouldn't tell anypony about this. She couldn't, as much as the thought otherwise would've disgusted her. For the good of the faith and its defense, she needed to continue that defense. Even if... even if it meant breaking her faith, just this once. It was apart of the oath of the EIA to operate outside the law, but she considered it a sort of blessing she'd come around to this realization while under some kind of magical anesthesia. Normally? Bon Bon was sure she'd have had some kind of attack- panic or otherwise. Laws were far below divinity, and there was no excuse for a sworn agent to go against the faith. She'd have to repent, in total solitude. She had a cellar for a reason, didn't she? No reason better than embarking on a journey of pious meditation for twenty to thirty hours- maybe even more if that was what it took to regain spiritual purity. That was the very start of what she'd have to do to prove to Her Majesty that she was still worthy. But Bon Bon was no longer worthy, and the thought of it lingered in her mind. Because she knew. And she would never forgive herself. Time passed, and it was- well, it was difficult to tell how long she was under, because all she could really do during was watch. Light never really changed position throughout or did anything horrifying to go along with his profane magic, he only sat there next to her with that ultra-concentrated look on his face; though, his horn lit brighter and shimmered louder a few times. That was always sort of exciting, except it wasn't. What still wasn't exciting was watching the swelling on her pastern shrink, slightly. Not... immensely, and it was over the course of very long minutes, but the extremely painful black color eventually faded to a mostly agonizing purplish color. Then, an opaque, whitish fluid began to slowly leak from the previously bleeding pocks in her limb, and the swelling eased that much more. Over... an even longer period. It was still an incredible effect from just unicorn magic, though, and he'd done it completely without any alchemical reagents or sigils to speak of. Disgusting and intrinsically anathema to her faith, but still incredible in its own right. For all that Bon Bon often pondered Her miracles, there was a very terrifying voice in her head that whispered it was an awful lot like a miracle. But that was wrong, and she had to believe that. It was a core tenant of the enduring Solar Faith: Black magic was profane, and so was she for allowing it to happen. She had to believe that. She had to believe that. Even as Light's head rose, and his baggy, red eyes blinked at her, she knew she couldn't ever thank him. "Okay... I've- I think I've done all I can..." She snapped back to muted attention as Light flicked his eyes down to her hoof, and he peered down at it. "I- I haven't ever done this before, but the swelling's gone down, at least." His eyes- his corrupted red eyes- flicked back up to her. "You're not dead, either, so I probably did it right." She blinked- she was pretty sure- and tried to work out which nonfeeling muscles in her nonfeeling face worked her tongue. "What... you do? What... m-magic?" The letter 'm' was harder than she'd expected... and she could swear it was getting even harder to speak... She... was starting to feel really tired. Light's eyebrow rose- he'd better not make fun of her temporary speech impediment- but then, something dawned on him, and he made a sound of quiet realization. "You're talking strangely because of my spell." He nodded, and patted her hoof: clearly proud of himself. "Well, that makes sense. The first thing I did was snap a bunch of your nerve endings." Her head jerked up in a motion that felt uncontrollable- but then there was a hoof at the bottom of her vision, and she was leaning back down: a strangely calming look in those red eyes staring down at her. "It's alright, it's alright, I swear. I only damaged the ones that affect senses... and movement, I guess." She allowed herself to be pushed back down against the tree; though, she wasn't sure how much she could've done otherwise. "It's not permanent; the spell I used will help your body heal itself... um." He stared upwards for a moment of consideration that he ended with a smile and a nod. "Soon, I think." She wanted to strangle him- just as soon as she found where her hooves were. She occupied herself with prodding around her disconnected body as Light's voice continued to yap in her ear- at least until she figured out how to punch him. "I don't actually know the spell for anesthesia- if there even is one- but I do know the one for disabling a victim's motor functions, so I just altered the basic concept of that." She jerked her gaze to him in- she tried to make it horror mixed with anger, but Light had his attention on creepily caressing her stained limb. "I think I learned it at the time because I thought it sounded like a really terrible thing to do to a pony, but even though this isn't what it's meant for and even with how badly I cast it, it was still pretty helpful here." He returned his gaze to her for a moment, and hummed thoughtfully. "Aren't you lucky?" Sweet Celestia, she knew Light could be cold, but now he was acting cruel! He'd never been so... indifferent to suffering, even as she'd watched him try to force himself to be. She'd been there, through most of his life, and all he'd ever managed to seem was grumpy and childish! Now he was... now he was just... idly touching her pus-covered wound as he casually talked about possibly torturing a pony! He'd... used the word victim... If she could've, Bon Bon would've felt a sick feeling in her gut. What had happened up in that tower? How much had he changed? If she let her terror show on her face, Light didn't see it. He only continued to run his hooves over her red flesh: turning and tilting his head around as he inspected her wound. "Let's see... It looks like it's all closed up... which is good, but the swelling's not completely gone, which means I messed up somehow..." He frowned, probably to himself, because he was making it clear he didn't care about her or what she thought. For... for good reason, she guessed. She had done some pretty terrible things to him... which felt... odd to admit as she stared him in the eye. It had been her intent to make Light hate her just so he'd forget about her, but she'd not expected it to work so well. It... sort of put everything that had happened up until now in a different perspective. She'd never had to actually spend time with anypony she'd arrested or detained; she'd really only ever thought about it from the perspective of the mission. The ends justify the means justify those meaningless little statistics that her eyes glanced over as she signed her name at the bottom. But now, she was sitting in the silence with a pony she'd fully wronged. A pony who she'd observed and detained because he'd been a threat at the time, but who she'd also stalked and attacked. She'd never had to actually... see what her actions had amounted to... Never had to think of any action as anything other than a means to an end. Meaningless statistics that she'd never had to actually focus on. It had always been... less important than results. Less important than... resolve. For the Crown... Completely oblivious to her turmoil, as he was to everything: Light leaned back from her limb, and scratched his hoof through his mane. "I forcibly sped up the body's natural healing process and the swelling went down, but not enough..." he muttered to himself. His hoof fell down, to tap rhythmically against his chin. "Was it the amount of mana? Did I use the wrong method? Did I not channel for the right amount of time? Was it even the right effect?" Bon Bon felt... she felt a little snubbed, watching her healer talk over her body. It was always a little strange to see how openly Light spoke to himself, and it was only making her feel colder than her own thoughts were. So unreservedly, as though he was talking to something that just wasn't there: looking even more insane from this angle than he'd ever looked from thirty yards away. She could take comfort that it wasn't her fault, at least. He'd always been like that, and if being like that was how he kept himself sane, then Light could talk to himself all he wanted. If it kept him from hurting anypony, then he could act just as terrible as he pleased. He'd been kind enough to put her under, at least. That was something. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Exhilaration. Satisfaction. Weariness. Joy. So much joy. Light had never felt so alive! His heart was racing- but he was just sitting, and not running, even though it felt like he'd been running- and his head hurt- but it was the good kind of hurt like when he figured out a math problem or thought logically- and he was very very aware of his tongue which is why he was gnawing at it because there was so much energy pumping through his tired veins and his tongue felt like it wanted to escape so he just had to bite it to stop it from running away! Of course, he didn't let any of that show on his face. He was smiling a little too much for his tastes, and he might've been a little too absent when the mare with the too-relaxed face had asked him 'what happening,' but that was all pretty much to be expected. After all... He'd done it. He'd cast a Necromantic spell. His vison blurred for a moment, but of course his hooves were too dirty from the operation- the operation he'd operated on a pony!- so all he could really do was blink a little and wish it away. Thankfully it did disappear after a moment, but then his cheeks were a little wet- oh but who cared! The mare certainly didn't: her face was still really droopy and jerky from when he'd disconnected her nerves- he'd done that too, and it had worked because he'd made it happen!- and her eyes were pretty unfocused to the world at large, so she probably didn't even notice he was crying. But he wasn't really crying, just like how he wasn't really touching an open wound like a freak. He was expressing his joy as he inspected his hoofiwork. A very mature thing he could do because he was a mature pony with a skillset, with a special talent, who could cast spells, who had just cast a spell! He'd actually performed a Necromantic spell! He wished it wasn't so highly illegal because he wanted more than anything to climb to the top of Ponyville's clocktower and scream it to the heavens! He'd waited a long time to cast magic like that, and of course it had been just as fulfilling as he'd always imagined it would be. Waiting and abstaining from learning any other type of magic had been absolutely worth it no matter how debilitating it'd been to his prospects, and it had still gone so smoothly! It was- it was actually a little incredulous it had gone so well, because he'd really never cast a real spell before. Things like Levitation and the low level light spells like Spark didn't really count; basic spells really only involved the ability to manifest mana, rather than the ability to really make any sort of change to it. Barely spells at all. Spark at least was a little more advanced, but making mana glow was pretty much just a matter of wanting it to, which was why it was one of the first 'spells' taught to unicorn foals. This, though, involved the actual spellcasting process! The visualization and the concerted application of will, and the constant mental sport of keeping mana flowing in just the right amount without going too far... and the- the neural pressure of casting so much mana- and that was another thing, he wasn't even that tired! The spell had taken so long, but the amount of mana he'd pumped through his horn had actually been... pretty offset. Well- it wasn't as though he hadn't used a lot of mana, because he had. His magical pathways felt cold and empty even as he thought about how they should've been more so, and his fount- wherever that ephemeral feeling was coming from- felt kind of like a deflated balloon. The thing was- he just felt like he should've been exhausted. It had been pretty mentally exhausting, but he was pretty far from mana exhaustion. He didn't know why, so he made up for the unsatisfying feeling by raising the mare's hoof, and clopping its heel to his. The noise and the physical feeling were satisfying, and he did it again because it was fun- but the feeling in his head stayed sort of stuck. What was wrong with it? Had he done something wrong? The spell was- well, it could've been better, for sure, but it had worked. She'd mostly healed. His rudimentary disconnecting of most of the least important nerves in her body had involved a bit of guesswork- which is why she was slack-jawed and unable to speak- but she hadn't felt any pain. He didn't think. He... didn't really have to disconnect her nerves, he guessed. With that spell, as well. It was meant to render living subjects unconscious and insensate so the caster could have them at their further leisure: not at all for picking and choosing which nerves to disconnect. Not to act as faux anesthesia- and he did not like imagining that as a good deed. Maybe that was what was throwing him off; though, it really wasn't an especially important part of the operation. She had told him to make her procedure hurt, so other than spiting her, he wasn't really sure why he'd gone out of the way to make it easier on her. If... well, if she'd experienced too much pain, then she could've died. And... it was just good practice. If he ever had to operate on somepony he liked, then of course he would put them under before messing around with their body. Not with that spell, certainly, but... it was still pretty good practice for the method. Sure, that was a reasonable explanation to his completely rational mind, he would go with that. The process would've been painful, to be sure. Applying his mana directly to her cells to force them into overdrive seemed like the sort of thing that would've been agonizing. Mana wasn't meant to exist in a body outside the magical pathways, and it certainly wasn't ever supposed to come anywhere near another pony's fount. Not even to speak of what sorts of things the actual sped up process would do. Just by guessing, it probably would've felt like the entire sickness, the convalescence and the hangover had hit her all at once. It probably would've killed her. He wondered if she'd noticed the side effect, though... He'd been very in his own head at the time as he'd channeled and imagined and felt the ethereal sensations of 'seeing' in another pony's body, but he had paid half-attention to the smoke coming out of her eyes. Just a few wisps of purple gas, and only after the process had been well underway. A totally benign artifact, but a concerning one to witness all the same. Well, he couldn't actually remember if it was benign. He sort of remembered reading about it... but only a little... and- it was really only a passing look anyway... He'd have to check when he got home. He was just- he was pretty sure it was just a side-effect. He even knew it happened to him sometimes, and he was completely fine! His hoof stalled from where he was trying to work its edge into a tiny, fleshy scar. Well, mostly. Eventually and because it was taking a long time for her nerves to reattach, he got bored with poking her wound. He'd never thought it possible, but he was well and truly bored of staring and touching and smelling the open flesh. He really had changed, hadn't he? Bleh. So, he'd let her hoof fall to her side, and took to staring at his own. The one with the magical imprint tag on it, to be specific; he wasn't just schizophrenic. Probably. He didn't really know, actually. At his first, inquisitive glance, it only seemed to be a sheer band of bland silver metal. Rung around the narrowest part of his pastern- which felt really constricting and kind of panic inducing- and sporting nothing protruding along its length that he could play with. But then- when he peered much closer- he could see the very fine engraving. Actually, maybe engraving wasn't the right word. Dull, bronze lines cut in even geometric patterns ran across every inch of the band, even running up and behind its hidden edge. He still didn't know a lot about artificing, but if he could ascribe the sparsely-used term of magical sigils to anything, then he would to what he was looking at. Artificing... It wasn't as though he wasn't interested in the art, it just seemed really complex. To a younger, more foalish Light, it had seemed as easy as magical lines make magical stuff happen. Checking a loaned practitioner's tome about everyday uses for artificing out of the Grand Canterlot Library had, within the first few pages, proven him completely ignorant. He pretty much just knew the difference between artificing and mana lattices, and only because it seemed like a very easy mistake. Artificing was the act of casting sigils into physical objects to instill magical effects, while a mana lattice was an ethereal mana construct that autonomously cast magical effects. They did sort of similar things- mana lattices were what pretty much powered the world- but they were evidently very different, as a snooty library-goer had once explained to him. He just didn't understand exactly how. He also probably wouldn't ever understand how, because it had nothing to do with Necromancy, and therefore sort of fell outside his natural purview. Maybe if he ever achieved immortality and had a spare decade lying around... Very soon, his head was swimming with intrusive thoughts about mana constructs and the varied meanings of the word cast, so he flung over the no swimming sign, and turned his eyes to the mare's dull stare. "Is it alright if I go through your saddlebag? If you don't explicitly say no, then you've officially given me full permission, okay?" He stared for a moment- and it sure was funny to watch as she tried to muster anger in her unfocused eyes- but for the most part she only made a few, guttural groaning sounds. Her jaw jerked to the side and gnashed upwards against her lolling tongue, but he didn't really think that was the word no. She'd been much better at speaking a while ago, but it seemed to him as though she was fully in support of his invading her privacy. What a compassionate mare she was, sacrificing her personal belongings to keep him from getting bored. He lit his horn- and seethed as something behind his eyes twinged, but the pain wasn't quite enough to stop him from snooping. With her back to the tree, her saddlebag's latch was on full display at her stained-green stomach- as well as... just don't look- so it wasn't too difficult to work the now-freed bag out from under her limp body. He stared at it for a moment in the air, scrutinizing its every salacious detail, before letting it fall unceremoniously to the ground with a very loud rattle of what sounded like mostly metal objects. It was kind of heavy, too: it made him wonder how she'd carried it around for so long. The mare was still giving him her best evil eye mixed with slovenly disinterest, but he didn't let it dissuade his new fascination with another pony's belongings. He undid the latch and flung the flap open, and made a very appreciative noise of oooh as the treasures within were revealed. First came a small stub of metal laying between a junction of a compass and a watch, and he was sure his eyes were shining with greed as he slowly rotated it in the air. He let it fall over and over itself in front of him until a glimmering detail caught on his eye, and when he brought it closer, he noticed a few small, concentric creases in the metal. A thought occurred to him, and he sucked in an excited gasp. "No way," he murmured as he let the object float away from him. He shifted the grip of his mana to one side, and then swung the nub as hard as he could without giving himself an aneurism. His suspicion was immediately justified as the nub lengthened through the swing with an audible sound of polished metal sliding against itself, and then, he was holding a weapon. "You've got a baton!" His excited cry fell on deaf- or mute- ears, but he knew it wasn't her fault. He looked over, and he could clearly see her flapping her limp jaw in protest, but she just couldn't make anything come out. It made him laugh a little, and his joy grew deeper as he swung the baton recklessly through the air- and the swish was so cool! Everypony look out, Light was armed and dangerous! Now everypony who'd wronged him would really get theirs! But then his head twinged again, so he decided to cut the fun short. Only so he wouldn't... pass out or anything- he'd hate to miss out on any time he could spend annoying the mare who'd done so many terrible things to him. It was easy to push one end of the baton into itself until it was a plain, uninteresting nub again, and off to the side of the bag it went. He pulled out a compass next- but he put that aside pretty quickly. It wasn't very noticeably interesting, and the Everfree's weird magic made compasses freak out for some reason, so it was pretty useless. Why would she bring one? The golden saddle watch, as well, was mostly uninteresting. It was pretty, and the engraving was nice- though in a language he didn't understand- but it was just a watch. Even flicking its face open- and he couldn't believe what time it was- didn't show anything secret agent-y, so if there was a secret, it was pretty well hidden. Stealing it wasn't an option with its owner glaring at him, so to the side it went. Next came a... oh, it was a pretty blue crystal on a length of white twine! How mystical! His eyes gleamed with interest as it spun and shone and dazzled with a very otherworldy blue light that was visible even through the glow of his magic. The crystal must have been magic: that was so neat! He nearly turned his head to ask what it did- but then, what would she have told him? Even if she could move her jaw correctly? 'Oh, that? It's a magical spy device that lets me eavesdrop on my targets, nothing special.' He spent the next few minutes looking at it, and though It was shiny and pretty and interesting, he didn't know what it did and he couldn't keep it to find out, so he was forced to put it aside in favor of more interesting sights. He peered in- and the next thing that caught his eye was... some kind of rubber mask? He pulled it out to stare at it better, but then something fell off of the bottom of it. He blinked, then frowned. Holding two things at once in levitation was... not one of his strong suits. He'd managed a crow and a soul once, though, so he split what little mana he had left, and brought the small mouthpiece up to his inspection. A rubber ball flanked by two reed-like structures with holes cut through their sides, all of which definitely looked like a diving mouthpiece. That, at least, wasn't too enigmatic. The mask, too, was just a pair of diving goggles with a strap on its back. Pretty boring, though still sort of cool in its own way. She was prepared for every situation. It was secret agent-y in concept while not being so fantastical. It was actually pretty disappointing. If he'd wanted conceptual awe, he could've read a book. He tossed the two boring pieces of everyday minutia to the side, wincing as the feedback burned, and looked deeper into the bag. There were still a fair few things in there, most of which weren't immediately interesting. Rope... A canteen... A box of matches... A crumpled scroll... Oh, there was the... He pulled out a small, brightly colored box which was clearly labelled 'NRG' in a bold font across its face, under which was written 'Produced with applicable warnings for specialty agents by the Magical Research and Development sub-branch of the EIA.' in much smaller writing. Underneath that and written even smaller was some kind of additional warning, but who read those? He wouldn't waste the time to peer at it. That summarily answered the question of which secret government organization the mare belonged to, as well as what kind of secret agent she was. A very impossible secret agent, because he'd been fairly sure since he was a foal that the EIA was fictional. Maybe there really was a secret civil war being waged in Griffonstone if the myth about the EIA inciting it- as well as the entire institution- was real? He held the tiny box up to his ear and shook it; a lot of small somethings rattled about inside. "You're probably gonna want to take one of these after all," he said out loud, as he lowered the box and began to magically grasp around for the seam. "I didn't have any supplementary materials, so your body naturally used up a lot of energy and fat and stuff to speed up your healing." The edge creased as he pushed, and he smiled victoriously as the flap flapped open. "I don't know how they work, but you're probably gonna need one of these to even stand up," he joked, as he held his hoof out in anticipation of shaking a pill onto it. "I mean, if you can't even speak, then there's no way you're gonna be able to-" A brown-stained cream hoof slapped the box of pills out of his magical hold. Shock turned to fear turned to agony as the feedback of the interrupted casting immediately exploded behind his eyes, which he threw his hooves over as he gasped in pain. Magical feedback..! Damn the Moon- that hurt..! He gasped and seethed and tossed his head for a long minute as he endured something far worse than the worst ice-cream headache, as the subtle sound of small somethings rattling filled the silence when he wasn't moaning in pain. He recovered bit by bit, until he was at least able to crack an eye open just in time to see the up and about secret agent throwing her head back and swallowing. She was just- just gonna take one of those dry, huh? Buck it still hurt... Felt like ice picks jabbing through his eyes and into his brain... The mare- the stupid, big jerk of a mare dropped her head with a sigh, focusing for a moment on closing the box of pills as she eyed him with very pronounced malice. There was even a little vein popping in her forehead- wow, the pain was just gonna keep on going, wasn't it? "If you-" the mare stopped short with a breath, then continued to speak as she put a shaking hoof out towards him. "If I hadn't been exactly ordered to keep you safe, then this-" She stopped for a moment- and he barely had time to brace before the small box of pills was forcefully thrown into his face. It didn't hurt all that much, but then... "-would be that baton you were so interested in." He nodded, as he continued to hold his head in his hooves. He deserved that, he knew. He would just really miss the time when she'd been comatose. A fond memory to look back on in the many years he would surely spend in prison. Oh, the many silent days to come, spent reliving all his most glorious moments of cruelty. He continued to suffer through the pain as the mare likely gathered up all the things he tossed about, judging by the noise. At some point, something poked him in the side of the head- which made the pain pound worse- and the mare spoke to him again: a clear aggravation in her dry tone. "Thanks for just throwing all my stuff everywhere, by the way. Makes me real glad I scraped your worthless carcass off the pavement." Huh. Okay, well- discounting the fact that he'd actually found that a little funny, it was the first outside confirmation he'd gotten that he had died. He'd been a corpse, on the pavement, dead as a doornail after he'd jumped out of one of the castle's windows. ...How had he come back? It was something to ponder another time- and he would- because the pain of having a measurable force of matter in constant momentum turned inward was beginning to fade to a dull howling. He could even flutter one eye open- though the light exacerbated the pain for a moment. And just as soon as he could, he was witness to the sight of the mare standing amidst the dead greenery, securing her saddlebag to her side again, and scowling in his direction. "Keep this in mind: silence doesn't equate to consent!" she barked: his ears instinctively turning down from the incensed mare's shout that made the pain just that bit worse. She sure was touchy. She made it sound like he'd done something horrible to her, when all he'd done was rifle through her stuff a little! Not like she had anything to be embarrassed about. She made it sound like- well, she kind of implied... ...He hadn't done... that. He'd- seen a little... but it wasn't as though he'd... gone out of his way. And he'd never... never... do anything... He... didn't really... He'd not... really even thought about... He swallowed, and there was something uncomfortably thick in his throat. ...He wasn't like that. He didn't do that, and he'd- he'd never considered it. Never. His eyes were getting kind of blurry all of a sudden, that was funny. Hah. What a- What a thing to get upset about, after he'd trapped a mare in her own body and then proceeded to violate her privacy. How- how illogical... He was a real whackjob... "Hey. Light, focus." For better or for worse, Light snapped out of his reverie at her voice. "Sorry," he blurted on instinct to the mare's face that had grown so much closer all of a sudden. He'd blinked, and in-between the sudden sadness she'd stepped up to his front: glaring at him with her same, hard expression. And when he apologized, it only hardened further. "Save it." She turned away, and he flinched back as her tail snapped up and whipped across his face. Ow. That was a dense mat of hair. "You... healed me, and you had your fun, but we need to get moving." Her slight hesitance at admitting he'd helped her brought some spiteful comfort, but it was smothered as quick as it'd come when she shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. It was angry and it still didn't intimidate him, but at that point... he didn't really know... It kind of made him feel a little sad. It had been sort of... idyllic, sitting there with her silent companionship, and rummaging through her bag. Casting magic like he'd always dreamed of and reaping the scintillating physical rewards: pretending all the while that he had a future ahead of him. Having a long, quiet moment to himself... just... calm, and companionable. He would miss it. Just... everything about it. But then, the mare turned away, and began to stalk through the undergrowth. A clear end to their brief stop. She glanced over her shoulder once more in a moment of hoof-hovering hesitation, even as he gathered himself up with a sigh and made to follow after her. Their eyes met again, except something... there was something in her gaze. Her eyes flicked away, and she turned her head as her ears pressed back. "...Bon Bon," she muttered, which he had to perk his ear a little to hear. A moment passed of wondering before she shook her head with an aggravated sigh, and began to stomp forward. "My name is Bon Bon, okay? There's your thank you, now let's go!" He couldn't see her face as she shouldered through the thicket, but he couldn't help imagining there was a huge blush there. Just the kind of vibe she was giving off. He sat in the tiny clearing amidst the trees for a moment after she left. Pursing his lips and thinking of the mare- Bon Bon- who had sent him approximately a thousand different signals for how she felt. Did she hate him? Was it apathy? Did she like him? Was it pity? How should he be feeling? But then the cold feeling of the metal band around his hoof snuck by his patented veil of ignorance, and he remembered that Bon Bon- if that was even her real name- had walked away. As in: she was leaving, which meant she was getting further away. So he stood up, and hurried after her. Because he never wanted to find out what she'd meant by concussed. Knowing her as he was starting to, it probably meant something painful. > Chapter 51 - Homecoming > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sun was even warmer than he'd remembered. It felt as though he'd been waiting forever to feel soft, green grass under his hooves. Not grey, nor tainted, nor otherwise magically desiccated. The wild, natural fronds of a world brought to stunning life was a comfort he'd once taken for granted, but no longer. The wind blowing through his mane carried the scent of faint dew and bright, summer energy, all without asking a single thing of him. Such simple, uncomplicated facets of uncompromised nature: untouched by circumstance or mindful depravity. Nothing dead. Nothing magical. Just green, grassy hills over babbling brooks under fluffy white clouds as far as the eye could see; the shining sun above the freely-gifted mark of a world at total peace. He actually kind of missed the Everfree. The scent of summer was uniformly earthen and nauseating, and the sun had a very frustrating tendency to get in his eyes the longer he tried to stare. Had life on the outside always been so uncomfortably stimulating? He'd been putting nature on a pedestal for the sake of dramatizing his experience in the Everfree, but it really wasn't all that great. Light Flow took a mediocre breath of life-stirred air, as the mare next to him did the same. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" came Bon Bon's quiet murmur. He nodded with a hum of agreement, just because he knew it was polite: keeping his eyes firmly on the thatch-roof horizon. He'd rather look there than at the perpetually-frowning secret agent, no matter how the sight of it sent squirming worms wriggling through his stomach. From their side-by-side position on a hill with the beckoning depths of the Everfree behind them, the sunlit scape of Ponyville's small expanse sat comfortably before them. The sun high in the sky drippling over hay woven on plaster; the noises of a commotion in the town square visible and audible from where they stood. Just then, a stray red balloon broke free from the townscape: heading quickly for freedom in the sky. The Summer Sun Celebration, with the Princess in magnificent attendance- that is, if She would still dare. He really hoped She wouldn't. Ponyville didn't need a reigning Goddess in its midst, nor Equestria's miserable pretender. The Sun's holy throne had been returned to Her by a constant stream of unworthy sacrifices, all so She could sit atop Her ill-won, aristocratic privileges for another thousand years. It was Her place: sat higher than scorn or rebuke, looking coldly down at those faceless masses laying prostrate. Lives lived in reverence; deaths offered for worthless absolution. Even in the quiet of the open glade, he could feel the weight of the heavy hoof that had personally writ his fate, clad in beautiful, unfeeling gold. If he ran, could he ever escape it? If he hid, would Ponyville care to veil him? A hill and a stream and just a few loose copses would be all it took to take him to that ever-so-strange place he'd grown up in. That tiny place that had fostered him as a ignorant foal running with his mother from the grime- the crime- of the big city. Ponyville. His home. The neat rows of buildings in a town planned to perfect detail, marred by that quaint construction of uneven dirt roads, too-large alleyways, and completely self-defeating architectural structure. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the sense-melting sight of the practical joke store somehow sitting right next to the spa: the open market a street beyond, sitting next to that open, unfenced stream that hilariously often enjoyed clumsy visitors. A town theorized to an architect's vision, and executed by their mentally unwell brother. Every decision made in the town's overall construction seemed like the setup for a punch-line. The incongruous clock tower built far too east to be helpful. A rickety water tower aside a looming, scarce-used dam sitting under and far away from the distant picture of the sky-scraping Canter mountain. A schoolhouse on a dirt road across town from the residential district. The buildings themselves having so much flair and so little structural consistency. Everything was so backwards and outdated. Nothing about Ponyville made sense, least of all the ponies living there. He fit in. He could almost make out the shape of that pretentious boutique made in the style of a foal's carousel from their outlook, sitting so close to the edge of town as it did. Barely any buildings between them, and only a few dusty storefronts. If he made a break for it, could he make it? Was Rarity there? Would she protect him? "For a while I thought I wouldn't see it again," he murmured, trying to keep the growing hole of melancholy in his chest from consuming his tone. He failed, so he turned a sad chuckle sardonic, instead. "Not in the daylight, at least... maybe during a militant razing." He couldn't keep his bitter smile, even ironically. That wasn't very funny. It had almost happened. Thatch rooves set ablaze and whimsical accents smashed to dust. A river of colors floating away. He blinked the visions of carnage out of sight, and turned his gaze to the west. A distant vista of sheer green led from a long path of trod dirt. A place he'd never forget- not again, at least. When would he next visit? Would it be as a free pony, or in chains? Trussed up and kicked to the cold ground in front of the mare he'd never wanted exposed to his plain deceit... He couldn't imagine anything more terrifying. Staring into those emerald eyes slowly filling with a grim knowing. He hoped he'd be given some dignity in his arrest, but there was every possibility it'd be made a public spectacle. 'To renew the faith of the masses,' as the records had said of the punishments. Fire licking at reclining hooves, and the screaming masses rejoiced at the cinders. Some tiny, terrible part of him actually enjoyed the thought of public executions. A legally exempt way to watch a brutal murder- one that'd actually be markedly companionable? He didn't subscribe to the kingdom-wide Faith, but he couldn't deny that any institution that viewed ritualistic immolation as a sanctified act was really cool. Also pretty reprehensible- but he didn't have too much personal grief over it. At the stage of his life he was currently in, he'd pretty much dropped all social pretenses. The only problem he could really find with the macabre potential was that he might be on the receiving end of one. It'd still be pretty cool, he guessed. Participating would just be a bit more painful than watching. Maybe some lucky colt in the audience would get a mouthful of his ashes, and he'd grow up idolizing the macabre just like him. A comforting thought. The mare- his captor- beside him took a deep breath. Firm and paced: one long moment of anticipation, then out it came, followed by her even-tempered voice. "I'll ask again once the interrogation begins, but I'm going to give you a chance to tell me right now, without any extra incentives or stimuli." He didn't turn to look, but he knew her eyes were on him. He could feel how her gaze burned. "What was Nightmare Moon's plan? What did She want?" The question. The name he never wanted to hear again. He really didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it, or Her. He wanted to run away, and pretend like it had never happened; to escape to that wheel-marked road heading west until he passed through those old, ivy-woven wooden gates overhead. To walk through the quiet orchards with the subtle scent of apple blossoms clouding his vision until he caught that sweet flash of discrepant orange through the brush, as he always did. To lay beneath the setting sun, feeling warm breath over his ears and soft fur against his cheek, knowing that tomorrow would surely come. That tomorrow would be just another day. He swallowed, and turned his eyes away: to the sky, instead. Bright and blue. White clouds and a yellow sun. A foal's drawing of a perfect day. It just wasn't worth it to pretend like that wasn't a fantasy. "She... wanted to destroy Equestria," he murmured: narrowing his eyes, and thinking of glimmering green emeralds behind the sights. Shimmering with laughter and full of affection. Hard with anger, but worn with concern. Something deeper. Something wonderful. He'd been robbed of that life. "That was all She really wanted." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They hadn't stayed on the hill for too long; maybe just long enough to really make it clear that he may never return to that terribly devised place he'd grown up in. He'd have to hoof it to Bon Bon, whether she was drinking the sight in as much as he was, it was an excellent bit of mental warfare to keep him there so long. It was hard not to feel discouraged in marching to his doom after he'd stared at everything he'd undoubtedly come to miss for twenty minutes. Sort of like a last request, except compulsory, and unwelcome. Maybe she really was feeling just as melancholic as he was- it was very hard to say for sure. There had been an awfully grim expression on her face as they'd turned from Ponyville and began making their way to his home, but he still wasn't sure if he shouldn't chalk that up to her natural personality. He really doubted it was for him, so it was probably some nonsense about how she wasn't sure she'd ever see Ponyville again and how she was so glad the sun had risen over those thatch-rooves and dirt paths- wait... no, that was what he'd been thinking. He was a bit scattered. It only grew worse as following the mare's quick steps had, strangely enough, not taken them to the path leading to his home: instead taking a sharp veer off onto a left fork towards Ponyville. A quick moment of uncertainty as their direction changed- like he was stepping off a sudden and unexpected cliff's edge. He'd naturally questioned her as they walked in as few words as was necessary- he knew which way his house was- and she'd thrown a quip over her shoulder about how she needed to take a detour to pick something up that she was needing to interrogate him. He'd been too preoccupied with thoughts of his wrecked future to ask further, but- thinking about it now- it should've seemed the teensiest bit invalidating to go on a shopping trip to pick up some implement of his torture. Picking through market stalls, perhaps? Hemming and hawing over the whips and chains on display, until- oh, how about this branding iron, Light? It's in the shape of a dunce cap! Nonsense, of course. He'd never choose a branding iron to torture himself; getting his cutie mark had hurt enough for a lifetime. They'd taken their short trip into Ponyville with the mare completely ignoring the entire time how entirely uncomfortable it was making him. He just didn't like the idea of anypony seeing him with her- or seeing anypony at all. They'd skirted all the way around the edges to presumably avoid witnesses- he'd not stopped to ask- fairly quickly arriving to the least populated street of the residential district, where she'd instructed him to wait for her at an inconspicuous bench by the side of a seemingly vacant home while she went and got what she needed. He'd taken a look at the house, then at the plain wooden bench, then back to Bon Bon. The following argument had involved more obstinate gesturing to his cuffed hoof than was probably necessary, but Bon Bon saw the light eventually. She'd very amicably invited him to wait in her foyer- oh so genteel of her! Why, thank you very kindly Bon Bon! He'd absolutely love to wait inside, and maybe while he was around he could find her kitchen and lick all of her utensils! As spiteful and masterfully petty as that would've been, he didn't have a chance to snoop around. Because- ...because he'd just thought twice, alright? Nothing had happened while he was at Bon Bon's house. The mare had gone up a set of plain stairs, retrieved whatever she was looking for, come back down- cold stare and all- and then they'd left to make their way out to his house- a wholly superior home, by the way. Nothing else happened while he was waiting in the secret agent's living room. He didn't touch anything or happen to meet anypony who Bon Bon hadn't given him a heads up about, and that somepony he hadn't met most certainly didn't try to hit on him or ribaldly invite him back while waggling their eyebrows. Nothing had happened. He only felt sick and self-conscious because he... he didn't like Bon Bon's choice in curtains. Yeah, that was it. A flower pattern? On purple drapes? She may as well have just bought something plain at that point. Disgusting taste. Disgusting mare. Following their anxiety-ridden trip to Ponyville that had ended up being mostly uninteresting, they'd retraced their steps and set themselves back onto the path to his home. Well- she'd retraced their steps: he'd just followed behind her in a melancholic daze. It was half owing to his disturbing run-in with... nopony, but mostly because of the niggling idea of seeing his home again. It had only been a day, but it felt like months after everything that'd happened. Would everything still be the same? Was he still the same? What if the sight of his once-solitary home struck disgust rather than comfort? Who could really say? Nothing about his life felt even remotely similar to who he'd been before- what if he didn't like living as a hermit anymore?! What if he had to move back into town because he was too traumatized to live alone?! The thoughts swirled distressingly around his headspace with every step along the familiar dirt path, until- "What in Tartarus happened to that tree?!" His eye went immediately to the tree- the charred, leafless husk of a tree that sat in his front yard- then to his house. His wonderfully isolated, beautifully ivy-covered cabin with its door kicked in and hanging by a loose hinge. He'd once heard a drunken implication by a certain blue imbecile that his house looked like the house form of an abuse victim; now, he could actually see what she'd meant, though he still didn't like that she'd said it. Its desiccated, forest-riddled façade was admittedly very well accented by the new, haggard feature, but he also hated it. He didn't even care that it looked bad- he cared that it felt bad! It made him feel- it was like- was nothing sacred in his life?! The air in his chest suddenly felt so much less safe. He'd never really wondered what would happen to his stuff after he was... well- gone, but now he was, and it brought a very disconcerting kind of ennui. He'd... only been gone a day... Who had- why had they- That tree- completely uninteresting and unnoticeable- standing not too far away from his home, had seemingly been hatefully torched. Stems stripped bare; bark charred to bits; its flakey exterior was most definitely identifiable as a mutilated husk. Even stranger: the damage was mostly focused on one specific side of its trunk- which, actually, made a little more sense considering the... crater. He'd cantered over to the husk as soon as he could feel his legs again, to stare at the scene with horror. To gape widely at the large circle of blackened earth rimmed by brittle, dead grass, and to begin mourning the once-scenic view from his front windows. Granted, he'd never gotten around to hiring that landscaper whom the mayor had recommended to him, so the windows were still covered in vines and ivy which made it completely impossible to see from them- but now he'd lost the potential for a great view! How could they have done this?! Who'd had the gall to ruin one of his goals for the continually heralded 'tomorrow?!' He'd tear them apart! ...Tomorrow. Today was a bit full up. Bon Bon had come right after him as he stepped with trepidation over the grassy corpse onto the ashen circle: standing at the edge of the fire-marked land as he shuffled his hooves in the dust of greenery. Staining his already green-and-red stained hooves with new, grey colors: all of it clashing horribly like a terrible art project on his fur. Not a horribly large mark, but not terribly small, either. He'd angrily denounced a noted individual for doing this, but he really had no idea who'd vandalized- brutalized his lawn. Well- 'lawn.' It was about twenty yards away, so it wasn't really his lawn. He was still furious, though, since it was probably on his property. This was property damage, plain and simple. He'd have to- He could probably get compensation for this! Oh... He could get compensation... There was a thought. A thought that would have to wait for later, as Bon Bon called out to him. "It was probably Nightmare Moon. It seems like something She'd do." Her quick response weighed onto his brow, and he let the dancing bits in his eyes dance away as he turned to the mare that had... answered a little quickly, and without his asking. The mare who wasn't daring to step into the burned clearing: her normally agitated face almost unnaturally neutral. He squinted accusingly at her, and her stare back was almost- it was very nearly too innocent. He supposed he could take it up with the court in eight to twelve months. They'd left the leafless tree and its adjunct crater behind: heading for the tiny, detritus-marred building that he defiantly declared to be his home. He'd actually missed it a fair amount in the time he'd been gone, especially considering that he'd rarely ever left it in his life before. What memories that weren't dark and scratching and full of ink and pain were comforting to reflect on, even then, as they approached his front door. His front door whose surface had been forever marred by a jagged, splintering crack blistering out from the unassuming focal point of his doorknob. A once-intact doorknob that was no longer all there, because it had seemingly been mostly obliterated by a great impact. He pushed the defamed door aside with a heart-wrenching creak of damaged wood, and ran his hoof along the edge of the splintered frame that had once had a lock on it. Were those the metal shards of it on the grass, there? Oh, what a tragedy... "...Will you... at least pay to have my door fixed?" he murmured to the mare standing behind him, whose presence was a very heavy reminder of the foggy memory he had of hearing the door splinter. He'd... not been himself at the time, but he could still remember sitting at his desk reading a book when it had all happened. He- they- She had just told the mare- Bon Bon to go away because the foolish agent was clearly trying to trick them. Tenses... were very strange in that period. They'd grabbed a knife from his kitchen counter as they'd- She'd returned to his desk- but the audible memory of that crack was still clear in his then-addled mind. Wood snapping under a tremendous force. Sense rushing away as She took control. It... was so hard to focus on that far-off memory. He could barely grasp at its fleeting tail, like he was trying to see the pictures of it from ten hoof-lengths away. Faint echoes of half-lived memories, like he was remembering it from somepony else's memory. Seeing through somepony else's eyes. He supposed he had been. He'd really not been himself. He'd been... Her. His reverie broke as the tail end of a sentence probed at his awareness, and he internally cursed himself as he stopped inappropriately caressing his door. Bon Bon had responded to what he'd said, but he hadn't heard, and it probably wasn't important enough to ask again. He really hoped the government would be paying for his door; he... really couldn't. He sighed heftily: a forlorn sound of inward acceptance that, somehow, he would be taking responsibility. The government may have owed him an incredible debt- including but not limited to his very life- but what kind of government ever paid up? Not his government; Light doubted he'd ever see any sort of restitution for the grief the Princess and Her relations had caused him. Not bits nor apologies. He pushed the broken portal open further, wincing at the awful creaking sound, and walked across the threshold into his home. His home that- by the Moon! Er- no. He had to dedicate some time to coming up with new curses; it wouldn't do to invoke that name. Felt vile on his tongue. Light stepped forward: his mouth gaping open as he tried for any spoken words to object to the scene. His hoof came down on something springy, and he gasped as he hurriedly stepped off the poor book laying on the floor- like- like trash! He was so sorry, he didn't mean to! But that wasn't the only one. Books. Books everywhere. Scattered all over the floor in any imaginable states. Closed, open faceup, open facedown, spines bent in half, pages ripped out, his bookcase tipped over- his desk in disarray- a bent knife stuck in his wall- what- A hoof came to his mouth automatically, because a very sick feeling had risen up his throat as he'd stared at his life in ruins. His things were most of what he cared about in life, and there they all were: scattered. Broken. Disarray. It was chaos. True chaos. Had a tornado ripped through his home?! A different hoof laid over his shoulder, and it took longer than it should've to realize that it wasn't his. "I was only responsible for the door and the knife," said the mare who he wished he could blame. He shook his head in silent denial as that hoof rose and fell: a disquieting pat. "It was already like this when I breached. Whatever happened here happened before I subdued you." He... barely remembered; it was all such a blur. He could recall the moment she'd broken in; the rising fury as they'd reached for the knife they'd hidden, but the surroundings were... foggy. The background was shrouded in an inscrutable mist, as though it hadn't been important. It was like that in all of them. Every memory of Hers. Nothing was important except the goal. Nothing remembered besides the focus. Those weren't his memories. A tired, shuddering breath rose in his chest, and his hoof fell to carry him forward. He embraced the melancholy of a deserved grimace as he carefully stepped through the minefield of books laying in every discernable corner. Trying in vain to catalogue which were ruined and which were still moderately okay and readable. A bunch of them were laying face up, so he couldn't see their spines; all he could do was hope they weren't important to him. Others were broken at their spines: bent in half by... something angry. There was an okay one- 'A brief history of the wagon harness.' A dull title for a fantastic journey through the history of an equally dull object. He was thankful for anything that hadn't been destroyed. He winced away: his gait faltering as he caught sight of something recognizable. A library book with its cover irrevocably stained in gloopy black. It was a concerted effort to not imagine what its pages must have looked like. What if they banned him from the library? Was... was life even worth living anymore? Eventually, though the most painful journey he'd ever made, he made his way to the other side of the book-strewn room. There before him laid his poor bookshelf that he'd brought from his mother's home: tipped over onto a... a small mound of books that... probably weren't okay. It's okay... don't cry... He really tried very hard not to cry, staring at the besmirched artifact of his past. The bookshelf that had sat in every room he'd ever lived in: all both of them. Other than its downed state, it seemed mostly alright. Who knew if it'd been stained, though? The whole thing was already black. This entire debacle was so difficult for him, after an entire night's worth of layered difficulties. The growing warmth of memories past was singing a very intoxicating siren's call to him, and the longer he resisted the grasping weakness the more he just wanted to mourn. A single tear may have escaped. Nopony could say for sure. His horn lit with a thought, and a dull sense of weight settled over his mind as he grasped the corner of the fallen furniture. He had to stand it up; start containing the damage. He was home, no matter the circumstance, and there was nothing more important than the sanctity of his home. He had to make it tidy. He braced; heaved- his horn blinked out as something shorted and his vision darkened; very suddenly, he was sitting down. Odd. He didn't remember sitting down and his butt sort of hurt: with those details noted, the most likely candidate seemed to be that he'd overexerted his magic and lost consciousness for a second. Oh- and there was the headache. Yes, it did appear as though he'd fallen unconscious. He loved falling unconscious. Light pursed his lips: staring troubledly down at the bookshelf that he'd never actually had to move, before. It had been Applejack and her brother who had brought it in from the cart when he'd first moved, and it had already been upright by the time he'd staggered in with his box of books. It had sat in its place ever since then, and he'd taken for granted that it would stay. How fickle the impermanence of furniture. He didn't think he had the power to lift it. Nevermind that he was running low on mana and he still felt the strain from the operation an hour or more ago: he didn't think he would be able to muster the strength on a good day. He'd never had the most developed arcane potential, owing to his life spent abstaining from practicing for... some stupid reason he couldn't remember through his new headache- which all left very few options. This was going to hurt. He turned his attention to the mare at the entrance sitting with her hooves rifling through her saddlebag. Oblivious and uncaring to his entire struggle: the de facto norm for her. "Hey, um... Bon Bon?" He cringed at the sound of her name coming out of his mouth for the first time, but her eyes caught his all the same. He jerked his head towards the bookshelf in front of him: trying to plead through his expression. "Could you... help me get my bookshelf off the floor?" It did hurt: a deep feeling of sordid embarrassment somewhere in the backs of his eyes. He so badly wanted to poke his impertinent corneas out, just so he didn't have to stare at the stupid grass-covered mare with her raised eyebrow who probably knew he was too weak to ever do it by himself. He loathed her, and himself. He hated every second of his stupid life that had brought him to this moment. He really needed to come up with a derogatory nickname for her, fast. He wanted to keep her filthy name off his tongue at all costs. It felt like liquid mortification was running through his veins, and he was sure his head was about to explode as the mare let her saddlebag's flap close, and she began walking across the room. Nothing was okay; everything felt twitchy under her annoyed gaze. Her hoof- her dumb, clumsy hoof- came down on one of his books. Suddenly, Light didn't feel so embarrassed. "Be careful! Don't step on my books!" he cried: scooting around to point accusingly at her. Her head whipped up from where it was scrutinizing her path: an indignant anger in her eyes- but she was the one in the wrong! What in Cerberus' good name was she mad at him for?! "I'm trying!" she snapped, and he sputtered an affront to the mare that was yelling at him for her mistakes! Her hoof rose to her chest, then swept out across the room with a swish. "It's practically pitch black in here! It's not my fault you can't keep your stuff off the floor!" Was there blood running down his ears? "It's not my fault, either!" he screamed furiously: a sound that might've been too loud for his very tiny cabin. It rang off the walls and returned to viciously attack his ears with karmic retribution, but the pain was pretty negligible because he really only felt the anger! "I never would've done this to my own- to any books! Ever!" He stomped his hoof, wishing he was stomping her incredibly stompable face, instead. "How do I know that you didn't do it when you broke in!" Bon Bon- the ugliest mare he'd ever met- made her way across the rest of the room in a huff, thankfully not trampling all over his property. It was probably pretty hard for her- grossly uncoordinated and feeble as she was. She came to his side with a fire in her eyes that he could say, without a doubt, was a dull ember next to what he'd endured! Try harder, Bon Bon! She was competing with some pretty devastatingly withering stares! "I didn't break in," she hissed at him: scathing reproach in her voice. She poked a hoof into his chest, which he tried and failed to bat away before it retracted. "I was authorized by the Crown to enter your home and subdue an intruder. It was all above board." An 'intruder,' she said. Sure, she could call it anything she liked. He sneered back at her, and matched her low tone right down to the tremoring insult. "You literally broke down my door." He pointed to the side, to his poor, brutalized door. Cut down in its prime. "That feels a little under board to me." Bon Bon's eye noticeably twitched. "I said I would pay for it," she growled: her teeth grinding in barely suppressed rage- but so what? She'd have to breathe fire to intimidate him. Literally. He only needed another moment to process a response, and then the most spiteful sort of peace wormed its way to sit snugly next to the burning heat in his chest as he smiled scornfully. "So you're taking responsibility for your actions, then?" For a second, he was sure Bon Bon was going to hit him; her hoof wound up and her breath stilled in violent anticipation. He even braced for it: knowing that the vindication would be all the better with a little bit of sting added- but then, she didn't. Sure, she raised her shaking, banded hoof up like she was going to, but it only hovered in a very threatening point as she seethed in anger. Just by the time the thought crossed his mind to smack his own cuff against hers to see whether it caused any kind of painful feedback, the impetuous mare pursed her lips, and lowered her eyes to the ground. Her hoof fell as she shook her head, and one deep breath later she turned on a bit to his bookshelf: her ears folded down and her gaze sullen. "Let's just get this thing up so I can interrogate you..." The muttered response of a mare filled with total resent. He stared at her side-profile of restrained irritation for a moment as she bent down to work her hooves under the bookshelf's edge: a smile working its way onto his face as he lit his horn. The slight pain didn't seem so bad, even accompanied by its annoying companion, dizziness. Because he'd won. > Chapter 52 - The Confession > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- His books had been cleared from the floor: the many tomes both ruined and reparable stacked on and around his one bookshelf. A few scarce moments spent in quiet toil between enemies giving each other frequent death glares over cold shoulders. The things on his desk had been carelessly cleared with a swipe before it was pushed to the center of the room; they'd both elected to ignore the faded, black stains on its corners. His mangled door had been shut: a rudimentary latch tied by a length of twine to a popped nail in the wood all that protected them from somepony barging in. He held confidence that nopony would look twice at the dilapidated shack by the Everfree, much less knock on the smashed-in door. His chair had been pulled up, and somepony had realized that he only owned the one. Many recently returned books had then been pulled off his shelf, much to his frustration. It'd taken him until then to realize he'd really never entertained company, before. A candle had been lit. The knife had not been removed from his wall. His sitting room smelled like dust and sick. He wished he could clean a bit more. Hidden in the dark carcass of his previous life with the orange candleglow cast harshly against their grim faces, Light Flow sat across his desk from the mare who had helped to rob him of everything. As she oddly sat on a wobbly stack of his books. "Please state your full name," Bon Bon intoned dully as she peered down at the odd, boxy device she'd pulled from her saddlebag: the device itself giving an odd click and emitting a subtle glow at the sound of her voice. A simple notepad, a rubbery black band and an innocuous pencil sat aside it. Her saddlebag removed: sitting somewhere behind the swaying stacks of his books. He'd crinkled his nose when she'd first dropped the foreign object onto his cleared table, and the ill feeling in the back of his throat only grew as Bon Bon then forcibly attached three suction cups to his chest without asking. His privacy was in shambles. One over his heart, one in the center of his chest, and the last laid on the lower part of his stomach. He had no idea why, but he had about as much ability to object as she held an overwhelming ability to do whatever she wanted. Feeling powerless sucked; he wished he really was as blasé about the law as he so often claimed, so he could just sock her. The little rubber cups on his body were attached by short wires leading into the machine's stocky grey back: a plain contrast to its open, glass-covered front protecting a labyrinthian mess of glowing gems and interconnected metal wires. No discernable structure to its inner structures; though it sort of looked like a metal bread box, he was assuming it was a bit more complex than that. The many pear-shaped gems within were set into small, perfectly molded divots in the metal casing: the gems themselves wrapped around their geometric edges with silvery metal wires, and tangibly glowing with some sort of ambient magical effect. He didn't hold the most confidence about its purpose. Aside the general sense of professionalism pervading the mare's every action in setting it up, he was bit afraid to ask... He warily eyed the mare, who seemed too concerned with her fancy tech to look at him. "You know my name," he retorted: outwardly puzzled and inwardly trying to gauge what his response would do to the machine. Nothing immediately evident from where he was sitting, but it did react to him. If the intermittent, colorful flashes of the numerous gems inside the machine were at all decipherable, then they weren't to him. Bon Bon tapped her cuff-bound hoof, which she had similarly attached two cups to, against the machine's glass exterior: her brow furrowing as an odd, pitched warbling rose from it. "It's procedure. Please state your full name in a clear and concise voice." His attempt at drawing anything critical from the situation momentarily thwarted: Light leerily eyed the machine he was connected to for a moment before sighing, and speaking in a reserved drone. "My name is Light Flow. I... don't know my family name... if I even have one." A long standing point of boredom on his part. Some families- like the Apples- were important enough to have some real heft to their family name, but nopony in his family had ever done anything meaningful except die, and even that was a grand mediocrity. If there was an addendum to Light Flow, then he had no interest in seeking it out. The mare nodded: her eye flicking sporadically around as the array of gems inside the machine flashed and lit randomly. "That's fine. Now, I need you to verify your mental competency, so please state your age, your area of residency, and your current career status." He sucked in a short breath, then let it out slowly as he slumped back into his chair. Ouch. She was really going right for the jugular, wasn't she? Was asking personal questions really necessary for determining if he was a traitor to the state? He'd been expecting more off the bat intrigue and accusations. Though he really wasn't sure if this was any kind of 'procedure' or if she just wanted him to say he was a jobless bum, Light spoke; though, he couldn't quite keep his lip from curling. "I'm eighteen years old, I live in... I suppose I live near Ponyville, and I'm... unemployed." He stared down at the table for the moment, silently regretting most of his life that had brought him here as the machine they were both connected to emanated a soft hum: bright lights flickering across the otherwise orange-lit table. More green than anything. Some yellow, and one blinking blue; that could've been sporadic, though... Urgh. What in the vast hells was it saying to her? Was green as good as grass or bad like celery? Was blue a good sign, or just the calm before the murky storm? A sharp rap on the table brought his attention back up, to Bon Bon's watching eye that quickly fell to her machine. "That's good. Now I need you to definitively state for the record that you, Light Flow, are of completely sound mind and body," The mare's gaze firmed onto the machine as something within gave a soft click. "-that you are free of any kind of extant corrupting influence, and that your following testimony is being given under no coercion beyond that of the lawful Holy Crown of Equestria." ....What? Light's jaw flapped loosely on cut strings as he stared, fish-eyed and dumbstruck, at the nonplussed government agent who- along with possessing nonchalance enough to watch the machine rather than him- had just blatantly admitted to unlawfully coercing him. That was why she'd shoed-in that garbage about 'the holy crown-' because besides whatever special privilege she'd received from their grand, all-powerful government, this was unlawful. Cruel and unusual treatment at the least, not to mention that she'd hooked him up to a strange machine with no explanation or assurance that it wasn't going to kill him! He was- honestly, he was speechless. He'd always sort of harbored his cute little grudges against the crown because it seemed like the rebellious thing to do and he'd thought anarchy in the streets would be fascinating to watch, but now- and with everything that had happened- he could say with the utmost certainty that he'd been wronged. He was angry. And he felt violated. Bon Bon's eye flicked up to him: apathetic and critical for as long as she cared to stare at him. "Please try to stay calm, your accelerated heartrate may skew the results." Her eye returned to the machine as she tapped its side and it hummed at her. "We'll have to start over if I don't receive accurate transcriptions." Oh... She didn't say..? That was fine, he'd stay calm. It was perfectly within his ability to keep his heartrate on the level, and to keep his rage smoldering. He'd had practice; he knew how to contain himself. The machine was taking some sort of transcription of the conversation, according to the mare. It was taking his heartrate, too. Measuring his emotional state; likely gauging his sincerity on any number of phenomena. She wanted accurate readings- well, he could give her plenty. Keep it level. Keep it measured. He could feign apathy. He could do better- he could feel it for her. If she needed him to act like this situation wasn't distressing, then he could very well embrace the depths of chilling umbrage he felt, instead. She was making it easy for him. Whatever she wanted. His jaw was firmly set- no matter how much he wanted to snap obscenities. His gaze was darkly shaded- no matter how much he wanted to unleash wrath upon her. He sat straight up: his back rigid like an arrow. His voice was even, slow, and temperate. Unwavering. "I, Light Flow, do hereby swear with the utmost sincerity and the most heartfelt meaning, that I am fully, and completely lucid." No matter how he wanted to scream, he would remain calm, and negotiable. He would play along with her interrogation. He would field her questions, tell her exactly what she wanted to know, and let her cart him right off to whatever hellish pit of Tartarus they'd reserved for him. He wouldn't struggle. He wouldn't run. Light Flow laid his hooves gently onto the table to press his weight slightly forward: keeping his smoldering glower firmly on the mare opposite him. Memorizing every detail of her busied expression, and imagining what it would suddenly twist into if he were to plunge a dagger into her bleeding heart. It was only confinement if he kept idle. His oath to one day see the government burn must not have shown up on the machine, because the mare only seemed ambivalent to whatever results it flashed to her. Frowning- but not in any way that said she was fearing for her life. "That's not quite explicit, but I suppose it's decent enough," Bon Bon affirmed noncommittally: turning her attention to the notepad aside the machine. The machine that wasn't outright reading his mind- that was good to know. She leaned down to take the black band in her teeth, then let it rise over her totally unadorned hoof. It fell with a snap onto her recently wounded flesh, then the mare similarly took the pencil and guided it firmly into an invisible loop in the rubber. A writing tool for non-magical creatures and for ponies who were too refined to write with their teeth. Nothing interesting, but it helped cement his impression of the mare who'd likely come from Canterlot or somesuch place. Prissy. The wave of intense hatred he felt was more difficult to weather in that moment, and by the time he seethed out a controlled breath and raised his head from where he'd been glaring at the floor, the mare had already jotted some kind of note down. She scanned over her work, before returning to the beeping, glowing machine. "Let's move on, and I'd like to remind you that your compliance may be rewarded in this investigation, so long as you present a wholly truthful testimony." Her eye flicked up to him, and he met it with a glare. "If you do lie, then I'll know. Do you understand?" He didn't bother giving her an answer. It wasn't really a question. With his tepid silence, Bon Bon moved on, anyway. "I'll go ahead and skip the pretenses of determining your collusion, if that's alright with you," The government mare murmured flatly: alternating between scrutinizing the page and the machine before her. "Please tell me about your first contact with Nightmare Moon, in as much detail as possible." He'd... expected a different question, but alright. Though he remained cogent enough in the moments after to count the first minute passing by, it was difficult to really tell exactly how long it took him to think of an answer. Two or ten or twenty minutes: he was too concerned with sifting through the faded memories of black silhouettes and dark, terrified nightmares to really pay too much attention to reality. He... sort of had a general idea of when they'd first met? They'd first spoken in his dreams, he knew, but... there was something before then... Light hemmed with his hoof on his chin and his eyes firmly on the table before him, trying to guess through the dancing candle glow whether the leaping shadows were growing eyes or forming sharp, liquid tentacles. Had it really been back then? Had that truly been Her doing? At least Bon Bon- was sugar a good ironic nickname for her?- didn't interrupt his thinking. She was normally uniformly harsh and disagreeable towards him, but for her credit as his interrogator, she really was letting him think about his answer. She only sat, and stared, and scrutinized. Narrow cerulean eyes reflecting the glow of the candle intermittently broken by the colorful flashes of her machine, and that ever-present stoic frown. Mirroring his. "I... think the first time I came into contact with... Her was..." He chewed on his lip for a moment: lowering his hoof from his chin to tap restlessly on the table. After another moment, he nodded. "-I think it was when I was ten, just before I got my cutie mark." The mare's intense stare did not waver, even as the machine's interface went wild. "Describe the encounter." He blinked bemusedly: his frown rising into a disgruntled pout as he wondered why, exactly, he was being punished for his sins. Hadn't he redeemed his lifetime of being snarky and socially difficult by saving the land from lifetimes of tyranny? He'd literally sacrificed his life for the greater good- didn't that waive the question of his loyalties? Even a little? Though he felt very much like he should've been given some sort of special treatment for his heroic sacrifice, Light begrudgingly set his jaw. "...I was standing on a hill overlooking the Everfree forest," he intoned blandly: feeling the rising sickness of the memory beneath every monotone syllable. "I was about to enter the forest on a stupid dare when I..." He faltered for a moment, gaping for the next embarrassing word before he closed it with a sigh, and quietly began to mutter: his eyes sullenly on the table. "...I started hallucinating that the- the shadows were attacking me." He averted his gaze from even the judging table: his splayed ears burning with the memory of describing the experience to Applejack and getting a very strange look in return... that lasted the duration of their encounters for the next few weeks. His best friend had never been- call it receptive to his enjoyment of the macabre, or his infrequent encounters. Light murmured discontentedly as he reluctantly returned his gaze to the mare with a prominently raised eyebrow- whoa. Deja vu. For a split second, he'd been reminded of both of the other two mares who would frequently raise their one eyebrow like that. Was it a trend? Were all mares skeptically disappointed when faced with absent-mindedness and embarrassment? Talk about overbearing. He shook off the memories of disappointed emerald and cyan gazes, and resolved himself to ignore the timid past and focus on speaking. "The experience ended pretty fast, and She didn't speak to me at the time, but I think what I saw might've been Her doing." In the moment between his answer and her diligently writing it down, he busied himself with trying to decipher the varied flashes coming from the mare's mystical machine, to... basically no avail. He counted the number of gems first- twenty-seven- then identified which gems would blink which colors; that, at least, seemed to remain consistent. Otherwise, though, they didn't present any sort of uniform pattern. Nothing flashed twice, or concurrently, and when something did blink rapidly, it was totally incongruous with any pattern of flashing he'd noted before. There were just too many factors working against him, not the least of which being himself. If he believed what Bon Bon said, then the machine must've been monitoring his responses and his emotional state. That meant any sort of fluctuation in his mindset would skew the results and ultimately prevent him from working out what was being conveyed. Objective observation was frustrating. Bon Bon- Bitter Chocolate?- didn't seem to share his difficulties, damn her. It didn't take her long to transcribe the machine's output to paper- if that was what she was doing- and by the time he gave up analyzing it himself, she'd already turned her apathetic attention to him. "You're obviously unsure." she stated, to which he bristled slightly. His glaring objection aside: Bon Bon continued to speak at him. "Had you experienced any other periods of notably strange activity before or after then? Is there any memorable point in time that things began to feel odd on a daily basis?" She tapped her pencil to her paper. "I need to know exactly how far back your contact goes- or at least an approximation of when it began." Light leaned back on the tail end of her incessant nagging, to just... process what she was asking of him, which happened to be a whole lot in comparison to the relatively relaxed last few hours. They'd not even stopped for a break since he'd woken up- unless they were counting standing on a hill and getting depressed. Didn't she understand that he'd recently had amnesia, been forced to fight for his life against a Goddess, then failed and died?! The day-to-day minutia of his life over the past eight years hadn't really come up anytime before or during the time in which he'd been a corpse! "Your heartrate is rising, please try to-" "I'm trying to remain calm!" he jerked forward and snapped at the unsympathetic mare he'd cut off, who, again, only passively raised her big dumb eyebrow at his outburst. He blew out an aggravated breath as he kicked his legs forward and sank back into his chair. "I'm... trying to remember, alright? Just... just give me a minute," he muttered, hugging his hooves close around his barrel. He'd missed his chair, and all his fond memories of it. All those late nights spent reading and procrastinating anything meaningful... Delving through tomes of whimsy and relatively archaic knowledge alike... He'd always had such a passion for whittling his time away with the benign and the ultimately useless. Just like his chair. Hard and uncomfortable, but solid enough to not strike the fear of falling into his usually sleepy mind. It was a bit unconventional, as ponies didn't usually care much for chairs designed for leaning- but what did Light care about the conventional? He'd long since become accustomed to leaning back and letting the backs of his hocks touch wood, and he sort of actually enjoyed the numb feeling he got in his legs after a while. With this chair, he didn't have to worry about leaning to the side and falling out, or leaning back and tumbling head-over-tail to the floor. It was painful enough in any position to keep him sharp and antsy, but it was very dependable for that. It was consistently uncomfortable- and that was something that meant a lot to him. He'd used to have a big problem with falling off chairs: that was why he'd had to get rid of his old, backless stool. It wasn't as though he was inept or anything, it was just... he'd been very unwell for great swathes of his life; so much so and at such varied points that he really wasn't sure if he could ascribe it all to Nightmare Moon. Even less so that particular terror. The day he'd gotten his cutie mark. The day he'd felt fear. The boundless terror rising in his chest as the shadows had crept from their dimensionless pools up from the ground: snuffed in a gradual second as he was left to feel nothing while the inky tentacles sliced through his flesh. His skin ripped away and consumed by the dark: his organs yanked from their places moments after- and he felt nothing. His body left a standing husk... The shadows crawling up his skin... His teeth yanked from his gums and his tongue slashed and torn from his jaw as his mouth filled and overflowed with a sickening river of choking ink. He didn't remember his nightmares anymore, but he'd never forget the nights he'd woken up still tasting it. ...He'd hallucinated last night, too. Not very long after he'd woken up, Nightmare Moon had- it hurt to remember, especially with all that had happened after... but She'd made him see Her cut a hole in Her own chest... That bloody little heart... For no reason. She'd done it just to... prove Her dominance... To make him feel weak... He'd tried so hard to see past everything She'd done to him in Her madness, and for what? What had he achieved in his forgiveness besides... making a smear? Leaving Her to Her fate? His hoof came to rest upon his forehead, and he didn't realize how hot his head had become until it was being soothed by his cold hoof, and his eyes were fluttering; pinching with painful tightness that spoke of a long-suffering weariness. He was more tired than he'd realized... When had he last slept..? ...Yes, Nightmare Moon had made him hallucinate, but no, he didn't think that had been Her doing. Her hallucination had made him feel like there were worms under his skin, while the one he'd had as a foal had completely lacked any sensation while things actually tunneled into his warm, bleeding flesh. That was a big enough difference that he wasn't comfortable smudging the details. Maybe his hallucination back then, coming just before one of the biggest events of his life, had really just owed to his own, twisted mind. It was what he'd assumed for most of his life, after all. Maybe for now he'd just return to that assumption, and hopefully leave the memory in the past, where it belonged. When next had he felt unlike himself, outside of his dreams? He knew for a fact She'd begun coming to him while he was sleeping pretty soon after his cutie marking, but... Did he really have to tell Bon Bon that? Not for nothing: what he could remember of his dreams had been just as unimportant as they were uncomfortably intimate. He didn't really want to have it on file anywhere that he'd repeatedly made cozy with a foalhood monster as She taught him how to use etiquette as a weapon. If he just bent the truth a little... say something that wasn't technically a lie... He might just be able to feed Bon Bon a little false information. He eyed the machine carefully: sorting through the best way to approach the lie. If its readings were based on heartrate alone, then he knew he'd be okay: Nightmare Moon had taught him how to lie. All he had to do was think as little as possible about what he was saying- or focus on something else. He had problems with thinking too hard, but he didn't think it'd be too hard to distract himself. With what he was about to say, he'd be lucky to even remember he was trying to tell a lie. Or to breathe. Here went nothing. "I think... um, I think the only other time... before it became- well, obvious, was..." Yep, it was already just as hard as he'd thought it was going to be. Could he get a single sentence out without tripping over it? He leaned forward, using the table to steady himself as the words bunched in his throat- stupid, uncooperative tongue. He swallowed heavily and shut his eyes: forcing himself to speak in a nervous rush to get it all out at once. "-was when my mom- um- died. That was around the time She might've... spoken to me." He slumped back into his chair: holding himself firmly as he took deep, calming breaths. Well- he was trying to make them calming, but then he'd gone and admitted the thing, so breathing techniques only helped his uncontrollable anxiety so much. He hated thinking about it. He didn't want to think about it, just- no more thinking about it. Focus on Bon Bon- Candy Flank? No, too close to Fluttershy's- and on the way she was writing. Focus on the machine, and the way it was blinking. Was there anything erroneous? He'd technically told a lie, but it was truthful in that it was his first conscious meeting with Nightmare Moon. That might've been a close enough technicality to fool whatever method it was using. Watch the patterns. Green. Green. Yellow. Blue. Yellow. Blue. Green. Yellow. Blue. Blue. Green. Yellow. Yellowbluegreen- he blinked, and there went his concentration. He needed to work on his observational method; he was really failing to internalize any workable hypothesis. Maybe understanding the output was based on her connection to the machine? She did have two cups linked up to her hoof, so maybe she was influencing it with her mana or something. The mare cleared her throat, and he was brought back to attention and a critical cerulean stare. "If that was the first time you heard Her voice, then what did She say to you?" She rested her knee on the table and cocked her pencil-bound hoof towards him: her attentive gaze making his stomach twist. "Was it an incitation? Did She tell you anything shocking or seditious at that time?" Her hoof flipped and fell; she tapped the edge of her heel against the table impatiently. "I need to know if your collusion began on a basis of treachery to the Crown, and whether you ever acted on Her behalf." It was a very concerted effort to not flinch. He hoped she didn't notice how his jaw clenched onto his tongue- he knew he would've. It was almost like she knew what happened that day. Well, maybe she did know- he didn't know how long she'd been watching him- and maybe this was a targeted attack against his psyche. Her smarmy, apathetic, dull cerulean eyed way of winking and whispering in his ear that she knew about his special talent. ...She did know about his special talent, though, and he knew that. She was his government-appointed stalker; she probably knew everything about him. He didn't know why the thought of just... saying that Nightmare Moon had asked him to steal a soul was so... frightening. It wasn't as though he'd done it, and she must've known that. His heartrate shouldn't have been raising, because he wasn't guilty. His breathing shouldn't have been quickening, because the truth was so benign. He shouldn't have felt so sick at the prospect of just coming out and saying he'd nearly taken a soul! He wouldn't be. He'd- he'd say it! He'd just go ahead and say it. Right then and then. There. There and then. A slick and subtle dryness in the air met his tongue as his mouth opened- like fire burning him because he'd spilled his secret- and he was forced to close his mouth and swallow. He tried to wet his tongue again- tasting vibrant red like the curtains of a stage show- and he blinked the memory away. It was fine. He wasn't... sitting at that cafe. That pony had long since moved on, soul and all. He hadn't stolen it. He hadn't. He hadn't. He just had to say it. Close his eyes if it helped. Take a deep breath: luxuriate in the familiar dusty scent of his home. Keep himself in the moment. He was safe. Everything was okay. Say it. Say it. Calm, and peaceable. Clear and concise. The bare minimum, then just shut up. "At the time... Nightmare Moon had asked me to take a pony's soul." In a breath, and out. In, and out. All at once, and he was over the hill. Peace. Focus within. Find his peace. Remember the flame. Forget the outside. Warmth within. As within; so without. Light was okay. But something was wrong. Light's eyes fluttered listlessly open: the cream-colored, blurry caricature of the diligently recording mare meeting him. Feeling disconcerted, he tried to blink the smear out of his vision, and in the second that he was blind, he could feel it so clearly. The warmth was wrong. It was... less. And he couldn't figure out why. "Is that all?" The mare's voice was a dreary pull back to the physical: away from the inner peace wrapped around the inherent wrong, and back to Bon Bon's droll degree and her glare down at her paper. He almost felt displaced, sitting stilly in his chair and holding his hooves to his erratically rising chest. Staring widely back at the frowning mare with a leering mistrust in her eyes. "There wasn't anything else She said to you? That entails your entire first contact with Her?" She sounded disbelieving, but- just shut up for a moment... couldn't she see there was something wrong with his souls? He was only silent for a moment: a moment spent trying to cast his mind across the rapids to find the wrong- discrepant- error- but it was a single moment too long. There was no time to probe his internals. There was no time to sit and meditate; the mare sitting across from him apparently just didn't have any patience. He watched through unfocused eyes- in between the warmth that felt so much less than his memory- as the interest in her gaze faded and died. Like a ten-year old who hadn't yet learned that patience was a virtue, Bon Bon sighed, and resignedly flipped her notepad to a new page. "Let's move on. I'm more than certain you're telling the truth of your encounter, and I've got more important questions to ask." He was sure he mumbled a complaint through the fact that he was trying to focus... what was wrong inside? If Bon Bon heard it, then she ignored it. Also rather like a child. Or, more plainly, like a jerk. He knew she was that, at least. He was forced to focus back onto her face as their eyes met: hers thoroughly scrutinizing every detail of his while he just stared blankly. Her voice coming as a shock to his constantly fuzzing ears as he tried- he was trying so hard to remember what it was supposed to feel like, but... "From then on, what did your contact with Nightmare Moon entail before the eve of the Summer Sun Celebration?" He tried to shake off the discontent that he now knew there was something wrong, as Bon Bon put a hoof to her machine and frowned at it. "I'd like to go over your recent actions as well, but there are a few special points of inquiry I'll need clearing up, first." His eyes fluttered- the cold behind his lids- and he blew out a short gasp. "Like- like what?" he murmured on autopilot- there was something so much more important- keeping his eyes low on the table and trying to imagine that the machine's flashing lights could take him there- but he still couldn't see what was wrong. The mare's hum- the rivers rushing- the shuffling of pages being flipped then let go- the off rhythm beating of his four hearts. "For instance... were you ever told of any explicitly classified information pertaining to Her Highness or the Crown's institutions? Anything potentially harmful to the public's safety?" The chair under him- the world within- Light's breathing ramped: his lungs feeling heavy in his chest. "I- I don't know... can... can you give me an example?" His mumble was met with a dull stare- it was easier to focus on. "No," she stated, very simply. A neat little bow. Bon Bon tapped her pencil against her paper again- and he could feel the warmth slipping away. "I believe if you were ever told anything explicit, then you would find it immediately obvious." Her hoof, bound by metal, rose to steady itself on the side of the machine as she peered into it. "Tell me now if you're either unable or unwilling to answer." Her eye flicked up to his, and the promise within was very explicit. "No matter what you say, I'll know if you're hiding something." Light blinked, and there was no warmth behind his eyes. His every attempt at casting his mind within to figure out what was so very wrong bore only rotten fruit, courtesy of the mare constantly spraying his searching eyes with a very bitter medicine. He had no choice but to welcome the weight of the air back onto his back, and to let the lull of his inner peace wash away. He had to forget it. He had to leave it for later. But now that he knew, he felt it. With every short breath, there was something lacking. Every second spent staring was marred by a blurry little stain at the corner of his eye. Leaning back into his chair and feeling the wood scrape against his fur only made something shift inside him. Nothing they were talking about was important. Not as much as the feeling of taint. His gaze felt shallow and unfocused as he returned it to the mare berating him with a vengeance, for whatever reason. For the short time they'd been together, she'd only yelled and done mean things to him. Was the clandestine government so secretive that they would go to such lengths as very rude badgering? Apparently so, and he would not be inviting Bon Bon back anytime soon. What a horrible houseguest she was. What a... What a big... ...What a big brownnose. -Oh! He blinked lethargically, and sighed. "...No, Brownnose, I was never told anything about the inner workings of the government." He coughed out a humorless chuckle, and tried a tired smile as he crossed his hooves amiably over the table. "She slandered Princess Celestia a fair amount while I was with Her. Does that count?" Bon Bon- Brownnose- immediately reacted at her new nickname, but for her credit as a professional, she only wore a confused squint for as long as it took her to scrutinize the machine's output and write something into her notepad. Then, and only then did she turn irritated eyes back to his. "What did you call me?" she retorted, to which he allowed himself a glorious little smile. Ah, how sweet the taste of a new nickname. "I would've thought my propensity for derisive nicknames would've been in that file you've probably got on me," he taunted with growing smugness, and it nearly made up for the oddity in his chest to see her face scrunch up in objection as he grinned. "You don't like it?" First came anger, then an internal upset about his jab, then... "...Whether or not I have a file on you, I would advise you not to call me that." ...denial. So predictable. Light leaned back into his chair: feeling overwhelmingly pleased by the rediscovery of his constant traveling companion of annoyance. "Sure, whatever you say, miss agent. I obey your command." He flicked his hoof forward to point at her. "You're probably gonna wanna wash that stain off your face, by the way." Her eyes immediately crossed- he got her! Ha! He snickered into the crook of his hoof as a look of realization dawned over her still expression- faster than he would've thought- and the mare's face instantly twisted into a pocked crater of stoicism. All at once- the death of expression. It was still pretty funny. "I would like very much to resort to less civilized methods of interrogation, now." The mare placed her hooves onto the table and leaned forward in one slow, smooth motion; not until her chest was well over the machine and her hardened eyes were fully lit from the flame of the candle did she speak again. A low, short tone. "So I think it is pertinent to once again remind you that I have been expressly told to avoid harming you in any way." Her jaw clenched- and his breeziness swept away in a moment of sweeping enormity as that intense stare pierced through him, and he could so clearly see the flaming debris of his toppled home reflected in those cerulean depths. An unspoken promise in the glint of her eye that they'd never find his body. "You, are, lucky." The mare leaned away, and the feeling of sudden danger that'd gripped his heart fled like a free bird generously let loose from its cage. He was no longer smiling, and for his own sake, he straightened his relaxed posture. Just because he'd seen worse didn't mean Bon Bon wasn't dangerous. Once again: he was angry, not stupid. Light sat in silence for a moment of contemplation on past lessons of never making mares angry, as the mare he'd angered flipped a note on her pad. "Let's continue," she stated blithely without looking up, and because he really did have an incredible grasp on social niceties, Light nodded back. Never upset your tailor. Never upset the testy government agent in charge of your interrogation. Golden rules of life. Bon Bon cleared her throat, brought her hooves together onto the table, then fixed him with a piercing stare- though not nearly as dangerous, thankfully. "Now... I'm relatively certain you weren't made aware of anything beyond your station, so let's focus on something more relevant." Her head dipped; she stared at him up through her bob of purple-and-pink mane. "I'd like to determine the depth of your wrongdoing, and whether you're guilty of any additional crimes beyond seditious conspiracy- of which I am certain you are guilty." Light's lip curled, simply at the sheer sound of those negative words. "Can't... aren't you more curious about the things that happened last night?" he protested, pressing his hooves onto the table as he leaned into it. He tried to express his total lack of guile through his wide, pleading eyes. "I haven't committed any crimes, alright? She never asked me to do anything like that!" Beep. Two sets of eyes flicked to the machine as the gems within its display simultaneously lit in a fantastic array of bright yellows and a very concerning core of moody orange. Clicks and a whir; a single, noticeably louder beep. Something felt very very stuck in his throat. He didn't have to read a manual to identify a warning. Light eased himself back into his chair gently, staring stock-still at the flashing lights of the machine: all of which dimmed in an instant as a creamy-brown hoof depressed a subtle button on its side. That was interesting; he'd not even noticed it until then. But it was very difficult to similarly ignore the way Bon Bon stared at him. Hooded eyes without a single word on her lips: the hard edge of wariness cut by a razor-sharp thread of knowing accusation. He'd lied. Without even realizing it, he'd lied to her. His shocked state of staring was broken as he blinked listlessly, and he lowered his gaze to the edge of the table as he chewed on his lip. "...I didn't..." he tried, then fell silent. He tried again: feeling the nausea simmering in his throat against his quiet words. "I didn't... mean to... admit that..." The machine's output reduced to a subtle clicking in the background as it resumed its flashing; the mare's silent, judging vigil on his mistake was finally broken as her hoof moved minutely to scratch a note onto a crinkled page. "...How comforting," she murmured tonelessly: her reduced gaze's flicking about the page coming to a stop as she finished her note; then, it returned to him. Not a glower, but glowing with a dread knowing. "Why don't you tell me about it?" In the dim light from the candle, he could almost swear the bags under her eyes were growing darker. He'd expected her to be more gloating in his admission. Didn't she find her victory sweet? She'd caught him in his very deep grave, with something nopony ever wanted come to light, come to light. For all intents, he'd just confessed. The urge to slump back into his chair, cover his tired eyes with a hoof and fall into a selfish fit of sobbing was nearly overpowering in that anxious moment of self-pity. The siren song of misery- so familiar to him- was just as intoxicating as it always was. Oh, woe was Light Flow. Except... there was an very nearly equally vocal part of himself that... knew there was more. He could give up, admit to the fact that he'd technically murdered somepony, and allow Bon Bon her citation and paycheck as he was carted off to jail. Resign himself to his cold, concrete fate, knowing that justice had been done to the deserving party either way, and just forget all about the wonderful things he'd dreamt of in his future. He could do that. ...But it wasn't his fault. That was the sole thought brimming in Light's overtired mind as he bit his lip, and stood up straighter in his chair. The solitary back forgotten for his posture; his hooves flat on the table. His gaze never left hers: his expression within a growing, needy objection. He could see, as he was watching her so closely, that she was growing more tense, too. In every still muscle of her body was it obvious she was waiting, even as she idly tapped her pencil to paper. Dot on inky dot onto the sheet: Bon Bon's eye never left his. Light sat across his desk from the mare with a firm grip on his future, whatever it may be; the heavy weight of his confession sitting as a constant reminder in the stagnant air. Neither of them wanted to know what came next, and neither knew the other was thinking the exact same thing. It wasn't his fault. He didn't want to let go of his future. "It was the day you and I met," Light started at once, and at his sudden declaration a flash of confusion crossed over the mare's face- snuffed as quickly as it'd come by a realization. A very clear recognition as she remembered the meeting he'd meant, and all at once did the mare seem so much more intent. No noticeable shift in her body, even as Light couldn't stop his traitorous hooves from shaking in nervousness, but it was clear in their unbroken gaze. She had an idea, now. What must she have been thinking? Surely she must have known what had happened that day? What if she didn't? What if he was about to truly reveal one of his deepest secrets? Light shook off the moment of heady nausea that washed over him at the thought, to instead stare down at the machine. "I went into the Everfree forest that day to meet Zecora after I overheard you at that table- and I know that was what you wanted." He found it was easier to speak his mind while staring at the flashing lights of the device; it gave him the courage to add a little bitter note to his tone. It let him wear the emotion as he raised his gaze. "The things I went through..." He screwed his eyes shut tight: seething in tightly held anger as the phantom pain of poison hit his tongue again. "The pain I suffered..." The memory passed in a moment, and he set his suddenly fierce gaze back to Bon Bon with a restrained snarl. "What happened that day was Nightmare Moon's fault, but I will never forget that it was you that lead me there," he hissed: leaning low over the table as he tried, in every hatefully spat word, to convey the growing fury he felt. "It all happened because of you." He was hoping for a flinch. A dramatic denial; perhaps a flash of agony over her face as his words hit her with the unexpected weight of hard truth. But there was nothing. No noticeable reaction. Nothing, besides her unwavering stare. No regret, nor shame in her voice as she spoke. "Please, refrain from mentioning me in your testimony," she uttered monotonously. "It needs to be objective as possible, and it complicates the events if I'm apart of them." Her dull cerulean eyes with nothing behind them. It was too much. In a single moment, it was too much. Light's hooves slammed into the table as he pushed himself up: his voice tearing in a furious shout. "You don't even care, do you?!" he yelled: the sound reverberating harshly through his tiny cabin. He didn't let the pain in his ears reduce his anger, even as the mare tensed: obviously ready to react if he turned violent. "That was the day that everything started going wrong in my life- and it was because of you!" Smacking his hoof into the table again didn't help the heat in his chest, and Bon Bon- stupid, calamitous Bon Bon- only steadied herself with a hoof on the shaking table. One hoof steadying herself, and the other on the rim of the wobbling candle base. Like she'd care if his house burned down. He'd given so little thought to it before- seething hot rage caught between his teeth as he heaved flushed breath- but it had been Bon Bon's fault, hadn't it?! If she hadn't led him to the Everfree in the most obvious ploy of all time, then he wouldn't have been poisoned! Nightmare Moon wouldn't have spent the next two years wreaking havoc on his mind! Zecora wouldn't have died. The corners of his vision were fuzzing over with red, and all he could hear was the machine's beeping output from the stupid cables on his chest! His eye flicked down to them- don't go overboard- then back to the mare: baring his teeth at her stupid expression of waiting anticipation. Did she really think he would attack her?! It was just like how Zecora had looked at him. He wanted that expression to break. He wanted her to break. He wanted to break her, and to see the apathy fade from her eyes as they filled with despair. He wanted to see her fallen at his hooves. He wanted to see her left with nothing. Why couldn't he just snap her neck, too? But he knew that wasn't an option. He'd never be able to overpower her. Light took a deep breath- hot like coals on his tongue- and eased himself back to sitting. Even though every part of his body felt like pinching nervous energy like he was on fire- he knew very well how to ride that energy. He knew how to use the anger- to keep it simmering, and to keep his hooves steady on the table as he rested back on his haunches. The deep depths of his newfound hatred, on top of the bedrock foundation of antipathy he'd already had, was more than enough to fuel his new, hopefully permanent glower towards her. He could barely remember why he'd restrained himself from scowling at Bon Bon all the time- she certainly made it easy by daring to look at him like he was the monster. Like he was the dangerous one. She was capable of doing so much more. She'd done so much worse. She disgusted him. "Do you want to know what happened out there? What happened when I met Zecora? The fruits of your lying labors?" he hissed fitfully at the mare who still, even as he sat trembling with rage in front of her, couldn't muster an outward ounce of shame. It made him furious. Even Nightmare Moon, in the depths of Her insanity, could still recognize that She was guilty. How could somepony mortal be so egotistical? The grinding of his teeth sparked faded worry that he'd chip a tooth- but it was worth it for the rage. The tight-wound tension in his bunched muscles was beginning to hurt- oh how he wanted to rip forward and tear her apart. Not even the wisps of deep, royal purple at the corners of his vision worried him. All he wanted then was to make her regret what she'd done. And when Light jabbed his hoof forward, he felt the crushing weight of his words on its back. A weight that broke through the apathetic mare's defenses, and finally, finally broke that dull stare. "The day I met Zecora- the day that I met you was the first time Nightmare Moon stole my body. The first time She trapped me in my own mind," he slowly spelled out, syllable by syllable, and in that single, sweet moment did gleam the smallest hint of worry in that cerulean eyed stare. And with the sentence after, it grew, and shattered, and washed over her. "She forced me to watch as She used my own hooves to snap Zecora's neck." And then, Bon Bon grew very still. As he relaxed into his chair with his smoldering stare taking in every detail of her face, it was a frozen expression of disbelief he scrutinized. Wide eyes, with a deep shock reflected in the slowly shrinking black. A rictus jaw half-open, as if to somehow object. The wrinkles and the dark shadows on her cheeks becoming so much more pronounced. A hint of regretful blue through the muddy brown, and there was a sadness in its depths. He let a spiteful smile come to his face: the boundless heat of his anger welling in his cheeks as he slid his hooves across the table until they met the back of the machine. "What's wrong, Brownnose? Nothing to say for yourself?" he taunted as his hooves crept up onto the cold metal sides of the box: feeling his delighted expression creep perhaps too far into the realm of manic. Whether it was or wasn't his most insane expresiion, he wore the emotion with welcoming vigor as he bent low over the machine's flashing display: his twitching stare at the mare remaining unbroken. "Shouldn't you make sure I'm telling the truth? What if I'm just lying to you? Doesn't that seem like something a criminal like me would do?" He could tell by the way her pupils slowly expanded through the contracting blue that her attention was returning to reality, and even more so when they moved minutely to watch the machine. Her pencil sat uselessly in her hoofstrap as the flashing lights shone over her vacant stare- and Light could feel his smile grow ever wider as he, too, let his eyes fall. "Why don't we see what it's saying, hm? Maybe you'll get lucky," he whispered delightedly. "Blue. Blue. Yellow. Green. Blue. Green- oh, no orange that I see," he recited gleefully as they both watched the innards of the magical machine, though Bon Bon, for whatever reason, stayed so quiet. Didn't she have anything to say? Nothing. Not even as he laid his hoof down over the machine's glass cover: leaning into it and obscuring its face as he smiled toothily at her. "Are you seeing anything that I'm not, here? I think everything looks well in order." It was as he spoke that her expression began to slowly morph. Gently at first, then all at once like a falling curtain did a quiet intensity replace the shock. Her eyes, though still wide, were wide with a quiet sense of ferocity that didn't show anywhere else in her body language: underscored by her hard, furrowed brow. Now, she was glaring as well. "...Did you let Her?" The question nearly didn't register- what with how wild the pounding drums were in his ears- so his first, stupid response was, of course, to make further fun! He turned his head, perked his ear, and brought a hoof to it as he leaned all of his weight onto the machine's glass exterior. "I'm- I'm sorry, could you say that again? I didn't quite catch it through all the blood on your hooves?" That was the wrong thing to say, he realized in the proceeding moments. Maybe, if he hadn't been drunk on the intoxicating warmth of manic rage and spiteful snark, he would've seen how she was expressing her rage- because she was angry, too. It wasn't as pronounced or as borderline insane as his was, but it was there. Stewing behind the tight lines of her heady glare that fell so low as to almost seem comical; he didn't pay any notice at all to how her muscles began to twitch at his mocking. He didn't see how the anger in her eyes grew to mirror the mania in his, yet so much quieter. He didn't see how she covertly slipped off her band, and popped the wires off her hoof. He didn't see a single sign, until the exact moment after her eye rose to his. "I asked if you let Her!" But he did hear her scream, just as much as he heard the scraping of his table, the thunking sounds of his books rescattering over the floor, and much more than any of that did he feel the weight crash into him. Something knocked into his head as he was thrown backwards by something catching him around the stomach- and then everything blurred as his head received another, much more painful knock from the floor. There was a muted clattering of wood, followed quickly by the heart-stopping crashing of breaking glass- and if there were any more sounds, he had no idea. Not just because his ears began to ring from the pain of having taken two semi-serious blows to the head while having all the air forced out of him, but mostly from the furious cerulean eyes dominating his pulsing vision and the shrieking scream suddenly pushing through the fuzzy deafness in his ears. "Despite what you may think, I do not want to see you spend your life in jail for a crime you may not have committed!" Bon Bon screamed at him from her vantage sitting directly on his stomach- and her hooves jerking him forward by his neck. Not to strangle him- please Moon above don't strangle him- but to bring his limp head closer to hers. Holding him up against her red, manic face even as he weakly battered her hooves with his. Screaming directly into his eyes, and all he could hear beyond the pounding and the ringing was the desperation. "If you let Her into your mind so She could kill that mare, then there is nothing I can do to help you, Light! You will be found guilty of assisted murder if you gave Her your consent, so I need you to tell me right now-" Her tirade faltered for a split second as her voice thinned and broke, and she heaved in a fresh, gasping breath before her hooves were suddenly shaking his vision up and down and up and down so he couldn't focus on anything but the pain in his jaw and the panic in her pitched voice. "-did you let Her in?!" Her weight settled into his chest as the pressure on his jaw loosened- and he could breathe again. And only in that first shallow breath that he greedily gulped in, after he'd begun to think he wouldn't ever get another chance to, did he realize that his vision was blurring. He'd not even noticed- not through the shaking. Light's unblinking eyes stared unflinchingly forward from his position with his back to the floor: an equally exerted mare sitting on his flushed body as his head filled with too many thoughts to support with his limited oxygen. He'd been in such a possessed trance processing the depths of terrified fury in Bon Bon's voice- and even then her gasping breaths were peaky and pitched as the rushing noise in his ears flushed out. Now that he could swallow the iron backwash in his mouth and fill his brain with air, he could say with dizzy certainty it was jarring to hear so much concern in her voice, none the less for anything else that'd just happened. She'd tackled him- knocking over his table and his chair and by the sound of it breaking her machine- and screamed in his face as she shook him back and forth: choking him to near-unconsciousness by seeming accident. He'd apparently made her blindingly angry with his taunting- which... he couldn't deny made him just a little proud. An odd, warm contrast to the cold sensation of having his life threatened. He was glad he could still look on the positive side in the aftermath of trouble. There was a lot to think about, staring up at the dark recesses of his ceiling. He could only do so, of course, because Bon Bon had leaned back out of his vision, which also happened to mean she was kneeling on his chest. All of that and besides the adrenaline from being in danger, the predominant thought on his mind was... that had been the first time somepony had tried to shake sense into him. Not even Applejack in all her rough-and-tumble glory had ever gone that far- and he couldn't remember many times he'd been this close to anypony. Not since his mother had held him as a foal had a mare pressed her body against his like this. Even then, as her entire body was seemingly on top of his, their back hooves were still marginally entwined: fur brushing against dirty fur. He could feel how her weight shifted with his every unsteady breath- up and down and up and down against that constant pressure. Exhilarating in one sense, but exhausting in every other. He was aware what the normal response of a colt his age would be, having a mare pressing her body against his. Arousal, explicitly, even besides the fact that she'd physically assaulted him. Not quite his thing, but he wasn't one to judge. Or think about that sort of thing. Or aggrandize it. ...He didn't really... feel that way, ever. Not in a long time, and not since he was coming into pubescence had he felt anything but sick in the pit of his gut in response to... thinking about it. He just didn't... like the thought of being that close to a mare... or, at least, no mare except... ...The scent of apple blossoms and faded sweat... warm fur against his, and a peace in his chest... The setting sun... and knowing he could just be happy... Bon Bon wasn't giving him any of that, and he could confidently say that she was a terrible cuddling companion. He really wished she'd just get off of him already- and there was nothing funny about rearranging that sentence for the double entendre! There was an entire mare sitting on his stomach, and it hurt, darn it! That was the first, delirious train of thought through Light's head, for whatever reason. Probably because body-to-body contact made him very uncomfortable and it was basically all he could think about. Just as soon as he'd wrapped his feelings in a tight little bow and internalized him, he was then able to think about the actual things Bon Bon had screamed at him, and why she'd tackled him. He supposed it was alright to have some mixed priorities: he had taken two blows to the head. He coughed out a ragged breath- it was hard to breathe with an entire mare on top of him- and scrolled his vision down until he was looking at the mare oddly kneeling on his chest: propping himself up as far as he could on his shaking hooves. "Do you really- really think I would- would ever submit to Her?" came his raspy voice- too raspy- and he swallowed as the watched the alert expression on her flushed face: speaking raggedly again as soon as the saliva cleared his tongue. "Do you even... do you even know why you found me dead on the castle grounds? Did you ever even think about it?" He didn't bother to scrutinize the mussed curls of her mane matted against her forehead- or the near-rapt attention on her exerted face- or the heaving of her upright chest, because his hooves were getting tired, and he'd rather lower his head to the floor than let it fall again. It hurt enough as is. He barely seethed as the stinging back of his head touched wood- which he considered a great achievement in tolerance. What was less tolerant or admirable was the melancholic way he sighed: moreso the ragged way he coughed spittle onto his chin before he began to mutter. "It wasn't because Nightmare Moon pushed me out a window or anything so dumb. I can only imagine that's what you assumed- despite the fact you know nothing about Her or anything that happened last night..." He luxuriated in what scant comfort he could glean from the floor- because everything else about the situation was just so demeaning- as the memories reeled between blinks. "She needed me. Nightmare Moon needed me to stop the Elements of Harmony- She told me so Herself." He took a deep, throaty breath, which was so much harder than it should've been. "I was- She never would have done anything to me." If Bon Bon reacted at the mention of the Elements- he figured she might- he didn't really care, so he didn't try to look. He kept his tired gaze firmly on his beautifully plain ceiling as he spoke, which he'd never really taken the time to admire, before. "She told me that She'd... read a prophecy in the stars that I was 'Her only way out.' That I would stop the wielders of the Elements from defeating Her." He coughed, and added an afterthought after a moment of thinking. "I figured it was probably because I knew all of them... I sort of... endlessly dwelled on whether it was because of my special talent for a while, and She... shot me down pretty hard." His tirade ended on a breath he found he'd forgotten to take, and he gasped for its absence as he tried to bring a hoof up to cover his face. Metal scraped against wood, and he flicked a grimace to his tag-shackled hoof before he groaned and threw the non-manacled one over his stinging eyes. Something that felt like a loose wire tickled across his chest, and he idly wondered if he was still plugged into the busted machine. Probably not: the length of wire on his stomach felt like there was a twisted little knot at its end- its very definitive end. Oh well; he'd never know how it worked, now. He was just sad about the machine breaking: that was why his voice came out clipped and warbly. Not for anything else. "In the end... She needed me to win, so I... I made sure She couldn't." Certainly not. He bit his lip: glad he was covering his pinching eyes so he could force the warmth down easier. He wasn't exactly sad that he'd died- he was alive now, wasn't he? It was just... different, hearing the words in his own voice, even in the coy way he'd described it. He'd killed himself. Suicide, in the face of letting his friends die, instead. For his entire life passed with so much on the horizon... and all his promises left unfulfilled... he'd still willingly stepped off the edge. How had he ever found the courage? A weight pressed onto his chest, instantly squeezing his lungs in the worst way and forcing another ragged cough through his throat. The pain in his head flared up, and he softly groaned as he tried to levy himself up enough to see what the mare was doing, then. She'd placed a hoof onto his chest, obviously. Leaning forward and onto more of his body: her face a surprising shade of... sadness. He couldn't help the slightly incredulous expression he managed to force through the weary pain. Bon Bon? Showing an emotion for him? The wild ride of incredulity in his head continued as the mare glanced away from a long moment: biting her lip as her wavering, cerulean eye returned to him, and- was her face more flushed, then? "I... had no idea," she murmured in another moment of hesitation that she took to stare down at his body. His skin may have crawled where her gaze landed, but his face felt flush with more than enough confusion as she raised it again. Deeply furrowed brow, and eyes lidding low with a knowing, and a regret. "You're a hero, Light." His acid reflux immediately kicked in and he suppressed a throat-burning gag that he only barely swallowed back as the mare sighed: closing her eyes and letting her hoof creep up his chest as she... lowered herself? What was she- oh no. He watched in horror as the offending limb climbed higher and higher and closer and closer to his bewildered face, until... -well, until her hoof had crept past it and onto the floor, and her head was rested sideways under his chin. "I'm... sorry, for everything that happened to you, and for everything I did," she whispered thickly: her cheek pressed against his now extremely tight ribcage. "I know none of it was your fault." What was happening? Why was she apologizing to him? Why was she just taking his word for it after being so skeptical of his every action? Why- oh why was he subject to the sensation of another pony's breath fluttering across his cheek: feeling her take the breath through his own chest?! Had he died? Yes, he had, and clearly this was actually Tartarus and he was well and truly being punished for what he'd done. His own personal hell: he finally had a clear picture of what it was, and there was no need to make random guesses when he was in distress anymore. This was it. His worst nightmare. Light swallowed- and he hated that she probably felt him swallow- and gingerly, ever so gingerly raised his hooves against hers on either side of his head, until his were uncertainly but firmly wrapped around her back. This was awful. By the Moon's terrible grace, this was so deeply unsettling to him on a very personal level that he knew he had to invoke that name, just to really emphasize to himself how twisted the situation was. Minutes ago, he'd been hellbent on hating her and hoping he'd one day see her dead. Now, he was hugging her! And he didn't know why. He had no clue why his first instinct had been to return her embrace. He needed help. Her heavy sigh was his reward for returning her hug- back hooves pressed against his and all he could think about was the feeling of her breath- and the top of her mane tickled his chin as she shifted. "I'm going to recommend your full pardon, Light." she murmured, again, into the crook of his neck, and his fur stood on end wherever it wasn't smushed down. "You were victimized in every situation, but you still- you gave your life for Equestria." His heart leapt into his acid-washed throat as she shifted again, and her whispered voice washed directly over his chin. "I think that's very admirable." He could hear the lingering traces of disbelief in her voice- but it was entirely overshadowed by the very clear regret tinging her tone, along with the growing appreciation. She clearly believed him when he said he'd killed himself to stop Nightmare Moon, and she very clearly respected him for it. She was grateful. Was that what this hug was for? An... apology? Even further- a thank you? He didn't think he had the heart to tell her he'd only done it to save Applejack. Light shifted uncomfortably, trying not to disturb the mare too much as he tilted his head down as much as he could without putting it directly into her mane. He didn't want to extend the intimacy by internalizing the very likely earthen scent of her mane. "Hey, Brownnose?" Her body shifted on his- ouch, his ribs- and her voice sounded: a familiar exasperation edging into the numbing exertion and mutedly-present approval. "Please, don't call me that." He blinked, and rolled his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. He spoke: his tone as candid as he could make it. "I'm actually gonna keep calling you that, because I really do hate you for everything you've done to me, and I don't think that's ever gonna change." Her response was a resigned sigh, and that was that. It was a long moment of... strangely growing content he felt, holding his arch enemy in a hug. An uneasy contentment, to be fair- and he didn't dare to move his hooves in any way along her back- but it was relatively simple, and peaceable all the same. He still had a lot to think about, staring up at the dark, wooden ceiling. But... at least he didn't have to think very hard about how he felt. If only he could snake his hooves up to her neck... feel her body go limp against his as the floor ran slick with red... listen to the last, fluttering breath in her chest go still... How sweet it would be to hold her cerulean-blue soul in his hooves. The quiet peace of plotting his hugging partner's death was shattered in an instant, and two independently relaxing heads flew up at the sudden sound: red and blue eyes alike flying in a very real panic to the source- the eventuality- the one thing they'd both hoped beyond hope wouldn't happen. There was a knock at the door. Followed by a voice. "Light? Are y'all... wait- what in tarnation happened to the door..?" There had been very few times in his life that Light had been so afraid to hear Applejack's voice. > Chapter 53 - Magic's Inquisition > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first voice had been a shock. "Light? Are y'all- wait, what in tarnation happened to the door..?" The second voice had his heart- already pounding out of his chest- leaping into his thick throat. At the very same time, the warm body pressed tightly against his went entirely stiff. "...It looks like somepony smashed the latch open. Whoever did this might've been taking advantage of last night's chaos to stage a theft." The third voice, tinged with nagging worry, made his suddenly acrobatic heart plummet. It hit the bottom of his ribcage like a stone: sitting and shivering in the pit of his queasy stomach. "Do you think he's alright? Nopony's seen him since the party, and with everything that happened last night, he might've been hurt." A fourth voice. Male, adolescent, and so heart-breakingly familiar. "I'm really worried about him... what do you think we should do?" The first voice came back, and finally, Light Flow was sure his battered heart was just going to explode. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do..." That was a familiar tone, and that was a familiar rising fear at said tone. That was the low tone- the set jaw of an impulsive mare he knew very well. That familiar, stubborn tone of voice that had immediately preceded most, if not all of the most dangerous things that had ever happened to him or the ponies around him. It was the voice of the mare who'd jumped off a barn. It was the voice of the mare who'd tried to catch twenty apples before they hit the ground. It was the voice of the mare who'd dragged him across town by his tail. It was the twangy, syllable-slurring voice of the mare that bucked a new hole in his door before his wide eyes. Splinters scattered across the floor in a dust cloud of obliterated wood as two orange rockets smashed through the area where his doorknob had been. The door- the poor door- flew back against its hinges and hit the wall with an- already far too abused- heart-stopping bang. Light stared widely as his door creaked loosely away from the wall- on its one connected hinge- not sure whether to entirely believe his sunshine-battered eyes as an orange, apple-marked rear end filled his doorframe. The firm wrap of a banded blonde tail falling in tandem as the two faux-cannons set themselves down across the threshold with a clop. "Light! It's me! Are y'all-" came the beginning of a worried yell as the mare with the golden hair turned in a hurried step, and then- Emerald eyes met his, and her mouth gaped open. Her shout into the quiet room died in an overloaded stutter off her lips, while every line of her seconds-prior expression of concern and resolve wiped itself over with complete and utter shock. And he could only stare back. Because it was Applejack. Wide emerald eyes shimmering like flawed jewels against the corona of filtered light behind her. Golden blonde hair set in a messy, uncaring braid draped around her neck. The tips and strands of its frayed tail stained brown, undoubtedly from her trek into the forest- but nothing could make her any less beautiful. If anything, knowing that she'd recently returned on a quest to save the world just made her all the more stunning. Firm, strong hooves with their natural cords of rippling muscles: strong enough to bend trees and break doors alike, and earned through countless days of toil. Tensing and pressing the bones of her knees against the taut flesh as she stepped reflexively back- as though she wasn't sure if she should stay. The proud plates of her stern chest: holding within its depths a softly spinning ball of bright, shining light. Every revolving line of light sparkling like pure, rich gold. The only soul he'd never wanted, but had always admired the most. The ranch-typical stetson she'd never go without perched on her head. The white wash of her freckles on her cheeks smudged over with dirt. Glimmering golden necklace wrapped around her neck just like always- wait, what? Light blinked in bemusement: shocked out of his admiring trance of the most beautiful mare he'd ever known by the odd necklace she sported. Intricate, golden metal hung low and tight around her neck: a shining orange jewel perfectly cut into the shape of a consummate apple in its throat-hugging crest. That didn't seem right... Since when had Applejack started wearing jewelry..? The hesitant sound of a cough echoed out into Light's empty home, where it miraculously found its way into his empty brain. It rattled around the dusty corridors of his mind in a desperate search for any intelligent thought, and against all odds, it found a realization. Actually, it found two. One: it was not just Applejack standing at his door. She was in front and first on his mind, but then there were also two not-Applejack mares standing just behind Applejack, as well. He spared them a glance. Just beyond the frame of his door stood a pretty white unicorn that he immediately noticed sported a nearly identical necklace to Applejack. It was not normally in his nature to notice when the white unicorn was wearing new fashion- that usually lead to a wasted hour- but given that the other point of contention was her hoof brought to her open mouth in genuine mortification, he'd be forgiven for trying to focus on something else. Meanwhile, at his best friend's shoulder stood another unicorn: the lackluster purple one. She was wearing what he could only describe as the most ostentatious crown he'd ever seen in his life, and that was including the fake crown of thorns he'd once made himself out of paper. Her expression was one of lidded, unrestrained disappointment- but he was thinking he should've been giving her that look. That crown was just- ...if he'd ever had to imagine the condensed essence of a cuteceanera's vomit-inducing, fillylike expression of wannabe-princess attire, then it still wouldn't have quite measured up to what she was wearing on her head with no seeming reservations! Had nopony told her she looked like an eight-year old playing dressup?! Should he? ...Leaving his building aneurism from looking at the stupid crown behind, there was a little green-ish dragon who had pushed past the unicorns to stand beside Applejack. He'd been the one who had coughed, and he was far from the only one who was now staring at him with wide, blank eyes. The soul within his chest- sweet heavens above that was interesting to look at- sat nearly completely stilled in its motion: very much like Applejack's. Numbers one through four were far and away the most evident things to him in the first few moments. At first, he felt nothing but heartened to see two of his friends and the love of his life. They'd clearly made it out unscathed from their ultimate confrontation with Nightmare Moon- Rarity honestly looked as though she'd spent the day in the spa- and now, they'd come to check on him. Because they cared. It really made his heart swell. The safety of his favorite friends had been confirmed, and there was still a chance Rainbow Dash had fallen in the line of duty. Life for Light seemed amazing in those first few moments, and if he'd had hooves free, then he'd likely have run to sweep Applejack into a hug. The next few moments were dominated by his second realization: the startling reintroduction of big fat number five. Number five being the big fat mare sitting on his chest, who had not said a word or budged from her position entirely on top of him. They were stomach to stomach, chest to chest, with their legs intertwined and his hooves firmly wrapped around her back. Light Flow was not very often savvy with situational awareness. He'd once earned a black eye by remarking that birthdays were a self-pitying tradition made up by losers with nothing else to celebrate. His saying so had, of course, come from his mouth on the day of Applejack's fifteenth birthday, while he was at her fifteenth birthday party, while all her relatives were in earshot. He hadn't much liked nursing that black eye, nor did he ever like Applejack's responses to his childishness, however deserved. That was why, ever since the fourth time Applejack had given him a black eye- two disasters after the birthday fiasco- he'd tried to practice scarce empathy. Putting himself in others' horseshoes, and imagining what they were thinking before he said the wrong thing and earned a smack. Well, he was... lying on his back with his hooves around a strange mare. They were both covered in blood and dirt. They probably both smelled like blood and dirt. They were wearing matching metal bands like it was a fashion statement and not indicative of servitude or worse. His front door looked like the victim of a vandalism... and... ...did he really need to come up with any more? Best case scenario: they'll think the mare is a robber who was in the middle of attacking him. Worst case scenario: they'll think they've just walked in on him having intimate relations with an apparent stranger. If he asked her, would Bon Bon snap his neck, instead? He'd really just- he'd vastly prefer being dead to the situation he was in just then. His second life'd been good while it lasted, but he was about ripe and ready to die again. He'd seen all he needed to; he could rest in peace, now. Though he and Bon Bon both seemed to be sharing their silent panic attack, Applejack was not. She stepped hesitantly forward as her jaw worked wordlessly up and down: searching the scene before her with a myriad of questions he had absolutely no idea how to answer. "Light... I was... What are you... Who..?" Her voice- he'd missed it so much- was a sudden shock out of his trance, and he was suddenly aware that- yes, he had hooves, and he could move them! The heartbeat he felt against his- fast and resounding- was all the incentive he needed to embrace the rush of righteous anger. "Get off me, already!" he quietly snarled at the mare as he wormed his hooves in-between them, and pushed. The stunned mare let out a quiet yelp as her weight shifted and she tumbled to the side- but aside from resisting the urge to smile, he really didn't care to see how she reacted. He had more important things on his mind. As soon as he was free and there was open air on his fur, he braced his hooves onto the floor, and rolled himself over. With an apology to his bruised shoulders that took the brunt of the motion, he managed to push himself to a fully standing position. A standing position only hoof-lengths away from Applejack. Close enough that he could feasibly reach out and brush her coarse fur- and the urge to do so was so violently appealing. He nearly caught himself raising his hoof- blinking as his muscles twitched, and forcing the need to fade. She probably wouldn't appreciate his random touching of her face, though he wanted to so badly. It'd been so long since he'd hugged Applejack- which wasn't even his fault! The last time she'd offered- what was probably months ago by now- he'd gladly taken her up on it. He'd felt so terrible at the time, and so beyond thrilled at the prospect of comfort, that he'd skipped straight past pretending to be obstinate. Just enjoying the warm embrace for what it was, away from the pretenses; so blissfully peaceful that he'd nearly fooled himself into believing there were no voices whispering in his ears. The silence really was different when it was silent, he mused. He wished he could skip the formalities again, and just ask for a hug- but then again... she probably didn't even want a hug. She was- well, he wanted to say her eyes were full of hurt and sorrow, but it was really all just confusion. Applejack just looked confused. He couldn't blame her; he'd be confused in her situation, too. He'd gone over how it looked, after all. He'd gone twenty entire seconds of staring at Applejack and not saying anything, he realized- and that thought took another three seconds. Maybe he should say something to his evidently confused- bordering on leaving- friend. "Applejack- I- I swear what you saw was- it's not what it looks like!" He'd started calmly, then almost immediately at watching how her muzzle twisted at his voice he'd begun to stammer. His ears had splayed against his head- he hated how they began to burn- and everything else came out in a rush. He'd had something confident and witty in mind, hadn't he? Something to adequately explain the situation and defuse the tension all in one? Yeah, it felt like he'd had something like that in mind. So why, for the forgotten sakes of all the condemned souls in Tartarus, had he said the most overdone line in the history of misunderstanding tropes?! He was an idiot who didn't deserve his precious few friends. They'd all be better off with somepony who didn't act as though their life was a bad drama. What was next? Was he going to pretend Bon Bon had just fallen onto him? He was such a freakin' mule... At his... admittedly poor denial, Applejack only seemed all the more conflicted. Her jaw still working for words that didn't come; her eyes, full to the brim with confusion, constantly flicking between him and the mare he presumed was still behind him. Or maybe Bon Bon had run to his bedroom and jumped out his one openable window; he had no idea what her prerogative was in this situation. He knew it wasn't to take the blame, at least. Governments... government workers... they were all pretty much the same. Though everypony involved in the Minotauran standoff seemed to have lost the ability to speak, the fourth party they'd forgotten had no such deficiencies. She, in fact, was apparently eager to speak. "I don't know how else we're supposed to interpret what we saw." The voice- dry and purple- acted as a hammer to the still portrait of regret they'd all been painting. Three sets of eyes turned to the mare as she stepped past Applejack- but he didn't need to see her to remember Twilight Sparkle. Neatly trimmed bangs shading critical purple eyes; a crown and a saddlebag sharing the same large, purple star emblazoned on her flank; a small, seeming ever-present frown. What the mare wore as her short walk ended seemed to wear on him as well, and he could feel the simmering joy he'd had at seeing Applejack just begin to die. Twilight's air of perceptive annoyance, even just standing quietly, was just as aggravating as the last time he'd seen her. Not even the sight of her soul overlaid on her chest- predictably purple- redeemed the moment, unpredictably. After all, souls were a typical fascination of his. He usually loved to stare unabashedly at them instead of ponies' faces- and he loved guessing their emotional states even more, though... when he was talking to them, they usually just began to tinge red with anger. Twilight's soul was... dull. Its spin was slow, and boring. Its color was purple, and boring. Its depths were still and boring. It was like looking at a pond. Why did Twilight strive to annoy him such? Even unconsciously? "You're clearly in some sort of relationship with that mare, and denying it only perpetuates your obvious desperation to hide something," accused Twilight, who somehow managed to make some of his favorite words sound boring. The matter-of-fact way she spoke just... was she speaking to him or lecturing him? He let his eyes rove over the principally boring mare once more, before he let them rest on her face. "That's... Denial doesn't necessarily equate to secrecy," he objected- and it was surprising how much force he managed for his words. However enraging Twilight as a pony was to him, it did wonders for his confidence. Twilight, the mare whose quirked eyebrow confirmed a theory of his, spoke doubtfully. "Uh-huh... And you're choosing to argue the plausibility of argumentation itself rather than actually defending yourself?" He opened his mouth- then shut it. She had him there, and that discrepancy was difficult enough to rectify that he didn't really know how to respond. Light simmered in uncertainty for a moment as Twilight's glare left him, and roved across the room behind him. "For a stallion to whom I can evidently relate for a love of literature, I find it very difficult to believe you actually live here." Her gaze returned to him: clearly disgusted by what she'd seen. "Applejack told me you were quirky, but your home honestly looks abandoned- and that's only the outside. Don't you ever clean?" He was going to punch her. He really was. She had the gall to come into his home- He didn't even get the chance to finish seething and plotting violence before something roughly shouldered him aside. He stumbled away on shaky hooves: only barely managing to stop a near-reunion with the floor and turn, completely offended, to see Bon Bon lower herself into a deep bow before Twilight. "Miss Applejack- Lady Sparkle, this really isn't what it looks like!" Bon Bon's desperate plea was met with nothing but a raised eyebrow from... Lady Sparkle? Had Bon Bon just called her lady? What in the deepest hells made anything about Twilight ladylike?! Applejack had long since been relegated to standing in the sidelines and looking bewildered, and Light joined her readily as Twilight regarded the mare laying prostrate before her with leering perception. "...We met at the party, didn't we?" she asked slowly, to which Bon Bon raised her head and quickly nodded. Twilight nodded back, and cocked her hoof towards the floor-bound mare. "You're Lyra's marefriend, right? Your name is Bon Bon?" Lyra. Oh, wow it was coming back to him. He'd met Lyra at the party, too, and- and that was why she'd acted like she knew him when he'd seen her at- um... ...nevermind. He'd never gone to Bon Bon's house. He'd met Lyra at the party, and that was it. Forget it. Twilight's scrutinizing gaze raised to him for a disquieting second- not what he wanted while distracted- then she returned to the mare. "You'd told me you were taking Light to the hospital when he started to have a breakdown..." she spoke seemingly to herself: resting her hoof on her chin as she lowered her head to the floor. "It would make some sense if you were here just because you were bringing him home... That seems likely enough by itself..." His memory of that party was surprisingly spotty, especially of what'd happened before Applejack had come downstairs. He remembered arriving and some after, and he remembered leaving and some before. It was... pretty much the interim of Applejack going up that was just so... foggy. His trance rushed away- his blood chilled as Twilight's purple leer landed back on him. It felt like she was looking straight through him. "Except... Applejack told me that you and her spoke at length after I went upstairs." He found an objection- then the words jumbled and stuck in his throat, leaving the junior detective continuing unimpeded: Light balking uselessly as her piercing stare filled with accusation. It wasn't as though Twilight intimidated him or anything so silly, but when she looked at him like that... as though she could read his every thought from a glance alone... He could almost imagine her purple eyes lengthening into slits. "If you actually stayed at the party after you were seemingly taken away-" She turned her stare and her hoof to Bon Bon, and he could swear he saw the tiniest bead of sweat matting the mare's forehead. "-then you lied to me, which means you must have some sort of ulterior motive when it comes to Light." Her eyes fell to the ground at his hooves- no, to his hooves. "It's unrelated, but I can't help but notice you're both wearing mana-conductive bands engraved with noticeably intricate sigilwork." Light quickly- or belatedly- hid his banded hoof behind its twin, but Twilight simply swapped her stare to Bon Bon. The usually secretive mare who did absolutely nothing to hide: seeming stuck in distressed silence as Twilight narrowed her eyes at his cuff's twin. "They're both on the same respective hoof, not to mention." Her head raised along with her hoof, which flicked in a short motion between the two bands. "Artificing is a tricky subject that I'm not entirely well-versed in, but I believe displacing identical sets of sigils between two spatially sound objects could result in a resonant connection..." Twilight hummed curiously as Light- and everypony in the room- stared widely at the mare. Was it him, or could he feel everypony thinking the exact same thing? What? The moment- completely confusing in every way- only grew more so as, to his unbelieving eyes, Twilight's horn lit in a dazzling shimmer of maroon haze. The glow coalesced around the latch to her saddlebag, and in only a moment did a paper and quill float out. And then she began to write. "Without knowing the exact writ used, I can't make a definite accusation, but imprinting the exact same binding sigils while assuming an allowance for individual mana signatures could create a resonance between the two objects: creating a functional link that, assuming the purposeful lack of a contingency, would result in a fabricated burst of feedback triggering on severance of the link, say... to distance." Twilight actively read out every word as her quill- pre-inked, apparently- scratched them into the unfurled scroll sitting in the air before her chin. Not blocking her view; she simply didn't care to look. Functionally breaking down the science and the method behind the tag that linked him to Bon Bon while simultaneously writing her thoughts down- after having only stared at the bands- and she was doing it while ignoring the ponies she was accusing of wrongdoing. Selfishly wrapped up in her own thoughts while four ponies stared at her in disbelief, and one dragon rolled his eyes. ...Was this what it was like to speak to him? Twilight's leer rose from her paper- as her quill continued to write. The sheer speed of her self-record barely even faltering- her soul sitting calmly in her chest- as she peered keenly into the gloom behind them. "I think I've read about that machine on the ground over there, as well." The uncertain verb proved useless as her tirade continued confidently with a point of her hoof. "It's an arcanic crystagram. It receives mana frequencies through internal resonance and outputs its reading through conductive crystals." Bon Bon had leapt to her hooves by then: turning to stare, shocked, at her loudly identified device. Her mouth worked up and down noiselessly as she whirled back to stare at Twilight, whose discerning gaze didn't falter in the least as she stared accusingly back. "It's an archaic method of isolating a pony's mana signature, but given fine-tuning it can also be used to detect minute differences in mana circulation: such as is obvious when a pony is lying." Never had something so technical dripped with so much penetrating implication. Light felt like every breath was a struggle not to choke on, and even Bon Bon- the unflappable secret agent- seemed too stunned to do anything but watch as Twilight literally and figuratively put her hoof down. Speaking to the room at large as the two ponies on trial felt a simultaneous skipping in their hearts. Her quill had stopped; her paper rolled itself up. Now, Twilight had everything she needed. "You're both covered in mud; you're both obviously exhausted; you've both been seen together at least once before; you're likely bound to each other by some kind of connecting magical signature; Light apparently lost his memory on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration and then went missing that night- and we discovered you two in the seeming midst of an altercation with a broken lie detector in the room." Her gaze swept between the two of them: a radical hint of anger in their calm, purple depths. "Does this, or does this not have anything to do with last night and Nightmare Moon?" Three voices gasped, Light blinked, and the scene before him blurred as the full force of a forgotten memory hit him all at once. Warm fur against the concept of his back, and cold breath on his nape. Smoky blue background, and black feathers scattered on the formless ground. Her whisper in his ear. Low, and purring, and plotting. "My sister has trained a protégé to oppose me. A filly plucked from mediocrity and woven into the tapestry of destiny: bred and weaned on a doctrine of lies and deception before her open eyes. "A gifted prodigy with mental aptitudes beyond the mortal mind; her foalhood stolen from her and burned away as fuel for her abilities. Every day spent in preparation for a future atop the world, and one she feared above all else. "Not since the age of Starswirl the Bearded has Equus witnessed one so talented in the learned arts. The sheer scope of her genius demands accomplishment on end, and failure as an impossibility. Her drive to achieve borders on mania, and there is little so dangerous as genius led astray. "We must fear what she may become if not removed." Light let out a cool, shaking breath as the sucking void of the memory within a dream fled again to the recesses of his mind: the message left behind burning like the mark of a brand in the emptied space. Fear Twilight Sparkle. Remove her. Would Her whispers ever go away? > Chapter 54 - Contrasting Elements > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fear Twilight Sparkle. Remove Her. Light sucked in a cold, disorienting breath as the memory blinked away- and Her voice was gone. Take a deep breath; the air lacked Her scent. Take a glance: the room was empty- full of shadows- but none of them whispering. Looking inward, he found nothing besides his own whirling thoughts. Comforting paranoia; blissfully crowded. Thank goodness. He blew out another breath, so relieved that it had just been a memory that his hooves began to wobble. A precarious lean that ended in a stumble as his head rushed with sheer, dizzying thankfulness- and then there was a steadying weight against his shoulder. Light gasped: his heart leaping into his throat- what if it was Her- as he jerked his head around to see- but the eyes staring back at him were sapphire. Blue, but the wrong shade. They were round. They were calming. "It's alright darling. You're okay." And as her- not Her- voice spoke to him, he found it a soothing tone. Not at all like it was in his memories. Not grating, or loud, but closer to musical than he'd ever heard from her. Not purring. Not plotting. It was welcome. The tension that'd risen all at once at the touch began to gradually flee, as he shakily smiled back at Rarity. The pristinely white fur of her smiling face seeming to shine in the low-reaching rays of light from the door, like a halo around an angel. It couldn't be more dissimilar to what he'd been expecting to see. He'd switched back and forth a couple times on whether he'd have a difficult time recovering or not, but now he was pretty sure a therapist would be in his future. Or, maybe he could just become one, and declare himself as totally rehabilitated! That way, he wouldn't have to bother with the whole, boring process. That sounded good. Maybe he'd work on that. He averted his gaze away from Rarity with a sigh- then he was drawn back as a shift in the light caught his eye. Rarity tilted her head: her long mane falling and flashing in the sunbeams as it dipped across her face. She cut quite the demure profile with half her face drawn by a curtain of curled, purple silk; her long, gleaming lashes fluttering: glimpses of her eye in-between twinkling with knowing mischief. Her voice sounded into the quiet room: humming; teasing. "Drift off, Light?" There was nothing like it. Nothing he'd ever felt like the feeling of safe, swaddled comfort at her voice. Not since... Not after... It'd become so unfamiliar. When was the last time somepony had genuinely smiled at him? His own smile rose again, and he found himself chuckling, however shakily. "Only because... you just bore me so much." The joke nearly came out too harsh; not teasing enough, and his smile came a second away from extinguishing in a dousing wave of anxiety. But Rarity only gave a soft, affronted huff: pushing him gently forward onto his rapidly steadying hooves. Her smile never once left her face. A moment after, as his eyes flicked back out to the room, something soft met his cheek. A glance found her rubbing her hoof across his dirty fur: humming softly to herself as something flaky crumbled against his skin. He knew, then, that it was alright. Of course it was alright. It was him and Rarity; this was what they did. They sniped. They jabbed each other. They poked fun, and pretended to get angry, and then Rarity did something to invade his personal space. Just like always. Nothing had changed. His gaze slid down, to see Rarity's soul: purple and richly colored. Flashing and twirling on its little stage just for him. Nothing to hide. Nothing to gain. He was so glad. "You are seeming much more like yourself since I saw you last, dear- but oh," Rarity clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she returned her hoof to herself. "You're positively filthy." She shook her head: clear, mock reproach in her narrowed eyes. "Don't expect any more mares to come breaking down your door looking as you do." He'd missed this. No hidden meanings; no underlying traps: just a simple back-and-forth between two normal, well-adjusted ponies. Decently-adjusted ponies. No point in fooling himself; who was there to pretend for? He kept his small smile as he let loose a quiet snicker- because he'd missed having a friend- and cast his gaze out toward the room once more. And once more, he was met with an empty space. His furniture still in disarray; a thoroughly-smashed 'arcanic crystagram' laying on the floor, and not another pony in sight. Either they'd all spontaneously developed invisibility, or they'd walked out while he was having his trance. One was more likely, and his routine answer would be indicative of his mental state. "Um... Rarity?" he turned and uttered after another moment spent staring, to which Rarity hummed questioningly: having returned to brushing her hoof through the clumps of his dirty fur. "Where did Applejack and... everypony else go?" Rarity, seemed preoccupied with smudging the grime off his cheek, responded noncommittedly. "I think you mean everyone, darling. It wouldn't do to alienate dear Spike after he was so worried about you." Light sucked in a heavy breath at the name, then let it out in a slump as Rarity's hoof hovered away. Spike... Oh, what was he going to do about Spike? The first and only friend he'd made as an amnesiac, whom he'd so cruelly lead on with his constant assurances of his wellbeing. He'd lied and lied through every crack he'd shown, and Spike had just gone along with it all. Stayed with him, even as he was sure he'd known he was lying to him. He'd even tried to get him help. A total stranger, and he'd stayed with him. Spike was a good friend, and he knew that by comparing himself. The little drake with the ever-present grin was kind, thoughtful, and evidently endlessly loyal; not to mention he was a dragon. That ticked off every box on the checklist, as well as another he hadn't realized was necessary! Dragon friends were definitely much cooler than pony friends. Sorry, Applejack. Rarity. He hoped Spike would still want to be friends, after everything that'd happened. Last he'd seen him, it'd been... just before yesterday's party. The dragon had gone in first after something he couldn't quite recall, and that'd been it. Light had spent the rest of the party in extreme emotional duress, then he'd toddled off with Nightmare Moon's whispers guiding him to the castle. He hadn't seen him since. How had he looked a few minutes ago? Shocked, of course- they'd all been- but otherwise? He... didn't really know. Whether Spike wanted anything to do with him or not, Light didn't have a clue. That scared him a little. ...He had to make this right. Light shook the memories of dejected scaly frowns away: turning to Rarity with growing resolve steadying his step. "Where did everyone go, Rarity?" He lowered his gaze to the floor, away from Rarity's curious stare: frowning slightly. "There's something... I really need to say to you- and to everyone who knows about... how I was yesterday." There was no use in being coy, he knew, and so he allowed himself a pitying little sigh: his head sinking lower. "...About my amnesia, and where I went... after the party." It was harder to admit than he'd thought it would be, especially to the mare who... in retrospect, had probably been the first to actually notice. With her discerning eye and boundless busybody attitude, he'd really have to be an amnesiac to think he could pull one over on Rarity. If it'd been so hard to say to her, with that look that he could feel was so understanding, how could he ever admit it to Applejack? She knew, he remembered. When they'd spoken over the table... it was difficult to remember anything that was said over the whispering in his ears, but he held faint recollections of Applejack screaming about it... She'd accused him of having amnesia, and he'd admitted it. He'd told her more than he ever thought he should've: mindlessly parroting out every word fed to him, and waiting in numb terror after every period for the punishing static. Applejack was never any the wiser that she may as well've been speaking to Nightmare Moon. So few of those words had been his. He had a lot to apologize for to many ponies, but to Applejack? His best friend? He wasn't sure if the rest of his life could cover his amends. He raised his gaze: meeting Rarity's shimmering eyes with candid openness, but none the less was his regret, and he was sure she saw it. With the way her own stare narrowed- pitying, and compassionate- he didn't think there was any way she didn't. But what Rarity made up for in furtive ability, she made up for in modesty. The extremely obvious glimmer in her eye faded in a second: the emotion smothered by a sunny little smile, and an airy tone. "They're only outside, darling. That mare you were with-" Her gaze hardened in disapproval as her tone dropped. "-whom I can only hope you properly romanced-" Then, she breezily smiled again. "-had something to discuss with Twilight, so Spike and Applejack went out with them." He tried not to take too much offence at the barb- Rarity must not have liked his evident willingness for debauchery- but he still affected a small wince, just to appease her. If they'd all gone outside, though, then could he..? He perked his ear: trying to focus beyond Rarity's quiet, ever-present hum. Just barely... he could hear the murmurs of voices echoing in through his now-permanently open door. What sounded like two someponies were standing... probably just outside it, and whispering in quiet tones to each other. Even further beyond: was that a resounding shout? It didn't sound like his best friend but it was vaguely familiar. He spent so little time with other ponies, and so little of that time was taken up by paying attention to them; he really didn't have a hope for recognizing it at this distance. He turned his attention back to the fashionista: frowning slightly for his lacking memory. "Then... why didn't you go with them?" His curious question was met with a hefty, theatric sigh; Light blinked bemusedly as her hoof rose, again, to wipe at his cheek. "We're all very familiar with your ability to fall into a trance, Light..." she murmured distractedly as she dabbed at his face, while the urge to smack her hoof away rose in him by the second. Gods, he hated how she mothered him. Rarity'd been doing it since he lost his mother, but then there was the whole debacle with Nightmare Moon. Did he just give off a helpless child vibe that he was apparently completely unaware of?! He didn't need taking care of! Somehow, he managed to rein in the desire to do something crass, though he mollified the feeling by screwing his eye shut and lolling his tongue out with an annoyed groan. Rarity drew back a moment after with a pleased smile: his cheek feeling slightly damp. "I could hardly leave you alone without somepony to catch you." The terrible play at words elicited a second tiresome groan from him, and he turned his brooding attention to the door. He set a trot to the smashed-open portal as a second set of hoofsteps began just behind him: stopping after a moment as something belatedly occurred to him, and he faltered in his gait. A question he'd nearly forgotten to ask. Probably unimportant; it was just an idle curiosity of his. "Rarity?" His brow furrowed with questioning intent as he turned to the mare who stilled from following him out. His eye fell to the objectionable eyesore around her neck: seeming to shine all the brighter from the pure light of her soul behind it. "What are those necklaces you and Applejack are wearing? I don't think I've ever seen them before." Rarity perked at that- and too late did he realize he'd just asked Rarity about fashion. She hummed in delighted approval as her hoof rose to rest on her assumedly new piece of glamour, while Light preemptively readied his eyes to roll and his jaw for sickened gagging. "Darling, you are only too right to notice- this is the rather stunning Element of Generosity!" Light froze. Before he'd even made it to the halfway point of rolling his eyes, everything- every single thought he'd had in queue shuttered to a screeching, burning halt. His veins ran cold in a freezing instant. His breath stilled in a choking, half-gasp as Rarity continued: her eyes all on her necklace. Totally oblivious to his wide, unblinking stare; her breezy voice sounding nearly mocking to his ears. "It's all a rather long story that I'm sure you'd prefer to hear from Applejack, but needless to say it has been quite the night for us all." She hummed as her hoof swept over the glimmering, diamond-shaped gem in its crest- exactly like her cutie mark. It was no coincidence: the jewel was cut in the perfect shape of the diamonds on her flank. "It really is just the most marvelous accoutrement you've ever seen, isn't-" Her eye flicked up in a glance- then caught on his still face. His pale, deathly expression. "Light? What's wrong?" Her pleased leer dropped into a concerned frown. Her soul stilled in surprise as she stepped toward him: hoof outstretched to take him by the horn and twist until he saw red- no! He really didn't mean to jerk away as her hoof crept toward him- and then her face twisted in hurt confusion- but in the split second that she'd drawn close, with his eyes fixed on that gleaming, golden weapon, all he could think about was a Goddess with a trembling voice. Harmony is the force that suffuses the very earth we walk upon, and to align yourself to it is to be granted tremendous power. The mighty trees, the swift rivers and the vast fields: the monumental strength of Equus itself. It affords portions of that strength to those who righteously carry its Elements. He turned away from Rarity and her laughing- smiling- cruel- stop! His hoof flew to his suddenly hot head as his next breath came in a full-body shudder: the motion nearly causing him to stumble as his eyes squeezed shut- but he was too late. Even in the darkness of the backs of his eyes, he still saw it. He couldn't remember what Rarity looked like by herself, anymore. Every thought- every memory of her was tainted. All he could see- all he'd ever be able to see was the most dangerous weapon on Equus. An Element of Harmony. One of the touted weapons that had felled Nightmare Moon. Felled tyrants and gods alike. The sibling Goddess to rival Sol Invictus, and She had feared them. Did Rarity even know what she was wearing? Applejack had one too- and that must've been what Twilight was wearing. Did they have any idea of what they'd been gifted with? Did any of them have the tiniest inkling of the power they were just- that they could just wear around their weak, vulnerable necks?! So commonplace that a stupid donkey could just mistake them for any old jewelry?! "I'm- I'm sorry, Rarity, I'm-" He cut himself off in a seethe of a breath as a nameless feeling- too manic to be grief; too melancholic to be fear- rose up: the feeling burning like anger in his nose. He was spiraling. He didn't know what to feel. How did he react? What did he say? Nothing. He didn't say anything, because Rarity had no idea there was anything wrong. He needed to calm down before he gave himself away. Just... listen to the mare's weight shift on the floor behind him; remind himself that it was only Rarity. Her greatest weapon was and always would be her high-pitched screech. It didn't matter whether she had the fear of Goddesses around her neck, it was just Rarity. Rationalize it. The Elements of Harmony were dangerous- but not to him. He hadn't done anything to earn Harmony's ire- he'd even helped it by denying Nightmare Moon. He'd perpetuated Harmony; there was nothing to fear from its Bearers. They were his friends. They wouldn't hurt him. He'd be- he was fine. It was slow, and gradual, yet all the same did he turn to face Rarity. Only barely meeting her searching sapphire eyes with a sickly, wan half-grin that he didn't even begin to feel. "Sorry, I- I guess I'm just still recovering from- um- from my amnesia." He forced his jaw to unclench as he spoke thickly: feeling as though he was miming a puppet as he jerkily shook a hoof towards the weapon. "You... said it was called the Element of Generosity? Is that- is it some kind of award because you're so..." He swallowed heavily. "-generous?" Light wasn't a good actor, and he knew that, as did Rarity. No matter how sincerely he tried to smile, and seem intrigued, and totally not freaked out, there was still a glint of worry in her silent gaze. Even as she lowered it to her Element and spoke in a slow, uncertain tone, he could hear the tiniest note of unease. "I... suppose that's... more or less correct- but Light," Her eyes rose to his as the concern peaked, and something in his brittle heart just broke at her glimmering stare. "-are you certain you're alright? I... I hadn't wanted to bring it up since you seemed so much more lively than you were yesterday, but..." She trailed off on a half-formed word, then shut her mouth with a quiet sigh. Her head tilted minutely as her eyes narrowed, and her hoof reached out towards him again. He sucked in a quick breath and held it for dear life as the warm weight of her frog rested against his forehead, hoping that she'd just find what she was looking for and leave him alone. Her eyes... so full of unease. Flicking all around his trembling, sweaty face: searching relentlessly for something he didn't know how to give her. He just couldn't fake wellness- not when his eyes were still fixed intently on that weapon. He couldn't even avert them at her voice. So soft, and full of genuine concern. That weapon, gleaming with malice. "...You've had us all worried about you, dear." So he shut them, instead. Every second of feeling the soft skin of her frog upon his fur and not flinching back was a trial. No matter how much he wanted to give in; let the panic wash over him; run screaming from his own home- he knew he needed to calm down. Rarity was only concerned for him; she didn't want to yell at him or smack him or push him out a window. But how did he know she wouldn't betray him? She wouldn't. There was nothing to betray him for- the crisis had passed! He'd fallen for too many lies to count for years before the crisis. When would the next come? When would his friends come for him, then? That was stupid. It was stupid to invent something happening in the future just so he could panic about it. His friends were here. They'd come for him now: that was what mattered. Where had they been at the window? Where were they, then? They were saving the world. A world without you in it. Light's eyes snapped open, and there was Rarity. Eyes full of compassion: focused entirely on him. The shell of her soul brightening in concern- it nearly seemed to glimmer next to her Element. His next breath hitched- and he could no longer deny the lump in his throat. His jaw shuddered in weighty need as he lurched forward: his hooves rising up and leaving him falling forward as Rarity's face morphed from care to surprise. He felt the mare lurch slightly as his full weight crashed into her, but otherwise- even as his hooves came up around her back- she took his sudden hug like a champ. His face found a nest in the crook of her neck; it was the perfect place, incidentally, to muffle his quiet whines. He was here; he was in the world. He'd saved it just as much as they had, and he deserved to have friends. His fight against the urge to bawl began in earnest as something shuffled against his tightly hugging arms, and two soft weights wrapped around his back. Immediate comfort. Everything was better. "Oh... Light..." came Rarity's silken whisper: muffled by the sound of her breathing in his ear. Her hoof on his back slid up to the tail of his mane: squeamish shivers breaking out over his haunches at the motion. "Perhaps you don't quite seem yourself, after all." The tone was light. Teasing. A joke at his expense. So why didn't he find it funny? He shook his head as slightly as he could against the soft, groomed fur between bones: just enough to free his mouth, and to raise his voice thinly. "Please... don't tell anyone, but something... really bad happened last night," It was stupid to be so vague, and he sounded like a child. He'd barely kept his voice from shattering into a pathetic whimper, and it was only barely. He had to bite his lip to muffle the sound: raise his head back into the white expanse of her fur, and hope she couldn't feel how he was shaking. Maybe she could. Maybe that was why she was pressing her hooves in: two soothing points of pressure pushing into his back; her voice lowering into mellow, whispered shushing. Over and over it played in warm breaths over his ear; Light holding on for dear life as though any less of the embrace would kill him. "It's okay, darling. It's all alright; I won't make you tell me if you don't want to." There was nothing glib; nothing flippant or coy. Sweet assurances spoken softly and given simply for his benefit. Offered without a thought; nothing expected in return. Light sucked in a heavy, shuddering breath as he raised his head over her shoulder: blurrily focusing on the far end of the room. "I'm sorry I worried you, Rarity," he whispered, and the turbulent miasma of emotion inside him roiled as his voice came out thick and warbly. Still, though he cringed, he raised his voice again, and spoke. "I'm... I'm really glad you're here." His eyes fluttered closed in his lame attempt to halt the rising tears, as Rarity gave a soft hum of a chuckle: the sound reverberating loudly in his ears through their contact. And for once, her voice was the only one in mind. "It's no trouble at all, Light." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They hadn't remained in their embrace too much longer. Only long enough for Light to internalize the feeling of comfort. The safety. He'd think of those feelings, instead. When he began to focus too hard- too much on those glimmering, golden necklaces, he'd think of the good. He'd extracted himself from Rarity's damp coat with a pathetic sniffle: a sound wimpy enough to have come from a bunny, and embarrassing enough to be written about in his suicide letter. She didn't judge him for it, though, and he cherished that gift to him. And though there was a little quirk in her smile- her eyes flicking restlessly to the part of her coat he'd almost cried on- she truly hadn't seemed to mind. He'd apologized all the same, of course. Having friends was about humility and respect, right? And, being possessed of great amounts of humility, Rarity just waved him off. "Darling, I have an absolutely rambunctious filly sister. Do you really think I've not had to suffer through a messy hug before?" They'd both laughed at that, somehow. Rarity, sure- she'd break out that tinkling giggle when the wind blew right- but his own receptiveness had been downright shocking. Even that light feeling in his chest- he'd expected to feel so much more burdened. When he smiled back at Rarity, he felt the gratitude shining in his own eyes. However could a mare with such a giving heart befriend somepony such as him? It was like a Hearth's Warming carol, or something. The kind he'd always hated for historical inaccuracies and naïve lessons. It felt just like one of those. He would've been content to sit and stare at Rarity forever- none the less because he was dreading explaining himself to Applejack- but nothing good ever lasted. The fashionista had bigger and better priorities than indulging him, and so it was that she nonchalantly swept a hoof over her shoulder as she stood. They'd headed for the door, Light idling behind as she passed through. The sun caught on her glimmering eyes in such a way that it seemed as though she were literally glowing as she turned back to address him. "I really must be going, now. As I've said, I do have a little sister who's just coming home from school by now, and mountains of orders to fulfill, on top of it all." She'd stepped back in: her hoof resting on his shoulder as they came eye-to-eye. "But please, don't ever be a stranger, darling." Her smile curled: sharpening to a prickling point. "If I don't see you soon, I will just have to come back here to make sure you're staying in fashion." He matched her smile, and his voice had filled with graciousness: something that would normally disgust him. "I can't imagine a worse day, Rarity." She had laughed, and he'd hidden a chuckle behind a hoof. He'd have normally gone for his cloak to hide his expressions, but... he wasn't really sure where that thing had gotten to. He really might've had to visit Rarity for a new one, soon. If... he wasn't in jail, that is. Thankfully, by the time he'd thought of the depressing possibility in his future, Rarity had already gone out the door. He was glad; he'd have hated to bring their moment down with the truth. Her lacking insistence on his answering any question had given him a moment of peace he'd not had since... ...sometime two years ago. He shook off the creeping melancholy: forcing himself to take a few steps outside. Shielding his eyes with a hoof from the merciless sun battering down on him. Ugh. The outside was quantifiably inferior to the inside in every way. He stumbled out a few more steps until the protective arch of his doorway was behind him, and all four of his hooves touched grass. Poking up at his frogs where it was short; brushing his legs where it was long. The outside was all around him, and he hated it. He blew out a tired breath as he dropped his hoof, and took in the scene before him. The first, most interesting thing was the group of silhouettes crowded around the mangled tree a short distance away. Not too far away; close enough to all be immediately recognizable. A sky-blue pest hovering in the air around its bare branches with lazy beats of her wings: a mop of multicolored mane falling around her lazily drifting head. Rainbow Dash, flying around his tree without his permission. Maybe he could give her a fine. There was- oh no. The pink menace was in the tree: easily visible as there were no leaves blocking her. Hanging upside-down by her back hooves- how was she even doing that?- and visibly laughing at something so uproariously he could see her teeth. And... that eyesore of a soul. If he went back inside, could he skip having to interact with her? Standing side by side were yellow and orange: Fluttershy and Applejack. Both of their heads were tilted up at the tree- probably concerned about Pinkie Pie- with Fluttershy's wings nervously pitching off her back. If he knew anything about Fluttershy- and he didn't- if Pinkie fell, then it'd be Dash or Applejack who'd catch her. Spike was there, too: standing off to the side. Sort of... far off to the side, actually. Had he not made friends with the rest of them, yet? He'd probably perk up soon, since it looked as though Rarity was on her way to say goodbye. By then, a frown had come to Light's face for more reasons than one. He felt- he knew he should go over to help introduce Spike. While he was there, he could say something derogatory to Rainbow Dash, something dismissive to Pinkie, something clueless to Fluttershy, and try to ingratiate himself to Applejack. That sounded like quite the plan, and there was a chance he wouldn't have to use more than ten words to do it all. It would've been quite the plan, indeed, had he not been stopped by a call from his right. "Hey, Light. Over here." His shoulders immediately sagged at the sound of the voice, and he turned, pre-wearied, to Twilight Sparkle and Bon Bon: standing next to his window in the shade of his house. It'd been Twilight who'd called to him, surprisingly. Even more surprising: Bon Bon seemed... a little admonished. Her head was down, her eyes were sullen, and even her typical stern frown was a little more sulky. Twilight, standing much taller than the mare next to her, softly jerked her crown-adorned head towards herself. Clearly, she wanted him to come over. Judging by the serious frown she wore, Light was sure that he didn't want to. He sent another look towards his friend group around the tree, then returned to Twilight. Couldn't he just..? No, said Twilight's furrowed brow. That killed his good mood. With a sigh and a prayer that Twilight would spontaneously combust and die, he trotted over to the pair of mares. Sending Bon Bon a quick glance, sharing a moment in which something conveyed from her stare, then fixing his tired eyes on Twilight as he stopped in front of them. He tried not to look too hard at the crown she wore, or think about it. "What?" His reply came out short, because he was short- of temper. He was a perfectly average height for a unicorn, thank you very much. If Twilight observed his internal frustration at wordplay, then it was hard to tell through her already harsh tone. Her eyes narrowing; her tone: knowing. "Bon Bon told me about what happened to you." His heart stilled; he sucked in a breath fast enough to barely avoid choking on it. What? What had she done? Why had she told her?! Why would she compromise his privacy like that?! He turned, horrified, to the abashed expression of the somewhat-plussed mare, who softly shrugged her shoulders: seeming sorry through her tone of voice, at least. "She... sort of knew I worked for the government, and I couldn't exactly lie to her." Light stammered affronted gibberish: shaking his head in shock for as long as it took him to stomp his hoof, and belt an objection. "Why- Why not? You've told me dozens of lies! You've lied every time we've met!" His incredulous stare swapped to the observant Twilight, watching the exchange with a jaded interest, then back to Bon Bon. "Why're you giving her special treatment?! I saved you in the forest!" Bon Bon sighed, and averted her eyes sideways. Her voice came out in an ashamed mumble. "It's... written in the EIA charter that we're to obey Princess Celestia and Her family before any other authority." He gaped widely as her gaze crept up, then fell back down. "She sort of... superseded my standing orders." ...Family? "Be that as it may-" Twilight's interjection into the conversation came quickly enough to halt his spiraling thoughts before they'd begun to spin. It came a little too quickly, actually. Twilight nearly looked slightly sheepish as she spoke: a faint flush on her face that faded in a stern word. "-I know you were aiding Nightmare Moon." One punch, then the other. Light felt dizzy. Was everything really spinning like it looked? Where was his chair..? He needed something to dramatically collapse into... "But-" came Twilight's voice again, and suddenly, her hoof was on his shoulder. He blinked the flashing stars out of his eyes: glancing out of the corner of his eye at the offending limb disgustingly touching him, then to the mare from where the growth sprouted. Her- Oh. She... didn't look entirely mad, for once. In fact, she seemed sort of... restrained. Her face was uncharacteristically soft, and... almost... no- there was no way that emotion was gratitude... Light found himself unable to move, except to stare: feeling too completely shocked to say anything as Twilight softly nodded her head to him. For once, her voice was quiet, and tinged with feeling. "I also know that you disobeyed Her... and that if you hadn't done that, none of us might be here right now." Her gaze firmed just so as their eyes met, and as their gaze met so directly, he could see... respect. "Thank you, for what you did." Her soul was slow, and calm. She meant it. "Twilight- I don't- I'm not sure what to say, I-" His gradual journey to some kind of appropriate acceptance of the magnanimous humbling was broken, entirely, as Twilight shook her head. "Please, Light. You deserve it. You did an incredible thing last night. I can't imagine the willpower it must have taken for you to break free of Her control." His cheeks were warming- what did he begin to say to all this flattery- as Twilight nodded assuredly. She still wasn't smiling, but she was being nice to him! He still didn't like her, but he'd take every praise he could get! He had saved their lives! He deserved thanks! Oh, yes- thank you for these accolades, Twilight! Why yes, he would accept a full pardon from all his crimes! What was that? She was going to the Princess to discuss a reclassification on Black magic and its legality? Why, that's almost too kind! Light had long since lost himself in a warm, bubbling sea of self-praise and warm thoughts, so he nearly missed as Twilight addressed him again. "Now, before I go, there's one more thing I need to tell you." He blinked lethargically as he refocused on Twilight's blank, apathetic-bordered face. He hummed curiously with a smile and a perked ear: leaning slightly closer to her as her gaze slid down to the ground. Was she going to say more nice things? He didn't know if it would help his feelings, but it wouldn't hurt to try! Her eye crept back up, and met his again. "I don't want Spike hanging out around you, anymore." Her firm voice. Her unwavering tone. He wished he could say that it was a gradual thing. That Twilight had deliberated long enough in a heavy silence to make him first feel the tension, instead of all at once. A single instant in which her face hardened, and it was broken. His joy had drained away. His head had emptied: his dreams of thanks and praise dropped and shattered on the floor. A black stain left behind; shards of regret scattered amidst his broken thoughts. Light's mouth hung barely open: something like a gasp but probably not quite as emphatic stalled on his lips. Muted. Barely felt. He felt cold. And Twilight felt angry. So clear was the glimmer of thin discontent in her narrowed eye, even to his blurring gaze. The wide line of her stern frown. The frightening black streak of her tight brow. And her voice: slow, and steady, and clear. "Spike means more to me than anything in the world, and when he disappeared with you yesterday, I didn't know where he was. As far as I'm concerned, that means he was in danger." Immediately, Light wanted to rebuke. He wanted to swallow down his reticence, and say she was wrong- that she was crazy. He could so clearly picture the moment of victorious discourse; he'd prove Twilight wrong and foolish with a loud, verbal denial. His imagination had always outrun him. Light did not deny her. He did not rebuke her; he found he only had the strength to close his mouth. To press it into a firm line, and to drop his eyes down to the grass. It'd been a long time since he'd counted blades of grass, he realized. He used to love doing that. Why'd it been so long? Maybe he could start while Twilight's unfocused voice went on. "I'm sure you don't consciously mean Spike any harm, and when Applejack and Rarity told me that you have a good heart, I didn't argue with them. If they think you're trustworthy, then I'm sure you are. "But I can't trust you after what happened. Not with Spike." He lost count, then; his vision just blurred strangely, and he couldn't remember which had been forty-seventh. And then, for some reason, the thought of starting over made him very sad. That was it. That was the only reason. Light slowly closed his eyes, and... again, for some inscrutable reason... something warm slid down his cheek. Then he smiled, and coughed out a shallow chuckle. Because who was he trying to kid? He wasn't a clueless amnesiac kid wandering around without an idea of his own name, anymore. He wasn't stupid. He was pretty childish, though, which was why his first resort had been denial. He was sad because Twilight was forbidding him to see Spike, and he liked Spike. There was no harm in admitting it. If he wasn't pretending the problem wasn't real, anymore, then he'd at least pretend he hadn't immediately begun crying. Pretending was great. It was basically the sole thing helping him to meet Twilight's eyes, however watery. Yeah, it was her lidded, pitying eyes that were wet. What a baby. "If you don't mind my asking- why are you... You're really forbidding me to see Spike?" His voice was thick- but he didn't blubber. It was hard, but his tone was even, and clear. He even managed a little bit of a sarcastic smile and a shrug... as his eyes continued to leak freely. He was a crier. So what? It was just his physiological reaction to strife; it'd really be more concerning if he didn't cry. When he was upset and not crying, then that meant he was edging into apathy. Apathy meant he was becoming jaded. It was fine that he'd cried twice in the past twenty minutes. That just meant he cared. It meant he was normal. ...Probably, though there was a fair chance in a hundred that Twilight didn't think so. Maybe pitiable, judging by how she looked at him. By her tone, too- though he felt sort of indignant at her quiet, consoling voice. "Light... I don't want you to take this personally, okay? I'm not saying this because I don't like you," she stated lowly, with a quick glance to the side. Her soul seemed to waver slightly in its persistent spin. He glanced, too, then frowned. He didn't know what she was looking at: it was just Bon Bon. Standing still as a stone to their side with her stony stare set forward. That was just what she did. She was a secret agent. So he set his teary sights back on Twilight. "But you don't, right?" His insistent, weepy pursuit drew Twilight's attention back to him long enough for him to catch her uneasy frown- but then her eye darted back to Bon Bon. Annoyingly. He had to admit, that stupid, immensely powerful crown she wore didn't look so bad when she wore it with her full, inherent confidence. It was only then, as she was beginning to look small and uncomfortable that it looked truly stupid. The incongruence made him a little angry. "You can ignore Bon Bon, alright?!" he cried exasperatedly, and jerked his hoof impatiently out towards the unmoving mare. She didn't budge an inch at his motion, and Twilight slowly returned her gaze to him. "She's a surveillance agent- the most nondescript pony you could think of! She's practically a background object!" He caught the slightest twitch in the mare's jaw out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was appeasing Twilight enough to get her to talk, which, thankfully, seemed to work. Though gradually, she did return to staring at him. A reluctant stare, but eye contact was eye contact. Having an audience seemed to make her nervous, impossibly. It was odd: she'd honestly struck him as the sort of mare who loved to lecture, so much so that he had no trouble picturing her at the head of a stuffy room of enlightened, spectacle-adorned intellectuals. Jawing for hours about semantics and denotation and exposition about explication. She was gradually hiding her anxiety under her normal, irate expression, but her soul, at least, still seemed troubled. Tinging barely darker; spinning just faster than it was before. Was Twilight Sparkle afraid of crowds? Or attention, perhaps? It was a question for another day; another, less frantic moment. Twilight had returned to her equilibrium by then: closing her eyes and sighing heftily. A motion which, if she was anything like him, exited a certain weight. And when she opened her eyes again, there was a shadow of something grim within. "...I'm not going to lie to you, Light." Her eye rose directly to his, and he met it sternly: hoping his cheeks had dried by then. "I don't like you." Shocking! Not. He let her admission roll off his back, because it was already very obvious: instead tilting his head and raising his brow pertinently. "So you're saying that you don't want Spike to see me because you don't like me?" Twilight's muzzle twisted sourly- but he continued anyway: hoping to push her further. "Isn't that really shallow of you?" The buzz word worked. Twilight stepped forward: one hoof over the line. Her expression a scrunching bunch of exhilarating indignation. "I did not-" Her rash yell was cut off- and Light's attention was drawn very away by the quietest sound of a sizzle. Twilight's tongue caught between her lips as she gasped lightly, and all at once took a quick step backwards. Two sets of wide eyes- and a third, surreptitious glance- met at once in the same place. That small, trampled patch of grass revealed by her retreat was ever so slightly blackened. The broken fronds seeming crisp amongst the patches around it; a thin trail of black smoke rising from the crushed greenery. Light coughed out an incredulous chuckle, staring down at the impossible, kindled grass. A sure and confusing impossibility- not even an implausibility, it was just impossible. But this wasn't the first time. A purple hoof smacked angrily against a table, and neatly trimmed bangs scattering loose, smoking embers. It was no fluke. Twilight was burning things. Without even using magic. A million questions sprung to mind- only so many could fit on his tongue- but unfortunately, vocalizing them wasn't as easy as just asking. In the seconds he'd taken to stare in wonder at the miracle on the char-stained grass, Twilight had literally stepped back. Her head lowered to rest upon her chest: supporting alongside it her trembling hoof. It rose in time to a deep, rhythmic breath, and Twilight's head came up with it. The tension bleeding away under focus. One, two- breathing impossibly in time with the pulse of her soul- then three. Her eyes opened, and Light was left lost for words. Because somehow, she was not. "I'm worried you're a danger to Spike." Calm, and steady. Like a pond. Light once again felt as though he was losing to Twilight- but how did he possibly win?! Nothing he'd tried so far had shaken her- nothing except Bon Bon just standing there had any effect on her! Was she impregnable to everything except social anxiety?! Light licked the backs of his teeth anxiously- ironically- as his eye darted to the side- no! Don't show weakness! He'd have to drop the burning thing for now- go on the offensive. If he didn't make a stand, then he'd lose! If he lost, then she'd know he was weak. And- uh- he'd also lose Spike as a friend. That was just as important, of course. He could be worried about two things at once. He met her steady gaze- forced himself to- and pressed himself to speak.. "I'm not a danger to Spike!" Even the idea seemed incredulous, especially as he vocalized it. He shook his head shortly as he pushed his head antagonistically forwards. "He's my friend! I wouldn't ever hurt him!" How could she even say such a thing? She didn't trust him, he knew, but all their friends did! Well- he didn't think Rainbow Dash did, but she also thought he was 'about as dangerous as a snowball.' Did she really believe he was a danger? To Spike, of all pon- creatures? Maybe she did. Maybe that was why, in the moments after, her gaze dropped from his. Wavered, then blinked, then fell to the grass. A shadow of heavy indecision written clearly across her face- and she didn't even try to hide it. Light blinked bemusedly in response to her non-response. "What? What is it?" His confusion rose all the more as, at his question, Twilight turned slightly away. As though she were... what was it..? ...hesitant. Afraid. And then, Light began to feel it, too. He'd barely begun to attempt to quell the rising tide of anxiety before Twilight once again placed a hoof to her chest. Closed her eyes and took a breath, then let it out all at once. Only this time, her hoof stayed as she opened her eyes. Hugging it to her breast as her gaze rounded with certain accusation. Outward confidence, as her soul still tinged yellow. "You nearly hurt me, didn't you? When we first met?" His next breath stalled in a gasp- that he just as soon muffled with his hoof as he turned quickly away. Keeping his eyes low to the ground, wondering if she'd seen. She must've. He would've. When somepony had as obvious a tell as he did, keeping mum became altogether impossible. He could hardly help it as much as he could instinctively breathing. When she addressed their first meeting out loud, as their eyes were so intimately locked- the memory just came. And even then, he could still hear it. Before he'd even known- before he'd even been cognizant of it. He could still hear Her. 'He should attack her. Deal with the consequences later. Raise your hoof and take it. Just take it. Just take it!' 'KILL HER NOW LIGHT FLOW I COMMAND IT!' If he'd been able to truly hear Her back then, would he have done it? ...After everything Twilight had said to him, the thought wasn't as sickening as he'd imagined. He was off-balance, he knew, and he should've taken a moment to recover his posture. It was no race: if Twilight could take the time to calm herself, then he should've as well. If he spoke then, when he was so freaked out, he'd undoubtedly do something he regretted. But he didn't, because that wasn't the first thought he'd had. Far from the first: coming so much later than the fear. He had to defend himself. That was the only thought on his mind. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." The words came instinctually, like old friends. Instinct driving him to deny. Play dumb. As long as he pretended not to know, then maybe Twilight would drop it. She'd just assume he was an idiot- everypony else did, didn't they? It wasn't working; Twilight only pressed, and Light began to feel as though his throat was closing up. "You went still for a very long time after we bumped into each other, didn't you?" No, he wanted to say. She was imagining things. She was crazy. Instead, Light only bit his lip and flicked his eye out- look for an escape route- while Twilight continued: her tone deepening with every persecuting word. "I left you behind, assuming that you were just some kind of simpleton and that Spike would catch up soon- but now..." Her brow tightened; Twilight's lip curled back in a soft snarl. "...now that I'm sure of that look in your eye... I'm lucky She didn't take the chance to hurt Spike." His nerves jumped- he barely stopped himself from falling back with a scream as Twilight took a sudden, enormous step forward. Her purple eyes glowing with confidence; every dark, condemning line in her frown shading yet darker. Even the dorky crown atop her head seemed... nearly regal. Authoritative. Intimidating. Light never changed, no matter how many times he thought he'd proven himself better. Every time, he was left cowering. Speechless. Unable to stand up for himself as somepony with a bigger voice put him in his place. In that single moment, Light sat, hunched over in fear in front of Twilight Sparkle. The mare who'd saved the world; who could burn the grass with nothing but her hoof; who wavered before his unblinking eyes until her coat was so much darker. Standing heads taller than him. Eyes sharpening into slits. Voice booming with power. "She possessed you. Nightmare Moon. She wanted you to hurt me, didn't She?" Light broke. He turned away- his trembling hooves, too unsteady to control- desperately biting his shaking lip in an attempt to regain control through the pain. Welcomed the shock of it- the taste of iron- as he focused his blurring gaze into the forest. His quivering shoulders were beginning to burn from Twilight's continued stare at him, but he just- he couldn't..! He didn't want to look at Her. At- at her. He didn't want to turn, to see nothing but his own stupid imagination making a fool out of him. It hadn't been Her. It was just Twilight. It was only Twilight... But Twilight was right. He'd lost. ...And she knew. When he didn't respond, it was as good as confirmation. When she spoke from behind him, her voice- not gloating, nor happy- sounded full of tired resignation. "I thought as much..." As though she hadn't wanted to be right, either. His legs gave way; his butt hit the soft grass. His head fell to his chest and he shut his eyes as tight as he could, hoping that, maybe, if he pretended she wasn't there, she'd just... go away? If he shut them hard enough- hard enough that his splayed ears began to ring- he wouldn't be able to hear her anymore. Then, it'd be like she wasn't talking at all. Like she wasn't right. But he could. She was. A breath; a sigh. "If you weren't yourself at any time yesterday, then Spike wasn't safe." Her voice started quiet- a regretful waver- then strengthened. Firmed, with prompt purpose. "Whether or not you would ever hurt him is negligible; all that matters to me is that you could've." A silent moment as Light held his breath, then her voice. "...Do you understand? Why I don't trust you around him?" He did. And for as long as he lived, he would never concede that to Twilight Sparkle. The mare who wouldn't falter. The mare who stood taller. Why did she make him so afraid? He didn't speak; didn't move, except to swallow: his dry throat aching at the assault. Whether Twilight took his silence as acceptance or denial or apathy, that was the seeming end of what she cared to discern. Why would she? She didn't care if he was alright. There was a shuffle against the soft grass, and his ears uselessly strained as he imagined her turning away. "Thank you for your diligence, Bon Bon, and for your discretion. I've passed on the Princess' message as She asked, so now you're free to... um..." She faltered, then spoke with a hint of an unsteady waver in her voice. "...resume your post." Bon Bon's voice sounded: respectful and steady. "Thank you for the chance to serve, Lady Sparkle. Please, let the Princess know I'm glad to hear of Her Sister's recovery, and eager to pay my respects." Light jerked up: the muscles in his back tightening until it was ramrod-straight. He was suddenly very aware that he was breathing- and that it was getting faster. His heart was beginning to hammer against his ribs: the heavy thumping far past painful. A high-pitched ringing was beginning to echo through his ears- but it'd begun after. After the words. After what she'd said. The terrible truth. The cruel lie. Her Sister's recovery. > Chapter 55 - Princess' Genesis > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow was no stranger to time warping around him. Reading tended to eat up hours at a time. Thinking too hard left him bleary and wondering where the sun had suddenly gone. Taking walks into the Everfree actually would burn entire afternoons. Letting the world drift away around him was a constant facet of his life, and one he often welcomed whole-heartedly. Not this time. This time, Light could count the draining seconds in the wake of Bon Bon's words. Her Sister's recovery. And in every second that passed, where he found himself unable to move, or to blink, or even to breathe- as he ran through the words again and again and again and again, they were each followed by a single sentence burned across his vision by pulsing, veiny red. Nightmare Moon had survived. With every recurrent return to that thought, his chest would squeeze and fill his throat with burning acid wash. It made his bones ache. It made his eyes sting with dry, restless anxiety. It filled his veins with a jolting, electric rush of fear and anger that made him inexplicably want to smash his hooves into his own head over and over and over and over until he didn't have to imagine the vile monster still wasting breath too precious for Her abominable lips! Why wasn't She dead? Why wasn't She dead?! Why hadn't the Elements killed Her?! How had his friends all survived if She wasn't dead?! Why had they been allowed to walk free as She still did?! She never would have spared them had She still had a chance- She was a cruel, sadistic monster that would never stop until all who opposed Her were driven to taking their own lives for fear of losing everything they loved! He'd have to do it again, or She'd come for him. She'd never stop, never leave him alone until he was shackled and bound by Her side for the rest of eternity. She'd make him find the secret to immortality through Necromancy so that he'd never never never ever get away from Her. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't go back to cowering before those slotted, cyan eyes lit aflame by a malice too deep to die. He had to do it now before She found him. He had to do it he had to do it he had to do it he had to- Something impacted his cheek- and suddenly, he was staring at the forest. Light blinked stars out of his eyes- wow that stung- as he brought a hoof up to rest on his now-burning face. Kept it on his new bruise as he turned- a sudden crick in his neck- to stare widely at the creamy mare with the stern expression and the hovering hoof who'd not been sitting in front of him last he'd checked. When had she..? Why had she..? What was..? Bon Bon wore a grim, if apologetic, frown as she shook her hoof out between them. "Consider that a repayment for slapping me in the forest." She grimaced down at the shiny new welt on her frog, courtesy of his face. "But... don't tell anypony I did that. Harming you counteracts my orders." Still holding his hoof to his cheek, Light uttered a dumb monosyllable. Something like 'buh' but just a little less coherent, if at all possible. He was having... a hard time catching up... Bon Bon had slapped him? He must've really been deep in it. He supposed... yeah, he had been panicking, hadn't he? About Nightmare Moon? That seemed like him. He so hated to leave things unfinished, and it felt like he should've continued... but he'd have to shake off the shock from being slapped, first. ...She'd really hit him, though? With the shock chaining his panic behind flimsy bars, he felt a little more able to speak his mind. He did always feel more articulate when he was angry... and he couldn't deny he was a little furious with the mare for slapping him. "Bon Bon... is.. is it true?" The mare in question glanced at him curiously as his hoof drifted off his cheek, where he shakily held it in front of him. "About... Nightmare Moon?" He was already breathing a little faster at saying it. Thinking it. The panic was snapping the bars of its cage one by one- and that metaphor was making it so much worse. He was beginning to freak out again, and he found himself inwardly urging the mare along as her hoof fell to the ground. Her brow furrowed in thought- but would she just hurry up?! What was she going to say? She was going to say yes, he just knew it. She was going to say yes and then his life would just crumble down around him! He'd never truly escape Her. She always came back. She'd come back from a thousand years ago, and She was going to come back from this, too. Dread was a heavy burden that never got any lighter, and it was crushing him as Bon Bon slowly opened her mouth bit by bit and her throat tensed in preparation- urgh! He hated his observational tendencies, sometimes! He was just too good at categorizing every little detail, and it made the world move too slowly! Watching the tensing of her jaw as she chose the first word. Biting his lip; listening to his heart hammer; feeling the tangible feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins. Waiting, and watching, and wishing that he'd died when he'd fallen so he wouldn't have to be there, waiting, and watching! He was going to scream! And then it came. The moment ticked over, and in a single second came the word that would utterly destroy him. "No." Bon Bon shook her head, as the world around Light screamed to a sudden halt. "The figure known as Nightmare Moon is dead and gone. With any luck, She'll never be seen again," she affirmed in a clear, solemn tone. Light felt weak. He felt hopeful- and he hated that. He felt the despair screaming to be set free- and he wanted it to be false. If his aching jaw was really as heavy as it felt, then he was as strong as Rockhoof for how he managed to eke out a few, squeaking words. "But... what you said..?" At that, Bon Bon pursed her lips and nodded again: rubbing her hoof through her mane and jostling its messy buns. "...Yeah... that's where it gets a little difficult," she murmured as her eye drifted pensively away: her demeanor suddenly becoming altogether uncertain. But why?! Stop being so heavens-damned coy! He jerked his hooves up questioningly- frustratedly- as Bon Bon's hoof reached the back of her neck, and she directed an aggravated sigh to the side. She shook her head in resignation as her stare returned: the look in her eyes undeniably troubled, but at the same time, oddly... hopeful? What could be so conflicting as to warrant that much consideration? Bon Bon hadn't proven herself to be overly driven, but still... "...Nightmare Moon is no more... because She's been purged from Princess Luna." Light stared. And then he stared. And then he stared some more. He didn't know what else to do but stare. In fact, staring was the only thing on his mind, because rather than indulging shock or surprise or massive incredulity as reason dictated he should have, Light was most preoccupied with searching Bon Bon's face for tells. Because Bon Bon had gone insane, and he has intent on figuring out just how insane. It'd show on her face, surely? The mare who had clearly lost her mind must have miraculously retained some kind of awareness, because her next motion was not to continue raving her madness, but instead to slowly wave a hoof in front of his face. Her frown deepened quizzically- but that must've just been a side effect of her severe mental deterioration. Poor Bon Bon. He'd barely had a chance to know her, or to plot her gruesome death at his own hooves. Darn shame she was going to spend her twilight years in a vomit-stained, puce-colored gown babbling gibberish at tired nurses from her hospital bed. Wow, that was really funny, what he'd just thought. That must have been why he was smiling. No- don't look confused, Bon Bon! He was just laughing because she was insane! Just an insane pony out of her gourd saying ridiculous things that made as much sense as june bugs in July! Her befuddlement at his sudden change took a change of its own as he wheezed chuckles: reducing into something completely serious. So silly! What a silly, whackadoo pony pretending like she could still construct rationale! "Light... I'm not joking," she said slowly, but he just laughed all the harder. Swiped a hoof gently in her direction as his head lolled back on his neck, and the laughter just went on and on. Maybe, if he just laughed hard enough, he could just ignore how tight his chest felt. "Come- come on, Bon Bon! Of course you're joking!" he managed to wheeze out through his rolling chuckles. Trying to focus on her frowning face through the springing tears in his eyes- but it was only because he was laughing! He was just laughing. Why did she look so serious? Why was she putting a hoof to his shoulder? Why didn't she look insane? "Light," she stated firmly as their eyes met. "I am not joking." ...and on and on and on... Her grip on his shoulder was firm- firm enough that he failed to jerk away from her. Still chuckling, still smiling: Light tried, with his own hoof this time, to pry the mare's hoof off his shoulder. Tried to push it away, then his second try became a shove. Then, he tried to smack her hoof away. After only a few moments, Light had taken to beating his hoof against hers hard enough that his shoulder was beginning to bruise. And she still wouldn't let go, as he laughed and laughed. It got worse: her other hoof came up, and firmly took hold of his other side. Trapping his own hooves at his sides, and leaving him nowhere to go. Nowhere to look, except at her. Her voice sounded again, and his laughter died in his throat as something changed. It wasn't anything in her expression- so sane, so lucid and sincere- but something else. He didn't want to believe it- didn't want to imagine it, but he couldn't deny the realization. He'd finally finished isolating the minutia of Bon Bon's face, and he could feel the exact second that it truly dawned on him that she wasn't insane. He was very well acquainted with the tells of madness, and there wasn't an ounce of lunacy in her eyes. A very different feeling began to well up in him. "Last night, after you jumped from the window, the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony confronted Nightmare Moon, and used them on Her." His laugh had been hollow. His smile was listless. There was never any humor in his eyes, and nothing but burning smolders sparked and caught aflame of rage in his heart. Nothing to show in his blank expression, but everything to feel inside. She was lying to him. How could she? After everything he'd been through? How could she be so cruel, after he'd told her of everything he'd been forced to sacrifice, to dangle a miserable false reality in his face as though he'd done something to deserve that kind of mocking ridicule?! Like it was funny?! Did she think his trauma was funny?! What kind of a monster would dare to lie about Her?! It was all mockery. Every word of it: it was all insincere and gloating, and he heard it in her voice. "When the dust settled, the mare left behind identified Herself as Princess Luna. She brought back Princess Celestia from where She'd been imprisoned in the moon, and the two of them reconciled-" He couldn't stand to listen to it anymore. Every word- every lie cut deeper. Every ignobility only opened the wound further: made him remember more and more in rancid spite of what she was saying. He knew Nightmare Moon, and he knew when he was being lied to. "Shut up!" The scream tore from his throat in an instant as he pushed his hooves into Bon Bon's chest with as much force as he could muster. The mare's hooves fell off him as she staggered slightly back: the surprise in her eyes smothered by anticipation turned again to something cautious cut off as his vision blurred with red. A second later, he was nose to flaring nose with her, and still screaming. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" She remained tense and alert as she took a step back from him- but he followed her. Kept yelling, because she'd dared to lie to him! "You don't know anything about Nightmare Moon, or what She wanted or why She turned against Celestia! She would never reconcile with Her, and She would never surrender!" The frenzy he felt in his eyes only drove him to continue, or he'd explode. "Nightmare Moon was insane! There was nothing left to redeem of Her, and nothing would ever change that! Not Her Sister; not innocent lives; not logic and not even me!" His next breath felt like lava in his lungs, and he welcomed the burn. Let it rage at the sound of Bon Bon's voice: low, and filled with a tense undercurrent of danger. "Light, step away from me now, and think about what you're doing." Light did not step back, because he didn't have think about what he wanted. He wanted to hit her. He wanted more than anything to make her hurt for her lies. Break her smug teeth. Bloody her red nose. Blacken her impetuous eye. But what would it accomplish? It would make him feel so much better. He knew it would! It wouldn't change the truth. No, it wouldn't, because it wasn't the truth! Bon Bon was a serial liar- so she was lying to him. The idea of- of any of what she was saying was just insane! She was insane! None of it made sense! If he really believed that, then he wouldn't be so afraid. Of course he was afraid. Of course he felt nothing but fear to imagine, against every single impious prayer he'd made in the past few hours, that She was still alive. Life couldn't be that cruel. It just couldn't be the truth. You don't want it to be. No, he didn't. You don't want your sacrifice to be in vain. No, he didn't. You wanted Her to be dead. ...No, he didn't. And then, it was gone. Every single ounce- the tiniest cinders of anger had all been snuffed in a second. Smothered by a vast, sweeping sense of weariness. In the wake of his own, admittedly insane rant, Light only felt tired. He was so... so tired of being wrong. Bon Bon was still waiting, and he was still standing face-to-face with her. So close- so uncomfortably close- that much of his vision was dominated by her wide, intense stare. Unmoving, unwavering, unwilling to be the one to move first. Why should she? She didn't do anything wrong. She was just doing her job, and answering a question. A melancholic sigh drifted from his mouth as he bent his heavy head, and turned away. He took two steps forward, then turned again, and let his legs slump out from under him. Thorns and ivy immediately dug into his back as he slumped against the wall of his house. The prickly feeling up and down his fur and the irritating scratching was a fitting prize indeed. The annoyingly miniscule pain was about all he deserved for flying off the handle and getting all worked up... He sighed again, and leaned his head back until it touched wood: staring up at the bright sky above him. Fluffy clouds lit by the sun in a tranquil sea of blue. As untouched by strife as all of Equestria was. Pristine, and safe. ...over nothing. "...Her real name is Luna, then?" he murmured, closing his eyes and grimacing as his voice came out as a raspy whisper. He hated how thin it always got when he'd been screaming. He just hoped Bon Bon had heard him, because he didn't think he had the courage to ask again. He'd figured out a long time ago that Nightmare Moon was just an alias. He'd even accused Her of it, but to the end, She'd denied any vestige of Her life before. She'd welcomed the vile moniker of a foalhood monster whole-heartedly. He couldn't imagine how self-deprecating it must have felt. What had driven Her to abandoning Her entire persona? He could never give up his name to take another; he loved being Light Flow. ...Most of the time. A few moments passed of tense silence and growing anxiety, before there was a subtle sound of crunching grass. He counted the steps- two, four, six- then, there was an unfortunately familiar presence at his side. Bon Bon gave a sigh of her own as the dull thorns on his back shifted. "Nowadays, it's only known to a select few ponies, but I'm a little surprised She never told you." She let out a hum that bled into a sardonic laugh, as though it were at all funny. "Her true identity never came up, throughout the entire night?" He shook his head woodenly, though he knew she couldn't see. Maybe it was just to give himself some semblance of solace for how twisted it was. "No... it never did. She only spoke of Her past once... and it wasn't about anything so mundane..." All that time... all that fake caring... and She'd never even told him Her real name... He'd long since felt used, but now he felt well and truly discarded. Bon Bon was silent alongside him for a few moments before she spoke in a candid tone. "Well, regardless, it's going to be made well-known." He felt the shifting of her body against the wall through the brambles, and heard her grimace through her voice. "With Her rescue from corruption, Princess Luna is going to ascend to rule alongside Her sister again. For the first time in a millennium, Equestria will witness a diarchy." She laughed on the tail end of the thought, but to Light's ears, it sounded... incredulous. Airy and thin, as though she was parroting a script. "Within a week, She'll be the most well-known name on Equus." She went silent for a moment, and then her voice sounded: her voice seeming strained. "It's... incredible." Was it him, or had she meant impossible? Perhaps unbelievable? Or maybe abominable... Nightmare Moon had shed Her Queenly moniker, and had retaken Her old name. She'd... apologized for what She'd done... and now... She was going to ascend the throne... ...alongside Celestia. Had it all been a lie? A sick joke at his expense? Was it a long con? Had She lead him on, or had the Elements just brainwashed Her? Enough that She was trusted to rule Equestria? How must it have seemed to a mare of faith? Was any of this accounted for in the church? Truth be told, he was feeling less upset than he'd imagined- evidently even less than Bon Bon- but talking about Her still made him feel queasy. A nauseous feeling that roiled in his gut: threatening to rise every time he opened his mouth. He couldn't believe this was the reality he was living in. He'd joked before that he'd been in Tartarus or Hell or whatever, but it really wouldn't surprise him at this point. At this point, it seemed just outlandish enough to be nothing but a figment of his own imagination. Stupid imagination, taking him to a world where his greatest tormentor ruled the kingdom. Why couldn't he have imagined an afterlife where he and Applejack were dating, where she held him tightly each and every night? This sucked. "Bon Bon?" He held his tongue from gagging as Bon Bon shifted, and hummed questioningly. Light's muzzle screwed up in indecision for a quiet moment before he sighed, and spoke quietly. "I... don't really understand what you mean when you say Nigh- Nightmare Moon was... purged." It was an odd thing to say- heck, it was an odd thing to imagine. He couldn't even conceive of what she was insinuating; it seemed more like a story than anything. He turned barely to see the mare as her gaze traveled to the sunlit sky. Deliberating on the sight for a few moments before it returned to Equus, and she murmured. "I'm only using the word Lady Sparkle used. Without speaking to the Princess directly and receiving a report of the events, I can't be sure of what happened." Her eyes flicked sideways, and caught him in a glance. "It makes sense, though." Light's jaw opened on a whim that went nowhere, as he only gaped softly for a few seconds before he shut it, and turned away. "What do you... think Nightmare Moon was?" He spoke unsteadily; waveringly, as with every word he felt more and more unsure of asking. It was a frightening question, none the less because her answer could be anything. Frowns were audible, apparently, because he could hear Bon Bon's. "That's... a strange question," she stated aimlessly. After a moment, there was a tug at his mane, and he looked over to see Bon Bon brushing her hoof idly along the ivy. He almost told her to stop- because the way the thorns were yanking at the roots of his mane really hurt! After a few seething moments of prickling agony, she stopped her ministrations and answered. Slowly and clearly, as though she were very carefully picking her words. "Without compromising confidentiality... it's been... asserted that the figure known as Nightmare Moon was... an independent, malignant entity that infected Princess Luna's mind... presumably as a result of Her dabbling with Black magic." With her thoughts shared, her tense shoulders relaxed, and she gave a soft, uncaring shrug. "Whatever was wrong with the Princess, the Elements of Harmony have obviously returned Her to Her uncorrupted state. She's been freed, and returned to Deific status." In the first few seconds, Light was surprisingly calm. The shock had clearly set in, and he was feeling numb enough that there was nothing except the logic. And logic is as logic desires: he began to theorize. The concept of Nightmare Moon being nothing but a parasite upon Luna's mind was interesting. It was a lie, obviously, but it wasn't Bon Bon's. No, in this case, it was the both of them being lied to. She'd been deceived just as much as she was unknowingly doing for him, and unlike him, she had no idea. He almost felt sorry for the poor, blind fool. He knew the real story though, and been apart of a disorienting amount of it. A long, fabled tale of the Younger's indolence, and the Elder's crimes: all told to him by a mare far too gone to have considered lying. Whatever She'd said before or after, the weight of Her experiences as She'd screamed at him had come through clearly. Nightmare Moon was no parasite, just the last-ditch efforts of a Goddess who'd long since lost everything. War, regret, and undeserved penance. That was the real story, not the bunk Bon Bon was spouting. Sorry- Princess Celestia. The bunk Princess Celestia had been spouting. Why had the Sun Princess lied, though? What had She gained by misleading Her inner circle? Notoriety, certainly; the real story was incredibly damaging for Her image- but that didn't feel like the only reason. A zealot was a zealot regardless of evidence, and there was already public evidence of Princess Celestia's cruelty. The fact that nopony seemed to care was all the proof he needed: Princess Celestia didn't need to disguise the events for Her own sake. She was beloved in spite of her many irredeemable faults. But there was the kicker. Why did Celestia ever act, if not for Herself? If She hadn't done it in ego, then why? Why would She cover up Her Sister's insanity? ...Ugh. He just wasn't properly prepared to answer that question. He was well-read enough to know that Celestia, like everypony, probably had an actual character and goals to match- but he just hated thinking of Her like that! He wanted to vilify Her, and objectify Her, and endlessly ridicule Her because She deserved it! She was every bit the monster Nightmare Moon was! Had been. Was? This... wasn't what he needed right now. He needed to move on, and come back to it later. Sometime after he'd had a nap, and wasn't so lastingly grumpy. Though thinking of Celestia usually set his chest aflame, he felt shockingly placid as he turned to the still-troubled face to his side. Her eye flicked over and caught his, then her expression immediately smoothed over into apathetic curiosity. That was the mare he'd somehow come to know as Bon Bon: eternally interested in seeming disinterested. What a nut. "Do you know... where the name Nightmare Moon came from?" It was a straight question- which was actually a little odd. He didn't stutter, or wince, or have a traumatic flashback that conveniently cleared a few minutes of dead space. It was almost like he was becoming used to talking about Her. Or he was just feeling apathetic: that was always a possibility with him. Bon Bon sucked her cheek in for a few moments as she thought, then let it pop back out as she propped herself up a little more on the wall. "No, I don't. I don't think anypony really knows, except-" Her brow jumped amusedly as she chuckled shortly. Smiling wanly, and shaking her head. "-well, except Princess Luna. I imagine She'll be fielding questions like that for a while." He was thinking historians would be asking a lot of questions soon. Clergy, too. Nobles, and dignitaries. Foreign leaders and impressionable citizens. Really, the whole globe was probably about to simultaneously say what. He glanced away from the mare, and put his eyes to the sky. Let his eyes flutter closed on a whim, and began a trek though soft foalhood memories spent reading naïve fairytales. After everything that had happened, it was a little easy to forget that Nightmare Moon was just a fairytale. A well-known character in a timeless story told to foals when the weather began to chill. Meant to strike fear, and stoke fireplaces. Force loved ones close under a warm blanket; invoke soft whispers reminding frightened ears that they were loved; bring comforting brushes and long-lasting hugs to remind them all it was only... ...a story. That was all She ever really was. The tragic story told by a mare seeking salvation for Her subjects. Luna... Princess Luna... He wanted to hate the name and everything it stood for, but when he thought of it... let it silently whisper over his lips... he only found it beautiful. It made him sick. He peeled his eyes open to the bright sky with a bated breath, and tilted his head around to look at the shape of Bon Bon through his peripheral. "You knew about Her return in advance." It was an accusation, and Bon Bon, surprisingly enough, didn't deny it. What he blurrily assumed was a foreleg raised up to cross behind her head, and the only response he got was an unconcerned hum. What a snide mare she was. The very least she could've done was seem ashamed for her silence. Light felt marginally more annoyed, and he made it obvious through a short scoff. "You couldn't ever just ask Princess Celestia?" he sniped snarkily. "Wouldn't Her Holy Highness know all about Nightmare Moon's origins?" He turned further to see her better- to see if she took offense- but she only smiled wryly at his jab, like she'd not even heard it. Infuriating. What was the point of insulting ponies if they didn't react? "You've never gone to Day Court, have you?" she asked, to which he muttered out something crass. She shook her head: still smiling, but still seeming somehow frustrated. "The Princess has all but forbidden prying into the unwritten past. Going through all the trouble of requesting an audience and then asking that kind of question would be like asking if you could be 'escorted' away." It was only then, as her annoyance peaked, that her smile faded. "For... good reason, it seems." He didn't enjoy the thought of relating to Celestia, but if it were him, he probably wouldn't like talking about his evil sibling, either. Evil sibling. He shivered softly at the distressing injection into his otherwise resting mood. "So- She's passive? Nightma- um- Luna? She hasn't hurt anypony... or threatened anything?" He swallowed back the lump in his throat: trying to calm himself by turning out towards the horizon. His friends were all still waiting around the tree, and now there was a splotch of purple amidst them. He couldn't see Bon Bon shrug, but he got the impression she had. "I imagine not. Again, I only know what Lady Sparkle told me and what I read in the letter she gave me from Princess Celestia." She sniffed quietly, and he imagined her face solidifying into reservation. "But I trust the Princess absolutely, and Her Student by extension. Whatever they say about Princess Luna, it must be the truth." Then he imagined her face inflating rapidly and exploding into gore. Unfortunately, that wasn't his reality. Maybe the future. His eye focused again on the angry purple unicorn standing aside the little green dragon. So prickly. So hypocritical. What made her worthy to wield an Element? "Why do you call her lady, Bon Bon?" he murmured crassly. "I hardly think she deserves it with how she treats ponies." Bon Bon's voice sounded back, and he was sure she was looking at Twilight, too. "She is... a little brisk." she admitted, then, her tone lightened. "I don't think she remembers, but I've actually met her before. A long time ago, when she was just a filly. She was present during an audience I had with the Princess." Her tone quieted: dreamily absent. "She was so much sweeter back then. A bright, excited little filly running endless circles around Her Majesty." He tried not to snort as Bon Bon continued. He had a hard time imagining Twilight as sweet. "I don't know how much she's changed since then, but It's obvious she's very stressed out with everything that's happened." She sniffed. "Maybe she'll cheer up soon." He really did snort in derision, then, and his reward was Bon Bon reaching over and roughly pushing him in the side. He caught himself on a hoof because- well, because he'd expected it, and quickly pushed himself back to sitting position. He settled back into his uncomfortable nest of prickles and thorns, then turned back to Bon Bon. "I don't really... keep up with current events. How exactly are she and Celestia..." He screwed his face up in disgust: the words feeling sick on his tongue. "...related?" Bon Bon flicked her eye to him: her tone turning incredibly dry. "Try not to sound too revering. I'd hate to think you thought well of Her Holy Highness." She turned again to the tree in front of them as she continued, luckily missing how he stuck his tongue out at her. "They're not actually related, obviously, but the Princess accepted Twilight as Her Personal Student when she was very young. Young enough that..." She trailed off, then coughed. When her voice sounded again, it was much deeper and held a hint of daring conspiracy. "It's frowned upon to gossip about Her Highness, but... for what time I was in Canterlot after Twilight arrived, there were more than a few whispers around the palace about their relationship." Well, maybe that just meant Celestia was a foal-fiddler. Bon Bon'd left it ambiguous, after all. He blew out a scoff as Bon Bon settled down. He knew what she'd actually meant. Lucky Twilight. The prodigy. The beloved of a Goddess. Living it up in a castle for her whole life like she was Celestia's daughter. Her decadence sickened him. "That doesn't mean you need to call her a lady." he muttered bitterly, to which Bon Bon audibly sat up. He turned in a shock to see her hot gaze locked on him. He'd been insulting Twilight, how had he angered Bon Bon? "Light, there are very few positions as prestigious as Princess Celestia's Personal Student. Scholars and esteemed laureates have begged to learn from Her for their entire lives." He leveraged himself up onto his hooves with a frown: meeting Bon Bon's gaze bemusedly as she continued. "It's not just the scholarly aspect: Twilight is allowed to levy more power than most nobles, and nopony is closer to the Princess' ear." Her tone grew hotter; she seemed to be speaking on a point of pride. "She's even been allowed the power to command royal guards and coordinate agents' actions, if the need arises." Her frown grew deeper for a moment before she laid back against the wall. Crossing her hooves over her chest, and matching the motion with her legs. Kicking back with a mutter. "I call her Lady Sparkle because she holds extreme authority. She's all but been adopted into the Royal Family, and she actually is a title-holding Lady." Everything seemed just a little worse, then. Light gaped at the mare, because it was the only thing to do after such a bombshell. Seconds later, and as though it'd only occurred to him then, he whipped around to catch the far-off purple figure in his disbelieving sights again. A title-holding Lady with the authority to command the royal guard. He sputtered- words were hard- as he turned back to Bon Bon, and flung his hoof out towards the apparently powerful mare. "She outranks you? She can give you orders?!" he cried: earning the slightest defensive hardening to Bon Bon's expression. "She can," she eased, then quickly pre-empted his continued panic. "-but if it makes you feel any better, I think the only order she's ever issued is when she ordered me to tell her what happened to you last night." His instinctive fear eased the tiniest amount as Bon Bon nodded slowly to him: speaking again, with the barest hint of a cynical smile. "Even that wasn't an order: she really just asked." Well, that was something, at least. Maybe he was right about her social anxiety. Maybe that was her fundamental, defining flaw. The thought of destroying her by introducing her to a crowded room brought him some comfort. With the panic washing over his shoulders like any passing wave did, he sank back down into his swaddled cocoon of thorns. A tired sigh on his lips; a cool hoof on his burning forehead, because he had a headache. He always had a headache. Twilight was mean, and probably had a vendetta against him. The idea that she could order authority figures to do... whatever was just- the idea set him on edge. As long as there was a pony seeking to do him harm in this world, he'd never feel safe. Maybe he'd just never feel safe. That was a possibility, however unfortunate. With Bon Bon returned to resting at his side in another moment, the equilibrium of his mood began to return. Then, the longer he stared at the stupid unicorn on the horizon, the more it began to tilt into anger. He just hated her so much- the thought that she was some kind of destiny-bred hero with all the advantages and all the prestige just burned him up inside! Light was left grumbling to himself as he hatefully stared down the purple jerk. 'Oh, look at me, I'm Twilight Sparkle! I get ponies to drop their guards before trying to ruin their friendships! I'm mean for no reason despite always getting everything I want! I can get anypony to do anything I want despite the fact that I'm a total loser with no right to such a privilege! Ooh, look at me canter away like a proper noble! Hope I don't trip over my huge-' Hey, why wasn't Spike going with her? Light sat suddenly up: staring widely at the far-away sight as Twilight began to leave, and the little green figure behind her lagged behind. Then, he turned, and began to run. Towards them. Oh no. "Spike is coming over," Bon Bon pointed out. How helpful of her to say! He made sure his gratitude towards Miss Marvelously Obvious fully conveyed through the glare he shot her. Her lidded eyes and relaxed posture only screamed apathy back to him- couldn't she let him have anything?! He turned back to the rapidly approaching little figure, and licked along his teeth in an attempt to wet his suddenly very dry mouth. He was gradually getting closer- his tongue felt like a sponge- and then, Twilight turned around. She'd noticed Spike wasn't following her, and now she was coming over too! Luna strike him down now before he had a chance to invoke Her name again! He could hide in his house. No, he couldn't, because his door was broken! Maybe he could escape into the forest? No, he'd probably be lost for hours! He had things to do today! What to do? What to do? How did he avoid having to look Spike in the eye and say- Two seconds ago at the time of that thought, Spike had been in speaking distance. It was about the time he'd begun to spin through mindless panic that the dragon had reached hugging distance. And so, he did. And so, a little green rock lodged itself into his chest. Spike was small, and despite belonging to one of the most dangerous sapient races on the planet, he wasn't very strong, either. All in all, as he'd been subject to Apple Bloom's intensely strong hugs of near-death before, it was pretty easy to deal with. Sort of odd to hug a creature without fur, but he'd gotten used to the feelings of scales when he'd ridden on his back. The ones on his head were kind of tickling his chin, though... Though he enjoyed the comforting warmth that constantly emanated from the drake, he didn't quite return the hug: instead sitting stiffly with his hooves out in dead space. Not because he was uncomfortable hugging Spike, but because he was uncomfortable with how quickly that giant frown with its vestigial unicorn was drawing near. He flicked a quick, pleading glace to his assigned secret agent- who only shrugged at him, and turned nonchalantly away. She'd turn a blind eye to an orphan's murder. Mule. Well, he reasoned, if he was already halfway in, then there was nothing to do but keep digging his own grave. He'd be crow food, otherwise, and that was something he never wanted to happen again. Nope, joking about it didn't seem to be helping. With a sigh, Light let his hooves fall to circle around the small drake's back. He returned the hug with a soft squeeze, and the weight against him squeezed back. How nice. It warmed his heart- and destroyed his morals. Twilight was just going to kill him, and he'd never be able to stop her. If she really wanted him dead, she could order Bon Bon to do it- now there was a terrifying thought. Unfortunately, just as he'd become used to the warm-blooded figure pressed against him, there was a tug, and Spike pushed himself away. Light watched bemusedly as his friend stepped back with a claw pinching the end of his nose: a nauseated grimace on his scaly cheeks. "Oh dude- you stink!" Spike groaned nasally: waving his other claw in front of his face. His tongue lolled out with a gag as his eyes rose to Light's, then his claw snapped to his side as they went very wide. Whoa. Spike blushed green. That was cool. Would that mean his blood, his blood vessels, or his underscale flesh was green, though? It'd be nice to check- no! That was a bad thought! Bad! As though Spike could read his mind, the dragon went ramrod-straight, then relaxed entirely as his posture shifted. One of those odd little claws came up to rub the back of his neck as his sharp teeth showed in an embarrassed grin. "I mean... I'm uh- I'm really glad you're okay." Spike chuckled self-consciously as he tried to look somewhere else from Light, as Light just... wondered if he really did smell so bad. It'd been a while since he showered, and sure- he'd died, but did he smell like gore or something? Spike suddenly turned as Twilight came ever closer, and Light took the chance to bend down to take a quick whiff of his fur. He... didn't really smell anything? Kind of earthy and musky, if anything... Did dragons have a better sense of smell than ponies? That might make sense considering they were a predator race... But then, wouldn't he find the smell of blood nice? Maybe it was an exposure thing. After all, Light quite enjoyed the heady scent of blood. Light's attention was raised from his aromatic introspection by a loud call, courtesy of the irate purple mare standing a short distance away. "Come on, Spike, we need to go!" Her voice quieted as their attention turned to her, but the frown went nowhere. "We've got a lot to do to get settled in, so we'd better start on the checklist." He and Twilight shared a short, vindictive glance as Spike called back. "Just give me a sec, okay?" Twilight's frown deepened, but not at him. "Second, Spike." Ugh. Grammar freak. Hadn't she grown out of that at fourteen like everypony else? Funnily enough, Spike actually verbalized his ugh as he turned back to him. His exasperated leer turned up into a hopeful smile: his claws coming together to twiddle nervously at his chest. "Me and Twilight are gonna be staying in Ponyville for a while while she studies friendship, at the Golden Oaks Library." Memories flickered to life in his head as Spike took a blind step back, and began to slowly turn: his smile continuing ever-presently. "You should come by sometime and hang out!" He waved cheerily as he turned, and then began to run back to Twilight. Only... he slowed a few steps in, and turned quickly back to Light. "If... you're not busy," he added nervously: his mood having turned from cheer to anxiety frightfully quickly. He felt a genuine twinge for the poor dragon. He'd been there, too. But unlike Light, he still wore a smile. He imagined the cheery drake wore it even as he turned again to run to Twilight: stopping at her side, and reaching his claws to dig into her saddlebag. He tugged at the bag as he hiked a leg up, using his hold as leverage as he hoisted himself all the way up in a smooth, practiced motion. He shimmied forward until he was at the junction of Twilight's neck, then leaned his head out from behind hers: a toothy grin still on his face and his claw waving goodbye. He'd have to apologize to Spike for not reciprocating his clear strides in friendship, because his attention was mostly on the leer Twilight was giving him. A momentary stare; a silent warning, before she turned with a flick of her tail, and began to trot away. Their egress was fast enough that Spike bounced slightly on Twilight's back from the motion of her shoulders, and very soon, they were over the hill and gone. He'd barely had the time to wonder whether he should have spoken at all. Light huffed out a dazed breath as he fell back into the wall, and crossed his hooves over his stomach. He felt very drained all of a sudden, for more reasons than one. Processing the turbulent emotion as Spike had hugged him was... exhausting. When Twilight had pointed out that he could've hurt Spike, he'd actually silently agreed with her. He hated that he did, but he cared about Spike, too. He'd grown to mean a lot to him in the short time they'd been together, somehow, and it was already painful enough just knowing he'd lied to him. Thinking that he could've hurt his friend at Her behest was... ...It made him feel like he didn't deserve his friend, and that maybe that idiosyncratic metaphor should actually mean something. But there was a little part of him that was still happy. Even as the greater part of him knew, and screamed that Twilight was right, the thought that Spike still thought they were friends was... wonderful. It made him feel... good. "You do know how conversations work, don't you? It usually involves both ponies." came the dry, mocking voice of his sitting partner, though he didn't let it dissuade the small amount of spiteful joy he felt. Bon Bon could mock him all she liked; Spike still liked him! "Oh, shut up," he scoffed through his grin. He slid his crossed hooves up to his chest: still smiling even as he rebuked. "I'm just so used to animosity, I don't really know what to do when somepony acts nice. It's weird." It really was. Something occurred to him, and then, his smile fell into a concerned frown. "Speaking of..." He cast his gaze sideways: leering at the unbothered mare staring forward. "You've been awfully nice to me for a while now..." Her eye flicked to the side as she lazily tilted her head towards him, while Light matched the motion: peering accusatorily at the nonplussed agent. "Half an hour ago, you were pinning me to the floor. What's with the change in attitude?" It was kind of freaky. Bon Bon was a covert government agent sworn to do little but watch and aggress him, as far as he knew. Contrarily: she'd engaged in quite a bit of amicable conversation with him. It was confusing. They stared at each other for a few moments. Light continuing his aggressive suspicion, while Bon Bon's expression gradually lightened to... something oddly normal? A strange, resting expression of ease. Ew, he didn't like that on her face. It seemed weird to think, but what wasn't she hiding? As soon as he'd identified it and subsequently become confused by it, Bon Bon's hoof moved: traveling down to her side, where it firmly patted what little of her smushed saddlebag that poked out from under her. "I'm off the clock," she supplied easily, then returned her gaze forward. As though it made perfect sense and needed no explanation- and as though he wasn't displaying every sign of befuddlement. He managed a few confused sputters, which caught her attention back from where she was purposefully ignoring him. Their eyes met again, with Bon Bon's eyebrow newly accenting her nonchalance. After a second, she sighed, and pushed herself up on her hooves. "Listen, Light, let's get something straight," she started as her back straightened- and that was a tone that proceeded something bad. He preemptively sighed and slumped back into the thorns as the sound of her shuffling against the grass made clear she was standing. A second later, she was, and then she was in front of him. Blocking his view; shading him from the sun. She was such a killjoy. Why couldn't they just have a few minutes of calm? Why did his life have to be such a constant stream of emotions and heartbreak? He wished he could just go to sleep... Whatever. Bon Bon's face was stern, because it always was. Stupid mule. "I was only treating you harshly because you were suspected of a very harsh crime, and belligerence helps to aggravate and disconcert: which is where I needed you for the interrogation. I was only acting as I was ordered to. The reality as it stands is-" At that and on a cliffhanger, she suddenly reached her hoof out to him. First came slight shock, and Light blinked dazedly at the proffered limb. Then came a train of thought, and as soon as he'd realized what it meant, a resigned acceptance followed in its wake. The time for sitting had passed; it was time to stand up, and move forward. The pace of his life was so unsatisfying. He levered himself to a sitting position, and took the limb in his. He pushed off with his other as Bon Bon pulled, and just as soon as he was on two hooves he found himself falling to three. Only three, of course, because Bon Bon never let go of her hold. In fact, as he found his bearings, it tightened marginally: drawing his attention to her, and to her tough little grin. She looked... almost happy? Drowned principally by businesslike removal of caring, of course, but undeniably pleasant. He'd been with her for a few hours, now, and in all that time, she'd never looked so much like she wasn't gearing up to scream. It was... off-putting. "You're not suspected of any crimes anymore. The order's come down straight from the Princess: you're innocent, Light." Her hoof shook his softly as the cleft in her brow lightened, as did her tone. "You're a civilian again, and I'm allowed to treat you the same as anypony else." She shook his hoof a final time, before she let go and let it drop to the ground. A pleased, expectant smile on her face- as though she were happy for him. As though this was some incredible thing they should've been celebrating. As though she was waiting for him to exclaim in joy, and begin to jump around like an hyperactive foal on their birthday. Well, it was a thing to celebrate. Light was ecstatic. Well and truly overcome with sob-worthy joy, and for the first time since he'd woken up the day after a trip into the Everfree forest that he couldn't remember, he could finally say that he felt safe. Secure. Hopeful. Except he wasn't, and he wasn't smiling. He wasn't happy- he couldn't bring himself to be, not even to match the mood in the air. The pressure to smile- to match her- gnawed away at him like a parasite even as his expression fell sullenly. He knew he should've been happy- he knew he should've smiled. He just couldn't. Because she'd only said that she was off the clock. That meant there still was one. His frown deepened a split second before he swatted her hoof off his shoulder, and it was a testament to how unexpected it was that she let him. As it was, the fact that he saw surprise at all on her normally blank or serious face spoke volumes. As much as he wanted to brazenly advance a step, he knew it probably would've just ended in a push back from the principally confident mare. He settled for poking his hoof forward aggressively: a lukewarm accent to the barb he had on his tongue. "You're still going to be monitoring me, aren't you?" It was an obvious accusation, and his clear anger was just as obvious. How could he have been happy to be acquitted when he was still a suspect?! He couldn't be happy in his freedom when he was still under suspicion! The thing that made him the angriest was how shallow she was being. She was trying to say- what, that her treatment of him had just been a means to an end? And that somehow made it okay to badger him, and abuse him, and lie to him constantly?! Didn't she realize how invalidating that felt to him?! Bon Bon needed to know he wouldn't just take her abuse. Not anymore. He wouldn't be a punching bag. She hadn't reacted very strongly to how he'd hit her hoof away, nor to his accusation. In fact, the total unreactive stoicism on her face was just as telling as an expression in its own right! It was just as good as saying she didn't want to answer his question. If she was really good at hiding things, then she would've just pretended to be shocked. She would've at least tried to deny it. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information." What a disgusting mare. A shallow, monstrous freak. At her blank tone and equally blank face, Light's muzzle twisted in a teeth-bared snarl. "You're such a-" He cut himself off with a seethe before he could disgrace the good name of mules everywhere, and rubbed his hoof across his mouth as he turned slightly away. If he just didn't look at her for a moment, maybe he could- His eye caught the sun-caught glint of metal, and slowly, he raised his hoof from his mouth. Magical imprint tag. A physical reminder of his mistreatment. He rounded on the mare at once: pushing his hoof forward toward her unflinching face. "Take this off of me!" he demanded: an apparently weak aggravation against the sheer cliff of her mask of indifference. As she didn't immediately respond, only continuing to stare blankly, he shook his hoof insistently toward her. "You said I'm free, didn't you? I'm cleared of your suspicion, so take it off!" Their gazes clashed; furious and righteous brown met apathetic and principled blue. One was full of impossible promises of bloodshed and pain, while the other had snuffed any hint of emotion or thought at all. He didn't understand Bon Bon- because she just kept changing! One minute, she was cruel and belligerent. The next, she was happy and smiling. At any time, she could just hide it all and pretend like she didn't care. And sometimes, she didn't even manage to do it well! Did she care? Did she not? Was she doing her job? Was this personal? Was she pretending? Was she sincere? Could she really hide her emotions perfectly, or were those glimpses of something deeper just more layers of deception? Was she even a good secret agent at all? She took orders well, at least. Light set his rear down impatiently as Bon Bon had stepped forward, and taken hold of his banded hoof in hers. She kept her blank eyes down on her work as she lifted his limb with one hoof, then covered the tag's surface with her other. Then her eyes had drifted closed, and with little pomp: a distinctly blue glow had coalesced around the metal. He so wanted to stare in unabashed amazement as the earth pony clearly performed a tangible magical act- something he'd thought was impossible- but breaking his cultivated face of wrath and misery would've completely ruined his credibility. So, he just waited for her to finish, and silently watched as the ethereal dust alit on the reflective metal. He'd always thought earth ponies' magic was all internal, though? It was basic Arcanic theory: unicorns exerted their magic externally, earth ponies were internal, and pegasi could do both. How was Bon Bon breaking that law? Had he misunderstood? Was the law itself wrong? Was she an aberration? He hoped it was that last one, because it would mean a new insult he could yell at her. Eventually as as his wound-up face was beginning to grow tired, the glow between the mare's hooves slowly faded away, and then there was an audible click. Before she'd even stepped away with the open cuff draped over her hoof, he could feel the freeing difference. The open air on his fur, and the total lack of constricting pressure he'd long since grown to ignore. Oh, how symbolic it felt! He breathed out a relieved sigh as he rubbed his hoof over the- ouch- slightly chafing mat of fur around his pastern. After only a moment, he returned his pinching brow to its cleft between his eyes, and his glare to Bon Bon. She had turned to stow the used cuff into her saddlebag: turning to him just as he turned to her. Her face still chiefly and undeniably uncaring. "I don't think I have to tell you not to tell anypony what happened to you last night, or of my involvement," she intoned dully. Light bristled in indignation as her face bled apathy, and turned to warning. "Purposefully exposing an undercover agent is grounds for prosecution under endangering public safety, as well as your immediate relocation." She sniffed disdainfully. "I hope I've made myself clear." 'Don't say anything about me, or you're going to jail, punk.' She was just so gods-damned cheery; how was he ever going to stop himself from telling all his friends about how great she was? Light had to think for a moment about how best to respond to a sheer-faced threat, but he'd had loads of practice, so it only took him a moment. As soon as he'd decided, he made a show of scoffing, and forcing a snarky smirk onto his face. "So, you're admitting you're an undercover agent, then?" Bon Bon's perfect mask broke as her lips immediately pursed inward, and something acidic grew behind her eyes. After a moment of looking as though she'd bit into a lemon, her puckered lips jerkily creased into an angry frown. "I'm leaving now." At a word, she turned on a dime and began to trot away. He sarcastically waved her off as he made a rude tugging gesture with his other hoof- before he froze as she stopped, and shot him a glare over her shoulder. "Don't look for me." Oh, if only he'd have to. Thankfully, there really wasn't anything she had left to say, and she finally left in a huff. She kept to the treeline as she made her egress, probably because she was a vampony who would just combust and die in the sunlight. Ironic, considering. He watched her go all the while until she was a smear against the green. Still frowning; still angry; still wishing that he'd done something more aggressive towards her. Who knew when next he'd have a chance to disfigure her? Sure, he wasn't nearly strong enough to, say, rip off her arm, but he could poke out an eye if he was fast with his horn. Something that long and pointy would just pop the organ altogether. But then... she'd get a cool eyepatch. She didn't need more flair. Nothing was ever easy. Light sighed, as his last violent thought catalogued itself. Internal death threats were a great way to whittle free time away, but now wasn't that time. He was free, apparently. The Princess Herself had ordained his liberty, but Bon Bon hadn't said which one. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Princess Celestia would've sooner flown him out to the Palominoan desert and left him there before letting him go free. That meant Nightm- Luna must have been the one to pass the order. After having just been considered a worldwide threat, not only was She allowed to rule, but to give orders. An order that was clearly being obeyed, even by a mare who had just recently considered Her the devil walking. That must have meant She knew he was alive, somehow. He couldn't imagine Her missing his death, but then She somehow also found out he came back. Had She gone to check after... Her reformation? What had happened to Her? What had changed in Her radical ethics? Had She simply recovered from Her insanity, and decided to go ahead and give up on everything She was striving for? An outcome She'd vehemently denied? There was something going on. Something didn't seem right. He didn't trust any of it. He turned in a step to the tree now ahead of him, and to the ponies still sitting around it. There weren't that many ways to occupy time with a tree, and not even Applejack could argue that. Pinkie Pie wasn't playing on its branches anymore, Rainbow Dash wasn't doing lazy laps around it, and they were all clearly waiting for him. The future was ahead, but the present was now. No more stalling. It was time to own up. It was time to make some apologies. > Intermission - Plural Divinity > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- For once, Bon Bon didn't feel very much like Sweetie Drops, Special Agent of the EIA. She didn't feel embroiled in danger and intrigue, or righteously self-empowered to uphold public safety. Not ruthlessly capable or mysterious, nor did she feel as though she could kick very much butt for the sake of sanctity itself. She just felt like plain old Bon Bon. A small-town hobbyist confectioner whose greatest achievement thus far had been mixing an alcoholic caramel that tasted more like apples than whiskey. It'd been her and Lyra's recently-passed fifth anniversary, though she could barely even remember the day after all that 'special' candy. Leaving Light behind in the wake of his many, varied methods of showing his hatred for her and everything she stood for was unsettling enough, moreso because of the many, many mistakes she'd made in the time leading up to her egress. She was only glad the treeline she was trotting under was so dark and overbearing, because she didn't feel very worthy of basking in Her radiance right now. Where had she gone so wrong? She'd let her guard down around her charge- several times- and given him far more leniency than she was at all required to. Her only order had been to watch him, but she'd gone so far as to outright comfort him. What on Equus was wrong with her? It was like she'd just up and forgotten everything she'd ever learned about covert operation. Don't show emotion; don't show weakness; don't share information; don't get comfortable- what wasn't basic protocol was just common sense! Light was her charge, not her friend! No matter how much Lyra said otherwise. No, that pang in her chest was not lament- no matter how much it felt like it! She denied it! With the sudden thought that she could use a break and without breaking her stride in the slightest, Bon Bon took a sharp turn right towards the direction of Marigold Lake. As she strode through the grassy field with her new destination well in mind, her jaw quirked into a self-indulgent frown. She'd been away too long: that was it. She'd spent too much time in sleepy Ponyville with her sleepy ordinance of watching a sleepy, dopey kid. Her various slips and drops in composure would never have happened had she stayed in Canterlot. Eight years ago, she'd been a model agent. At just nineteen years old, she'd already carried out vital espionage in Abyssinia and been personally credited by the current King Leonidas as a major contributor in preventing an insurrection! She'd been legendary for her single-minded pursuit of an outcome! Now, she couldn't even keep her cool on a single mission watching a teenager! It wasn't long before the sun-sparkling shores of Ponyville's go-to aquatic getaway came up before her, and luckily for her, the small lake seemed to be abandoned. A strange thing for the warmer season, when ponies would normally rush to line up for a chance to soak in the cool waters. Her instincts nearly gave her pause as she wondered for a moment whether it was somehow a trap, but rationale put that thought soundly to bed. It was likely the traditional festivities of the Summer Sun Celebration were taking everypony's time up, that was all. She slowed her purpose-leaden canter beneath the shade of a lakeside tree: scrutinizing the area one last time to be absolutely sure she was alone, before she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. It had been a long week for her. A long... tiring week. The energy supplements she'd been taking were doing their job and keeping her body alert, but her mind was still lagging behind. She just wasn't in her prime anymore, and the... one-hundred and sixty or so hours she'd been awake were... beginning to get to her. She knew how to combat vertigo and exhaustion, but even just during the short trip to the lake she'd nearly forgotten how to swerve when a tree came up before her. Trying to think back through the peculiarities of the last week... just made her vision spin. She'd battle through any number of torments and indignities for Her Highness, of course, but to say she was relieved her assignment was over was a gross understatement. She could stop thinking about Light, and start thinking about literally anything else. With a click and a shuffle, Bon Bon was relieved of her saddlebag. Though the weight of its assorted implements within were ultimately negligible to her, it was still a relief to lay it aside the tree, and flex her unburdened withers. The satisfying feeling of her primed muscles rolling was as close to heavenly as a mortal could get, but the motion brought a painful reminder. Through all the littered cuts and scrapes she'd endured, as well as the tense soreness pervading her every bruised muscle, what bothered her most of all was the cloying grime matted into her fur. With every motion, it flaked and ground against her hot skin: bringing an unsettling feeling of persistent itching. She could barely keep herself from scratching wherever she could manage, or the simple pleasure of a wince. She wasn't very fond of wincing. A grimace, though, was a fine expression: it showed a middling level of contempt that Bon Bon felt very comfortable with. Standing at the water's edge and staring down at her reflection, the ragged-looking mare that might've been Bon Bon slowly swept a hoof across her dirt-marred cheek. It left a long, brown smear along her fur in its wake, and a stain on her frog that she sniffed at. A sniff that made something crumble in her nose, that she realized was probably dried blood. She couldn't report in to the Princess looking like she'd crawled out of an early grave. Even in the depths of summer when the air was dense with packed-in heat, the water was still shockingly cold. Of course, she completely kept her composure as she waded straight into the lake, but it wasn't easy. With the water around her actually staining brown as the muck she'd picked up gradually sloughed off, every little scrape she'd picked up began to sting from the cool contact. As much or more than when she'd first received them. Still, it was the most pleasant thing she'd experienced in days. The water lapped insistently at her neck as she traveled deeper: only having to kick her legs every so often to keep herself afloat. She didn't get to go swimming very often, and for a long time, she hadn't wanted to. She'd once had to escape into a river in the middle of winter to avoid detection from her then-target, and that experience had kept her irrationally weary of freezing for a while. Oh, but the waters of Lake Marigold were anything but freezing... It wasn't that hot outside, but her body was. With everything that had happened... and for how afraid she'd been at so many times... relaxing on the shallow waves graciously keeping her afloat was all she'd needed... ...If only Lyra were there to enjoy it with her... Her sweet, stupid love. It'd been less than a day since they'd last seen each other, but so much had happened... she hadn't realized just how much she'd miss her. Her oblivious grin... Her constant inappropriate mannerisms... That songlike voice of hers lowering and sliding into that wonderful, teasing tone that never failed to make her shiver... Bon Bon sighed, and let her limbs go slack: allowing her head to slowly sink under the waves. She took a last, deep breath as her head fell back, sinking down into the pool as the dappled glass surface of the water above her crept away. Yet more dirt and dried blood dissolved away into the water as her mane loosened from its buns, and she thought to herself how idyllic the scene was. Another sigh loosed from her lips, and with it, a small cascade of sun-caught bubbles rose to the surface of the water. The ephemeral dancing of her precious air drifting away amidst her loose hair was her last sight, as her eyes came to a drifting close. Her mind slowly lulling as her every worry bubbled up inside... to release to the upside-down sky above her. And with the tired recollection of her trial-laden week, she happened to think back to the letter she'd received from Twilight Sparkle not an hour ago. The one she'd briefly spoken of, that she'd received under no expectation that it would be delivered. Emblazoned with the holy seal of the rising sun. Agent Sweetie Drops, I hope this missive finds you well. As you may already know, the situation has calmed, and you may be at ease. As expected, Nightmare Moon took the opportunity of her broken prison to levy against me, and cast me within her empty gaol while it remained open. Thanks to the efforts of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, however, the creature possessing my sister has been vanquished, and I have been set free. I am truly certain that the Elements have provided a miracle, and that my beloved sister walks among us once again. She has regained the form of my fondest recollection, and to my inspection, not a single trace of The Nightmare Queen remains within her. She has proclaimed to have laid low her ambitions of taking the throne, and as long as my student bearing this letter finds you in a timely manner, we should have already entered into peaceful negotiations. It is my hope that we will come to many new understandings now that we have been reunited. As this letter has found you at all, I expect you must have succeeded in your mission to prevent Light Flow and Nightmare Moon from meeting. Know that your efforts have contributed to the dawn of this day as much as the Bearers, and that I am in your debt. Luna has yet to avail me of the night's complete events, but I am sure you performed your duties to exhaustive extents. I can only imagine the wear you must feel now, and if you wish it, you have my blessing to return home. With the danger passed, there is little need to monitor Light Flow for the time being; in fact, Luna has scarcely assured me of his total innocence in last night's matters. As I assume she knows well how our trust must be rebuilt, I must believe her completely. I will not begrudge you your well-earned rest if you feel as though you need it, and your junior agent may be ordered to accept your responsibilities for as long as you require. Although your standing orders may be put aside for this time of recuperation, I am making no amendment to your regular duties. Just as soon as you are well, you are to reinstate your watch. If you are yet ready to provide me a report of the night's events, however, you shall find my sister and I partaking in the festivities in Ponyville, now a celebration for her return. I will only take my leave as the sun sets, and I expect you will have little trouble finding me before then. Please know that I only expect you as you are ready, and as peace has surely returned, you need not feel obligated to push yourself. Be at ease, Sweetie Drops, and know that the dawn has arrived. Alongside it comes the forsaken night that may never again be silent. The coming age shall be one of great prosperity, and a unifying balance in all things. Princess Sol Celestia --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bon Bon, being a low-key mare of a non-strenuous disposition, may well have taken the given chance to rest. It was more or less a command from the highest authority of the land, given with frank assurances that her reticence was expected. Nopony would bat an eye if she kicked her hooves up at home for a few days. In her position, anypony else would've. Anypony else. Call her crazy, but the prospect of hitting a full one-hundred and sixty eight just seemed too good to pass up. If Sweetie Drops was gonna stay awake for as long as she had, it'd be a waste not to hit a week, right? It was a convincing enough excuse. So, as deep and captivating as her desire to go home and see her lovely marefriend was, she hadn't quite carried out the fullest extent of her duties yet, and that bothered her. She missed Lyra, more than anything, but there was a certain part of her that... that needed to see the day through. It was that never-say-die part of her that had scaled a cliff with nothing but numb hooves and a rope, and that, as soon as she was sure she was clean, promptly pulled her out of the calming depths of the lake. The chill she felt would be much worse on a colder day, but standing around dripping wet in the bare air didn't ever quite hit her fun mark. The warm air helped her to dry faster than she would've otherwise, which actually worked quite against her desire to sit by the calm lakeside for awhile. To luxuriate in the feeling of mostly clean fur, and her scratches that had long since gone numb, and simply enjoy the fact that there was a warm sun on her drenched back. It gave her a few, scant moments to think deeply on what bothered her. Princess Luna had actually returned. If she were asked to be candid, Bon Bon would have to say that she hadn't really believed that it was even a remote possibility. Her Highness had made it very clear in the small-room debriefing She'd had on the situation that Nightmare Moon was unredeemable, and that nothing of Her Sister remained. They were now living in a realm of possibilities Bon Bon had never stopped to consider. There were going to be two Princesses on the throne. Not a single, reigning Princess and Her mixed-race family of dubious descent, but two actual Goddesses. The day and the night: finally reunited in blessed Harmony with each other. What would she call Princess Luna? Her Highness had a thousand years of culture to form Her theologically-given titles, while all that remained of Princess Luna's divinity were fairytales and extremely obscure mythos. Warrior Princess... Dream Mistress... Patron of the Arts... The Betrayer. That one probably wouldn't fly. She supposed Her title would just be... Princess Luna until the church made enough sense of itself to write a new book of worship, or to make an attempt at digging an old one out. What she wouldn't give to be in the room when the Solar Disciples caught wind of the new Goddess... Unfortunately, drying off only took about ten minutes, so she didn't have a chance to really deliberate. And her being so frustratingly decisive, just as soon as she was dry enough that the air began to feel warm again, she set off. She'd wrung the tangled flop of hair that was her mane out as best she could, whispered a silent prayer that nopony would care too much that she was noticeably damp, and made for Ponyville. It was a tough call, but she'd decided to leave her saddlebag behind. It was as covered in blood and gunk as she'd just recently been, and there was really no cleaning that level of filth. She'd have to call on Rarity to have a new one made, but until then... It'd be decently innocuous up in the tree she'd hidden it in. It was less than a fifteen minute walk from Marigold Lake- ten if she was brisk- which gave her a little more time to think of the state of Equestria, while allowing a whole minute and change for thinking of Lyra. Princess Celestia was safe, and well enough to write her a cogent letter. Forgery was safely off the table considering the distinctive magical seal placed on the letter, and there was no messenger more trustworthy than Lady Sparkle. Not that it'd been a concern of hers; it was just a routine worry for her profession. What was concerning to her were the possible happenings outside of Ponyville. Despite what Ponyville thought, Her Majesty had been in Canterlot when Nightmare Moon had returned, so judging by Her letter, They'd had Their confrontation there. There'd been the orders for all active personnel to stand down, of course, but if anypony had gotten antsy... Her canter nearly stalled as a flash of carnage mixed into her thoughts, but she made up for the break in stride with an overlong step: returning to her pace as though nothing had happened. It would be alright; the affairs of Canterlot weren't her concern at the moment. Whatever may have happened across the rest of the world during the long night would surely be set right with Her Highness at the helm. For her and her tiny job in her beloved backwater, the ordeal was over. Finally, Bon Bon could truly begin to relax. ...If only she'd be able to relax with Lyra... Snuggling up in bed with their satisfied breaths mixing together... Her warm, lithe body pressed against hers... Minty green and creamy fur sinfully blending together... The feeling of being beloved, and deserved... But she had a job to do, Bon Bon reminded herself with a sharp breath as she nearly slowed to a dazed stop. She picked her pace back up- doubly so as the distant shadow of Ponyville began to reveal itself ahead of her. Even from her distance and still some ways away from the closest bridge across the town's stream, she could already hear the ever-present cheers. Public security had obviously been maintained, though she'd had a good idea of that earlier in the day. That meant that, through whatever spectacles Nightmare Moon had made in 'vanishing' the Princess, the general mood was still calm enough to party outrageously. Given the propensity for Ponyville residents especially to panic in the face of crisis, that must have meant Nightmare Moon hadn't done anything too harmful. Empty threats would translate well into false promises of change. Bon Bon nearly tripped as the intrusive thought flitted by, and for how shocking it was, she had to slow to a halt a few hoof-lengths from a bridge she planned on crossing. The town square was well in view: close enough that she could make out the boxy brown shapes of the many tables covered in food and festivities, but... That hadn't been the first thought she had like that. And she didn't know what to do about it. No, that wasn't true: she knew very well what to do. She just had to shake it off. She'd literally shake herself until she stopped thinking altogether if it came to that, because that kind of thinking was unacceptable. If Princess Celestia trusted Her Sister, then so did she. Who She was before didn't matter- it hadn't even been Her before: it had been Nightmare Moon. A completely separate entity. And she believed that whole-heartedly. No matter what Light had said, it'd been the Princess who'd said otherwise. That was not an even scale. She wouldn't give it any more thought. It was seditious, and treasonous, and completely and utterly blasphemous. As Lady Sparkle had said: Princess Luna was as high an authority as Princess Celestia, now. They were both Godly figures deserving of devotion, and Bon Bon could accept that. She just... needed to adjust. Yes, it was only an adjustment. With a sigh that didn't feel nearly heavy enough to let her troubles go, Bon Bon made her way over the short, stone bridge into Ponyville. The cheery atmosphere might help to ease her mind, at least. The crowd in the done-up town square was much less a crowd as it was a loosely scattered congregation. As most of the area was dominated by squat tables in rows of two covered in various foods and favors, there really wasn't a proper space for an actual crowd. No matter how disgruntled the ponies forced into the tight, moving lines between the tables seemed, the fact of it was that there were a lot of ponies looking to get by. Yesterday had been the beginning of the Summer Sun Celebration: a full day dedicated to giving pious prayer to Her Holy Majesty and baking bread for Her coming arrival. Nowadays, bread was really just synonymous with food, and it was usually just for friends and family. As this year's receiving town of Her Grace, however, it was actually Ponyville's duty to provide Her Majesty with food and thanks. After the day of preparation and the sleepless night spent in reverence to the Heavens, Her Majesty would raise the sun to the spectacle of the masses, and the blessed day of merriment would subsequently commence. Merriment being... a variable term, since most ponies would rather spend the day sleeping after having to stay up all night. The buildings may have been covered in bright, happy streamers and banners, but the ponies walking through the rows of treats and finery may as well have been shambling zombies. She could already recognize a few familiar faces standing at the edges of the milling crowd, and she couldn't say any of them had ever looked less pious. She wondered how the Celebration might change in the future. It would have to change, of course; today was the day that Nightmare Moon had been defeated. And the day Princess Luna came to power, she had to remind herself. Okay, it would be a pretty rough adjustment- but she was working on it! Was she supposed to amend her entire faith in just one day?! Reading about the vague allowance of Sister Deities in The Sun's Reverency was different from having it actually happen! Prophesied events weren't an everyday occurance! She needed a little while to come to terms with the expanded Heavens, was all. She was exactly sure that she was far from the only one having trouble adjusting. As soon as word reached Canterlot, there'd be rioting in the streets from the news! Hm. She'd expected that to make her feel better. Strange. That she'd expected it to, not that it hadn't. She needed to get a move on, before she gave herself a conniption. From the far end of the square, opposite where Bon Bon was standing, there stood an extraordinarily long table covered in plates aplenty at the stoop of town hall. This lonely table, already extraordinary for its mere circumstances among many similar, smaller tables, happened to cater to a particularly extraordinary Pair. To the left of the middle of the table sat a towering figure of pure, snowy white, whose effortless aura of matronly warmth Bon Bon could already feel. A serene smile on Her face, and a familiar teacup clutched in a sunny haze of magic; Her kind, gentle eyes always set lovingly towards Her subjects. To see Her... just to see Her... Bon Bon felt relieved. Deep in her bones, a nameless sense of tension she'd not even realized was there just bled away. It was the greatest reassurance of peace she could ever have, and for that peace, she'd gladly give her life in thanks. But then, Her Highness was not alone. To Her right sat an unfamiliar figure smaller by a head, who was immediately as striking to Bon Bon as Her Sister typically was. Though She seemed overly delicate at a glance, especially when compared to the obvious magnificence sat shortly beside Her, there was a certain staggering quality about Her. Perhaps it was Her eyes. Even from the short few yards that separated them, Bon Bon could swear that piercing cyan gaze was trained directly on her. A shining, ruthless sense of judgement that was only mollified by the assenting roundness of Her pupils. A sorely needed reminder that She was Holy. Princess Celestia. Princess Luna. Bon Bon swallowed. She didn't know whether to feel awed, or frightened out of her mind. Both seemed the obvious middle ground in the company of Divinity. She had a job to do, though, so despite some irrational misgivings, she set her suddenly trembling jaw and forced herself forward. She could already tell the best way to get there while checking off a few key tasks at the same time, which would help take her mind off veneration. The largest crowd, engrossed in conversation or whatever they'd plucked from the tables, was spread generally around the central fountain of Chancellor Puddinghead. There, Bon Bon would make her entry, where hopefully few ponies would leer too hard at her limp, soggy mane or faintly stained fur. At first, she moved like water: threading through the outer layer of ponies with nowhere to sit as though they weren't there at all. As the crowd grew heavier, she began to offer smiles and small pleasantries to ponies as she gently pushed them aside. A touch on the shoulder here, a greeting to a distant friend there, and very soon, it would be as though Bon Bon had been amidst them all along. Her favorite tactic in espionage, assuming she could, was to naturally place herself into the scene as a sort of... background object. The deeper within the crowd she was, the more ponies would see her. The more ponies she wished well, the more would remember her as just being another friendly member of the crowd. Nothing more; nothing less. And of course, she was. She was a regular resident of Ponyville with as much reason to be there as anypony else. That was the beauty of being so deep undercover: she'd actually spent more of her life in Ponyville than anywhere else. And, being the average resident she was, she had her own offering to make to the Princesses. Bon Bon squeezed out of the far end of the crowd with an assurance that she'd only fallen into the stream to a pegasus she barely remembered was named Flitter, and quickly turned to her next article of business. An easy trot across the short distance- all the while feeling the overwhelming presence of the Princesses a few yards away- had her arrive at a table as innocuous as any other. It was home to a couple plates in various states, but far more important was the lovely glass platter she'd dug out of storage a week and a half ago. Though nice enough for a going-away present from an EIA colleague she'd absolutely despised, the focus was, of course, what was sat on it. A beautiful baker's dozen of bonbons, along with a small, bent card that read For the Princess. ...Maybe she should've gone with something a little less predictable, but she couldn't deny that she just plain made good bonbons. Was she just supposed to deprive Her Highness of her best efforts because it was her name? Not likely. Not on her watch. Think again, evildoer. She took a good look over her confections one last time, since it was her last chance to make sure they were perfect before she used them as an excuse to get close to the Princesses. They'd been sitting in a freezer for two weeks, but they'd been well sealed, and they looked just fine. Bonbons were normally small treats made purely of chocolate, but she hadn't figured they'd survive the heat if she took too long to get to them. Or, at all. It hadn't been a sure thing today would even happen. So, she'd made small balls of cake out of chocolate batter, and called them bonbons anyway. Filled with her most delectable buttercream and drizzled once again with chocolate syrup: something that was meant to melt. She was sure Princess Celestia would appreciate her offering regardless of the fact she'd only baked them to get close to Her. Just as she'd finished her inspection and made to grab the platter, though, Bon Bon happened to notice something... something with her bonbons. A tiny, crucial little detail that she'd nearly just skipped over in her semi-delirium, that she knew she would've caught faster if she'd been just a little less deprived of her faculties. There were only twelve. A regular dozen, not the baker's dozen she'd made. A tiny tick of irritation made comfy home upon Bon Bon's brow, as she glanced up from her teeth-grinding leer at the bonbons. She swept it from left to right across the square, once more, and then she zeroed in on the exact pony she'd been looking for. At the far end of the left side of the plaza: a mare with a fur color very similar to her own, whose perky red hair stuck out like a bloody hoof next to her blonde siblings sitting around her. If Bon Bon squinted hard enough, she was sure she would've seen little chocolate stains around her guilty, grinning mouth. She knew she shouldn't have had Roseluck put the bonbons out for her. She growled in the direction of her junior agent- who she knew couldn't hear her but sweet Celestia did she wish it'd traveled- before she bent her head down to take the platter between her teeth. The taste of washed glass and something foreign made her wish she'd been here to watch the plate herself, but it was only an annoyance that she brushed off as she hefted her precarious bounty up with her mouth. A quick turn, a quick glance to make sure her path was suitably surreptitious, and she was off on her irrevocable path to the Princesses. An exciting prospect, and for the most part, she felt nothing but the typical exhilaration that filled Her every time She met with the Princess. The devout, yearning need to bask in Her presence: thankfully soothed on end by the simple act of witnessing Her. Perhaps... it was that very need that beget the typical hesitance. Nothing as major as the first few times she'd had audiences with the Princess, but she couldn't deny she could be walking a little faster. She could hardly help it. Her Highness- Alicorns in general, it seemed- simply exacerbated a feeling in creatures. Princess Celestia had always assured ponies over the years that it wasn't conscious, but whatever the case, a persistent source of intensity seemed to follow Her Highness at all times. Even as She wore the most comforting of smiles, ponies in Her presence could hardly help from feeling intimidated. She naturally invoked a causeless sense of smallness rooted deeply within a pony's core being. Maybe it really was just Bon Bon and her overactive admiration for Her, but to her eyes, Princess Celestia had always seemed massive in every respect. A true, towering titan of unfathomable depth, with an enduring sense of knowing glimmering behind those effortlessly kind eyes. The sort of eternal understanding of their difference that she couldn't help but feel. And now, there were two of Them. Though she could hardly focus on it through her various unraveling threads, Princess Luna's features did grow more evident as she drew closer, and she took ready notice of them. Bon Bon could tell for sure now that She was much shorter than Her Sister, and... truth be told... seemed altogether at odds with Her sororal Deity. As had been clear from any sort of distance, Her fur wasn't at all black to contrast Her Sister; rather, She seemed to be entirely blue. A darker sort of blue, but still quite distinctly blue. The... six or so surviving historical depictions of Her were more royal purple, as she recalled, but that had probably just been editorialized. She was obviously blue. It was a far cry from Her Highness' stark coloring, and even how Nightmare Moon appeared. Her mane, as well, lacked any internal breeze or ethereal light whatsoever. It simply sat on Her head in, admittedly quite luscious, blue curls: a color even lighter than her fur. That was a true oddity next to Her Sister, but Bon Bon could honestly say the sheer simplicity of Her appearance only accented Her beauty all the more. But then... as she grew closer, she was struck by the Princess' impression. Her mane was quite stunning, but for Her clearly lacking energy, it appeared to loiter about her face as though it were simply too tired to wisp about. It was... unabashedly common. Princess Celestia was otherworldy; She held an essence of perfection by emphasizing the extreme, mortal difference. Discounting Her airs and obvious race, Princess Luna almost seemed like a normal pony. Was that blasphemous? Was it? Because she really had no idea. It was Princess Celestia that caught sight of her first. Distracted magenta eyes over a levitating cup of tea that focused towards her, and immediately sharpened. She had to force herself to take the next step as a long white hoof- strangely without regalia- crept barely over to Her Sister as an inaudible whisper parted Her perfect lips. Bon Bon had caught Princess Luna's attention at Her Sister's behest, as well as that very piercing cyan gaze that, now she was closer, could certainly say glowed at a contrast from Her fur. They almost appeared to literally- and she was really emphasizing the difference in meaning from figuratively- glow. She had no doubt Princess Luna would be recognizable in the dead of night. Bon Bon stalled- unconsciously, of course, as the tall glass that Princess Luna held within Her shimmering blue magic set upon the table. No, it wasn't because the Princess was clearly drinking some kind of dark-golden alcohol in contrast to Her tea-sipping Sister- it was because of the freckles. Tiny black freckles: dotted all over Princess Luna's cheeks and up the bridge of Her muzzle as though she'd been accidentally sprayed with black paint. The immediate, heart-stopping urge to squee took a backseat as she was suddenly under the scrutiny of two sets of Heavenly eyes. A realization that, for her life of her, Bon Bon was sure would cause her to stop breathing altogether. It was more than the scrutiny, or the weight of those timeless gazes; it was the intimate knowledge that They were both staring at her. The Sun and the Moon: their discerning attention focused entirely upon her weak, mortal frame. Ages passed and empires crumbled were reflected back at her in that glance. The most exalted examination in any history finally made possible after a staggering one-thousand years of separation. The exact and contrived culmination of destiny's efforts to restore balance at no one's expectance. It was a surely humbling thing to consider, holding a measly tray of bonbons. It was hardly a meal befitting Goddesses lived through millennia unknown. What great feasts must They have been accompany to in Their vast lifespan? How could she strut so confidently up to Them with something so pathetic? But it wasn't really about the bonbons, Bon Bon figured. It was about her. Finally, her plate was set upon a starkly empty space in front of the Princesses: very oddly bare in the vast sea of barely-touched platters atop the table. She made sure to keep her eyes down as her offering was placed, and then she quickly dropped into her deepest bow upon the well-tread ground. There was no doubt that very patch of dirt must have seen many bows that day. And for those Two, who had seen countless bows in Their time, she must have seemed so small. "Princess Celestia," she murmured reverently, making sure to keep her head steady on her hooves, and her voice even. "I've come to pay my respects in the light of your day, with the hopes that I will be mercifully blessed in turn." A... sort of correct beseechment from some holy text or another. Memorizing hymns or prayers had never really suited her; Bon Bon had always just spoken from the heart when praising Her. It'd suited her very well, and pissed off more than enough church-goers to keep her entertained. She kept silent for a long, heavy moment. Only as Her Highness' beatific voice sounded did she relax, and make to stand. "Your offering is graciously accepted, my most loyal subject, and of course you are always within my blessing." And for that, she would give her life. Bon Bon held a small smile as she recovered from her kneel, and as though she weren't lucky enough already, it was an expression Her Highness shared, as well. Her smile... Kingdoms had warred and fortunes had been exhausted for the gracious pleasure of seeing Princess Celestia smile. Standing in front of Her in that moment and feeling how her heart raced, she couldn't say she remembered in the slightest what she'd been apprehensive about. She supposed... it was always a frightening thing to willingly cast herself into the tide of pure reverence she felt in Her presence. But when she did, when she finally worked up the courage to take that leap... there was no greater reward. But Her Highness was not alone, and so, Bon Bon turned. There wasn't any proper procedure for entreating two Goddesses as far as she knew, so she'd just have to hope it wasn't disrespectful to turn her eyes from Her so soon. Was it not as disrespectful to only pay respects to one of the two of Them? While she wasn't following a procedure, she knew it was outside of respect to let her gaze linger on Princess Luna for as long as she did before she dropped into a bow. The consummate fear of having stepped outside of her place had her biting her lip as her head met her hooves, but even then, she couldn't help thinking of why she'd stared. It was no intent of her hubris, nor had she found herself greedily taken by Her. As she'd happened to catch a glance, her mind had simply gone... blank. Because of the expression on Her face. As she'd made to lay herself prostrate to Her Godly figure sipping Her golden drink, Princess Luna had only looked ever so softly haunted. "Princess Luna," Bon Bon began. "I've come to pay my respects in your awaited presence, with the hopes that I will be-" "Do not bow to us." And as she first heard the quiet, dulcet tones of Princess Celestia's long-lost Sister as so few mortals had, Bon Bon was suddenly sure she knew why. It was her first, stupid instinct to quickly raise herself to see what was happening, especially as a quiet sigh of 'Lulu...' reached her straining ears. She steadfastly denied that presumptuous reflex, however, because for all she didn't know, she absolutely knew that raising oneself from a bow prematurely was a most foul disrespect. Why didn't Princess Luna want her respects paid? Why had Princess Celestia called Her Lulu? She could only answer one of those questions with any confidence, so in a bow Bon Bon stayed: rigid and tense and very confused as she heard the sound of a cup touching the table, and magic fading away. Then, the Goddess spoke once more. "What we have done in our years deserves no reverence." There was something altogether intense about the way Princess Luna spoke in regret. An incredulous, impossible tone for one so high; for one whose voice carried a sense of perfected refinement, even as She lowered it so gravely. "For what we have already done to you, and for what we may have yet done, we deserve nothing so pitying as your devotion." There was a pause, and then Her voice firmed. "Stand, Sweetie Drops. Pray not humble thyself before us." It was far less grieving than any word before; this, was a softly spoken command. And it was Sweetie Drops' duty to obey. She was still as uncertain as she'd maybe ever been as she stood from her bow, and came to look again upon Princess Luna. Despite the panic-stricken conclusion she couldn't help but jump to, She wasn't even looking at her; rather, Princess Luna had taken to staring forlornly to Her side. A listless, empty gaze towards something in the impossible distance. A gaze that did not waver, even as She took Her glass in Her shimmering blue hold once more, and raised it to Her lips. In nearly twenty years of service, nothing had prepared her for a situation like this. At least it wasn't because she'd offended Her somehow. Bon Bon took an obvious glance towards Princess Celestia. It was her hope that Her Highness would give her a helpful pointer on how to proceed or just fix the situation altogether, but unfortunately for Bon Bon: Her Highness looked just as lost as she felt. Her troubled gaze had traveled to Her Sister as if to assuage Her self-deprecation, but She only lingered silently for a few, silent seconds before glancing down into Her teacup. A clear apprehension on Her face that... seemed disconcertingly out of place for the elder Goddess. An apprehension that Bon Bon immediately placed as self-doubt- and that hurt to recognize. She never liked admitting Her Highness' fallibilities, much as She happened to speak to them, but even a lifelong devout like herself could see that Her Highness clearly felt lost as to how to approach Her Sister. What a disturbingly earnest worry. It was a very tense silence between Them, though it made sense, of course. For as extremely long as Princess Luna had harbored feelings of resentment towards Her Sister, it had been less than a day that They'd been reunited. They'd been separated for a millennium. Even for eternal Goddesses, that sort of divide didn't just... vanish. It made sense, but that didn't stop her from freaking out about it. Bon Bon began to fidget restlessly, because an entire minute had gone by without anypony saying anything. Not so long for, say, a stakeout, but it felt like an eternity in the presence of Goddesses. She felt as though she should've... bowed again or began to wax poetic about reverence or something. Standing around just felt wrong! She had to do something. Break the silence. Help Her Highness. Act. Bon Bon cleared her throat gently, and that subtle, attention-catching sound gave her just enough courage for an impudent address. "Um... Princess Luna, may I-" She'd not even made it through a single sentence before Her voice cut in, and Bon Bon bit her tongue. "Prithee, refrain from referring to us as Princess." It was far from sounding as harsh as it might have seemed; rather, it seemed markedly impassive. Spoken casually enough to suggest little weight, and without even turning in her direction. Even through the total shutdown, Princess Luna still continued to stare aimlessly into the distance: Her brow furrowing the tiniest amount as She took a sip from Her glass. Bon Bon could barely believe her ears, and for a few seconds, she didn't. It was simply too impossible. Why would She ever ask that? Did... Princess Luna did actually want to be a Princess, didn't She? The last of Her... Bon Bon was guessing it was cider, drained from Her cup, and finally, Princess Luna turned from Her gazing. Her distinctive stare glanced over her for a heart-stopping second, before promptly falling to a- yes that was a bottle of hard apple cider sitting in a small tin of ice in front of Her. The good stuff, too. What she wouldn't give... As its cork unpopped and Princess Luna impassively filled Her cup to the brim, Princess Celestia took that moment to raise Herself up and clear Her throat. Thank Her. "Please, forgive my sister for her grief, and do not take her expression to heart. She has always been... moody," Princess Celestia spoke- far more casually than Bon Bon could believe for what She was saying. It was with a weighty sigh, but it sounded almost mock to her trained ears. Less feeling and more teasing. And it was as clear to Princess Luna, as well. Her expression clenched the slightest amount as She took a long moment to stare into Her drink, before tilting Her head back and taking far more than a dainty sip from the beverage. As Bon Bon stared in unabashed horror at the scene unfolding before her, Princess Luna let what remained of Her drink drift away with a bitter rasp. "We find it difficult to believe that thy memory truly holds so firm." This time, it was a harsh undertone to Her voice- Her voice that had until then been remarkably monotone- and it even had Bon Bon folding her ears back in a wince. Princess Luna's critical cyan stare swerved from Her drink, to Her Sister. "It is a thousand years that separates us, sister mine. Did it trouble thee so little?" Bon Bon sucked in a pained breath, and let her hoof come to her mouth. That must have stung. It was clear now that tensions between the Princesses were far worse than Her Highness' letter had let on. Whatever resentments of Her Highness that Princess Luna still kept must have been terrible. How would Her Highness react? A regretful wince? Indignant anger? A... smile? A slowly widening smile forming across Her Highness' pure white face, as She brazenly leaned over and slid a Divine hoof around Her frowning, Divine Sister. Holding Her closer as Her voice dipped slyly. "Oh, it may well have been two millennia, but I still remember a frightened little filly with tears in her eyes waking me up in the middle of the night for a hug because she'd had a bad dream." Her voice was like she'd never heard it. Casual, and light, and edged with a singsong note of knowing humiliation.. Hardly even enlightened with unknowable wisdom beyond mortal years, and instead very much akin to a- a- a teasing older sibling! She expected a rebuttal. She expected another scornful remark. Something along the lines of Princess Luna shoving Her inconsiderate Sister away, and storming off from the table in a massive affront to the clear mockery taking place. What she did not expect was, as Her Sister forced Her into a lean with Her hoof around Her, a nearly-unnoticeable smile that was quickly hidden behind a swaying wine glass. Nor did she expect the humming... giggle from Her Highness, that was then reciprocated with a- a refined hum of a repressed chuckle! It was irrevocable madness, and Bon Bon was completely lost. None of what was happening in front of her was sensible, or markedly possible. Her Highness never broke composure, and as much as she hated to say it, Light had been right- she did not understand Princess Luna. The Goddess struggling not to choke laughing on Her drink as Her Sister awkwardly held Her across Their short distance was a total mystery. Her Highness and Princess Luna were average ponies. They were Goddesses. They had just as much right to normal emotions as anypony else. They were above pettiness. They were sisters, and they must have missed each other. Why did they have to do this here, in public?! Bon Bon felt torn straight down the middle. Between the devout filly hiding under her bed praying for salvation from the lash of the whip, and the well-adjusted mare who had risen above the circumstances of her poisoned fillyhood. The devotion that had kept her sane, and the practicality that had kept her alive. Was it better to raise Them to a pedestal, to keep the notion of perfection as pure as She was? Or was it better to allow herself to see past the serene smile, to the sadness She hid as ponies cowered in righteous fear from Her? Her faith was not built on impossible ideals, but... maybe she'd begun to believe otherwise. And maybe that was wrong. Through her sudden recontextualization of her personal meaning of faith, Bon Bon knew, at least, that it was not her place to interject into Their... moment. So she stood- awkwardly- waiting for them to finish... laughing at each other. Eventually, Princess Luna extracted Herself from Her Sister with a hoof and set Her half empty drink onto the table: staring sideways at Princess Celestia with a weary smile. "You know it won't help just to ignore the problem... Princess Perfect. There's still... very much you owe me." Princess Luna's... jab? Her soft, indeterminate jab was met with an equally soft, equally knowing smile from Her Sister: returned to proper posture in Her own seat. "Oh? Have we forgotten to use the royal we? I seem to recall the very same filly who'd throw a fit at such a horrendous lapse." Princess Celestia hummed playfully as her eyebrow quirked, to which Princess Luna scoffed lightly. Turning away as She picked Her drink back up, and covering Her much clearer smile with the cleansing action of alcohol. Bon Bon felt like she could use some alcohol. Or some pain reliever. Or an anesthetic drip, because she was sure her spinning vision was a symptom of a maiming she'd missed obtaining. She'd been awake for a week, and now she was wondering whether her faith had been blind. If that just happened to be incidental, then she'd bake herself a hat-shaped cake and sleep in it! Think less about it. She needed to stop trying to acclimate, and just nod along. Bon Bon was brought to attention- and she snapped to it- as Princess Celestia turned humor-lit eyes to her. "My apologies for mine and my sister's distractions. I know you must be anxious to return home and rest." A nameless fear gripped Bon Bon's chest as Her Highness raised Her teacup for a sip. Her Highness was casting blame on Herself. As quick as a whip and just as unthinking, Bon Bon jerked her hoof into her head at an instinctual salute. "Your Highness is never an imposition!" she barked on unspoken command, perhaps a little too loudly if Princess Celestia's small frown was anything to go by. She wanted to be treated the same. Stop. Thinking. About. It. Her ear perked and her gaze was drawn back to Princess Luna as She let out a small scoff over Her glass. "Sister, can thine adherents do so little as sing thy praises on end?" It was directed towards Princess Celestia, but Princess Luna's eyes were entirely on Bon Bon as She gently spun Her cup in a swirl. "She has been all but ignored, yet embraces the disrespect as though it were an honor." Instead of supping from Her perturbed cup of cider, Princess Luna instead set it on the table as Her eyes fell to the recently-offered plate in front of Her. Finally taking Her critical gaze off Bon Bon as a blue glow shimmered to life around a defenseless bonbon, and She raised it for inspection. "'Tis rather debasing, is it not?" She murmured, before unceremoniously popping the treat into Her mouth. Bon Bon had to force her solemn salute not to waver at Princess Luna's effortlessly casual rebuke, even though it felt as though She could see directly into her mind. Her faith was not shaken, and she was not alone. Over dedication was an flaw that atheists throughout the ages had always ignobly preached, and this was the same. Only... coming from a Goddess. Bon Bon didn't know how to feel about that. Hadn't Princess Luna been worshipped in the past, as well? While Bon Bon remained as still as a slightly shaking statue, Princess Celestia softly shook Her head towards Her disapproving Sister. "Luna, you need not demean her for her beliefs," She chided, to which Luna swallowed, and cast Her gaze Sister-wise. She remained silent for a moment, before speaking quietly as She raised Her cup once more. "Can such a thing truly be named 'belief,' that which has been forcibly impressed?" Bon Bon sucked in a half-short breath as Princess Luna returned to indulgently sipping from Her drink, while Princess Celestia was left with Her mouth hanging gently open. There was a flash of... regret on Her face that gave Bon Bon enough pause to completely blank out the moment She turned to address her. Was there something there? Had they spoken about this before? A cleared throat brought Bon Bon back to reality and Her Highness' once-again serene smile. "Come, Bon Bon, and sit beside me. I am eager to hear what you have to say of last night." She seemed as even-tempered as always as She entreated Bon Bon, but... she couldn't help but think... ...No, it was best not to imagine anything. Whether it was true or not, it simply wasn't her place to make assumptions of Goddesses. Down that road lay nothing but sedition and a further wounding of her faith. She needed to forget about it. Until she'd had some rest, she needed to calm down. Bon Bon shook off the moment of disquieting reverie, and let her saluting hoof fall to the ground. "Yes, Highness," she murmured with a low nod. With a quick glance to Princess Luna, returned to Her stolid examination of the distance, and another over her shoulder to ensure nopony important was watching, she began a trot around the long side of the table. She rounded its edges in quick succession, then began to approach the side profile of Her Highness. One magenta eye flicked towards her for a split second as she drew near, then returned to a peaceable study of Her subjects. Perfectly holding the façade that there was nothing to see. As Bon Bon came up to Her side, breathing in awe to see Her perfectly-kept wings tucked against Her back like a cloak of feathers, she happened to realize something. Even through the ever-blowing aurora of Her mane, she could see Her Highness' back, and the lauded golden throne She was supposed to be sat on was... not there. Her Highness was sat on a backless bench. Well, two benches, actually. Pressed next to each other to provide a larger sitting area: made of ordinary wood and nearly recognizable as having been taken from some nearby street. Why would She..? There wasn't time to dawdle, and even less time to try to think of why Her Highness would willingly degrade Herself like that. Bon Bon had to shake it off as Princess Celestia's hoof shifted slightly through the wreath of Her flowing tail, and softly pat the bench aside Her. Seeing the unspoken command, Bon Bon swallowed, and lifted her hoof to pull herself up. Sitting beside The Pure Goddess wasn't something most ponies would ever have a chance to do in their entire lives. She considered herself very lucky. "We should like it if you sat beside us, as well." It was so quiet, Bon Bon almost didn't process it. It very nearly passed her by entirely as she raised her third hoof up onto the bench beside Princess Celestia, but just as soon as she realized... she froze. She could barely even begin to believe that she'd just heard what she thought she heard, but if it was actually true and she really had... Slowly, Bon Bon let her unblinking gaze rise up to Princess Celestia. She had not reacted any more than Bon Bon had in halting her movement altogether, but to her eyes, Her warm smile seemed close to... strained. In the next few seconds, Her hoof retreated to its proper place, and the side-profile of her patron Goddess raised Her cup and took a long sip of tea. A... long sip. Was... was there actually any tea in there? Bon Bon forced a growing sense of dryness in her mouth down with a painful swallow, and woodenly backed off of her near-ascent onto the bench. She flashed the perch that could have been one last pleading glance before she nervously cantered around the large fog of Princess Celestia's tail, and towards... Princess Luna, staring back at her out of the corner of Her eye. Unblinking, and unwavering. Not beckoning her in any way other than a single, softly spoken request. So little influence to exert in Her presence, yet everything to assert in Her gaze. Such an oddity. Such a contrast. There was only one way she could sit beside Them both. It was actually a set of four benches They sat on, and Bon Bon was lucky enough to sit in the exact middle of the converging planes. Two for each Princess pressed together- probably so They could sit together, she realized. Sweet as that was, the hard, unyielding wood- definitely park benches- reminded her very vividly of her last week spent in a tree. Some repetitive memories that she hadn't wished to relive, but then, there was really nowhere else she could sit. Only the one place she'd never even dared to dream would- or could exist. The Sun to one side, still staring peacefully into the celebrating crowd. The Moon on the other- taller than She'd looked- staring at nothing and uncaring of anything but Her drink. Bon Bon in the middle, feeling more and more like she could begin hyperventilating at any second. All three of them sharing the same, extended seat of park benches. This was either her greatest Neighvana, or her worst nightmare. > Chapter 56 - Flawed Emerald > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light Flow had never really been the kind of pony to get nervous at the prospect of speaking his mind. ...Okay, that wasn't true, but it had been when he was a colt. He'd once been so mind-numbingly oblivious to the subtle nuances of social conduct that he'd never think twice in blurting out the first thing on his mind. Insults, snide comments, and even confessions had always been a matter of think, then speak. A blissful ignorance gone the way of his youth, and many, many repercussions. That'd been Light as a colt. As he'd grown older, however... Just as soon as he'd waved Bon Bon goodbye with a classic raspberry salute, he'd turned to stride with complete and utter confidence towards his milling friend group. Striding with confidence strictly being anything more dignified than crawling there in shame and fear, obviously. It was a low bar Light strove to hit, and that was how he saved himself from disappointment. Though, there was a larger than average chance of the coming meeting resulting in disappointment and or misery. As such, there was still a very wide chance to turn around, he felt he had to remind himself as his friends' blurry profiles came into focus. Eagle-eyed Rainbow Dash would've been the most likely to spot him, and since she was seemingly napping against the tree, there was still ample time to turn around and save it all for another day. Applejack and Fluttershy were still blessedly turned away from him, came the stern word from his inner coward as he came within shouting range. He could even begin to pick out the largely purple shade on their souls, which spoke all the more to his desire to run away. A purple tinge usually meant something like exasperation, which was not a pleasant emotion for dredging uncomfortable topics. He didn't have to do this right now, did he?. He could go take a bath, instead. They'd allow him such a pitifully meagre avoidance, wouldn't they? A measly half hour? Though, baths could take upwards of an hour, but that wasn't very far out of the ordinary. Who could say whether it was abnormal for a bath to take two hours? Or three? Four, even. Was there some law against long baths nowadays? Would they call the cleanliness police on him or something? His conscience was screaming at him now, and it was becoming increasingly hard to keep ignoring it. Pinkie Pie was jumping around and around the tree in circuitous circles, and though her eyes were closed in ignorant jollity, she could open them at any time and see that he was within greeting distance. He could hardly focus anymore- he just had to keep going. The sight of Pinkie Pie wasn't helping very much now that he'd regained the ability to see souls, and he could so sporadically see that garish pink. The... anathema of it. The resounding headache it inspired in him. But if he couldn't focus on her soul, then he had to track up to the second most immediate issue, and focus on her necklace. And then, he was focusing on the fact that they all had them, and that was terrible. It was difficult to make out the golden clasp shyly peeking around his best friend's ponytail, but Pinkie Pie's and the big blue balloon shaped gem fused into it were very visible. All it did was get worse and worse. He was close enough to say something, but not close enough to whisper- which meant there was still time. He could still back out and just save it for another time. He hadn't committed, yet. Nopony knew he was there. Until the moment one of them saw him, each step forward could be his last, and he could still turn around and hoof it- An excited, bubbly gasp. "Light!" As always, Pinkie Pie was the harbinger of his destruction. Through the many times she'd made the same, pronking circle around the tree, she'd finally made a pass with her eyes open. Catching him in a baby-blue glance in the middle of the air, and letting everypony know about it before she'd even hit the ground. Yay. If her shout was an impact, then the motion of the three other ponies there was like a wave. Rainbow Dash's head perked up from where it had really looked like she'd been sleeping, while the yellow and orange shoulder profiles of the other two stiffened in backwards succession. A lot of things happened in the next moment, which was why he didn't like groups. Too difficult to properly internalize each individual action, and not nearly enough time to plan insults and deflections. He caught Rainbow's magenta eyes as she sat up- then his attention was caught by the way Fluttershy shrank into herself- then he noticed Pinkie Pie begin to bounce towards him as his heart leaped into his throat- and then his eye was immediately drawn to the fact that Applejack was turning around Tartarus cast him below what did he do now?! Light was not the master of time, however much he wished otherwise, and as everything else did, it served only to make a fool of him. He and Applejack locked eyes, and Light's heart seemed to explode into a particulate mist of adrenaline as seventy percent of Fluttershy disappeared behind her turning back. Pinkie Pie bounced yet closer: her coming collision with him seeming all but inevitable. His hoof froze in the air from where he'd been so close to making a backpedal, his brain finally completely shut down from trying to process his futile escape plans, and he was left with his jaw hanging dumbly open like a dullard. Yet... somehow, even with Applejack finally taking notice of him and Pinkie Pie on the precipice of a painfully physical act, neither of them were actually able to make the first move. That honor belonged to Rainbow Dash. Somehow, some way, in the span of the sparse seconds it had been since Pinkie Pie had alerted her, Dash managed to make it to him first. He hadn't even seen her take flight, and by the time her hoof slipped around his shoulder, he was only just starting to recognize that she'd moved at all. It felt like less than an instant from the moment she was against the tree to the moment she was hovering in the air, holding him by the shoulder into her chest. "Hey, Light! I heard you scored!" she cheered into his face as he blinked into the sudden gust of wind blowing past him- but what had she said? He'd scored?! When? And how had it happened without his knowing?! "Wha-" His confused, knee-jerk reaction and subsequent discomfort from very suddenly being groped was immediately cut as another voice raised in objection. Sounding as completely aggravated as he felt, but much better articulated. "Rainbow Dash! Git' 'yer hooves offa him!" He and Rainbow both turned to the irate mare with the country accent, and though he was absolutely starstruck to see her, Rainbow's defensive expression came through in her scoff. In fact, as though it were a point to defy Applejack, Rainbow only held him closer as she set herself to the ground. He felt the brush of metal as their cheeks briefly kissed, and he glanced down to the shining red jewel shaped like a thunderbolt at the bottom of her ornate necklace. He was most upset about Twilight, but the fact that Rainbow Dash of all ponies was some kind of destined hero just made him wish he could gnaw his own tongue off in frustration. At least so he'd choke and die and not have to think about it. "What? That's what you said, wasn't it?" she protested, though not very genuinely. Light felt a lot like a ragdoll as the ego-obsessed pegasus jerked his head down, while her other hoof- ouch! "You found him on the floor with a mare, the dirty diamond dog!" she crowed gleefully, as she very disrespectfully gave him an undeserved noogie. Rainbow Dash was not averse to getting hooves-on with other ponies, as he'd long since known. For the sake of embarrassing or humiliating them in some way, Dash could and would get extremely chummy. Or that was just how she showed affection. Either way, he didn't like it. Light cut her inappropriate gesture off as he pushed her hooves up and away: staggering forward as her grip suddenly loosened and he was left on his own. He wasn't even close to strong enough to have actually shoved her off, so the only explanation was that she'd just let him go. A theory that was compounded almost instantly as he turned to see her curled back in the air, hovering in place and covering a necklace-accented snicker with a hoof. Oh, he'd never be able to not focus on the stupid necklaces... He huffed in irritation as he glared the sky-blue pest down. "That's not what happened!" he snapped, then took a moment to blink in confusion as his voice seemed to gain an inexplicably country echo. He cast a glance sideways to the orange mare conspicuously hiding a cowering yellow pegasus behind her, who had... seemingly voiced her similar opinion exactly as he had. Brown eyes met green, and two surprised gazes immediately found places in the grass. As Rainbow Dash's mischievous snicker grew into a full-pelt guffaw and there was the audible sound of a laughing pegasus falling to Equus. Yeah yeah- yuk it up! Jerk pegasus with no respect for anypony or anything... He'd teach her to mess with him... someday... Though he grumbled a fair bit to himself as Rainbow went on and on, it was seeming like a relatively good time to broach conversation with Applejack. The longer they spent together, even not speaking as they were, the harder it became to stand the silence between them. Well... the grass was a decent enough analogue for her emerald eyes, if lacking beautiful flaws, so maybe he could use it as a pretend proxy? He could just give his apology a little practice in his own head, first. He could say that he was sorry for everything he'd hidden from her, and for lying to her, and for leaving her all alone at the party, and for inadvertently posing a threat to her life, and for... ...even the grass looked like it was judging him. Luckily- or most unluckily, he'd prefer- he wouldn't have to own up to his grass-surpassed friend just yet. After only a few moments of staring glumly at the ground, he was roughly taken by the cheeks and forced to stare into two endlessly excited pools of baby blue- as if she'd somehow known he was becoming melancholy. In the moment Pinkie Pie took to take a deep breath, Light sent a silent prayer to the heavens for his ears. "Light! Light! You'll never guess what happened last night!" she cheered- yes, cheered- then as he tried to get an unintelligible response in through his smushed cheeks, she went on chattering anyway. "Princess Celestia has a Sister! She showed up at the sun-raising ceremony and She was all evil and mean but now She's all good and sad because me and Twilight and Applejack and Rarity and Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash all went into the Everfree and-" She stopped short to take a huge breath, then, unsurprisingly, continued without skipping a beat. "-I sang a song and Twilight almost fell off a cliff and Rarity seduced a river monster and Fluttershy protected an unconscious Manticore from a Timberwolf and there was a broken bridge leading to an ancient castle where we found these cool necklaces and then Nightmare Moon appeared and we all discovered the true meaning of friendship and shot a bunch of magical lasers at Her in all colors of the rainbow!" As her tirade went longer and longer it peaked higher and higher until finally- finally, she stopped. Spending the following total silence staring expectantly down at his glazed expression, which he only belatedly realized was his long-awaited cue to speak. He returned to gradual consciousness- he was fairly sure- and it was suddenly apparent that his legs had gone slack sometime in the interim. That might've been why his neck hurt. He never quite got the hang of fording the nattering deluge named Pinkie Pie. At times, he was sure the next time he'd see her would finally be his last. He'd sink under the crashing waves of her massive dialogue and just never resurface. Slowly, carefully, he picked his hooves up and tried to level his head, pink hooves and all, with the grinning Pie. "Thas- thas grate Pinghie-" he managed to slur out through his mushed face, while casting a surreptitious glance sideways to the... equally surreptitious shadow sneaking across the ground towards them. The situation was either about to rectify itself, or get much worse. As far as he knew, smiles had set limits to how far they could stretch a pony's face, but Pinkie Pie tested that limit every day. Luckily for his perception of reality, he only had to endure the expression a second more before she was yanked backwards, leaving him stumbling forwards after her as her hooves flew away. Literally, flew away as her entire body was lifted. For the barest second, Pinkie Pie actually almost looked surprised as Rainbow Dash hefted her into the air by her middle: her seconds-prior aggressing hooves dangling limply below her. Rainbow, his unlikely savior, flashed him a small smirk: turning her expression down to Pinkie Pie after a second, who similarly looked up at her curiously. "Cool it, Pinkie. You know Light's not strong enough to protect himself." She flicked a glance to him for a moment, then snickered. "If you hold him that hard, he'll probably pop like an angry balloon!" Hey! He resented that remark! ...He didn't say, as Pinkie Pie began to- what else- laugh. Her hooves rose to grip at Rainbow's around her barrel, and she fluidly slid down out of her grasp. The brash pegasus blew out a surprised heave as Pinkie caught herself on Dash's hooves and swung forward: kicking her hooves in tandem with her swing as she let out a Pinkie-typical whee! "Sorry, Light! I just got really excited to see you!" the ever-oblivious pink menace giggled, though for whatever reason, he didn't feel very comforted. Maybe he was just weird like that, expecting ponies to look sorry when they said they were sorry. Though the beat of her wings had sped up considerably and she seemed to be half-struggling to keep the self-involved earth pony aloft, Rainbow was at least nonplussed enough to swivel her head around to yell over her shoulder. "Alright, Applejack, he's finally here, so me and Pinkie are going back to town to celebrate!" All attention- besides Pinkie's- was turned to the very plussed farmer, who, from the moment Pinkie Pie had begun chattering, had taken to waiting patiently for her to stop. Or for civilization to crumble. Whichever came first. In any case, his best friend nodded towards the odd duo and silently tipped her hat up, which Rainbow must have taken as a dismissal. She began to glide forward with Pinkie still swinging on her hooves, evidently finding great fun in doing so. As she passed by him, though, she slowed. In a flash, their eyes met. Her gaze... narrowed. An unmistakably warning look. Like a shocking jolt of electricity, Light felt a strange shiver run down his spine. The glance was oddly foreboding in a sense he'd never thought possible from a do-nothing like Rainbow Dash, who never seemed occupied with... any sort of issue. Not happy-go-lucky like Pinkie Pie, but just so mundanely concerned with nonconcerns in her every aspect of life. It almost felt like she was... angry with him for something? But what for? What had he done to her besides provide an easy target for ribbing? As much as he'd really like to dive into every interaction he'd ever had with the athlete, the glare only lasted a quick second, and then Rainbow turned over her shoulder again. "Hey, Fluttershy, you coming? The Wonderbolts' performance is gonna start soon, and we're gonna miss it if we don't hurry!" she called back to the cowering yellow pegasus. Not called out to her friend was the mutter under her breath that he only barely caught. "If we haven't already." Well, she hadn't needed to wait for him, so she only had herself to blame. He was only upset he couldn't hold her up any longer. If she wanted to see the Wonderbolts, then she could work harder at joining them. Or, at all. ...He didn't know why he championed Dash's work ethic like he did. The referred-to pegasus gradually peeked out from around her protective pony shield at Rainbow's call- was Applejack just cool with hiding her or what?- though her gaze hadn't been on the prankster. She'd been looking at him. And just as soon as he noticed, she immediately averted her eyes behind her curtain of hair. Two odd glances from two very different pegasi, who evidently knew each other beyond whatever bond they'd formed to save the world last night. Was he missing something? He could understand why Fluttershy was looking at him; he'd apparently had some kind of huge impact on her with a... speech that he'd long since forgotten. Seriously, what had he done to earn Dash's ire? The two of them shared very little of their lives over the years, much less any notable time together. They weren't far off from strangers, discounting how often she bothered him and how much he thought about smothering her in her sleep. Had something happened yesterday that he didn't know about? Or, didn't remember? That was disconcerting. He hoped he hadn't been taking his full mental competency for granted. On the tail end of a long, drawn out second of staring at the ground, Fluttershy finally raised her head to answer. "Um... al-alright Rainbow..." she... that was a whisper, not a murmur, right? Whatever it was, it was much louder than whatever she leaned up to Applejack to whisper. His friend nodded back with a lidded, intent look, which faded into a warm smile as her ear flicked. She nodded again as she gave a quiet whisper of her own, then raised her head and softly jerked it towards the expectant, hovering duo. At that, Fluttershy finally stepped timidly out from behind Applejack. Her wings unfolded, and in a few, shy steps, she gradually crept into the air. He'd spent enough time watching Rainbow and wishing for her to crash that he could recognize good flight habits, and the way Fluttershy hesitantly paused between wingbeats was far off proficiency. Barely even... competency. The evidently extremely withdrawn mare did not catch his eye again, even as she passed right by him to meet Rainbow. The prismatic pegasus, however, did shoot him one of her usual dry frowns, which he gladly returned. And which doused a second later as Rainbow turned to flap away, and Pinkie Pie turned over her own shoulder with an expected grin. "Seeya Night-Light! Glad to see you're feeling better! Bye Applejack, and good luuuuuck!" she called in a musically lilting tone, which was just... annoying. With that final, unnecessary farewell, they made their egress. Fluttershy shyly fluttering away beside Rainbow hefting her burden like a weightlifter, as Pinkie continued to gleefully sway back and forth on her living swing. An odd trio they made, who he could honestly say had nothing evidently in common. ...'Good luck,' huh? If she'd really meant well, she would've wished them both good luck. He needed it, too. He watched his sorta-friends begin to rise to the sky for another few seconds before he breathed in a tired sigh, and forced himself to turn. For the first time since he'd woken up, he was alone with Applejack. Nothing between them but air, and nothing in the air except apprehension. Now what? He cleared his throat. Applejack shuffled her hoof against the other. They both took a quick glance in opposite directions, but neither of them found anything interesting to bring up. He pursed his lips. Applejack smacked hers. He thought for a moment about speaking, then discarded the thought in a moment of anxiety. Applejack sighed. He was really glad they were finally hashing this out. Good job, all involved. This silence was... stupid. Light shook his head, and tried to muster up his scarce courage. "So," he began, then his throat immediately clamped up as Applejack met his gaze again. A tide of blood rushed to his head as the full force of the tension hit him, and he turned bashfully away. He stared at the loose space about the tree husk aside them for a very long moment of contemplation. Weighing the odds. Thinking things through. Devising an exit strategy if things went horribly. With his mental affairs in order, Light finally took a deep breath, took another, then forced himself to turn to his friend. "Why don't we... go for a walk?" His quiet murmur was met with the barest crease to Applejack's brow that just as soon faded as her gaze entirely lightened, and she managed a small smile. "Ah think that sounds real nice." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He'd never much liked summer. The air was disturbingly muggy, and the scarce winds rustling through the trees around them were far too infrequent to provide relief. Not to mention the sun just seemed so much hotter, especially as the path they trotted along lacked a reasonable canopy. It was a picturesque dirt road through a grove of trees on a hot summer day, and he hated it. At least the company was good. "-and Apple Strudel 'n Apple Tart got real into it with each other just like they always do, an' for somethin' as nothin' as whether danish was more similar to tarts or strudel!" Applejack groaned and rolled her eyes for the third time since starting her story on her relations, while Light let out a low hum. "They know danish is its own pastry, don't they?" He smacked his lips in idle consideration as Applejack let out an uncertain humph, and he raised his eyes to the blue sky above. "Though, I'd have to say it's definitely more similar to strudel." His gait faltered as he was rudely shoved, and he cast a glare to the mare who'd pushed him in the shoulder. "That's what ah told 'em! But all's they wanted was to go at each other!" she cried incredulously, as she slowed to throw a free hoof into the air. "At that point, ah just had to tell 'em to leave it alone!" Light let his glare fade away as he drifted slightly to the left, out of Applejack's range. "And they actually listened to you?" It was as quiet as it could be for two ponies with eight clopping hooves between them for a moment, before Applejack let out a massive sigh. "I reckon not. Those two're as likely to listen to me as they are to each other." He took a quick glance to his side and found his friend staring glumly ahead, so it was probably safe to walk beside her again. He drifted back to her side- too close as he accidentally bumped his flank against hers. He murmured an instinctive apology as her gaze rose to him and she quirked an eyebrow, then shook her head dismissively. He made a fool of himself often enough, so it wasn't too hard to brush past the sudden awkwardness. "I can't really remember... are they the two with the same style of mane, but one of them is green and the other is blonde?" he asked, absently trying to remember their faces through the sheer slate of Apples. He glanced over to see Applejack scowling sideways at him in the wake of his musing, then quickly returned his eyes to the road straight ahead. They were coming up to a bend, if he remembered the area right. Had to make sure he didn't walk into a tree, was all. After a moment of holding his breath and hoping for the tension to break, Applejack finally let out a soft snort. "Apple Tart and Apple Strudel are mah aunt n' uncle." Light sucked in a quiet seethe as his friend who had too many relatives huffed. "Honestly, y'all never even tried to remember my family's names." His next step came down harder. "That's because you've got like a hundred aunts and uncles!" he complained, to which Applejack scoffed, as she always did. She probably even rolled her eyes, the mule. "I can barely remember my own name half the time, so how am I supposed to..." He trailed off, and without thinking much of it, slowed to a gradual halt. By the sound of it, Applejack slowed beside him as well. Probably staring at him all... emotionally. Probably with shock and pity, or maybe anger. He didn't know; his gaze was firmly on the ground. On the mocking, brown dirt: the same color as he was. He felt a little like dirt. Light licked along the backs of his teeth, wondering for the faintest moment whether he could find a way to just gloss over it. If he kept pretending everything was fine as they had silently agreed to for the time they'd been walking, maybe she'd leave it alone? And while she was at it, maybe she'd start curling her eyelashes. Big fat chance. "Applejack... listen, about yesterday..." He began, then trailed off as his ears began to burn, and he brought a hoof to rub tiredly against a sudden ache in his head. He could do this; he just needed to look her in the eye, and speak. He just needed to come out and say it. Applejack, I'm sorry. That's how easy it would be. It was the easiest thing in the world. Just do it. Open his eyes, and do it. Turn, and say it. He peeled his eyes open, turned, and opened his mouth. "Applejack, I'm-" His anticipation peaked in a second, then plummeted to an all-time low as he watched his friend's banded tail disappear behind a tree on the side of the road. He was left summarily alone in the middle of the path with his mouth hanging dumbly open, wondering when it had all gone wrong. His best guess? Around the time he'd walked into a pole when he was nine. Was Applejack finally fed up with him? Had she ditched him? Did she want him to follow her? Should he? Orange fur and emerald eyes peeked out from behind the tree that she'd previously disappeared behind. "Get a move on, already!" she called irately out to him, to which Light let out a droning monosyllable. He raised his hoof to begin trotting- but without even thinking first. Where was she going? Why hadn't she said anything before galloping off? Applejack's head disappeared behind the tree again, and Light suddenly didn't care very much about giving himself the third, fourth and fifth degree. That could come later, just as soon as he was sure he wasn't about to be abandoned. What a strange turn, him wanting company. He'd warmed then cooled then warmed back up to the idea of amity quite suddenly over the past three years. He pranced forward and began to canter after his egressive friend. He also mentally admonished himself for the pun as he rounded the tree, and caught a flash of blonde hair before it disappeared behind another tree. This was going to be a chore, wasn't it? Applejack was not the sort of pony to dawdle in most situations, nor did she waste very much time waiting for him. He was left without the slightest inkling of a destination as he chased after her constantly retreating tail, his friend blazing a confidant- or lost- path through the woods. Not once did she ever slow down, even as he called out to her- even as he started to pant in exertion and thinly plead for her to just give him a break! She just kept winding around trees- endless trees that stretched on forever despite the fact they weren't even in very deep woods. Somehow, there just kept being more. What direction were they going in? Was his vision fading? He'd really benefit from a drink or something... Oh he should've known better than to try to keep up with a workhorse like Applejack. Just as Light, panting and groaning and barely keeping his hooves rising above his waist, was sure his legs were going to give out and he was going to pass out in the woods like a chump, the subtle sound of babbling began to trickle in through the pounding in his ears. No, not talking- the physical strain was beginning to get to his mind as well... It was a stream, and soon after he'd barely picked his pace up in the faint hope of an ending, the vaguely-heard phenomena came up before him. A sunny little break in the trees, and a large ditch- more like a trench- with a low stream running through it. Completely idyllic- but he didn't care very much. Light swallowed his tongue back into his mouth: scanning the sides of the shallow river around him through drooping eyes. No sign of his friend anywhere he could see. Trees and rocks and more untamed greenery than he could possibly stand, but no orange. He was getting a sinking feeling he'd made a wrong turn somewhere, and now Applejack was waiting for him in a clearing he'd never find. Who to blame? Himself, or his friend? He just loved to do both so much; how could he ever decide? Light sighed, and let his head hang low. He turned to begin the arduous task of wandering around and screaming Applejack's name for a useless hour or two, when- He was shoved. He'd like to say he put up some sort of fight as he was pushed in the side. Perhaps regaining his balance quickly and striking back as prompt combatant would. Rounding on his aggressor and turning the tables in a spectacular fashion that left him the ultimate victor in all things ever. He couldn't quite say that because all he did was yelp loudly as he was taken off his hooves. Barely even catching a flash of grinning orange before he was falling, and barely able to turn in time to see the fast-approaching blue. Even less time to process horrifying flashbacks of weightlessness and rushing grey before he- cold! His hearing cut out as he hit the surface of the water, and he plunged into the freezing depths. Lost under the current for entire minutes of fighting- struggling- pleading for a reprieve from the encompassing pressure of the water pressing in around him. Like an invisible combatant. Like a fitful war with gravity itself. Like a- Like a- Light sat up in the chest-high water, which he'd sorely misjudged the literal and literary depth of. Panic was one heck of a creative motivator. His fur was wet, and he was sorely missing his inner warmth. There was water dripping into his eye- blink- and there were now a few bruises he hadn't even known about beginning to ache anew. Lovely. Life was just so lovely. A nonstop barrage of uncompromising happenings against any sense or reason. Well, that wasn't true, was it? There was a reason Light Flow was sitting on his cold butt with water running off his soggy mane, wasn't there? He levied an unamused glare towards the heavens- towards the laughing orange face and the crinkling white freckles standing at the stream's edge. His enjoyment of her best facial feature aside- he should have known better than to stand at the precarious edge of a stream when Applejack was anywhere near him. Sure, he'd pushed her into water a lot more than the inverse over their lives, but this was just reckless of her. Didn't she have any awareness of the situation? There was a time and a place for mucking around, and this was not it. He'd become preoccupied with demeaning Applejack's motives for the time being, so he was still glaring up at her silently by the time her laughs quieted down. "Sorry 'bout that, Light! I jes' figured you needed a washing, an' the chance was just too good not to take!" she called as she lowered herself to a seat at the stream's side: a wide, smarmy smile on her face, shining to a glint in time with her apple-shaped necklace. He scowled more resolutely as her address brought him back around to reality, and he angrily bared his teeth. "How magnanimous of you," he ground out through his frown, which rose into a seething smile as he sat further up. "It's so generous that I find it rude to not reciprocate. Why don't you come and join me, Orange Hooves!?" He made a fruitless grab for her as he rocked forward on his hooves, but there wasn't any effort behind it. She was far away enough that she didn't even have to lean away to dodge, only grin smugly down at his worthless attempt. Whatever. It was about the meaning rather than the result. It was about making a statement of petty retribution; he didn't have to actually follow through. Light huffed restlessly as he fell back onto his haunches, and hugged his hooves closer to his soaked barrel. "I was about to say something before you ran off, you know." His grumble was uncaringly met with a casual shrug, so he rolled his eyes to match her nonchalance. "Maybe I'll just give up and leave you all alone." He glanced down to inspect his wet self- that was a lot of red mixing into the water- so he barely registered that it'd gone quiet until he flicked his gaze back up and found himself caught. Suddenly dumbfounded as he realized his friend's gaze had turned downcast, and a heavy frown had replaced her self-serving smile. All at once, the light mood had fallen. All at once, his friend seemed bereaved. All at once, he began to feel the chill. Because of what he'd said. It was all because of him. What he'd done, and what he'd said. What he hadn't said. It was time. He returned his gaze down, and bit his lip. Gnawing at the skin until it broke, and the taste of iron helped to solidify his resolve. The pang of pain helped him to find the strength to stand, to not shiver too hard, and to wade to the water's side. One hoof, then the other; Light huffed in exertion as he gradually pulled himself up onto the river's edge. He took a glance sideways as he heaved and ho'd, and found his friend staring his way with a small, melancholic smile. "Need help, sugarcube?" she offered as he rolled over onto his back- but screw her. He'd already had three hooves up by the time she said anything; there wasn't any help left to give. Rather than saying screw you to her face, however, he silently shook his head and rolled over onto his hooves. Because he was mature, and the situation didn't call for it. He had situational awareness, unlike some ponies. Which was why he didn't chide himself for the intrusive insult as he made to sit beside Applejack. He settled down with a frown as his friend rediscovered hers, and they both took to staring quietly out into the woods. The disquieting sound of the running water in their ears, and nothing else. What to say? How to begin? No matter how Light tried to think the conversation through, it always seemed lame and unrealistic. One end of the extreme. Too harsh; too forgiving. He couldn't put himself in her horseshoes with how twisted his perspective had become, and he certainly couldn't expect her to empathize with him. He was the jerk who'd left her at the party without so much as a good luck saving the world. He'd been a jerk through their entire lives. He'd been... He was always... But he really wished he could just... ...how to break the cycle? "I almost died last night." It seemed ripped straight from the pages of his own mind. Such a macabre thought that he'd been endlessly plagued by for... most of his life, that Light could be forgiven for thinking he'd been the one to say it, at first. But it hadn't been him. It was Applejack. A casual comment made in the dullest monotone without even glancing his direction. He wished he could say he felt a wave of sadness wash over him, or even a heady rush of indignant anger. But there was nothing except the shock; a full-body, tingling sensation of stupor that dominated his reaction. The slightest gape; a wide stare towards his friend. Her glimmering, golden soul: shaded lightly grey. And Applejack only continued to stare forwards. Her dull gaze searching for something across the stream: pupils restlessly flicking around her sclera as though she were reading the air. "...Seems almost too much to believe, what with all that happened after, n' not gettin' any sleep." She finally blinked: breaking her search as her gaze fell. "...Can hardly even remember it." Light felt trapped- truly trapped in his own body: knowing and thinking everything he should've been feeling, but there was nothing. As little feeling as Applejack showed in the slight motion of her hoof raising to her hat, taking her apparel and setting it unthinkingly at her side. It left the top of her head free to stare at, and he couldn't stare anywhere else but the tiny shade of red marring coarse, matted blonde. "Took it when we were all in the Everfree goin' after Nightmare Moon," Applejack supplied tonelessly, because she knew why she'd taken her hat off. "Nothin' more serious than a lil' scrape, and I never felt it none, but..." Her eyes fluttered as she tensed for a deep breath, then let it out in a deep, shaking sigh. "...It coulda been worse." Her gaze rose again, and she was searching again as she continued to speak in a detached, wrong drone. "It happened faster 'n I could think. One minute, Twilight was walkin' right in front 'a me, and before I'd even realized the cliff was crumbling, she was gone. Quick as that." She took a sharp breath as her entire body tensed, and turned away as her voice came so close to thinning. "An' then... I was fallin' too." He wanted to- He needed to- Make it better. Keep her safe. But how did he- How did he? How did he? After a moment of silent reverie, Applejack raised her head with a sharp breath: setting a newly haunting look forward, and beginning her lilting recollection anew. "I remember... slidin' down real fast. I remember... how scared I was... that I just kept lookin for Twilight or Dash or Fluttershy around me..." She paused to take a pained breath: raising her hoof in the long moments after to rest on top of the small blot of red in her mane. "Ah remember how that branch came up before me..." He could see- how he wished he didn't- the beginnings of a full-body shake as she bit her lip, and clenched her eyes tightly shut. "...but ah don't remember grabbin' it..." It was the moment after that when Light realized, in the dimly-lit back of his mind, that she'd been holding back tears. Because suddenly she wasn't holding them back. Her first sob- the first, heartbreaking choke came on wave of visible shivers as her hoof fell down, and she hugged it to her side. "An' then ah saw Twilight... She was still slidin' down towards the edge..." She continued to shake: taking deeply unsteady breaths whenever she wasn't speaking- and Light did nothing. "She looked back up at me like- like she thought ah could help... an' without even thinkin' of it... ah just let go." What little composure she kept broke as she managed a laugh: bleeding into a whine as she wiped at her eyes with her free hoof. "Dunno- don't have the foggiest idea why... all's I know is that somethin' just came over me. Thought I could- might've been able to save her." She hiccupped then coughed messily, while her voice petered to a thin whisper that made him feel hollow inside. "Then I was fallin' again... and nothin' I had thought I could do seemed right anymore..." He was- His hooves were restless and squeamish in his lap, but what was he going to..? If- if he tried- If he said something- Maybe if he leaned forward- or maybe if he leaned away..? How could he- Was it right to- What did he want to..? No matter how hard he hyperventilated or how many times he licked his too-dry lips, Applejack was still crying. His best friend in the world- his only love- his oldest friend- His. She had been in danger and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Applejack had gone silent- weeping softly- for a moment, but then she started to speak again with a off-kilter breath, and Light's attention was jerked back. "Ah knew... shoulda known the edge was just too close, an' there was no way I was gettin' to her in time... but I just did it anyway. Just couldn't stop myself..." Her shaking breaths worsened for a moment as she shivered roughly- he wanted to warm her- but then they found a balance. An uneven rhythm of shaking and sniffling as Applejack's raised herself barely up, and her voice strengthened just that little bit. "I came close enough to goin' over with her when ah grabbed her hoof that I... I still remember how far down it was behind her. How she seemed so... so big above those trees..." She laughed wetly at that, and sniffed roughly. A knowing mockery of humor, because it wasn't funny. "Ah was half a pony's length off the edge... an' there was just no room to pull her up..." She bit her lip and nodded gently as her hoof untangled from her side, and gently fell to the ground. She bent forward and forward... until he lost sight of her face. Her voice sounded again, and it was painfully strained. "Ah saw her, you know that? I saw Rainbow Dash in the air under her. Ah knew she was waitin' to catch her... an' I- I know it was the right thing to let her fall... but I just... ah just..." She choked on a sob as her voice pitched high and cracked, and suddenly, she was pushing herself towards him. Two hooves clutching tightly at his back, and fast, lilting breaths in his ear. Warmth on his cold pelt, and a shaking chest pressed against his. "Ah couldn't help thinkin' ah'd let her fall to her death..!" she sobbed freely, barely even coherent through the constantly lilting pitch of her voice, and the choking, and the cracking. All the while, she held onto him for dear life. Clutched so tightly to him that it began to hurt. As if she thought he could help. As if he knew what to do. "After ah'd told her to trust me... after ah'd told her ah was tellin' the truth about Rainbow... the way- the way her eyes went so wide as she fell, just for those few hoof-lengths... ah just... ah couldn't..!" There was nothing else. Her voice cracked to nothingness, and she let out a final, desperate wail that petered off to a drawn-out whine. After that, she only sobbed. For what felt like a long time after, Applejack only cried. Something so traumatizing that it had reduced the strongest pony he'd ever known to groveling for comfort. For safety and security from a pony she knew was hiding everything from her. So, he gave it to her. He hugged her back. As tightly and as closely as he could, for as long as she needed. He let her shuffle closer, and bury her shaking cries into his neck, and desperately clutch at him for whatever comfort it was giving her. He didn't know why. He couldn't empathize; he could barely even comprehend her trauma, much less try to understand how she felt. All he could do was comfort her. "I'm sorry," he whispered thinly, and again, and again. Over and over as she shook against him, he told her he was sorry. And he was. He had never, in all of his miserable, self-serving life, been so deeply sorry that he could feel the hatred for himself in his bones. Applejack had almost died. He should've- why hadn't he considered that? He'd never... even entertained the idea that she could have been in danger. He'd thought... he'd stupidly thought that once he'd sacrificed himself, she would've been safe. The prophecy had said she would be safe. Lies. But she was safe, wasn't she? She was here, in his hooves, alive and warm and well. Breathing. Crying. Frightened, but so blissfully alive. Her physical safety shouldn't have been the only assurance. She shouldn't have had to go through any of what she had. No, she shouldn't have. For once, he agreed with the whispers in his head. Applejack shouldn't have been in danger; she shouldn't have been the hero. Not if it meant her near-death. She should've been safe, always. Who to blame? There had to be someone to blame. Of course there was someone to blame, and he knew who. Harmony. The long-dead mage. Nightmare Moon. Himself. It was Harmony that had deigned her importance, and consigned her to a turbulent fate. From the day Applejack had come into this world, it had always been her destiny to face Nightmare Moon. It had been her destiny to fall down that cliff. To bear the burden of brutal honesty, and to let a pony fall. If Harmony was the core of the world, then Equus was rotten. Damn those stupid letters filling his head with nonsense about supposed heroes. What dreck. A hero was an impossible ideal. Heroes never failed; heroes never feared. They weren't heroes. They were ordinary ponies thrust into a situation they'd never been prepared for. It wasn't fair. He couldn't forget why she'd been there, either. It felt redundant to find another reason why Nightmare Moon had been such a heinous villain, but what the hay- he sure as heck blamed Her. Her plan had been even less than a desperate justification for evil, it'd had consequences. It was real. Where were the repercussions for Luna? Why was Her head under a crown, and not an axe? He'd allowed this all to happen, so why wasn't he dead? He'd abetted Nightmare Moon long enough for Her plan to be feasible, and so She'd tried, and Applejack had almost died. It was his fault she had almost died. The logic was consistent; his reasoning was unassailable. A begets B begets C. A equals C. He should've died when he hit the ground- he'd deserved to, but he hadn't, and now he was hugging Applejack. He was still alive, and still able to comfort her, and still able to protect her. He'd always protect her. She was precious, and wonderful, and deserved everything he had to give her. No matter what may come, whatever she would endure, he would help her. He would be there for her. He'd give his all. He'd give himself. He'd do anything to keep her safe. He'd throw himself from that window a thousand times if it meant he could go back and undo what she'd gone through. He'd plunge into the depths of Tartarus itself if it meant she would keep living. He was hers. She was his. His. His. His. His. "Light..? You're... holdin' me too tightly..." It was only then, as Applejack's small voice filtered in through the screaming voices telling him to hold her, that he realized the edges of his vision were darkening into rich, misty purple. With that startling realization and a breath, the color began to gradually clear, and the prickling sensation of throat-choking desire running through his veins slowly drained away. And then he loosened his stiff grip around his friend. Light sat back with a racing heart and even faster thoughts, only barely managing to keep a lid on his off-kilter breathing as Applejack leaned back to blink at him through misty eyes. Her reddened gaze pleading for him to reciprocate, but he just- He had to turn away, even for just a second. He just- he couldn't look at her right now. He didn't... feel as though he deserved to. He'd just have to bear the weight of knowing she was staring at him. She knew very well how he was; she'd just wait for him to pay attention to her again. A good friend. She'd only have to wait a moment while he freaked out. He couldn't deny it any longer, there was something wrong with him. The mist was coming out more and more, and his... fits were growing steadily worse. It was frightening in the least immediate way, especially since he'd never understood why his eyes bled mist when he got worked up. Though, it was usually anger that caused it. He hadn't been all that angry just then. He'd mostly felt... possessive. Wasn't that a good thing? He had to shelve further thought. This wasn't the time to worry about it so long as it wasn't going to immediately hurt him or anypony else. It wasn't immediate; not like Applejack. He had to pay heed to his ailing friend. His so-named friend was... a mess. The fur under her eyes was terribly matted down with drying tears, her eyes themselves were even redder than her face, and there was a copious amount of snot dribbling down into the strange, wobbly shape of her mouth. He often tried to look for the beauty in her appearance, even when he was in the midst of screaming disparaging remarks at her, but he couldn't honestly say she looked all that attractive right now. It was probably a good thing he hadn't said that out loud, something he was even more sure of as the mood shifted, and Applejack raised her hoof to grip his shoulder. Her eyes shone brightly through their redness as she spoke. "Ah don't wanna leave things unsaid, Light." Her voice was a thin, warbling rasp, but even still, she managed to inject her words with so much force. A proud, stern tone that never quite managed to leave her, even in the worst of times. "I don't wanna leave questions, or wonder about what might've been. I wanna... I wanna know." Her message struck home, and Light felt momentarily dizzied by its pure, emphatic force. Maybe it was her clear, overwhelming emotion; maybe it was because he could relate. And how he could relate to that sentiment. He'd died without ever achieving anything. He'd left so much unfinished. Whatever the case, the feeling intensified further as she suddenly took firm hold of his other shoulder. Their eyes meeting directly as he was stilled, and he only managed a dim realization that she was forcing him to look at her. Her voice sounded again, and as her face firmed into a strengthened frown, it became forcibly assertive. Not at all as though she'd been crying moments before, though he could still hear the thickness in her throat. The astonishing power of her will remained completely inexplicable to him, though he'd never deny the effect it had on him. After the tears, and the trauma, and the total destruction of her dignity, Applejack had still turned completely around to speak to him in a tense, albeit clipped, voice. Weighty, and completely intent. "So ah wanna know, Light. What happened to you?" > Intermission - Recovery and Loss > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Your... Majesty?" For the awestruck secret agent who, regardless of her extreme passion for serving the Crown, felt a bone-deep wear in her every muscle, there was hardly any indication that the stoic figure had heard her at all. As it was, there was only the slightest twitch at the corner of her pristine smile, which she was sure might've been the smallest possible movement. It was emboldening to see Her Highness act so discreet on her behalf. It provided her the needed impulse to slide her eyes out of Her impressive shadow and past the table before her. Across the myriad scented treats begging for her attention, and toward the idling and growing crowd presently nibbling on her sense of danger. A slight grimace rose over her cheeks. "Isn't this position... compromising?" Bon Bon managed, quietly, because the very real thought that somepony might've been able to hear her was currently overpowering her sense of decency. She flicked a glance to Her placid Highness as her tongue darted out to wet her lips, then returned to scanning the crowd for prying eyes. "The sense of security here isn't exactly... emboldening." Princess Celestia always seemed to smile, gazing upon Her subjects. And it was no surprise that She smiled then as She gently raised Her ever-present porcelain teacup to Her mouth for a soft sip. As She finished with a soft murmur of enjoyment, Her lips parted barely wider to eke out the softest of sweet whispers. "Fear not, agent." She couldn't help the slight shiver that ran through her at the sound of Her breathy words, even moreso as the barest touch of feathers wisped across her withers. It was all Bon Bon could do to just to keep breathing as the phantom comfort of a warm wing folded around her far shoulder, and Her voice tickled at her ear once more. "As far as anypony is concerned, there's nothing at all to Notice." Bon Bon's eyes fluttered open with a faint gasp, though she didn't quite remember closing them. She might've been exhausted, but she knew she was better than falling asleep on the job. Oh, but how serene the works of Her Highness were. To embrace... to weave... to whisper a pony away... A true miracle. She almost wished she could quash the analytical half of her mind that affirmed that there were unmistakable traces of a Notice-Me-Not spell in the air around them. The minute glowing golden haze at the corner of her vision, the gradual erasure of her own presence to note, and even the faint greying of the world around her would all be far more romantic as beautiful facets of Her Highness' heavenly miracles. Faith and practicality were a constant balance with no clear middle or rightful answer. That was alright; she'd save the romance for when she next saw Lyra. She had something very romantic- or unprofessional- planned for the occasion. The thought of it almost made her blush. "Oh, yes, 'twould be a tragedy indeed for the naïve masses to catch wiser." She was brought out of her reverent haze in a blink, and the faint, benevolent presence of Princess Celestia at her side seemed to grow ever fainter as Bon Bon turned a weary eye to the grim Goddess at her other side. She was sitting closer to Princess Celestia than Princess Luna with Her Highness' wing draped most of the way around her, but it was still only a short hoof-length or so that separated her from the Deity currently reclining improperly onto the table. She was taking lazy sips from a glass rapidly draining a bottle dry, Her aimless cyan gaze straying somewhere to Her side as She spoke tonelessly. "If thou were to be caught so sadly soon, we may never bear witness just how deeply thy reverence seeds." The oblique phrasing sunk in over a moment, and Bon Bon finally balked as Princess Luna slowly slid a piercing eye to land on her. She raised Her glass to Her mouth, but only silently bit at its rim for a moment before it floated away. "And how we should relish such a chance," She murmured, and at that, slid Her uncaring gaze back to Her empty side. She'd been insulted in a lot of different ways in a lot of different words over the years, and even once through a very emphatic interpretive dance by a captive Changeling that shortly after died of malnutrition, but never had Bon Bon been told she was boring in such an evasive way. It boggled the mind how finely Princess Luna had refined the innocuous insult. If the idea of speaking out of turn hadn't been completely run out of her in training, she'd have half a mind to sling a few back. Bon Bon's unsettled attention was only on the spiritless sovereign for a second longer before the soft weight on her shoulder shifted, and she was gently slid away from the dour Princess. Warmth brushed across her side, and she gasped softly as she jerked to stare widely at the smiling Princess newly pressed against her. One sparkling magenta eye out of the haze of Her mane fixed humorously down at her. "Don't fret over the sorry spirit of my sister, Sweetie Drops." The sweet sound of Her hum murmured into a soft laugh as Her eye raised higher, behind Bon Bon. "She is still well within the rights of recovery. We will only have to bear her burden for the time being." An irritated grunt tugged at her ear, though her worry was easily kept at bay as Her Highness turned to show more of Her soft, joking smile. It was only a joke. Good. As much as her time served in the guard may have instilled a somber reflex into her, Bon Bon found it hard not to smile back. Her Highness simply inspired a fulfilling sense of warmth in even the coldest temperament. She'd heard it was hell to maintain the typical soldier's stern protocol for Her assigned personal guard, to the point that Her Highness' occasional attempts to make light of them had given them a reputation as Her entourage rather than an elite force devised to preserve Her safety. Not that they were here now or ever really necessary. Among many other feats of strength and diplomacy, Princess Sol Celestia was the sole reason dragonkind even acknowledged the border. In a truly dangerous situation, She was more likely to save their lives. As she'd once pointed out to a particularly uptight member. To this day, it was still the highlight of her eternal quest to rub every breed of official the wrong way. Just for how red-faced they'd become... oh, what a day that'd been. A markedly rosier spirit was beginning to fill Bon Bon. Remaining in Princess Celestia's presence in any position other than a bow still went against everything she'd ever learned, but she was hard-pressed to not feel singled-out while wrapped in the finely-feathered embrace of Her wing. She was literally touching Divinity; was there any point in pretending she wasn't favored? With the tight knot in her chest loosening by the second, Bon Bon faintly smiled out into the joyous crowd as Princess Celestia did the same. Her kind, caring gaze taking in every detail of Her subjects defiantly making merry in spite of last night's upheaval. "Take heart from the bright day upon us, and the persisting spirit of those we protect." Princess Celestia murmured, Her reverent intonation helping all the more to bolster Bon Bon's spirit. As ponies ate and sang and drank, and her mind drifted to that which she held dear, Princess Celestia's hoof gently rose to lay on her shoulder. "Tell me of your report, Agent Sweetie Drops." Her voice carried the barest hard edge of a commanding officer's well-tuned order, yet it still kept the most wonderful songlike accompany. As though She were composing a melody of Her instructions to incite compliance all the more strongly. A tune she'd been dancing along to for her entire life, and one that she would never fail to join. Special Agent Sweetie Drops may have been sandwiched tightly between the living Sun and Moon unjustly resting on ordinary park benches, but she was undoubtedly ready to comply. Now and forever, at Her command, she would attend. Her hoof rose to her head at instinctive salute, and with the knowledge that nopony unimportant in the faintly grey scape around her could see it, she allowed her chest to puff sternly and proudly outwards. "Agent Sweetie Drops, E.I.A extra operative signed 647 in service to the Crown under the direct command of Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia, reporting!" she barked by rout, wincing slightly as there was an instant scoff to her side, almost as though it had just been waiting to let loose. She tried not to turn to look at the disapproving Princess, and instead towards the approving Princess who gave the slightest nod without turning her way. Knowing Her Highness was at the ready, Bon Bon sucked in a breath, and found her reporting voice. "Following Your Highness' last orders to keep watch over and contain Extraneous Magical Threat sign 382C11, codenamed: Necromancer, I brought Light Flow to a populated area and woke him with the given trigger word as instructed!" Between breaths and a momentary hesitation she took to let Her Highness ponder, Bon Bon was interrupted by a quiet hum. "Is that truly the moniker you've assigned him? Necromancer?" Disconcerted cerulean and surreptitious magenta gazes alike tracked to the other Princess regarding them with sudden interest, who had shockingly set her half-empty glass down to sit barely straighter. It was immediately unsettling to see Her so attentive for once, and Bon Bon found herself lacking a reply. Princess Luna turned towards them with an unusually expressive, dubious leer, landing first on her, then focusing on Her Sister in sequence. "Dost thou not see it as shameless in the slightest?" Her leery pout fell to Bon Bon again, though she barely had time to squirm under it before Her gaze was on Her Sister again. "Is it now our norm to label our citizens of interest by titles of distaste out of common fear?" Bon Bon's guard was thrown further off as Her Highness' wing pressed closer, nearly obscuring her in a blanket of combed feathers. Shielding her from the Lunar Princess' advance as Her tone grew hotter. "Had it not once been our method to deign practical denominations such as merely applying a numbered threat level?" Her hoof slid across the table as She spoke until it bumped against the edge of a plate, and Her gaze narrowed. "Have those days seen their end?" Had that once been the method of classifying threats to the nation? A numbered threat level? Princess Luna would have to pardon the unspoken slight, but that seemed more or less archaic. Titles were about as arbitrary, but internally it was more common to collate a record of previous actions and possible future threats into a well-kept file to reference for a nuanced understanding. The given title was more about filing than anything else. It was a half-hearted gripe she kept to herself, as Princess Celestia seemed to voice it instead. "I'm sorry, Luna," She began with a sour note of regret; Bon Bon looked up to see Her frowning apologetically toward Her simmering Sister. "I abolished that legacy of denomination six hundred years ago when I founded the EIA." Her nerves were once again tested as the weight of a hoof rested on the shoulder she shared with the Goddess. "It seemed prudent to develop a more intuitive system in light of the growing complexity of threats arising both without our borders..." Bon Bon chanced a glance upward, to catch Her Highness' eyes just as She offered a small smile down to her. "..and within." The slightest note of strong pride in Her Highness' voice had Bon Bon's heart swelling, and she managed to quietly return Her smile. Together, they offered small expressions of triumph to the raised eyebrow of the doubtful, blue Princess, whose critical stare restlessly flicked between them. "Besides," Princess Celestia continued, a slightly cheerier tone to her voice. "It isn't as though we never assigned titles in our reign. You remember how we announced the dangers of our enemies to our subjects, don't you?" Princess Celestia's hoof slid off her shoulder and raised to the air: Her voice continually cheery, but gaining a slightly grandiose tone. "We referred to Sombra as the Shadow King, did we not? And Lord Tirek the Conqueror?" Bon Bon stared in quiet reverence for a moment at the causal invocation of two of Equestria's greatest historical threats, before she shook it off and paid attention as Princess Luna went quiet. Only sternly returning Her Sister's kindly gaze for a few silent moments, before giving an altogether hefty sigh and turning swiftly away. The tension breaking at once as the Princess seemed to... pout. "We recall that Tirek declared himself as such to as large an audience as he could find, but we suppose we can see thy wisdom in these matters..." She sighed, forgoing her usual lean to rest Her head atop Her reclining hoof. "Very well, we are satisfied. Continue with thy recollection, Sweetie Drops." Her order- that was most definitely an order- was punctuated with the wave of Her free hoof, and at that, Princess Luna once again seemed entirely disinterested in anything but how quickly She could raise Her cider glass. How... cultured. It seemed as though Princess Luna was going to fit right into Canterlot life. Bon Bon managed to tear her apprehensive gaze away from Princess Luna and up to Her Highness, still frowning slightly towards Her snide Sister. Only for another moment, though, as She quickly turned a beatific smile back down to Bon Bon. Nodding gently towards the agent sheltered under Her wing. It was like an unspoken condemnation, though she was sure She hadn't meant it as such. Whatever the meaning, she was being rude. Not out loud, but still; she shouldn't be so hard on Princess Luna. It must've been a great source of stress to forget everything She knew to integrate into the modern world. Whatever She must've picked up from Her time dreamwalking as Nightmare Moon- and that entire concept seemed a mystery to her- there must've still been so much that remained so foreign to Her. She couldn't imagine. For the life of her, she couldn't even begin to relate. Luckily, that wasn't her job. Princess Luna had access to any therapist in the world if She wanted them. Bon Bon did not envy the one She picked. Her Highness' expression said that the lapse in duty was over for her, so with a blink and a breath, Bon Bon returned her hoof to her head. With her gaze returned forward, she dutifully scanned the crowd as she spoke. "During his awakening at just after 1400 hours, Light Flow showed no signs of recollection of our actions in the slightest, though obviously displayed some significant discomfort as several intervals." She thought back to the previous day's afternoon, as she'd followed Light around on his tumultuous tottering. She'd used the word discomfort as a pretty thin veil to mask just how jarring it was to see him seize up or just... stop for minutes at a time. In her professional opinion, he'd been anything but fine. But she wouldn't tell Her Highness that. She shook off the faint melancholic memories, and set herself straight again. "Light's movements during the day were fairly standard, if noticeably beleaguered, and the presence of the Nightma-" She bit her tongue as something dawned on her, and a deeply foreboding sense of clarity crept up on her neck as she dared to chance a peek at Princess Luna. The unwilling host of the almost named parasite, who at her near-invocation was... sitting and staring off into space. With Her drink held in a sparkling, blue haze swirling in indolent circles, Princess Luna's every relaxed muscle painted Her as the picture of uncaring. As was habit for her, Bon Bon frowned. Was it alright to speak of Nightmare Moon in Princess Luna's presence so soon after Her defeat? Wouldn't it be disrespectful? Or bring back bad memories? Alienating the new Goddess on the block was the last thing she wanted to do. As in all things, she looked to Her Highness for guidance. And as in most matters, Her Highness provided her with a smile. Kind, understanding eyes, and a slight nod. With hesitation none the lesser, Bon Bon let out a breath she'd held unconsciously, and shut her eyes. "-the presence of the Nightmare Queen seemed to have been entirely... suppressed. There was... no sign of a dangerous relapse- nothing that your spell wouldn't account for, at least." She took to focusing on her breathing; in and out, repeatedly and firmly as Her Highness contemplated in silence. Only in silence for a moment, though, and Bon Bon was brought out of her brief meditation as She shifted. "Luna, do you have anything to say of Light's condition?" Her Highness clearly held no fear of agitating Her Sister's temper, which Bon Bon felt was extremely courageous. Or, more likely, Princess Celestia just understood Her Sister more than she did. Either way, the situation felt charged with tension as Princess Luna turned slightly at Her Sister's words: what little showed of Her face behind the drawn-forward pomp of Her mane seeming torn with indecision, and... something that was a little harder to place. Sadness? Anger? Something like... regret. All the same, it was the scarcest show of emotion that smoothed out to an impassive mask as She blinked, and turned to face Her Sister. "We fear anything we may say could only seem unflattering, sister, so we would rather not," She answered dully- monotonously- as She soon turned away again. The total blankness in Her eyes unwavering as she grimly took solace in Her drink, as it was made for. Bon Bon felt as though that were truly that, but she was surprised once more as the weight of Her Highness shifted against her, smothering her into downy wing as Princess Celestia leaned towards Her Sister. "Lulu, please," She murmured lowly, a gently pleading note to Her voice. "-I don't wish for you to feel reservation in how you speak to me." The growing sense that she was only a third wheel in a larger-than-life drama between Deities oddly grew as Her Highness' hoof brushed against her face on its journey to lay upon Her chest in an earnest, emphatic punctuation. "If there's something you wish to say, then please speak your mind. I won't take offense, I promise." For a long moment, Bon Bon, slightly suffocated as she was under Princess Celestia's overbearing barrel, thought the plea fell on deaf ears. It seemed far too hopeful; simply far too gentle for the hard-edged Princess out of time. Stoicism on that level was not easily broken. She was barely able to see Princess Luna out of the small gap above Princess Celestia's wing, and as She turned and Her face came back into view, she was sure she was seeing wrong. Gone was the Goddess' constant mask of dispassionate disapproval: replaced by the ordinary, feeling face of a mare struck by a deep sadness. Every line of Her expression seeming sunken from the weight of whatever laid behind Her drawn, cyan gaze, while her mane seemed all the more limp against Her sullen cheeks. She regarded Her Sister through narrow, guarded eyes for a long moment before She sighed, and set Her drink to the table. Staring down into it for a very quiet moment as though there were something to see in its shallow depths. "It was... very effective, sister mine," was Her eventual, quiet response. Though there wasn't a single other pony paying attention to anything going on at the table, it seemed to grow oddly quieter as Princess Luna brought Her hooves together at the rim of Her cup. The Goddess' head sinking lower, while the sound of her own heart grew in her ears. "At the time, we found it... aggrieving, to no end: such was the strength of thy spell. We were unable to speak to him... at all. He was... deaf to our pleas." The obvious melancholy grew diminished as a harder tone crept in, and Her cup shifted slightly. "...To our anger, as well." It was quiet for a moment, until Princess Luna let out the smallest, dry scoff: shaking Her head as She raised it. Allowing all eyes to clearly see the slightest shimmer of moisture at the corner of Her eye as it caught the light. "We hurt him," She stated bluntly, though to her straining ears, it was a forced tone of unfeeling. Keeping Her tone and Her eyes straight as She continued. "Throughout the day, we tried many times to regain contact with him, and in our every useless ply, we only ever hurt him." Until it wasn't anymore. At the very tail end of Her sentence- at its very last syllable, Her voice caught, and Bon Bon let out a small, instinctive gasp. The Lunar Princess covered it quickly with a sharp breath, and for a moment, the overwrought agent wasn't sure the raising of Her glass wasn't just for Her obvious vice. But it was reaffirmed in the moment as Her Highness stiffened ever so gently beside her. She felt it as the barest twitch in their pressed-together coats- but she was sure. Princess Luna had faltered, and Princess Celestia had noticed. The relationship Princess Luna held with Light... wasn't something she'd considered before. Her first impression had been that of control, and when she'd interrogated Light, his obviously distraught recollection practically confirmed it. He hated Her for what She'd made him do, and She'd practically been the cause of all the distress in his life that she knew of- what she wasn't personally responsible for, anyway. So why did Princess Luna seem to regret it? They'd been Nightmare Moon's actions, and the reigning explanation was She wasn't the same mare as Princess Luna. Did She really feel so responsible for the things that weren't technically Her fault? Where was the sense of separation between them? It was all still very difficult for Bon Bon to adjust to. Princess Luna hadn't been anything like she'd imagined; rather than an imposing figure of scorn and gravitas as befitting the countenance of the Warrior Princess, She was instead... withdrawn. Dispassionate and melancholic, as though... She was depressed. Princess Luna seemed deeply and profoundly depressed. Not at all befitting a Goddess. Why did it set her so on edge? For whatever reason and however she felt about it, it simply wasn't up to Bon Bon to interpret. If anypony, it was to Her Sister's discretion whether to address it. Discretion that was left unanswered, and Bon Bon's gut feeling chilled to uncertainty as Princess Luna set Her empty glass back to the table and cleared Her throat. Her eyes were dryer than they were moments before; for all appearances, She seemed completely as self-assured as She ever was in Her melancholy. Recovering quickly and returning to stoicism: that was something Bon Bon could respect, at least. The Lunar Princess' face clenched for a split second as She took a breath, relaxing as She gently slid Her hoof onto the table. "It was... not until we set hoof upon Equus that we were able to break thy barrier and direct him as we pleased," She recounted slowly, pushing Herself back by Her exploring hoof as She spoke. As it stretched to Her plate-marked boundary, She nodded: Her face gaining a sober quality. "In truth, 'twas not long before we met thee in anger, sister." That had Bon Bon's ear twitching, as Princess Luna took a moment to rest Her eyes. So they had physically met. With the ambiguous magical methods involved in imprisoning a creature in the moon, she hadn't been entirely sure whether there'd been any confrontation at all. Filling in the blanks helped to scratch her investigative itch, though now she was well and truly worried about the state of Canterlot. The royal guard was disciplined enough, but there hadn't been that much conflict in this lifetime, and yesterday night's events were entirely unprecedented. If there'd been a fight- a fight hadn't been confirmed- then the public must've been in an uproar. If peace was disturbed, then it would fall on the guard to quell panic, but that hinged on whether they were in order, and if the guard wasn't in order, then the nobility wasn't safe, and if the nobility wasn't safe- what if Her Highness hadn't been the only target- then the other branches of the government might've been in disarray- the chain of command would collapse- and if the government was- Bon Bon took a sharp breath, stepped back from her thoughts, and chose a focal point on the horizon. Stop. It wasn't her business. Her business was here in Ponyville and in the immediate present. Canterlot's captain of the guard may have been tasked with sequestering the Princess' niece into hiding, but the entire rest of the EIA was headquartered nearby- not to mention several other organizations. If any of them had been unable to keep the peace, then they were all failures, and Canterlot had more than a few riots to worry about. It was not up to Bon Bon to organize relief squads. It wasn't her duty to discuss what came next. It was not her job to save the world. All she had to do was give Her Highness her report, and she could go home and do naughty things to her marefriend. That was it. With her mental calisthenics performed exhaustively, Bon Bon let out a sigh and watched as Her Highness nodded narrowly, an absent expression of deep thought on Her face. It fled to lucidity as She focused Her gaze to Her Sister, and in a motion that literally crushed Bon Bon, gently extended Her hoof to touch upon Princess Luna's. Though it was difficult to breathe or to see at all, she could clearly hear as Princess Luna sucked in a disturbed breath at the contact. Through the ever-narrowing gap in the vice known as Princess Celestia, the elder Sister smiled at Her startled younger Sister, meeting Her eyes with genuine thankfulness. "Thank you for being honest with me, Luna. I know it must have been difficult for you." Though Princess Luna still seemed caught in Her own moment, the shock of contact with Her sister faded to weary acceptance- muted gratitude- as Her expression softened. "Yes... sister mine," She echoed, then Her voice steadied as presence returned to Her eyes, and She straightened. "We wish not to hinder thine investigation. Any question on thy mind, we are..." She hesitated a moment, then shook it off. "..we are only too happy to answer." It was a tender moment... that lasted way longer than Bon Bon was comfortable with. It was a true blessing to enjoy the company of Her Highness, but being sheltered under Her wing and pressed to Her rock-solid figure as She held hooves with Her Sister might've been a step to spiritual enlightenment she'd rather miss out on. If touching Divinity meant sacrificing her personal space after a week of consciousness, then she guessed she just wasn't that devout. Thankfully, the awkward- for her- contact ended as she caught a glimpse of something from beyond the table. There was a moment of confusion as Her Highness shifted and Bon Bon was left blind but for white, but then Her wing fanned slightly, and she could see the top of a figure before it dropped below the table. There was a quiet murmur of Your Majesty that she placed as a mare's voice, which she realized was sort of familiar after a moment, and by the time red mane and purple fur crept back over the table's edge with hesitation written on its unstained face she'd pretty much already realized it was Berry Punch. It struck Bon Bon as... sort of odd to see Berry giving personal prayer to the Princess, given that... she wasn't really the most religious sort. There'd been a few times she'd heard the habitual drunk raise a glass to 'that big old white hen for raising that brightass sun', but that was more of a Drunk Berry kind of a thing than a Sober Berry kind of thing. Those two didn't often see eye to eye- but what did Bon Bon know? She barely ever saw Berry when she wasn't drunk. Except for lately, because she'd actually been pretty good about giving up drinking this time. Even then, though she seemed sketchy and nervous as she jerkily turned to lower into a bow for the apathetic Princess Luna, it was a stable state of weird and jerky rather than the inebriated sort she was usually friends with. She was happy for the mare- she really was. They didn't always get along, but Berry was a decent friend when she wasn't blind drunk on her own product. She deserved to be happy, and to not wake up hungover in her own vomit every afternoon. Her friend's nervous eye briefly roved over her, but it was only briefly, and Bon Bon was assured of Her Highness' spellwork as the purple mare passed over her to hesitantly address Her Highness. "Uh... Your Majesty, I was... hoping to receive your blessing today." Her eyes averted as Her hoof raised behind her head, and her voice dipped shamefully. "About... um, my journey to sobriety. It's been... kind of rough... um... lately." Oh, Berry. Damn her bleeding heart, but pity was beginning to edge out her general reluctance to care about her cover friends. She half-wished she could give the obviously uncertain mare- well in the midst of a crisis of confidence- some sort of condolence without breaking cover and causing an incident. Her Highness, at least, seemed amenable. She looked down at the former seven-time drinking champion with no less kindness in Her serene gaze than She'd done for Bon Bon. The one constant in the life of a devout was the love of The Pure Goddess. "Of course, my beloved subject," She assured softly, Her melodious voice seeming to bring some comfort to the unsure mare. Bon Bon was shifted as Princess Celestia leaned forward onto the table, though at Her height She was still sitting mostly straight. "Why don't you tell me what brought you to this epiphany?" The question seemed to petrify her poor friend for a moment, though her stuck look gradually faded to general incertitude before she swallowed heavily, and shuffled her hoof into the ground. "Well, I've got a little sister at home, and- and there are ponies that... you know, that love me, I... guess..." She managed to raise her head to catch Her Highness' gaze, and the genuine plea in her voice shone especially brightly through her unsteady stare. "I guess... I just... don't like how my hab-" She caught herself, then sighed. "-my illness was... hurting them." Bon Bon knew very well that Berry couldn't hear her, but she still tried to muffle her sigh by biting her lip. That Berry had her sister in mind wasn't surprising to hear in the least, only that she was admitting it. Though Berry was a very mellow drunk, she was usually pretty noncommittal when it came to talking about her problem- at least, when Bon Bon was around. One of the only times she'd ever seen the chill mare actually lash out was when... it'd probably been Carrot Top that tried to bring up Ruby. It was quite the scene. She'd adamantly denied that her drinking affected her sister in any way, then when she'd tried to angrily throw her empty mug, she'd fallen out of her barstool and passed out on the floor. She... was pretty sure. It was either that or Bon Bon had trotted away. It was a little hard to remember that night given that she'd been drinking, too. Either way, everypony knew it was a heap of horseapples, and she'd been right in thinking Berry did too. It was only then that Bon Bon realized she'd zoned out for longer than she'd meant to, and Berry was already giving Princess Celestia a wiggly half-smile in response to something She'd said. She made a mental note to stay up an extra hour after she was in bed, because inattentiveness was a punishable offense. The situation seemed at an end, and Berry was already turning to walk away with whatever affirmation Her Highness had given her. The mare looking glad to be done with the affair, though her speedy trot suddenly froze mid-step, while Bon Bon's heart skipped a beat at the raised voice she'd almost forgotten was there. "What is thy name? Thy sister's name?" All eyes turned, and Bon Bon gnawed at her tongue in worry as the Princess who had stayed silent up until then straightened. Her posture at once becoming stern as She regarded the poor mare before her, who looked to be seconds from bolting: her head low against her tense shoulders, and confused eyes fixed on the once-vengeful Deity. "Um... well, my name- that's..." After a few stutters from the surprisingly sober mare, she must've learned to swallow her spit before opening her mouth, and finally managed to get around to the point. "Berry, your- uh- Your Highness. Berry Punch. And my sister's name is- well- it's Ruby Pinch." Poor Berry was usually so full of confidence and swagger. Now, saddled with all her inhibitions, she could barely look Princess Luna in the eye. Well, she wasn't, actually- but Bon Bon didn't blame her. It wasn't so long ago that she was the one cowering and choking on her tongue before that petrifying cyan stare. A stare silently levied on the increasingly upset mare for much longer than she was sure any of them were comfortable with, and it was only as Princess Celestia gently cleared her throat that Princess Luna finally blew out a short breath, and nodded stoutly. "Very well, Berry Punch. We shall watch over thee and thy kin." Her sudden statement was punctuated by a quick motion of Her cup that She raised to drain the last sip from its bottom, before She placed it solidly onto the table and cleared Her throat. She further straightened in Her seat, Her striking eyes narrowing as a spectral light crept up the length of Her horn: glinting to a point and then growing at the tip. It took everything she had not to leap to action. It was her first instinct to leap to her friend's defense- magic against a civilian was dangerous- but she had to clamp it down. Bite her lip- hold herself closer to Her Highness- look very pointedly at Princess Luna's wings and horn to remember who She was- anything she needed to not do something she'd regret. Princess Luna was a trusted authority figure, and as long as Princess Celestia was calm and relaxed- as She was- then there was nothing to fear. She had to keep her too-focused gaze from twitching to the Lunar Princess, because there was no need to monitor Her. It was honestly incredible that Berry managed to stand Her ground, however reluctantly, as a misty haze of manifest mana swept slowly through the air from the Princess towards her. Bon Bon holding her breath in anticipation as Berry took a half-step back from the encroaching cloud; the mare seeming to steady herself as it grew closer, finally shutting her eyes and buckling down as the mist began to sparkle. Each minute point of light blinking out, until the entire haze coalesced to a single, twinkling star. As the pinprick of light drifted forward and finally made contact with Berry's nose, Princess Luna began to speak in a deep, powerful intonation. "In thy dreams, thou shalt find sanctuary from thy troubles. When thy hooves land in our Domain, thou shalt find naught but a great peace in slumber." The glowing speck of magic trailed up the bridge of Berry's muzzle as the trembling mare sucked in a breath, then stopped for a moment at her forehead. Lingering curiously, before it finally pressed forward in time with an exhale from Princess Luna, and the speck of mana dispersed in a mist around the spellbound mare's head. Vanishing in scant seconds over her ears, that gently twitched as the energy blew over them. With that, the Princess nodded once more: seeming satisfied. "Go now, and know that thee and thy kin walk with our blessing." Berry slowly peeled her eyes open with a bleary blink; in the moment after, she stumbled dizzily backwards. Shaking her head as she turned unsteadily, she sent one last confused glance towards Princess Luna before she cantered quickly away. Very quickly. Bon Bon watched the retreating mare until she vanished into the crowd, finally letting her relieved breath out in a sigh and resting her hoof over her pounding heart. The number of times warning flags had popped up and she'd been milliseconds away from trying to smack Princess Luna in the horn was... overwhelming. It had all been overwhelming. If this was what it was always going to be like around Princess Luna, then Bon Bon was just fine staying on Princess Celestia's retainer, where blessings were spoken without straddling the line of magical safety laws. Bon Bon's disgruntled leer morphed into a grimace as Her Highness once again loomed over her to lean towards Her Sister. The rigid younger Princess breaking her stare away from where Berry had disappeared to meet Her Sister's eye, and as Princess Celestia's hoof slid across the table, Princess Luna readily met it with Hers. "That was beautiful, Lulu." Princess Celestia's murmured whisper had Bon Bon straining her ear, as there was something almost... choked about it. Immediately disconcerting to hear the fallible emotion, but less than it usually was considering she was presently being crushed under some hundreds-pound Goddess. She was having a little trouble following everypony's lead at the moment, but she was pretty sure she heard Princess Luna let out a small sigh. "We... thank thee, sister, for saying so." There was the subtle sound of tinkling and the not-so-subtle sound of liquid being poured, and then an empty bottle being carelessly dropped into ice. "The proper ritual for a blessing is long lost to us in our absence, but we tried to... speak from the heart, as it is said." There was a silent moment of quiet swallowing, then Luna began to speak again: slightly more abashed than before. "In truth, sister, we... we are still struggling to accept all that thou expect of us." Her next breath sounded like a word that died in her throat, then She sighed, and spoke in a mutter. "It seems to be... ill-considered." Princess Celestia murmured softly- Bon Bon felt it vibrate through her- as Princess Luna took what sounded like three sips past decency. "I understand that it's difficult for you, Luna, but all I'm asking is that you consider it. You don't have to give me an answer now." There was a pause, and finally- finally- Bon Bon could breathe again as Her Highness leaned off of her. "Take your time. It's a big decision," Princess Celestia murmured as She straightened, and raised Her own cup of tea. Her wing fanned out on what she hoped was on purpose, and Bon Bon was free to wipe the clammy feeling off her forehead. After so long spent smothered into Her body, she'd finally managed to place what Princess Celestia smelled of. Dew. Faintly like fresh rain. It was a pleasant smell, and she was happier for having recognized it, but it was ultimately a distraction from the matter at hoof. She could finally see Princess Luna again and found Her half-slumped forward onto the table with a hoof on Her cheek, the last of Her cider swirling contemplatively above Her. The tempestuous Princess- she was assuming- spent the next few moments staring dully up at Her floating drink, swirling the auburn liquid around Her cup in wide, dangerous circles. The cycle finally came to an end as She closed Her eyes and took a breath, lowering the half-full cup to the table as She straightened. Sitting with Her back to an imaginary rest as, for what might've been the first time that she'd seen, She gazed out at the crowd. Scanning the masses of smiling ponies drinking and having fun... as something in Her expression softened. Sobered. "...We enjoyed giving that well-drainer our blessing." The quiet admission was hard to hear as Princess Celestia immediately snorted back a noseful of tea- and Bon Bon forced herself to remain neutral. The terribly improper mistake made at Her Sister's slur covered in the next instant by a white cloth that had seemingly come out of nowhere, while the Deity covering Her mouth took to glaring at the shockingly placid younger Princess. "Luna! That is very improper speech!" Princess Celestia chided somewhat nasally, and Bon Bon was further forced to hide her flushing face with a hoof as Princess Luna only subtly raised an eyebrow. Not seeming concerned in the slightest as She rocked back on the bench: stretching Her hooves up around Her bouncing mane as She yawned mouthily. Through her effort to look anywhere else, she heard the sound of thousands-year old lips smacking, and then a sigh. "Pray forgive our improper speech, sister. We are as yet unlearned in this age's proper degradation." Her voice lightened from a dead monotone: edging into clear mocking as Her tone grew stilted. "Tell us, sister dearest, which insult wouldst thou use?" The urge to make her growing irritation known was beginning to edge into need, though Bon Bon was slightly mollified by Her Highness' clear aggravation. Her weighty sigh as She leaned forward into a hoof almost making up for the insult against her friend by a timeless Goddess of unknown experience and power. "Luna, I swear," Her Highness muttered lowly- frighteningly lowly. The sort of voice Bon Bon had only heard once, during a meeting with an insufferable member of the nobility she'd tried very hard to forget. If she hadn't already been on edge from the insult, the way Princess Celestia growled Her next words would've had her on high alert. "In this and every age, you are nothing but a brat." Her Highness' anger fell on deaf ears- impossibly- as Princess Luna only scoffed slightly. "And as we have been long aware, thou art far too perfect for thine own good." She slipped out snippily as She raised the last of Her drink to Her lips. Leaning Her head back to sip victoriously at Her cider that- -was lifted at its bottom by an innocuous sparkle of golden magic, tipping past Princess Luna's lips, and spilling dark-golden liquid onto Her chest. The blue Princess with a new, amber stain on Her chest pushed Her drink up and away with a strangled cry as Bon Bon made a very similar noise, but the damage was already done. Her cup was newly emptied, and no matter how hard She glared at Her chest, there was no un-tipping the drink onto it. Heavens help her. Deliver her from the fallen Goddesses about to come to blows right over her head. The far too innocent, humming laugh brought both ponies' attention back: one mortified stare from Bon Bon, and one irked glare from Princess Luna towards the white Princess hiding a smile behind a teacup. The situation seeming all the more impossible as, when She caught Princess Luna's eye, She raised Her teacup with a sunny little hum. "If I am perfect, then you must just be clumsy." At that, She let out another murmuring laugh, and turned away as Her Sister banged Her hoof into the table. Not very hard- it didn't explode- but it was enough to draw Bon Bon's alert attention to the possibility of danger, though all she found was pout on Princess Luna's face. A pout that grew poutier as the spurned Princess turned Her glare to Her own chest, before the expression wiped as She took a deep breath and closed Her eyes. In another breath, spectral light spiraled in a flash- far faster than the spell before- up the grooves of Her horn. As the shining, blue light grew to an apex at its tip, Bon Bon found she had almost become accustomed to clamping down on Her protective urges. With another breath and a very noticeable increase in the pressure of the air around them, faint droplets of liquid began to bead on the tips of Her chest fur. Her breathing fell to an easy rhythm as, over the course of only a few seconds, the beads gradually bubbled in from themselves in size until they disconnected from their strands of fur. Replaced again and again by yet more amber dew until Her chest was dry and there was a smallish bubble of alcohol floating in the air before them. A bubble that, before her amazed stare, burst inward and dropped into a stream that perfectly filled Princess Luna's cup to where it had been a minute ago. The Lunar Princess seeming nonplussed at the advanced show of Aquamancy as She merely brushed a hoof through Her now-dry chest, and shot another glare towards Her still proudly smirking Sister. "If we had not learned to seep alcohol from fur three nights hence our first encounter with Rabble Rouser, we would be very cross with thee, sister," Princess Luna muttered scathingly, huffily turning to down the last sip of the drink that had- it was just all over Her fur. Sorry- it was just a little difficult to conceptualize. Of course she understood that magic was able to perform an act like that. She understood the theory behind Aquamancy. It was just- she'd never seen anypony do... anything like that so deftly! It was nothing short of incredible to levy that kind of magical prowess without even using drawn sigils! She just- okay, Bon Bon, shake it off. The Princesses were both very skilled- that might as well have been explicit. Princess Celestia had once killed a Dragon Lord, and one of Princess Luna's surviving historical depictions labelled Her as the Warrior Princess. They were good at magic. With a literal shake and with her eyes feeling less popped out of their sockets, Bon Bon finally felt as though now would be a good time to speak up. She cleared her throat, drawing Princess Celestia's eye down, which she frowned questioningly towards. "Um- Princess?" As if Bon Bon's tentative address were a great shock, Princess Celestia drew in a sharp- yet still somehow dainty- gasp. "Oh! Sweetie Drops, please forgive us!" Her Highness' wing shifted to free the constricted space around her shoulder, and She faced her with a fully apologetic expression. "I became so distracted speaking to my sister that I nearly forgot you were there." Ouch. That was... a little hurtful. It wasn't easy to suppress her frustration or to hide her hurt as a perfect white hoof landed on her shoulder, and she looked up at Her. "Why don't you finish your report, and you can be on your way home," She offered kindly, though a little quickly. Had... had She actually forgotten she was there? She'd seemed engrossed in conversation and hijinks, sure, but outright forgetting there was a pony under Her wing was a serious lapse in consideration. Maybe it was just... Godly circumstance. Her Highness was ancient enough that... that the current moment was impossible to fully focus on, and some things just naturally passed Her by. The buzzing of flies; the breeze through the grass; the... pony She was sheltering. Yeah. Yeah, that hurt a little less. She could pretend that was the answer. Bon Bon kept her wary gaze on Her Highness' increasingly benevolent smile for a few moments, her face gradually falling into a grimace as she glanced towards the... returned to apathetic Princess Luna. Her drink was finally finished, and now Her preferred method of indifference seemed to be just ignoring everything around Her. Alright. She guessed... it was time to keep reporting. She could work with that. On the clock, as it was. Though she felt as though the atmosphere was a little too... brief, she still cleared her throat, and straightened as much as she could with Her Highness' wing still laid over her shoulders. "I'll continue my report, Highness," she affirmed stoically, and that seemed to please Her if the small pat on her shoulder was anything to go by. Kind of made her feel a bit foalish, but whatever. Princess Celestia was more or less the mother of the nation, anyway. Her thoughts were straying too far into strange places, so she cleared them out of the way with a well-placed mental image of boot camp. No time for fanciful delusions; Sweetie Drops had a duty to uphold. "During..." She cleared her throat, because wow. "During the course of the day, Light came into contact with several high-profile characters, most notably Twilight Sparkle and her aide Spike." The slight falter she made and hid went unspoken as Princess Celestia made a small hum of understanding. "Yes, Twilight said as much when we spoke a few hours ago." She nodded gently to Herself, then turned a curious eye back to Bon Bon. "I'm given to understand that much of Light's time yesterday was spent with Spike?" Bon Bon felt her tongue sitting in her mouth a little too much just then, but she was still able to nod and use it just fine. "Yes, Highness. After their initial meeting in which Twilight and Spike ran into Light and Twilight left to oversee the Celebration's preparations, Light helped Spike look for her for the remainder of the day." Even then, Bon Bon dwelled on how odd it had been to trail them without having to hide at all. Princess Celestia's Notice-Me-Not spell had been effective enough to allow Bon Bon to walk close enough behind them to hear their conversations with little trouble, and to very personally observe Light's rapid decline. As the aide to the Princess' Personal Student, Spike's troubles were officially her responsibility to feel badly about, and how she did. It still boggled her mind that, out of anypony Light could have happened to walk into- to actually bump into on the sidewalk, it had been Twilight Sparkle not an hour and a half after stepping off the chariot from Canterlot. If she didn't know any better, she'd almost say Nightmare Moon had purposefully steered him toward her. ...She knew better. Her presence had been too suppressed to allow for that at that time. Either way, it'd been shocking and she'd been on the verge of stepping in and getting Light away from Twilight, but he'd just stared at her and she'd walked away and everything sort of worked out in the end. No extralegal intervention required, thank Her. Or... not thank... the other Her. Or something. She shook the confusing pronouns off with a blink, and raised herself up to speaking posture again. Her Highness was waiting. "During my time trailing Light and Spike, it became clear that the effects of the mind-altering were causing him to act erratically." She stopped to take a slightly guilt-tinged breath, before continuing. "I believe Spike, as well as the recently ascended Elements of Generosity and Honesty, took notice of his condition." She'd felt so nauseatingly powerless with each high-profile pony Light met with, knowing that blowing her cover wasn't worth anything but the most severe circumstances. With every familiar sight and soon-to-be savior he'd seen, Bon Bon had felt the impending end loom closer and closer. Almost as if She could feel the turn Bon Bon's thoughts had taken, the Princess' general jollity had mostly faded, replaced by a glimmer of worry in Her distant gaze. It only grew brighter as Bon Bon finished, and She raised a hoof to Her chin in a consummate thinking pose. "...To what extent would you say he was noticed?" She asked after a few moments of silence, all the while Her tangible concern crawled on the secret agent's prickling coat. A dire, dreaded tone of disquiet. Bon Bon's throat gradually went dry, and she swallowed as it came time to speak; thanking the sense of security Her Highness was providing, even as... She also stoked every single one of her worries at once. "To... be concise, Highness..." She trailed off for a moment as she thought through her wording, then took a breath, and committed herself. "They believed he had contracted amnesia, though they weren't sure of the method." She instinctively braced for rebuttal as they plunged into murky water, but her worry turned to a quiet concern as Princess Celestia didn't seem to react at all. Her hoof stayed rigidly on Her chin as She stared into the distance for... a while, and just as Bon Bon contemplated turning to ask Princess Luna for help, She finally nodded. A prompt bend of the back of Her neck. "Continue, agent," She instructed, Her tone suddenly turning stern. The stout command of an army general commanding the troops- or the steely order of the Princess who stood above them all. Not loud or abrasive, just simply powerful. A tone that knew its existence. She'd considered the implications, and She knew the circumstances called for it. Even for as long as it had been since the events, the dire attention the Princess was giving her recount was enough to reignite a spark of worry in the secret agent's chest. The danger to the kingdom was long past, she knew, but... there was still a lot to own up for. Though it had been a state of emergency, the things that had happened still had consequences. Bon Bon slowly closed her eyes as she shrunk into a tired sigh, rising after a moment with her hoof climbing resolutely, if slowly, to her head. Though Her attention had long faded, she couldn't deny how the presence of Princess Luna at her other side seemed to play at her growing insecurity. The figure that had, in another life, been the exact cause of everything she was about to admit to. It seemed almost poetic to be forced to admit her failures beside the mare that had caused them. "Highness... I'm afraid..." Bon Bon faltered for a moment as words failed her. Once again, a nagging sense of insecurity trailed over her spine- but she shrugged it off. She took a breath, and forced herself to sound as steely as she could. "I failed you." There was no immediate reaction from Princess Celestia, though she couldn't say whether that was any better. Without the knee-jerk condemnation she'd expected, she was left in the tense silence of Her quiet stare forward. Not narrow nor angry, nor did it seem to carry any emotion at all. For every appearance, Her gaze was simply and ruthlessly calculating. It was worse than a condemnation. It was... colder. She... had to continue. There was more unsaid; she hadn't actually explained how she'd failed. She had to stop feeling so sorry for herself, and give her report. Maybe Her Highness was just waiting to know the facts before She gave Her judgement. There was every possibility that she could earn Her forgiveness. Despite how lowly she'd made herself feel, Bon Bon raised her head, and set her jaw. Reaffirming her salute- because it felt like she'd need the confidence- she spoke again. "My mission to watch over Light until dawn was unsuccessful." She grimaced as she recalled the moment she'd realized her charge had disappeared, frantic memories of the panic brimming once more. "During a party thrown by the recently ascended Element of Laughter for Twilight's arrival in town, Light... escaped." She took a short breath, and spoke with as much fading confidence as she could muster between blinks. "I... have reason to believe that he was once again under instruction from Nightmare Moon at that time." She licked her drying lips in a pause, trying to rouse her sense of diligence before she spoke again. "When I followed him outside, I observed that the moon had lost Her shadow, which lead me to assume that..." The next word didn't come; it faltered in her throat, and Bon Bon sat with her mouth open for a few quiet moments before she swallowed, and slowly lowered her gaze. She'd continued out of a sense of duty... because she'd thought Her Highness had fallen. How could she admit the lull in her faith to Her face? At the time it had been all that drove her, but in the hours following their victory over Nightmare Moon, she'd begun to doubt whether it had been the right thing to think. It made logical sense, and the firm voice of practicality she'd built up over her tenure as a member of the EIA confirmed that she'd made do with what she had, and that should've been good enough. But good enough wasn't good enough. Faith... she should've committed to her faith. The belief in an unerring higher power. So why hadn't she? Why hadn't she kept her faith? "...It's alright, Sweetie Drops." Bon Bon's eyes flew open with a gasp, and her head whipped up from its discontent hang. She found Princess Celestia staring sadly down at her, a knowing, tired smile over Her face. Unaccented and startlingly lonely; it was the first time in a while that Bon Bon had really noticed the lack of Her regalia. How... graceful She seemed, even without it. Serene... and gentle. Once again, Princess Celestia laid her unadorned hoof onto Bon Bon's shoulder, still matching her gaze. "I know you did the best you could, and you did what you thought was best." As the agent stared widely back at Her, wishing for the three, magical words that would bring her solace, something in Her gaze... changed. A shadow fell over Her expression, and Her smile slowly fell. "Last night brought... many mistakes." The far-off emotion in Her eyes deepened for a moment, and for that moment... Bon Bon really thought She was going to scowl. But She didn't. The look in Her eyes lightened, and She was suddenly smiling warmly again. "I forgive you your transgression, agent." The trance in the air shattered to dust as Her Highness' hoof returned to Her, and She tilted Her head towards Bon Bon. "Their meeting did not come to pass in the end, so as long as Light was returned to town safely, there was no harm done." Her voice was so soft, so soothing that Bon Bon almost nodded in relief. It would've been easy to move right along with Her Highness' effortlessly kind words and forget the intense moment of discomfort. That now, she was supposed to continue her report. After that one, single second of relief ended, there was nothing except a sobering sense of dread. Princess Celestia must have noticed- how could She not- and Bon Bon cursed herself as Her smile tipped down at its ends. "Agent? Is there something the matter?" The wing over her back tried to usher her closer, but a sudden sense of indecisiveness made Bon Bon scooch back into its press, and away from the Princess with the growing frown. This was bad; she was exhibiting all the classic signs of a liar. She couldn't keep her eyes straight on Her Highness- every time she tried to meet Her questioning gaze, she instinctively averted her eyes sideward. She just couldn't help it; she wasn't ready yet. She'd figured that, by the time it took her to get to this part, she would've figured out a way to tell Princess Celestia that Light and Nightmare Moon had met! In the moments that followed, Bon Bon would regret looking over at Princess Luna. With Her constant loaded silences, she hadn't been sure that the moody Deity had been listening. But as she caught a shocking glance of Her suddenly hunched-over posture, holding Her hanging head in Her hooves, it was clear She had been, and something dawned on her that she should've realized earlier. Princess Luna knew everything that had happened to Light last night, probably even better than Bon Bon did. So why was everything she was telling Princess Celestia new information? Why hadn't Her Sister told Her what happened? As startling as the realization that Princess Luna was essentially keeping secrets from Her Sister was to Bon Bon, there was still the matter of keeping those secrets, and judging by how she could feel Her Highness stiffen, they weren't going to be kept for much longer. Bon Bon expected an immediate flurry of questions towards the both of them, acting so unwarrantedly suspicious. The way Her Highness' critical, magenta stare roved from Bon Bon to Princess Luna, she was sure She must have had a few. She could actually almost tell, with each heavy furrowing of Her brow, as every new question popped into Her head. But then, it was just as clear when each question answered itself. One by one by one; a chain of realizations and connections that each took the millennia-old Goddess mere fractions of a second to answer. Until Princess Celestia had no more questions to ask Herself, and Her face hardened into a sheer slate of steel. "Luna," She addressed Her Sister lowly, and Bon Bon had to wince because she'd never heard Her Highness' voice waver like that. "-why did you lie to me?" The reaction was immediate. Princess Luna's hooves fell from Her head onto the table with a bang that rattled every dish on it, and Her wide, shockingly wet eyes swerved to Her Sister. "I didn't lie to you!" She cried out- loudly. The moment caught up as the Lunar Princess' hoof flew to Her mouth as She turned quickly away, and Bon Bon focused herself forward as Princess Celestia quickly raised Her teacup to Her mouth. There were many heads turned their way, and each of them turned in a different direction as Princess Celestia looked out into the crowd. The panic that had risen in Bon Bon's chest began to abate as everypony attending seemed to go hurriedly about their business- for good reason. If it had been her, she wouldn't have been the only pony to keep looking with Sol Invictus burning a hole in their general direction. As the Celebration continued and the agent let out a sigh of relief, Princess Celestia gently set Her cup back onto the table. "I needn't remind you of appearances, Luna," She murmured quietly- intensely- to which Her Sister, returned to holding Her head in one hoof, sighed. "I... we know, Sister, we just-" She sighed again, seeming completely frustrated if Her grimace was anything to go by. Finally, She took a firm breath, and slowly lowered Her hoof to the table. "...We do not appreciate you casting an aspersion upon us as you did." She answered stiffly, staring fiercely forward. The Lunar Princess went silent, and the Solar Princess took to speaking in Her absence. "Then tell me the truth." Her voice lowered even further, to a whisper that Bon Bon had to strain to hear. "I asked you if you met with Light last night, and you told me you hadn't." Her Highness' tempered accusation came to an end, and Princess Luna's jaw tensed as clear frustration warred over Her stiff face. "If you recall," She began tersely, barely turning Her head towards Her sister while keeping Her gaze forward. "We said that he held no part of last night's events. He was not important." Their dialogue hushed as a filly came running by, and Princess Celestia smiled warmly down at her as she passed. Princess Luna did not turn from Her stare forward: a view which everypony had conveniently exited. As the filly passed out of earshot and far enough away not to see, Princess Celestia's face fell again. "Luna, that is not the same." She took a deep breath, and Her voice managed to regain an edge of composure. "I asked you whether you had met, not whether he was important. You omitted the truth." The air had become unbelievably thick with an aura of tightly-wound tension, and Bon Bon found it hard to breathe in the following silence. Both Deities on either side of her sitting tall, stiffly, and with Their eyes firmly and unwaveringly forward. A staring contest which neither of Them seemed eager to start. "...It no longer matters." That was the final word from Princess Luna, who without another word then craned Her head up towards the sky. Shutting Herself completely off from anything further, even as Her Sister turned to stare at Her with a furrowed, nearly affronted brow. It remained that way for as long as the next few minutes, as Princess Luna remained completely still in Her sky gazing. Bon Bon was still waiting for Her to blink by the time Princess Celestia spoke, startling her out of the conversational deadzone she'd been in. "...Agent," She began without taking Her hard eyes off Her Sister. "-you followed Light Flow after he left, correct?" The quiet hang after Her question continued for a moment before Bon Bon realized what was happening, and snapped to attention. "Yes, Highness!" She answered quickly. "He left for the Everfree forest, and I pursued him with all haste!" Her Highness did not react. "But you did not catch up with him." Bon Bon balked at the abrupt statement for a moment, then sagged as a sense of shame crept tugged at her ear. "...No, Highness. It took me several hours to navigate the Everfree." She sighed, and lowered her unworthy gaze to the table. "By the time I reached the ravine around the castle, Light had already crossed the bridge." It was quiet for another moment as Princess Celestia only continued to stare deeply at Her Sister. Eyes narrowing. Her jaw barely clenching into a grimace. It was only as She finally broke the stare that She spoke, looking out into the crowd with a grim expression. "So, how was it that you escaped with him?" And at that, Bon Bon didn't know what to answer. It was clear Her Highness had a few ideas about what had happened, the most predominant being that Bon Bon had somehow exfiltrated Light from Nightmare Moon's presence. That Her Highness had so much faith in her was heartening, but she could be forgiven for not preening at the implication. No, Bon Bon only laid her hoof onto the table, and frowned down at it. The one slightly stained hoof that had, several hours before, been completely lame. The hoof she'd injured while climbing the cliff after the bridge collapsed- but Her Highness hadn't asked that. She'd asked how she'd gotten Light out. She'd wavered in her faith, and now, with the deeply flawed Lunar Princess poised to rule, she was questioning the motives of the Divine. It was her duty to tell Her Highness the truth, no matter the consequence. "...I carried him out, Highness," she answered quietly, and faintly, she could feel a quiver ripple across the feathers along her back. It nearly made her stall in her recollection, and the only way she managed to continue was by closing her eyes. "I followed the compass I requisitioned from MR&D to the center of the castle, where I found Light in the ruins of the city under the tower of the Moon's Throne." She swallowed, listening to the quiet sound of her beating heart for the last time. The last moment of solace before she broke the silence. Before she broke the tension. "...He was dead, Highness." There was a gasp as the feathers trailing over her back went rigid, and then, nothing more. Gently, Bon Bon opened her eyes, but did not raise her gaze from the table as she continued speaking lowly. "I observed at the... scene that... he had likely fallen from a window. I was... unable to confirm from the remains if there had been a struggle." She took a quiet, shuddering breath with another blink, and in that blink she could see the red. Spattered like paint across the pavement, yet pooled so deeply around his body. What... was barely even identifiable as his body. She'd known in the pit of her stomach as soon as she'd seen him, but it was still hard to ascribe his name to that bundle of shattered bones and broken skin. With another cool, steady breath of clean air, Bon Bon continued quietly. "I... recovered what I could of his remains, and left the site. By the time I was leaving the castle and crossing the bridge, it was... dawn." She took a breath, intent on continuing further, but was stalled as something along her back shifted. She finally turned to look as the ever-present cloak of feathers Her Highness had provided her gradually fanned back and folded in until it was flat along Her back. And Her Highness... wept. No more than a single tear crept down Her cheek from Her closed eye, but all the more stunning was its impact as it rolled to a bead on Her chin, and fell. The impossible show of grief from the Goddess who had birthed a nation shimmering in the light as it disappeared, and She sighed. "...No longer is this a day of celebration," She whispered faintly, and gently, She peeled Her sorrowful eyes open to stare forward at the crowd. Her grieving frown drawing Her face down in such immensity that it seemed impossible for the serene Deity, all the more so as She spoke. "Today marks the death of an innocent colt cruelly manipulated by forces beyond his control." Bon Bon was left completely speechless at the quiet show of regret, yet somehow, the feeling intensified as a voice sounded from her other side. "'Tis not your burden alone, sister." Bon Bon jerked around just in time to see Princess Luna take a breath, and on that breath, the smallest line of a shimmering tear trailed down Her cheek. A vulnerable show of emotion on an otherwise stoic face staring intently forward, unwavering in Her vigil as She continued. "No matter how we may run from our involvement, there is no escaping what has been done." At that, Her head began to slowly crane down. In the corner of her eye, she saw Princess Celestia begin to do the same. As one, the two Goddesses shed a tear, and bowed in grief. "Light Flow is gone from this world of our actions, both," Princess Luna intoned deeply. "We can only hope we learn from our mistakes, after so many made," Princess Celestia murmured gently. In the silent moment after, even the noise of the Celebration seemed to quiet. The entire world seeming to take a moment of solace, to honor a colt not worth honoring for the simple cruelty of his death. So Bon Bon bit her tongue, and waited for the right moment. To let them know that Light Flow was alive. > Chapter 57 - Honesty > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "So ah wanna know, Light. What happened to you?" It was a tone- a question that brooked no dishonesty. At the very corner of Light's vision, under that white-freckled face evoking so many untoward feelings in him, something shimmered. Something fleeting; something otherworldly that just as soon disappeared when he tried to look at it. A familiar, frustrating sensation of keep-away played with his overwrought senses that he'd really been hoping would stop now that he was sane again. What had it been? There was... the Harmony-cursed necklace, and though its deeper-than-Applejack orange gave off quite the enticing sparkle, it wasn't what had caught his eye. Otherwise, there was only Applejack's soul. Tinged a deep, melancholic blue, but still purely golden. There was nothing else. He breathed a tired, familiar sigh and raised his gaze back to the face of his troubled friend. Now just wasn't the time to be looking at souls, no matter how fulfilling it was to see them again. How... intoxicating Applejack's was. How comforting... ...Bleh. He was getting distracted again, almost beginning to drool thinking about its fantastic golden shine. He had to get control of himself before he up and lost it. He needed another second to think, so he occupied the physical time by making a show of giving a hefty sigh and placing his hoof over the one Applejack held on his shoulder. Meeting her eyes and thinking intently as he gently moved it away, but keeping hold of it in the air between them. Baring his frog as his pastern nestled into the crook of hers. His friend had gone through... so much. So much more than he'd ever thought- more than he'd ever wanted her to. He wanted... he wished he could've protected her from her burden. If only... Without meaning to, his gaze tracked again to that necklace. The physical proof of that burden she didn't deserve. ...maybe if he'd fallen from the bridge. If he hadn't ever made it to the castle... Maybe Nightmare Moon would've given up. It was a disquieting thought that slipped away as quickly as it had come, bringing a sobering chill over the freezing tips of his still-wet pelt. He took a shuddering breath, fighting the melancholy from his cheeks with a well-timed squeeze of Applejack's hoof. The smallest action from him that, for whatever reason, made Applejack give him a small smile. Was there anything more beautiful than her smile? The way her little white freckles folded over themselves so shyly? The tiny creases around her eyes that made her seem so much softer? He didn't think so. Nature could go suck an egg and choke if it was jealous- which it should've been. "Applejack, I..." It was a wild impulse that drove him to start, and as impulse and everything else tended to, it flaked out on him seconds later. He was left with his mouth hanging open and his friend looking on questioningly, with no idea how to fulfill her. She just... there was so much to tell her... Where did he even start? Maybe he could... just say what came to mind? Speak honestly, without overmanaging his own mind? He'd never done that before. Now was seeming like a good first time to try. With a rising, nagging fear of whatever impetuous blunder he was about to make, Light took another breath, and tried to keep in mind that his eyes should be expressive. "...There's a lot to tell you... about everything that happened to me." It was starting off well, and though he was speaking slowly, he was speaking concisely! The lack of disgusted reaction from his friend emboldened him as well, and he held her hoof tighter as he continued. "It's very difficult to explain... and... it's hard to believe." He found himself giving a small laugh out of nowhere, because it was genuinely a little funny to him. "I can hardly believe it, myself, even though I know what happened. Even though I..." He trailed off, and the small smile he'd held faded away while Applejack turned her head in concern. Seeing how she looked at him... It drove him to swallow the hesitation down, and force the words out. "...even though I lived it." With a serious nod that gave him the impression she was in for the long haul, Applejack's eyes fell for a moment. "After everythin' that happened last night... fightin' through the end a' the world..." She went silent, then snorted: shaking her head dismissively as she returned a determined stare to him. "Ain't much I can imagine ah wouldn't believe." He nodded to himself at that, lowering his own eyes as she had a moment before. "The world was ending last night... wasn't it?" he murmured, his eyes caught on that gem with a green stem that even then seemed as though it were hiding something. Past that, and to the shining, spinning globe of golden light that made up everything that Applejack was... he could so easily close his eyes, and imagine it floating away. It was a constant effort to remind himself. He'd done it for her. He'd taken that choice for himself, so she wouldn't. That he was here now, still able to hold her hoof, after everything he'd done- everything that could've been done because of him... He raised his eyes and met her emerald gaze. After a moment, she smiled, and he smiled back. He was thankful. "Yesterday wasn't the start of my problems, and I think you know that." Applejack nodded softly at that, and her smile became the slightest bit rueful. He knew why, of course, and own smile became a little melancholic thinking of it. "It's been... two years now that I've been... struggling with this." Applejack nodded again as her gaze fell, her jaw tensing in indecision as she swallowed. "That long, huh?" she murmured a little thickly- and just for the moment, Light closed his eyes to really listen to the sound of her voice. "Can't say I ain't been wonderin', and worryin' 'bout you." Such an intrinsically comforting tone that twangy accent was, even as it lowered so softly into guilt. "There were... a whole lotta times I was alone, just working, and couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you." Her next breath came out thinner, but she continued steadily on. "...'Bout what was wrong, 'n if I coulda been doing somethin'." He let his eyes drift open as her voice trailed off, and found her still staring absently down at their hooves. He tightened the crook of his hoof in a soft squeeze around hers, and the sad frown she wore wanly lifted into a smile. She gave a soft squeeze of her own with a soft chuckle, her voice sliding down to a coy murmur. "Hearin' you talk about it... 's makin' me wonder if it was all a big warnin' sign." Though her gaze stayed low and her smile died again after a moment, Light still stared at her intently for another few moments. Scanning every detail of the bashful regret on her face before he dropped his own gaze and gave a hefty sigh. Sometimes, when he didn't have anything better to do, he liked to think of a world where he made her smile instead of just... always frowning. One of his better fantasies. "You shouldn't beat yourself up, Orange Hooves. Even if you'd realized, there wasn't anything you could've done," he murmured, and as he'd expected, using his foalhood nickname for her finally got that sad expression off her face. Only to a questioning and slightly frightening scowl, but still: the ultimately intended effect. He couldn't help giving a mocking laugh at the huffiness on her face, and as usual, he was succinctly repaid with pain as she jerked her hoof back and he went along with it. His nose crashed into her chest and stars burst into the darkness behind his eyes as he fell sideways into her lap, though he could only enjoy the proximity for a split second before she shoved him back. She caught him by their still-connected hooves before he tumbled too far back, and snorted as he groaned in dizzied pain. "Y'all know it ain't comforting to hear that my worryin' was fer nothin'." As he gradually focused back in through the fuzziness, she and her double's frown both lightened. "Light, you know I'm always gonna be there for you no matter the weather." She leaned forward, trying to catch his spinning eyes. "What could'a been wrong that ah couldn't help with?" There was some small part of him that wanted to pay her back somehow for having pulled and pushed him, though there was another, weirder part of him that found the abuse just as comforting. It was an undeniably strange, illogical gut reaction, but he was an undeniably strange individual. When it came to mares like Rainbow Dash, he wasn't sure whether the physical abuse was a way of showing affection. With Applejack, he knew it was. All the times she'd pushed him and punched him and tweaked his ear just meant she liked him. She knew he could handle it. She knew he could handle... her. ...If only. His mind suddenly strayed too far, and now it was all full of the wrong ideas. Before he spoke, he made sure to shake the buzzing thoughts away from his warming ears- however oddly Applejack looked at him for it. Now that was weird. As his best friend, she should've been used to it by now. "Applejack... I want to tell you... but with everything that happened last night..." As the shining note of concern in her gaze grew too... insistent to handle, Light couldn't help his gaze from averting with a grimace. "...and after everything you went through..." Even the bushes and trees were looking judgmental; their branches and knots seemed to twist into laughing, mocking faces the longer he stared. Only ever one at once and disappearing as he looked away, but it unnerved him nonetheless. His mindscape was a twisted forest in and of itself, and that didn't ever seem to change. So, he shut his eyes. The safest option for admitting hard truths. "...I'm afraid you'll hate me." He breathed a sigh of relief as the admission finally slipped past his lip, and with the tidy thought that the worst was over, he managed to peel his eyes open. Without the delirious sense of impending doom pulling at the threads of his mind, his eyes were playing a few less tricks on him; the bushes and trees were just that. Nothing at all to scream at. No ghosts whatsoever. He gave Applejack's hoof, still held in his, a quick squeeze as he turned back to her with a deep breath. What he wasn't expecting, though he'd idly found her silence a little odd for the past few seconds, was how... withdrawn she seemed. Maybe it was just the lack of her omnipresent hat making him think too much of a younger her, but the indecision on her face... the growing sense of dread as she scanned her lap for answers... ...it was making him feel small. "...Applejack?" he ventured... hesitantly. He actually found it a miracle that he'd spoken at all, but maybe he was just used to mares whose very presence was a deterrent to free thought. Whatever his baggage, his friend gave a small, seeming concerted flinch at his address: shutting her eyes as her ears pinned back and baring her frown with no small measure of indecision. It was... an angry indecision. The still edges of her soul were shading... reddish, though its turbulent center remained very strangely blue. She was inwardly sad, and cross-referencing the war going on with her expression... she might've been... frustrated? ...with herself? "Light..." she finally ground out through her tense jaw, and his gut instinct at her tone told him to brace. She huffed, then growled as she gave her head a single, fierce shake. "...I'm gonna ask y'all... somethin' that's been on my mind since last night, and if'n you don't answer me honestly..!" He had no idea what to say at the bare anger in her strained voice as it seemed like she geared up for an accusation, and as her tone lowered, and as her head crept ever so slowly up and he could see how the dragon's fire fury in her eyes glowed in brilliant time with her three-tone soul, he found himself... nothing less than open-mouthed speechless. With her grip on his hoof still held as firmly as an Apple family oak, her eye met his. Flaming green on startled red in a relentless, wordless clash. One pair wide with fear, while the other filled with furious tears between quick blinks. Both of them terrified to their core for a future in danger of slipping away forever. The air thick with the lingering promise of a threat unspoken. For a lie... or an unwanted truth. "...Were you workin' with Nightmare Moon?" In the long, silent moments after, as Applejack's stark fury quelled to a waiting simmer in the heavy air, there wasn't anything except the quiet burbling of the nearby stream. The far-off call of sporadic birdsong carried across the wind. That subtle breeze over their ears that rustled the trees in nature's most time-honored melody. Everything that Light Flow wasn't focusing on as he stared out into the distance. His hooded eyes low from a wear he'd been feeling for two years; his small, quiet frown ever so slightly grieving. It was always easier this way. Past the long build-up and without the vulnerability of addressing it himself, there wasn't even the impulse to cry. It was always the tension that made him cry. At this point, Light was only very quietly afraid. Applejack wasn't the most patient mare- even though she lived on a farm where she farmed things- so it only took a few moments after he'd begun staring off into the distance for answers before she growled out at him. "Well? Nothin' to say?" He thought about that for a moment, shaking his head ever so gently as he shifted focus into a cloud. He nibbled at his lip as... its shape sort of reminded him of Nightmare Moon. As had Applejack in that stunning moment of rage she'd displayed. Simply astounding to witness such a mortal tempest; how expressive she'd seemed in the doleful lines of her face. So sad, and so angry that things had lead up to that question. He knew her. After half their lives spent together, he knew why she was mad. But it was the first time he'd ever had to address it. Every year on the mourning days of her parents' deaths, and that final afternoon after those unexpected weeks when the crop just wouldn't sell, and the single, shocking morning her grandmare had called her by her mother's name... He'd always just left her to cry. To kick the ground and punch the trees until her coat was brown and her frogs were covered in blisters, all by herself. He was her best friend, but he'd never been there for her. He'd never made it better. He knew what he wanted to say. In the moment he focused down to Equus, to her steaming, streaming face scored by two trails of one-line tears crawling over the greying specks on her cheeks, he could only think of how hurt she must've been. What she must've thought of him... It had been a mistake to assume he could find his way here on his own time. She wasn't stupid, and there'd been a lot of clues that weren't difficult to pick up on. Worst of all, he wasn't denying it. He dearly wished he could. He lowered his eyes for a moment to their hooves, still held so tightly together. Muddy brown and easy orange: two colors that had no business meeting. He shook his head as he left them behind to meet her pained gaze, making sure to squeeze before he opened his mouth. He hoped it brought her comfort, as it did for him. "I never had any choice," he murmured, and how he wished he could stop that first flash of hurt. That single, terrible moment of widening eyes while her every movement went so still, while the colors in her soul so mournfully began to grey. For the first time since they'd started holding hooves, he felt her try to tug away as she began to turn- but he held on. "Please, listen," he begged softly, and just like that, the orange hoof held in his went gently limp. At the pleading note in his voice, he knew she was still listening. She may not have been facing him anymore, and she may have already made up her mind once and for all, but if she really wanted him to let go... well... he would've. Whatever appearance of dismissal she held in that trembling emerald gaze set firmly to the trees, she still wanted to be proven wrong. He was still her best friend. However much it hurt, she wanted him to explain it to her. So Light took a deep breath, and thanked his lucky star that he'd never let go. "It's not how you think, Applejack, I haven't been under my own free will," he continued to explain, and though he personally felt he'd sounded a little too eager, his words still made his best friend turn back towards him. Not very much, and she wasn't actually looking at him, but it was a show that she was listening, and that was all he needed. After another moment and a sigh that didn't help the knot in his chest, he continued, taking the moment between to stare down at their joined hooves. Flashes of turbulent memory flickering behind them with every word. "I was... under Her control. I didn't- I never had any say in it. I was possessed. She took control of me." He gave another sigh through the gaps of his teeth, then sucked in a breath as a twinge of recollection stabbed at his heart. "I've been... forced to do things I wasn't aware of. Things I..." Indecision grabbed tightly at his throat, leaving his mouth open as he slowly lowered his gaze, until he finally closed it. "...regret." It sounded cheesy. It sounded lame, and contrived, and impossible, but it got Applejack's eyes back up to his all the same. "...Y'all been possessed..?" Her thin, hesitant voice petered out as she grimaced, and faintly, he caught a quiet whisper she kept to herself as her gaze fell to her lap. "...that'd make a lotta sense..." She probably hadn't meant for him to catch that, but he jerkily nodded anyway, drawing her wary eye back to him. "Yes!" he insisted- too emphatically as Applejack recoiled away from his sudden volume. He cringed back and whispered an apology, lowering his voice as Applejack's ears cautiously perked from their splay. "Yes, She's been... using my body, without me even being cognizant of it- without having a choice." He was winning her over. He could see it. She'd read just enough literature to understand that concept. Her frown peeled back in a sorrowed seethe as she tried to speak, her voice coming out as a shallow gasp that shook as it petered, until she finally lowered her head and dropped her gaze. "Ah can't... imagine..." she finally whispered. She kept her stare on their their hooves for a moment, and very faintly, he felt her give a soft squeeze. "Was it... all this time?" her murmured question was... oh it broke his heart how vulnerable it was. The way her wet eyes shimmered as she met his gaze again, vainly hoping against her better thoughts that he'd just say no. That he'd deny that... her friend hadn't always been her friend. Just thinking of it, it seemed so sickening, all over again. Nightmare Moon had worn him, living his life in heavens knew what disturbing ways, using him for... who even knew what. Probably just reading, or talking to ponies. Gathering as much info as She could, without even caring what potential moments She might've been stomping all over. He still didn't remember every time She'd done it. Over two years of blurry holes, and there was no way to tell how many times She must've tricked Applejack. It made him so sick. He'd spent too long thinking- delaying- which seemed to answer the question for her either way. She gave a shuddering sigh, sinking forward into herself and just staying that way for a moment, until she slowly straightened with a breath. A breath that lasted until she was sitting all the way back up, that she let out in one, exhausted stream. He knew the feeling. "So... all the time you've been actin' all weird..?" Her absent question sat in the air for a moment as she looked to him for an answer, and because he didn't trust himself at the moment, he only nodded. She took the motion like a punch, her head jittering in shock as she leaned back on her haunches. As her unfocused eyes settled on the background behind him, she whispered out a few, thin words. "...'An your amnesia..?" He knew what it was like to want to just... look somewhere else, so he didn't badger her for her staying gaze as he lowered his own and sighed. "...My state over the years was the side-effect of... Her presence, but... yesterday was..." He stopped, because... ...He wanted to tell Applejack the whole truth- he really did. The only thing was... if he just outright blabbed that he was the victim of a conspiracy to ensure last night's events happened as they did, and that his memory had been purposefully wiped by no being other than the lauded Princess Sol Celestia, he was pretty sure... He'd done a good job at building such a piteous base for his explanation that Applejack had pretty readily believed him without too many questions, and that admission would be like the Sonic Rainboom obliterating Hamelet. As proud as he was with himself for bringing that reference around, he was not about to go looking for new ways to make Applejack think he was insane! He did that well enough with his tics. Applejack allowed him the time to think- probably taking her own time to think, as well- leaving him free to finally blow out a weary breath, and make a rash commitment. "...was the end result." Applejack gave a shuddering sigh, resting her chin against her necklace while he internally breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't technically lied! It was the most believable kind of lie, and the least guilty! It was barely even lying, more like... ...omitting the truth! That was such a good way to put it! "So... if'n I'm gettin' this knot straight," Applejack began, Light perking up at the somewhat dizzied sound of her voice. With her one hoof still holding his- he was so glad they'd silently committed to that- her other raised to hold her head shakily, though her voice was gradually beginning to return to its usual strength. "Y'all been... carryin' Nightmare Moon 'round in yer head... for two years?" She looked to him pleadingly for an affirmation, and he nodded. She blew out a shaken breath as she looked down, and he got the distinct feeling that it wasn't the answer she'd really wanted. "Right..." She looked back up to him, and set her hoof back to the ground. "An' you never said anythin' because..?" The trailed sentence was a clear lead into his response, so even though speaking the words drew burning acid up his throat, he nodded. "She... didn't let me." He used his free hoof to massage his neck- because it really did burn- as his gaze averted to the side for a moment. "If I'd ever even thought to, She made sure to... stamp that down." His somber answer had her staring incredulously forward for a moment with the kind of dull, glassy expression he'd come to expect from himself. He supposed tragedy just did that to a pony, though to Applejack's credit, she seemed to shake it off in only a few blinks. Setting her free hoof onto her chest as she took deep breaths, and through the exercise he recognized as helping to keep one on the shores of panic, she set her surprisingly lucid gaze on him. "Last night..." Her words came out shakily, and in the next moment as he nearly reached forward to comfort her, she shut her eyes. She took a deep breath against the hoof over her chest and opened them again, speaking with marginally more control than before. "...after the party... does this mean you were..?" Again, his friend looked for him to affirmation, except... he didn't really know how to respond this time. Well, with something more articulate than a nod, obviously, but otherwise? He took a moment to simmer, staring down at their held hooves. Applejack, good friend that she continued to perpetually be, let him sit in silence for the moment. How well she knew him. What did he say? No, really, what in Tartarus' unholy name did he tell her?! He didn't want to lie to her, so how did he breach the fact that he'd been at the castle?! The first part would be easy- Yeah, I was at the castle; Nightmare Moon wanted me to stop you- it was the resulting follow-up question that was currently stumping his sorry rump! If he was at the castle, and of course that meant he was there to stop the Elements- that needn't be said- then how did he escape? Why hadn't she seen him there? How did he manage to prevent his use as a deterrent? It was fine, this wasn't that bad. He was sure he'd come up with an answer any second now. ...Any second now. ...Any... second now. He could always lie. No. Not this time. This time, he was going to be honest. How much did he really want to tell her the truth? A lot. A whole bunch. Whatever denomination made it clear that he was done lying to his best friend. Trust was a longtime mutual promise of sincerity, and this was when he wanted to start! He was still lying to her about a lot of other things. Which lies were okay to tell her? Where did he cross the line if not here? That... wasn't fair. The lies about his special talent and about his memory loss were... for her own good. She wouldn't understand; it would just cause a misunderstanding. He did not want Applejack to misunderstand something so nuanced. If you draw the line there, then how long before you push it back further? How long before you start to lie again? That was not equivalent! That was not apropos! That was not going to happen! Do you trust yourself to make that distinction? That... He couldn't just... There wasn't a good way to... ... ...Not... right now... With that meek final word, the argument in his head drew to a close with him as the loser, somehow. He focused out of the vortex of self-doubt known as his mind, and back to the hoof held in his. That brawny orange limb with its barely darker pastern resting over a muddy patch of brown. Ugh. So ugly. He gave it a squeeze, and like he'd pressed a button on a neatly-tuned machine, it squeezed back. Faintly... if he concentrated... he could feel her pulse. Altogether steadier than he'd expected it to be, but still so distantly lulling. He wondered if it would jump up. He wondered what his felt like, if she was even looking for it. It'd be nice if she was. Gradually, he turned his gaze up, and found his friend waiting with a patient smile. A loaded, expectant patience, but patience all the same, and nonetheless overwhelmingly calming. The smile of a friend, however abrasive. The smile held in his most comforting memories. Maybe he didn't want to tarnish those memories. That might've been why he dropped his gaze as he gave a soft hum, and a rueful smile. "...I was there, yeah." There wasn't a noise of indication from his hardy friend, but the press of her hoof on his tightened enough to know she heard him. For what it was worth, he tried to match the pressure of her hold as he nodded absently. "I was at the castle last night." For a moment, Applejack was silent. Silent enough that he was able to find the impetuousness to look up, to find her shaking her head. Working her jaw with a far-off note of confusion on her face, that he could make any number of guesses as to its source. Seeing his friend struck speechless at his declaration- it was wrong to feel satisfied at that- was probably a good segue into explaining further. "I'm sure you remember... I left you at the party, and it was because She told me to," he began quietly, and at nothing but that, Applejack jerked as though he'd struck her. The confusion written on her unspeaking lips faded in an instant as she focused on him- as though now was the first time she was really seeing him. He'd flinched back in surprise as she'd... had a moment, and then taken to staring back in equal confusion as she seemingly tried to extract an explanation from him without speaking. After a moment of uncomfortably tense eye contact, her too-wide eyes finally ticked off to the side as her hoof came to her face, and she turned quickly away. Was that... a flush he'd seen? She'd freaked out at the mention of the party... so what happened at the party..? He'd... left her, yeah, but other than that..? Faint flashes of her accusing him as the static warred in his head... Nightmare Moon taking control and feeding him her name... Rainbow Dash... A conversation spoken without his own words... Fluttershy... Flutter...shy..! Oh, the dinner invitation! She must've been embarrassed at the three-pony dinner invitation! Well, he was far from the first pony to push up his glasses and start spewing reminders, but it seemed a little foalish to get so blushy about something so benign at a time like this. As usual, Applejack had no situational awareness. Dinner wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. It was gonna be awkward, but it wasn't embarrassing. They were adults. It was just dinner. Clearing his throat, he tried to lean forward to catch her gaze. He caught her hesitant eye, and thankfully for the pace of the conversation, managed to hold it as he settled back. She was still turned away and sheepishly hiding her face, but she was making eye contact, and that was good enough for him. Feeling markedly more troubled on the part of their assumed mutual gravitas, he focused back down onto their hooves with a frown. "As I was saying... Nightmare Moon forced me to leave you at the party..." he trailed off uneasily, flicking his eye up to find Applejack uneasily holding her hoof to her necklace. He dropped his eye, and continued. "...and directed me to head for the castle." Applejack's voice, raised to a concerned question, broke his speaking stride. "She... made y'all leave that early?" She drew her frown up in a disturbed scowl. "It'd hardly been sundown by the time you trotted out. What'd that half-baked biscuit need ya for so darn early?!" For a moment, Light only stared at his irate friend. Eventually- eventually- he managed to shake off the amazement for Applejack calling Nightmare Moon... stupid, and stammered a reply. "Be- because- um..." He stopped short after a moment, and as the answer came to him, he sighed: his body sagging under its weight. "...There was just... a lot to prepare for." His sullen answer drew his friend's concerned frown back out, though he could hardly look at it. When he thought back to that foggy dusk... when he'd been so lost... still so fundamentally broken that he'd latched tight to the first voice in his head that provided the simplest of comforts... What if he'd stayed like that? What if She'd never returned his autonomy? Even thinking of it sent a powerful shudder through him, such that it audibly shook his lips in a very undignified whinny. He held tightly to Applejack's hoof in the wake of the instinctual reaction, and before he could stop himself, spoke the first thing on his mind. "Thank you, Applejack. So much." Her first reaction was confusion all over her face, and though saying it had been more of an accident than anything, he continued, pressing her hoof up to his chest as he leaned closer to her. "I never thanked you for... defeating Her, and I need to. You saved me." He stopped short as his best friend, hoof now fallen from her necklace, only continued to stare at him as though he'd grown a second head. It was beginning to make him feel a little self conscious. He sucked back a heavy swallow and what he hoped was the beginning of a blush on his face, and lowered their hooves along with his gaze. "If She'd won... it wouldn't have been good for anypony, but the things I already went through..." He blinked, and it was all there under the surface. His mind falling apart. The shadows coming alive. A bloody, carved heart. Fire leaping overhead. Screaming and torment and the drawn-out pain of losing somepony he'd never wanted in his life. He shook his head with a another blink, and there was only Applejack. Orange face half-smiling awkwardly, and her warm hoof tightly in his. A secure reality around him full of life, sunshine and comfort. He fought down the welling in his eyes, and returned her smile. "It would've gotten worse, and I don't think I can ever really repay you for preventing that." He would've come back to a much worse world without her. The intense wave of thankfulness didn't wane in the slightest as Applejack, seeming almost somewhat flustered, gave an indulgent chuckle and their hooves a pat. "Aw, sugarcube, y'don't need to thank me." Her smile suddenly turned upside down as her gaze fell troubledly, and her voice grew reproving. "Heck, after ah got all suspicious and starting castin' asperations 'n whatnot, I'm not really sure how much ah deserve it." Her bashful smile returned as she laughed again, and averted her gaze sideways. "'An even then, weren't just me out there. Elements can't work with just one pony." Her gaze rose as her smile turned into a quizzical frown. "'Least... ah don't think so..." She chewed on that for a minute while she wiped her hoof across her necklace's gem, while Light just... thought. Hearing Applejack actually refer to the Elements... sort of gave them a dimension he'd not really considered. They weren't just vague threats to fear at every step, they were actual objects that his friends possessed. Applejack was wearing one, and she had some idea of what it was. How much did she know about them? How much did she know about Harmony? He was sure that after Nightmare Moon was defeated, Celestia must have shown up, so what must She have told the Bearers? Urgh... Thinking about what sorts of lies their heads could've been filled with really triggered his gag reflex. Literally. He almost gagged thinking about his best friend being there and looking at either of the Princesses with any kind of adoration. Religion wasn't a topic they spoke about often- because he hated it- but he knew her grandmare had reared her as a devout Celestial Disciple. She didn't earnestly practice, but she didn't denounce it, either, and that might as well've been the same thing. An old frustration was beginning to rear its head, so he distracted himself with conversation. One of the main topics on his mind was whether Applejack understood even a single thing about the necklace she wore, but a different, larger question was beginning to scream for his attention. "Applejack?" He drew his friend's attention back with a hesitant call of her name, their gazes meeting with mutual questioning. "How did you figure out I had something to do with Nightmare Moon?" His admittedly very warranted question brought a sense of realization to Applejack's eyes as she hummed curiously but before she could reply, he cut her off. "You jumped right into talking about going to stop Her earlier as if it was fact. You didn't even react when I didn't react!" Looking back, he was a little embarrassed about it. After so long of living in that nightmare, not to mention how off-kilter he'd been at seeing her cry, he'd not masked his own knowledge of the night at all. A pony in his assumed position shouldn't have known... literally anything about what happened. He was usually so much better at lying, but he was off his game after last night. He'd not been able to lie to Nightmare Moon about anything. Now he was all rusty, and his pledge to spill his guts to Applejack wasn't helping that. He'd have to find a rube to practice on, soon. He focused out of himself to find his friend looking a bit frustrated at being interrupted, though the expression faded with a sigh as she closed her eyes. "'T be honest, Light..." She opened them back up, and met his stare as her expression became somewhat pained. "Ah was... already thinkin' 'bout it, an' it was because you didn't react that ah..." She trailed off, and a moment later, dropped her gaze to her hooves. "...that ah knew." For a long moment after Applejack's admission, and as his friend sighed regretfully to the side, Light just stared at her. What was... this emotion welling so fiercely inside of him? A warm, swelling feeling in his breast- rising up into his cheeks! It was... It was... Pride. That'd been a truly devious way to take advantage of him, and he was so proud of her. Though he was a little starstruck- it was hard not to shed a tear- of his guilt-stricken friend, he was able to swallow his powerful feelings down for long enough to pat her hoof and draw her attention back. "But how did you come to be suspicious?" he asked, frowning curiously as she turned back to him. "I know there were probably a lot of signs I wasn't aware of, but was there anything... specific?" His gradual attempt to tease anything out of his... oddly squirmy best friend wasn't immediately fruitful. As he peered closer and she looked away and he tried to catch her wandering eyes and she shut them, it became apparent that she was, at the very least, ashamed. That was the sort of feeling he got through studying her scrunched-up face. Shame. Reluctance. A dour look that he'd seen from an early age sat in front of Granny Smith as she chewed Applejack out for whatever bad thing he'd talked her into doing that time. Applejack may have been a busybody know-it-all at times, but her homespun values were pretty strictly against the kinds of foul play and subterfuge he was typically interested in. That seemed to include surreptitiously noticing small details and using them to form an educated hypothesis about close friends' issues, apparently. If coming to outrageous conclusions through circumstantial evidence and accusing your friends about them without a clear idea of what came next wasn't what a good friend did, then he didn't know what was. Finally, after glaring at his friend looking the other way for long enough, she groaned. A clear indication that she'd broken as her tense posture sagged in time with her head hanging. She sucked at keeping secrets. "...Fine," she groused none too pleasantly. She met his eye as her frown curled in on itself in a seethe, and through what seemed like great effort for her, she spat the answer he'd been waiting for. "It was the eyes. That's what got me wonderin', alright?" What? What did that... mean? His first reaction was, understandably, confusion, and it showed on his face. Seeing his deadpan bewilderment, Applejack shuffled her hoof through her mane with another drawn-out sigh. "A'fore y'all left the party last night, ah caught a glance 'a yer eyes, 'an they were..." She huffed, and he couldn't help but painfully notice as her grip on his tightened. "...the same as Hers." He gave a single, uncomprehending blink. "Do you mean we... had the same kind of look?" He screwed his face into a disgruntled scowl. "I guess I can see what you mean. I mean- that was more Her than me, so..." He was cut off before he could dig himself into any deeper a hole as Applejack shook her head vehemently. "No, not like that!" She stopped short with a pout, that just as soon deepened into a darker frown. "I mean y'all's eyes were exactly like Hers," she stressed, bobbing her head as she emphasized it again. "Color an' everythin'. Exactly like Nightmare Moon's. Dead giveaway." Light sat a little back, because... wow. That wasn't... That was news to him. Since when had he... had She always manifested like that? In public? How had nopony ever noticed?! If it'd been that easy to tell, then it was no wonder he'd been tracked down by the government. His picture of Bon Bon as some kind of incredible superspy slash investigative mastermind was dissolving fast. Anypony with eyes could've reported what she must've. However surprising it was and however lame Bon Bon was, the knowledge that Nightmare Moon had been physically manifesting in his body was extremely disconcerting. Invalidating, sickening, as well as everything else that went along with discovering a new, somehow extra disturbing facet to his possession. Still... it wasn't as disturbing as the black slush he'd begun to vomit after Zecora destabilized Nightmare Moon. He remembered that, and he intimately remembered how much it always hurt. The acidic burn it left in his throat and over his tongue- far worse than the stomach acid that came with it. For all he knew, the two made each other worse. It'd be just like his luck. But that was enough of that; there wasn't much point in dwelling on problems that were dead and over now. Not when he had a friend to pay attention to, who had up to that point always waited very patiently for him to zone back in. Speaking of it, his choice to zone in might've maybe had something to do with her beginning to speak again. Which was fine. He meant it. The world couldn't always wait for him to run a bureau of investigation from out of his head. "Listen, Light-" she began, totally without warning but for a sigh and a shake of her head. "I'd been at my wits end worryin' 'bout y'all after you left the party, 'n it only got worse when dawn came 'round." As her voice lowered with another hefty sigh, Light's ear perked. He'd not yet heard about what'd been happening in Ponyville at dawn. The possibility of finding out was... tantalizing. And find out he probably would as Applejack gave a soft sniff, looking down at their held hooves. In a motion rather at odds with her dour voice, she began to sway them gently side to side. "Whole town came outta their holes 'n rounded up at Town Hall for the Sun Raising. More ponies 'n I reckon Ponyville's ever seen." She blew out a melancholic huff. "...'Course, I wasn't much lookin' forward to it without knowin' where you'd wandered off to." She remained silent for a few moments more, focusing entirely on fidgeting with their hooves as the melancholy on her face began to shift. Receding to a near-normalcy over a few seconds, and as the swaying movement of their hooves came to a crawl, it began to lower into resentment. Anger. "Whole darn day seems spoiled lookin' back, but truth is, the rot started early." Her crass expression intensified as she lowered her head, placing her free hoof over a narrowed eye as she began to irritably mutter. "Woke up on the wrong side a' the bed, 'n not to mention gettin' in that fuss with Twilight... Didn't see hide 'nor hair a' you without so much as a heads-up, 'n plain didn't have the time to go lookin'..." With a shiver and a shake of her head, her other eye shut. Her tame frown widened into a large scowl, while with every word, her accent grew thicker with tightly-restrained anger. "Only found out 'bout you after it was too late to do anythin', 'n by the time th' ceremony came with no Princess showin' up, ah was startin' to feel like every wrong turn was jes' addin' up..." For a moment, as the grip on his hoof tightened to a painful extent, he really thought she was going to explode. The simmering anger in her voice only seemed to build with every word, until she'd finally aired every grievance, and she was left with nothing but seething breath and a boiling temper on her half-hidden face. A clear indication of an angry Applejack moments away from disaster. But then... over a minute or so, it began to cool. The slim recount of her apparent all-day misfortune ended with a strained whimper and an eventual full-body sigh. A total throttle of all her irritation towards nopony in particular that she capped by dragging her hoof down her mussed face, finally showing her very tired eyes. "...When that big, black shadow crept up over th' balcony, it all jes' made so much sense," she recounted murmuringly, closing her eyes again after a moment and throwing her head back with a groan. Opening her eyes to the sky with a heady sigh. "Ah only caught a peek at Her eyes while She went off blusterin' and screamin', but when ah did..." With the entire gambit of emotions run, Applejack returned her gaze to him, and returned herself to her equilibrium. She met his gaze with no less resolve than she'd held on every day she'd ever elected to do something stupid at a dare. With her jaw firm and apparently ignoring how she looked with tear lines crossed all over her cheeks, Applejack gave a familiar, rough snort. "Ah just knew ah had to tag along when Twilight ran after Her." For the entire time that Applejack had been stewing, through all of her frustrations aired and unspoken alike, Light had hardly had a thought on his mind. Not a word on his lips, nor a heeded distraction tugging at his ear. For fear of missing even a single second of his expressive best friend airing so many feelings at once, he'd almost convinced himself not to blink. He was entranced. How he loved to watch her- just to witness her. The tenses in her jaw when she got angry- mouthing silent words unheard. The shadows creeping unbidden over her eyes- her eyebrows were so volatile. Even the obvious flaring of her nostrils- or how he could feasibly count the creases on the bridge of her muzzle- and especially the subtle language of how she folded her ears. His friend was a living masterpiece of emotional expressiveness. And for how stout she could be sometimes, he hardly had such incredible chances to so intimately study her. She'd have to forgive him for taking a passive role in her yelling. Her lashes fluttering demurely as she blinked blurriness away. The tangled pomp of her mane bouncing as she shook her head in frustration. Oh... he wished he could watch her forever; she was the mare who never reached redundancy. Every expression was its own art piece. Every face she made was his very own private treatise on the emotion. He wished he was better at drawing, because she was the perfect subject. The end of her ponytail peeping over her shoulder when she turned. Her mane strewn over her neck like a waterfall of gold. He'd never ever get tired of watching her shift from each and every logical progression to the next. Melancholy to anger then back to the most rueful sadness in its wake. So easy to comprehend, but so endlessly fascinating. She was so earnest. So perfect- but she wasn't. She'd hid her suspicions from him until they'd been confirmed- and how deviously she'd bated him into revealing his knowledge. She was better than perfect. She was flawed. The amount of love he had for her was just going to drive him insane. He could hardly contain the gushing firestorm in his chest- he wanted to shout it from the thatch rooftops. He wanted to feel her hooves wrapped snugly around him when he drifted off to sleep at night, and to expect her final, sleepy breath washing over his nape before he joined her in the most blissful dreams. He wanted her to smile when she looked at him. He wanted her soul to gleam when she saw him. He wanted- "...Light?" He blinked at his friend's questioning voice, and at the hoof waving in his vision. And though it was physically impossible to blink at, he discovered the stiff, dopey grin on his face with the exact same level of horrifying realization. Somewhere along the way, he'd started smiling. It was probably around the time his head had begun to tilt, and when he'd stopped blinking, and when he'd started staring. For an extended silence, while she'd stared straight back at him. His arm had also gone slack, and like a fool, he'd let go of Applejack's hoof. He realized all of this in hindsight, after he'd come back to his senses. He sucked in a startled gasp as his head jerked back to normal position in a heady moment of wondering where am I and how long has it been. A profoundly familiar thing for him, such that he was almost immediately struck with an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. "What?! What did I- say that again!" he stammered on instinct, because instinct told him that was the most immediate question to answer when he zoned out. In the moment after, as Applejack recoiled back from his wild, searching eyes, he hugged his hooves to his barrel to try to take stock of the physical world. His barrel was there. Check. Applejack was there in front of him, looking mildly peeved. Check two. He blew out an unsteady breath as he began to come down from his unsettled high, rubbing his hooves up and down across his own fur. Relishing in the myriad comfortable and uncomfortable feelings as he tried to make his eyes stop... doing that. Focus on Applejack, Light! It shouldn't have been so hard to just keep looking at her after he'd been doing such a good job of it. Eventually, he wrangled his eyes to where they needed to be, and his heart stopped pounding in his ears. "Sorry- I- um... What did you say?" he asked in a markedly calmer tone than his previous one. Good for him. He wasn't a total ditz. Applejack had been his friend for a long time. So it was that, after only a few moments of looking at him strangely and wondering, she sat back up straight from her backwards lean and cleared her throat. "Was just... askin' how y'all got outta that situation. 'Bein at the castle with Nightmare Moon, I mean." She might've said something else after that, but Light didn't really hear her- sorry Applejack. As it was, he was a bit more concerned with the question. The question was here. And he still didn't have an answer for her. He began to alternate between licking his teeth and gnawing on his lip- for the variety- as he nodded absently to show his friend he cared enough to lie about listening to her. That seemed to appease her, as it usually did. Applejack was a good friend like that, accepting lies without question when it would otherwise provide massive trouble for him. He was sure she'd accept whatever other innocent little lie he told her about how he got away from Nightmare Moon. How about..? He'd refused Her long enough that She'd just given up. He'd knocked himself out so She couldn't use him. He'd run, and resolved to never look back. He lead Her on an epic chase through the castle as She'd flown after him screaming curses upon his name. He'd forgotten to RSVP. Any of those might work... But none of those were the truth, were they? The truth was that he'd jumped out of a window. He'd killed himself. She's been so understanding so far, so much more than he deserved. She'll understand this as well. Ah- hah! That's not true because that doesn't take into account the differing levels of severity in what he'd told her! When he'd confessed about Nightmare Moon, she'd already had the idea in her head, and she'd wanted to believe him. Her understanding there was a muddling concoction of analysis and partial ignorance! This was further than left field- this was coming out of a geographically impossible field! This was coming out of a field he couldn't even mathematically conceive of! This was the most severe truth he could possibly tell! You will either tell her the truth, or you will lie to her. There is no middle. Do not pretend as though you haven't made up your mind. His vision blurred- and Light Flow breathed in a gasp as... something in his mind... abruptly quieted. The next hyperbolic argument he'd had in store was left sitting in his hooves without an ear to suffer it. Not his own, nor another. That- It hadn't been his internal back-and-forth dialogue, that'd been something! Something... something! Something... speaking in his head. But... no- he knew what it was like to have something in his head. This wasn't that feeling. It wasn't perverse: a foreign weight pressing against the inside of his skull. Like a rock sitting in the center of his brain. This didn't feel like that. This wasn't like how Nightmare Moon had felt. It felt... distant, on the outside of his skull. A feeling that, now that it had wavered and he could feel it, he could so clearly feel it- and he could recognize that it'd been there for awhile. It was like a... hole in his head- no, that was too invasive a definition, it was more like... ...a line. A line... like thread in his mind. Poking in, but not going any further than that. A feeling that... felt disconnected from his skull, actually. Disconnected from his physical self. It spoke to his mind- to his mental self. Something... afar. Something had been speaking to him from afar, doing something like... projecting a voice into his head. However insane that sounded, it was still the first feeling that came to mind, and it wasn't a truly impossible concept, either. That's what it felt like. It wasn't malignant, and it wasn't internal. Something external had been speaking to him since he'd woken up, and it'd just made its opinion clear. Something that always seemed one conversational step ahead of him, that adamantly felt he should tell Applejack the truth. It seemed wise. It certainly seemed smarter than him- he'd always lost the debates they had. ...What else was he to do? Even the voice in his head thought it was a good idea. Gradually, though there was a niggling little sense of panic scratching at his nape, Light focused back into his friend's face. Orange fur. White freckles. Half-circle frown. The physical world welcomed him back as coldly as it always did, and he let out a sigh that he felt press against his hooves. "About... that..." he started, then stopped, because... ... ...yeah. There was no use; there was no way to approach this easily. It was either too soft- too slow to make any sense, or it was too hard- too abrupt. Too insane. Whoever had been speaking to him was right: there was no middle ground. He would either tell her, or he wouldn't. Tell her... or not... Tell... or keep a secret? Tell... Tell. He had to tell her. With his hooves against his chest, he could actually feel the pounding of his heart reverberating out into his arms, almost throbbing as it traveled further. It was strange, though, that he couldn't really hear it in his ears. He couldn't really hear anything besides the rustling noises of nature. His voice, as well. He'd probably remember this for the rest of life with how stark it sounded. "Applejack, there's something I need to tell you." His voice- sounding so distant in his throbbing ears, carried a profound sense of finality. To his own ears, and, he was guessing, to his friend's. That might've been why she pressed a hoof to his lips. "Ah... think I already know what you're gonna tell me, sugarcube." The firm shutdown of his attempt at honesty left him with widened eyes and silent lips hanging open as Applejack drew back. Still staring at him with... a reserved, conflicted sense of indecision in her hooded eyes as she stalled halfway back to sitting. She bit her lip, staring down at the hoof she'd used to shush him. Light stared too. Following its movement all the way down as she suddenly reached forward to retake his idle hoof. She stayed in her restless lean forward as she guided his hoof up, and when it was between them, took hold of it with her other. What was happening? She continued to chew her lip as she maintained eye contact, until she shut her eyes, took a steady, smooth breath, and opened them again. Her face finally finding a gleam of resolution as her two-hooved grip firmed. "Y'all ain't said it, but ah can figure out well enough why Nightmare Moon brought y'all to the castle." The stern pace of her voice played cruel games with his nerves as her frown deepened, and it lowered. "Don't take a genius like Twilight to figure it out, 'n I ain't fool enough to think otherwise." It must've been getting harder for her to talk- harder for him to breathe- as her gaze lowered, and she audibly swallowed. "...Can imagine what y'all thought of it, too. How... you must've felt..." She had the wrong idea. Where was she going with this? Why wasn't she pursuing the question she'd asked? Did she already know? Her next breath came out thin, but the breath after was strong as she met his eyes again. Not a trace of the melancholy he'd heard in her voice within her gleaming, emerald gaze. Gleaming... glimmering with conviction. A rush of powerful certainty that shone in her eyes. "You must've fought Her. I know you, an' I know you must'a thrown a fit." He could see it. What he'd seen earlier- the flash of something deeper. Before his wide eyes, every individual, innumerable strand of Applejack's soul began to blend into a different, shining color. Too many at once to count and far too quickly to process, like a weaving waterfall of falling paints. Until her soul was a spinning kaleidoscope of the most beautiful rainbow he'd ever seen. Every color shining in perfect harmony. Her breathing was even. Her voice: steady. Calm. Certain. "I know what y'all were gonna say, and I got somethin' to tell you, too." He was dreaming. This wasn't happening. He was still sitting with a dopey grin on his face thinking of a future happily ever after with Applejack, because his reality was not this. Applejack was not taking a deep breath that only solidified every feeling of solid certainty on her face. Applejack was not meeting his unblinking gaze unwaveringly, as she tightly clutched his hoof with both of hers. "It's somethin' ah been thinkin' 'bout for a while now... and last night, standin' and starin' down the edge a' that cliff after Dash pulled me up, ah finally knew. Ah just knew." This couldn't be happening. He'd lied to her. He was lying to her. A lie of omission was still a lie, and Applejack had never let him answer her question. This couldn't happen without answering her. "After I'd fallen all that way an' come so close to not comin' back up, it wasn't me or the girls or any a' my family ah thought of first." He couldn't breathe. His vision was fading. His ears were popping. His mind was imploding. His body was failing. Reality was crumbling. Applejack's face remained through every impossible hyperbole he tried to convince himself was true, and even then, as he began to wonder whether he'd ever woken up after hitting the ground at all, the shining note of emotion in her eyes was still so genuine. "It was you, Light. Ah couldn't stop myself from thinkin' how you'd take it, a'fore anythin' else." Don't say it. Don't say it- he didn't deserve it. Don't do this to him. Don't let him live in a stupid, fake fantasy. This wasn't happening because it was never going to happen because it was too good to be true and good things only happened to good ponies who told the truth and who didn't kill themselves to save the world because ponies who killed themselves couldn't ever be fortunate enough to come back to life and nopony in the entire world was fortunate enough for- For Applejack to take a final breath. To fix him with a determined glare. To open her mouth to speak those words. "I think... ah might be in love with you, Light." There was nothing. No noise. No voices. No visions. No pain. There was only Applejack. The pony whom he loved. The pony who loved him. For that single, world-shattering fact, there wasn't anything else to consider. Not his death, nor his incredible luck for having lived through it. Through his arrest and his interrogation. To this moment. This perfect, unattainable, unforgettable moment. His hoof held in hers by the side of a stream she'd pushed him into, with the cool shade of the forest hanging over them under the darkening, blue sky. The sound of the rustling leaves. The sporadic call of birdsong in the air. The pre-dusk breeze running over their coats. There wasn't anything wrong. She loved him. He was glad. So... so glad he wasn't dead. All of this- this miracle had only happened because of his miraculous second chance, and he'd never forget that. For every day that he lived from here on, he would live. He would truly live. It was time to stop waiting for tomorrow. He was going to make the most of life. With the endless reverberations of the sentence he never wanted to stop hearing playing on repeat in his ears, he felt Applejack's- his love's- hooves go slack on his. She was starting to turn away- beginning to tear up. The hurt on her face at a silence too long growing with every half-second. With her eyes fallen low- how did she not see it on his face?- her voice came out in a thick warble. "Ah'm- ah'm sorry- I-" Her head was shaking- the tears were coming, and her voice only grew thinner. "Ah didn't... ah thought..." Whatever other thing she was about to say bordering on tears didn't matter. It didn't matter than Light had spent too long in silence, or that she'd cringed away in pure regret. Nothing would ever matter ever again. The only thing in the world that mattered to Light was the next moment. When he returned firm hold of her hoof, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. Applejack was not a patient pony, nor was she one to dawdle. For as long as it seemed in the dark of his own eyes with his lips against hers, it only took her a few seconds of surprise to lean in. To return the motion as her hooves climbed up his sides. Hugging his back a moment before he reciprocated- because who needed hoof holding? In the face of their first kiss, everything else seemed tame. It all seemed slow. It all seemed lesser. Nothing was as beautiful as she was. Nothing was as vibrant, or colorful. Applejack was life given form. And he'd finally stolen her away. > Intermission - Agent's Rest > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It had been nearly twenty years since Sweetie Drops had enlisted and been drafted into the EIA. The first four had been boot camp; she'd spent about two overseas some time later; and the last eight had been spent in her current post in Ponyville under her new name and background. Through all her life spent utterly devoted to her duty, there had been a few distinct points over the years when she'd come to the same realization. Her life could be neatly partitioned into three segments, and each of them had accompanied a radical change in her environment. Growing up as an orphan in dire circumstances necessitated a certain amount of pride- the sort of selfishness that had been very promptly run out of her after she'd joined the military. Of course, that uber-austere lifestyle of a soldier had to be sanded off to fit into her rude-mannered alternate identity, and living in a town as sleepy as Ponyville for so long had a way of mellowing a high-stakes, action-oriented mare as bored as her. So it was that Sweetie Drops- or Bon Bon, the abused orphan-turned-operative, often found herself at a fairly strange set of whims. Almost like... sometimes there were three voices in her head. Looking to her left, at the grieving side-profile of one Princess Luna, Bon Bon found herself having one of those moments. A creeping grimace rising over her face to see the beautiful- yet plain- royal blue Goddess lowering Herself to such worldly woe. With Her head bowed and Her back bent, She nearly seemed short enough to be mortal- though that was utter blasphemy. There was a loud, domineering part of her that wanted her to keep her butt down, her face blank, and her mouth shut, because there was no excuse for preempting Divine Royalty. It was Sweetie Drops' opinion that she should wait it out like a good soldier. But then, there was a dry, slightly sardonic voice in her head that persistently whined about how if she had to watch that dreary former conqueror make that pathetic face for even a second longer, then she was going to start pulling her undone mane out in clumps. It was Bon Bon's opinion that she should speak up, and end this whole stupid drama. And... there was a very tiny, very dispassionate voice in the farthest corner of her mind that... just wanted to say buck it. Leave the Goddesses to their grieving, and their infighting, and go home. Find the minty-green mare that had captured her heart and just forget everything that had happened. How easy life would be to follow the whims of an orphan. To benefit herself and nopony else. No matter how she scrutinized Princess Luna for any sign of life beyond still-faced penance, there was no tell as to what she should do. She may as well have been a statue; it was difficult to tell if She was even breathing by looking at Her firm line of a mouth and Her motionless, folded-over barrel. Ugh- it was like she was still back at Canterlot with those emotionless wannabes in the Royal Guard. She was such an enigma. Stillness of that sort was the realm of a soldier. What kind of Goddess would emulate a statue in vigil instead of presenting Herself like the Deity She was? There was no solace nor clue to be found in the younger Sister- what a shocker- so she turned to her right. Princess Celestia was... perfect- She was always perfect, and even Her grief was perfect. For the raw, emotional lines of Her frown bearing uncertainty and guilt, She may as well have been the epitome of mourning. Seeing how unattainable She remained, even in repose, she knew she couldn't interrupt Her- however frustrating the feeling. But she needed to. It wasn't right to allow Her Highness to blame Herself for an eventuality that hadn't remained. But how could she possibly broach such a concept? What to do? How to feel? Her hoof rose to her chin to press its hard edge into her lip, the small bit of pain helping to clear the smog out of her head. The longer she stared- the more she came to Equus- the quieter the bickering voices of faith and desire became. It was a helpful sort of mnemonic, watching the Princess and thinking on Her grand station. How unlike Her Sister She was, Her wings ruffling restlessly in minute tenses along the great span of Her back. Her mane- also rather unlike Princess Luna- seemed just as affected as She was: rolling in and over itself like folding batter rather than trailing to transparency in the breeze. An interesting, albeit entirely otherworldly physical reaction. She remembered very well how it raged as She became angrier. Like a maelstrom. Princess Celestia was far less composed in Her vigil than Her Sister- which... seemed more or less true to form. Despite Her tendency to veer towards action and emotion rather than patience and rationale, Princess Luna seemed altogether stoic. Princess Celestia was certainly more likely to show Her feelings- however rare the occasion. She'd always known that Princess Celestia was subject to grief and emotion, so why did seeing it emphasized so strongly in pony make her feel so ill at ease? She wasn't a mindless zealot generically praising Her for no reason, right? To feel as though there was a common link between her and her Goddess should have been heartening, not disconcerting. Why didn't it? Bon Bon had just begun to isolate the discreet trail Her impossible tear had made down Her cheek when she realized, and internally groaned because she'd gotten distracted. Though making even the slightest sound seemed untoward, she let her hoof rise from her chin to her eye just so she could tiredly pull it down her face- because she deserved the pain it brought. Bon Bon... had messed up. She could admit that- she wasn't afraid of accepting failure or repercussions. She would gladly serve any due sentence provided it was actually due, and in this circumstance, she didn't need the jury or the judge to pass judgement. She knew where she'd gone wrong. She gave a silent sigh as her hoof fell to the bench, and fixed a forlorn stare towards the distance- about where her home was. Where... Lyra was. Spread out over their bed... head gently sunken into a pillow... Unless she'd broken her promise to wait up, and had stayed outside to party. Her ditzy love had argued for some party time today, and she hadn't seen her at home when she'd dropped by to retrieve what she'd needed for the interrogation, but she'd otherwise promised to be there when Bon Bon came back. She'd like to say she trusted her marefriend, but... Bon Bon's melancholic pout soured with a thought, and she straightened in her seat in a futile effort to seem taller besides the tallest mares in the world. She couldn't think about it- she needed to not think about it. If she went down that road of what-ifs and never-evers thinking of whatever Lyra must have been doing at any one time, she'd never get anything done. She had things to do today, and there was just no time for Equestria's progenitors to grieve over somepony who wasn't dead and probably didn't deserve it. All of their time was far too valuable to waste on somepony like Light Flow. Weirdo dork with anger issues and a million different complexes. So, she cleared her throat with a stern jerk of her chin. Busily and pointedly- but still respectful. Not the easiest tone to affect, but she happened to know a thing or two about intonation. "Your Highness..." she tried, referring her full attention to the great mare beside her. Not going so far as to touch Her or even to lean closer, which may have been why she received no response besides silence. So she tried again, a little more insistently as she leaned into the table. "Princess... there's something I need to-" An unexpected bark cut her off from reaching her point. "Sister. Silence thy adherent." A rough, uncharacteristically fierce condemnation that she flinched to hear, and dreaded to turn to see coming from Princess Luna. Her eyes had finally reopened to the world, but only as a glare fixed firmly on the horizon as She broke Her vigil for nopony but her. How special she felt- how completely caught she was in that moment. Though Bon Bon's disquieted leer was naturally focused on the testy Goddess impressively giving her the evil eye without even looking at her, her attention was brought back around as a hefty sigh released from her other side. "Sweetie Drops..." Princess Celestia's eyes remained shut and Her expression persistently troubled as She spoke, so it was all the more difficult to detect the quiet note of exasperation in Her sotto voice, even as She didn't raise Her head to address her. "Please, if you would allow us this selfish moment of reflection." She blew another quiet sigh through Her nose with a low murmur, drawing Bon Bon's own breath back into her mouth to choke on. "We will discuss next steps as soon as we have both committed this tragedy to memory." With that... heartbreaking sentiment spoken, the Goddesses fell to silence, and even the all-too suddenly aggrieved Lunar Princess once again shut Her eyes in silent reverence. Bon Bon could only grit her teeth, flicking an increasingly uncertain glance between the two of Them and wondering how, by the good grace of the Sun, she would manage to get out of this. In situations like these- situations requiring a great deal of thought and consideration, she liked to lay out two basic plans. She could go with subtle, or brazen. Nuanced, or bludgeoning her target with a hammer. From those two simple points, she'd devised every single plan she'd ever followed- logical reasoning had never failed her. She put a decent amount of thought into how she wanted to proceed for a few seconds. A few earnest seconds of genuine planning before she shrugged her shoulders, let the little voice that said buck it through the door, and put her next action into the hooves of her overtired mind. Risky. But effective. She didn't quite slam her hoof down into the table, but a few pieces of silverware definitely rattled as Bon Bon reared halfway onto the table with a snarl. "Highness, there's something very important I need to tell you now," she declared stubbornly, and all at sobering once, the two Goddesses who had lived her age in centuries opened Their eyes and turned to her. One glowing cyan pair narrowed in expected, though still alarming irritation, and one magenta pair of once-kind eyes resoundingly... low with reprehension. It was normal for Princess Luna to be angry with her- Princess Luna seemed angry at everything- but meeting Her Highness' reproachful gaze and finding a dangerous note of warning in their deep depths gave Bon Bon... a little pause. Time enough for another voice. Another mare to slam her hoof into the table, and this time, the plates rattled. "Impetuous stalwart." An insult directed at her, and she whipped around to find Princess Luna's eyes fully boring into her. It was perhaps the first time the disinterested Deity had truly focused on her, and that fully-focused stare was intent enough to feel. "Thy constant irreverence was excusable for what little time thou provided meagre amusement, but no longer is it amusing." Even with Bon Bon reared onto the table, Princess Luna still kept a few inches over her, and how She towered over Bon Bon then: a measurable giant in form and tone. The bordering threat in Her still eyes alone was enough to set her tuned sense of danger off, and for how lowly She hissed at her, Bon Bon was distinctly reminded of a day very long past when she'd almost died on a mission. It was the same surreal feeling of calm in the midst of the spinning world around her. Like focusing on a crossbow bolt in flight. The feeling vanished a moment later, and all the dire alarm rushed to fill its place. Bon Bon worked her jaw for defense as the Lunar Princess' dotted freckles hid in mortal fear, Her scowl peeling back in a derisive scoff as She appeared to draw a heavy breath for another string of insults before She was suddenly and completely interrupted. "Luna, please." The exasperated tone of Her Sister had Princess Luna raise Her suffocating glare from the agent, who gratefully turned with Her to see Princess Celestia with Her own glare newly fixed over her head. "There is no need to malign Sweetie Drops so harshly. It is unbecoming." It was a welcome reprieve to have the attention of the moment taken off of her, but Bon Bon's scant moment to relax was cut short as Princess Celestia's firm stare lowered between blinks to focus on her for a breath. "However out of turn she may act." It was a much gentler admonishment, though for how it weighed in the pit of her stomach it may as well have been a vile slur. Between the two Goddesses on either side of her showing their irritation on opposite ends of the spectrum, she was actually beginning to lose her nerve- which was no small thing for her. She took a shallow swallow to wet her throat as she tried to keep her hoofing on the table steady, though she was really considering meekly falling into her seat. Tactical retreat? Unfortunately, the blue hoof that suddenly rose to her shoulder and pressed her painfully down didn't give her much of a choice. "We are all too tired of entertaining the verges of thy heedless zealot's offenses." Princess Luna, holding one incredibly rigid hoof to Bon Bon's shoulder, freely aired Her grievances over her head: the anger in Her eyes pronouncing itself with every spat word as Her snarl worsened. "To suffer the utter dearth of dignity thy fanatics express is not excusable for us, Celestia. Our time of mourning is all we have." The implicit usage of pluralism struck home as a very personal 'we', and she only grew more certain of it as Princess Celestia softly gaped in snubbed affront. An affront that faded in a few seconds to a coldly felt admonition as She suddenly raised Her own hoof to Bon Bon's shoulder. It was suddenly difficult to notice through the equal points of very heavy pressure on her shoulders, but she could swear the air became just a few degrees warmer, then. With Her taunted magenta glare shining in controlled irritation, She set Her jaw very strictly straight. "Sister," She uttered pointedly, very clearly communicating in Her tone that She was losing patience. "Do not speak that way to me, as though I do not feel this loss as well." It was becoming a little hard to breathe, especially with the weight pressing down on her from both sides. Bon Bon was a hardy mare- an earth pony with firm control of her magic, no less- but her bones were actually beginning to ache under the... hopefully inadvertent pressure of the Goddesses' hooves. With the air growing just that little bit more arid with every second, she was hard pressed not to loll her tongue out and pant. Though, even for how dry the atmosphere was becoming, the wide-eyed expression of closed-mouth scorn on Princess Luna's face brought to mind the instinct to shiver. A feeling that was shunted aside as the hoof on her shoulder began to press down, and Bon Bon was forced to go along with it to avoid her second injury of the day. It... buck, that ached! Bon Bon could comfortably deadlift a couple hundred pounds without mana augmentation, and her shoulder had easily weathered the death-defying stunt she'd pulled with the rope bridge across the chasm, but the weight Princess Luna was forcing down on her was heavier than she could push against. She- she was actually stuck under the angered Deity's enraged press. Stuck with her body half-slanted down and still aching, forced to watch as Princess Luna leaned over her crushed body: Her expression a chilling mask of quiet anger as a terrifying fire filling Her narrowed gaze. "What a farce," She whispered spitefully: so thinly that it seemed all the more striking as Her voice gradually raised to speaking level. "If we are not to speak to you of your feelings, then spare us the pretense of pretending you actually feel for him." Bon Bon gasped in sudden pain as the white hoof on her otherwise unaggrieved shoulder pushed down in an instant, forcing her to bow over the edge of the bench as Princess Celestia assumedly leaned overhead as well. It was actually hard to tell; all she could really see was a white smudge at the top of her vision and the packed dirt under the table that she increasingly saw as an acceptable target to heave onto. Though she was in quite a bit of physical duress with her shoulders feeling like they were going to shatter with every second, her mind continued to constantly race as the air grew hotter and the silence flared to bitter resentment. With the grinding hooves of Divine Royalty unconcernedly using her as a platform for bickering- quite on course for mortal royalty, at least- all she could do was bite her lip and frantically search the ground below her for answers. This couldn't happen- it just couldn't. If the Goddesses broke out into such a spirited argument now, so soon after they'd been reunited, it might just screw up Equestria's future forever. And the way the argument was going- the venom in Princess Luna's voice as She'd fixed Her Sister with a well-used death glare- it would be a very serious argument. Serious enough to shatter the heavens for the second time? She didn't want to believe it, and barring something truly dire, it certainly wasn't going to end in banishment- but it wouldn't be good. The bottom line was that it had to resolve, fast. It was up to her. She needed to deconstruct, internalize, and act. Where was the aggression coming from? Princess Luna had introduced the hostility, but Princess Celestia had diverted it onto Herself- thank Her. Still, the root of the issue was with Princess Luna: She was the one who needed to be calmed. Why was She angry? It wasn't just because Bon Bon had been rude- it was deeper than that. She was angry because Her grief had been deprecated. She couldn't go back and stop herself from interrupting, and she really didn't think Princess Luna would accept an apology, so whatever solution she came up with had to focus on the grief rather than the slight. Why was She grieving? Obviously... because She thought Light was dead. Besides a passionate apology or making Her too angry to care about it, that left about one obvious solution. There was every chance the argument would fizzle on its own and the Sisters would resolve their differences, but why chance it on unprecedented understanding when she could just remove the root cause of the argument? Laying out the simple chain of logic that lead to her eventual conclusion didn't make it any easier, though. Subtlety wasn't going to cut it anymore. She had to shut her eyes, brace herself, and be brazen. This was going to raise some eyebrows. "Light Flow isn't dead!" It might've just been her shoulders finally going numb, but in the moments after her shout that brought the simmering silence to a crashing end, the heated air seemed to fade to a pelt-deep chill above her. Gradually, she peeked an eye open, and it was just then that the weight on her shoulders lessened, allowing her to readily push herself up against Their hooves and throw frazzled glances between the Sisters. The both of them staring at her in... mostly confusion, but some definite shock. The shock and confusion were more of Princess Celestia's expression, though, and even that fell away in trepidation as the end of Princess Luna's bemused frown quirked up, then fell to a frosty lour. An expression so intimately rife with antipathy that Bon Bon instinctively held her breath, and the thought crossed her mind that Her Highness might've as well. "You lie." It was a simple statement pushed forth by a Goddess staring down at her with every negative connotation possible, played as straight as an outright dismissal could hope to be. It effectively eliminated every pretense Bon Bon had held that this could go well, though now that she knew, she could prepare herself for the struggle. Bon Bon felt some trepidation in meeting Princess Luna's glower, but she did anyway, keeping her expression confident and concise as she'd long since been taught. Trying to remember that the veil was best lifted now. "I'm not," she asserted firmly, and Princess Luna's glower parted into a colder sneer. Still, before the Lunar Princess could open Her mouth and sling verbal abuse, Bon Bon quickly continued with determined pace. "I can verify it. As I was carrying him back to town through the Everfree, he resurrected." That word and its very meaningful connotation chipped the slightest hole in the Deity's mask of contempt as Her pressed brow twitched, but she couldn't dwell on the victory- not even as a soft breath of a gasp came from respectively behind her. She pressed on, matching Princess Luna's hard stare as best she could as she did was she was best at: giving her report. "I detained him upon my realization he was alive, and escorted him back to his home for interrogation." She leaned in, broadening her aching shoulders as her confidence swelled with the truth. "He gave me enough information that I can absolutely verify the events- and he can give the same account." It sounded better out loud than it did in her head, though she still wished she'd built up to it. Pretense was... badly needed, and she didn't enjoy having to prove her authenticity. She supposed she might've had to either way, but saying the actual words out loud still sounded insane. Through the agent's proud recollection, Princess Luna did not waver in the slightest from Her intense stare, nor did She in the moments after Bon Bon went silent. She had actually begun to think she should've said more when suddenly, after several moments of silence, Princess Luna spoke in an eerily calm voice, standing at extreme odds with Her severe expression. "We shall see." With that puzzling statement quickly bringing Bon Bon's expression to confusion, Princess Luna tilted Her nose up without taking Her eye off the agent. "Celestia, sister mine, remain calm and do not fear." The ominous feeling of danger came far too late to save her. Her reflexes were incredible- she'd been officially reviewed as having such- but the time between Princess Luna's last word and the impossibly fast motion of Her hooves clasping onto her face with enough speed to make her jaw ache was too scant to even encompass a blink. As it was, there was only the rush of displaced air in the motion's wake, and the sudden shift in the tension. She hardly felt the pain as her head was jerked forward, but she certainly felt the pulse of adrenaline shoot through her as her own hooves immediately came up to try to pry the Princess' grip off of her. Her choked gasp was overshadowed by a louder, more shocked gasp from behind her, though even through the immediate, reprimanding call of 'Luna!' the younger Sister did not sway from Her intense stare, nor did the elder make any motion to stop Her. Her attempt to free herself proved fruitless as she found the Deity's hooves glued in place like steel- which should've been impossible with her massive strength. She was only able to lamely smack her hooves against the iron bars of fur and flesh in a desperate bid to free herself. Bon Bon's mind raced- what was happening and should she fight back- for every second that Princess Luna stared deeply into her eyes- and the panic beginning to surge through her body grew as the Princess leaned closer until they were nearly muzzle to jerking muzzle. It was only then, as she was sure she could count the flaws in Her irises, that she saw the first faint trickles of blue light beginning to grow above her. Bon Bon prided herself on being mostly unflappable under normal circumstances, but it had been a calendar week since she'd slept, and she was currently being grappled by the millennia-old Goddess of the Night. She was a little less proud to say she felt a primal fear in her core when she heard the voice. The voice that did not ring in her ears, but in her head. Let us in, and let us see. Don't let Her in. Cogimancy was one of the most dangerous forms of magic on the planet, and consent was the key to her every thought. That was the basic warning she'd had drilled into her head during specialty training, and the moment she went back on it was the moment she lost everything that made her who she was. She could be overwritten in a flash and become an entirely new mare. The lock could be broken through time and force, but consent was still the ultimate act of subservience. She did not have to let Her in. That was her first thought, flashing through her skull on a wave of panic. Her second thought came a moment later. If she were truly in danger, Princess Celestia would do something. That thought spoke louder than the last. Maybe that was it, or maybe it was the fonder memory of the unspoken cardinal rule of the EIA. Princess Celestia is the ultimate authority. Trust Her more than you trust yourself. Put Her judgement before yours. It might've been the serenity of the Lunar Princess' unblinking stare. Maybe it was the wear creeping like a wave over her sagging shoulders. It might've been the off-center image of Lyra in-between the flutter of her tired eyes. She didn't really know. She may never know why. For whatever reason and against her every judgement telling her no, Bon Bon simply said yes. And as a heavy presence pressed against the wall of her mind, she began to think of Light Flow. It was a long, uncomfortable few minutes spent in physical boredom and mental exertion as she sifted through her memory of the past day. The heavy weight of Her presence- judging even in concept- lingering idly by, impassively observing the tiresome recollection as she just tried to keep her breathing steady. Many events were easy to recall- others less so. What minutia she tried to double back on to rethink was... waved by at the behest of Princess Luna's presence- an odd, external feeling of disinterest. If that was an odd sensation, then interest was profoundly strange by contrast. In the moment she began to recall her fever and how she'd collapsed- and she'd realized what she was thinking and tried to think of something else, the memory of Light's efforts to heal her inexplicably popped back into the forefront of her thoughts. No matter how she tried to move along, how she pleaded with her own mind, the memory came unbidden. Her sordid secret was laid bare in her mind's eye; she realized too late that she'd ultimately failed to keep her promise of secrecy to herself, and there was little to do then but resign herself to it under the mind-delving scrutiny of the Lunar Princess. Whatever may soon come, she only had herself to blame for being careless. There were only a few other standouts of seeming interest to Princess Luna. When Light had told her of Nightmare Moon's plan to destroy Equestria as they'd looked out over Ponyville. When Light had first called her by that stupid nickname. The... quite embarrassing moment she'd spent laying on top of him- ergh. Still weird in hindsight. Eventually, for every detail she'd have preferred to keep secret accidentally bared, she came to the hazy moment of when she'd left the frowning face that comprised ninety-five percent of Light's emotions at his cabin, and the weight lifted soothingly away. An overwhelmingly pleasant easing of an indescribably uncomfortable feeling bordering on nagging pain, that left Bon Bon finally able to breathe as the hooves tightly holding her head fell away. She rubbed her twinging cheek with a hoof as she let her eyes loll down, and just took a moment to thank Her that the experience was over. If that had been what Light was going through daily for two years, then she had a whole new opinion of the colt. No wonder he was crabby; that was the most invasive thing she'd ever felt. Like her every orifice was being clogged with something grimy. Her insides- even the ephemeral sensation of her mana- it all felt dirty. She regretted not attending the EIA's optional extra classes on guarding oneself against Mind Magic. She was very obviously unprepared for the apparent eventuality, and that did not sit well with her. ...Felt like her brain had been violated. There went that cherry... She thought, though the haze of sorting through the uncomfortable experience, to take a glance up at the mare who had subjected her to the awful feeling- though the glance left her markedly more curious of Princess Luna. The Goddess was... different. She seemed... for lack of a better word- stuck: mentally captured in a single moment with Her hooves still in the air in the same position they'd been on Bon Bon's face, staring at her with clouded, unfocused eyes. Her mouth gaping softly open in an unspoken word but ever so faintly mouthing something. Her magic had long since faded, her rage a forgotten secondary detail to the evident bombshell she'd been fed. It was like... well, she didn't really know what it was like. Being physically struck was more shock and less incomprehension, while actual incomprehension shouldn't have been so shocking. She supposed the Princess must've been in shock. Just as Bon Bon had begun to lean apprehensively back from the comatose mare in genuine fear that She was about to implode, she was further startled as She suddenly sucked in a deep breath from Her stomach to Her chest- an audibly painfully deep breath. A moment later quickly grasping Her hooves tightly to Her barrel as though She'd forgotten to breathe- if Alicorns even needed to- all the while mouthing something that she had to strain to hear. "He's alive..!" Frowning anxiously, Bon Bon pressed her perked ear back to her head as Princess Luna repeated Herself... and again, and again. Over and over and slowly rising in volume until She was audible, passing exactly one verse that may have been edging into shouting before She stopped. And in a very reactive moment that Bon Bon hadn't yet come to expect from Her, Princess Luna turned. She fully reared onto the table that groaned under Her weight with a cry- "He lives!" -as Her wings panned out in a glorious cacophony of unfolding feathers that smacked Bon Bon in the face from their proximity: the beautifully preened fans of enveloping size powerfully flapping a single time and sending most of the things on the table clattering off of it as Princess Luna seemed to ready Herself to take off in that exact moment. Her gaze ever forward, a desperate, wanting gape on Her face. The mare, who seemed eager to stop at nothing, only stalled with one hoof already stepping into the air as there was an jarring, reprimanding shout from aside them. "Luna!" Bon Bon had no doubt the self-echoing shout caught Her Sister's attention- as well as the one pony all the way across town who wasn't already looking- as in the second after She whipped Her head around to set Her frantic gaze on Princess Celestia, sitting calmly in Her seat and studying Her Sister with a narrow, expectant look. She broke the stare for a second as She raised Her teacup for an unconcerned sip, closing Her eyes and letting it drift away with a sigh, only to then calmly return the frenzied stare without a hint of animosity. "Remember what you promised me," was all She said- all She needed to say, judging by how Princess Luna's entire body flinched. Her wings fanning up into a trembling backward pitch as the excitable Deity's gaze swerved to the square before them. Bon Bon had been throwing sporadic glances that way for a while as well, because- well, it didn't really need to be said that everypony was staring. And it was all the more implicit that they continued to stare at the newly ascended Princess standing halfway onto the now mostly empty table with Her wings looming over all, now passing Her gaze through them and working Her jaw intermittently. Quite the scene it was, and Ponyvillians loved to gawk. "I- But there's- I need to..!" The Lunar Princess' fitful muttering hushed to silence a few moments later as Her body anxiously tensed; Her hooves restlessly kneaded the table She stood atop as She let out what could only be described as a very low whine. After a moment, though- while Bon Bon tried in vain to believe her eyes- the Princess seemed to begrudgingly relax, Her shoulders slumping as Her massive wings folded in two, hurried motions, thankfully not hitting Bon Bon this time. She was only glad the slight sting took some mental focus off her aching shoulders. With an unsatisfied huff, Princess Luna found Her seat once more, and the greater population of the town pointedly returned to enjoying its celebration. The unspoken 'or else' lingering in the air around them under the frightful gaze of their otherwise benevolent ruler. "Yes... of course, sister... we remember..." She muttered miserably as Her sullen gaze fell to the table. Rather... like a foal, She took to supporting Her cheeks on two hooves as She glared down at its wooden surface, an unrestrained pout on Her suddenly softer face. But only for a few moments before She was already raising Her head. With an expression that was already far more emotive than any other face She'd made outside of rage, Princess Luna set a longing stare into the far distance with a hefty sigh. Bon Bon's gaze lingered on the bipolar Deity for a few seconds more before she was drawn to Princess Celestia, still looking down into Her teacup with intense, zeroed focus. A narrowed, far-away stare darkly underlined by a growing shadow of wear, which Bon Bon could hardly blame Her for. She held a great deal of respect for Her Highness' ability to remain calm under pressure- when not arguing with Her Sister- and so it always was that, with as much grace as She'd wielded in calming Princess Luna with just six words, She drew Herself up with a steady breath. She only took another single moment to Herself before She candidly met Bon Bon's eye, not a trace of reservation in Her suddenly steely stare. "Agent, what did you notice during the time Light was resurrecting?" A quick question with little humor; Her Highness leapt straight into debriefing. With how still and stern Her expression was, it almost seemed as though She hadn't been surprised at all- which made it all the more impressive considering she knew She was. Whatever Her Highness' feelings, it wasn't Sweetie Drops' place to ponder for the moment. Instinct took readily over from where it had fled away from Princess Luna's mental probe, and she quickly raised her hoof to her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, Highness!" It was the truth, but it still felt like she'd done something wrong as Her Highness' frown deepened. Sucking in a hasty breath, Bon Bon leapt to expound. "I was otherwise preoccupied with considering the night's events and navigating the Everfree with Light's body, and there were no immediately obvious tells!" That seemed to shock Her Highness to the point of it actually showing as a slight gape on Her face. The unsteady show of uncertainty remained for but a moment before it faded, and She pressed another question insistently forward. "There were no signs whatsoever? He didn't seem physically affected afterwards?" She didn't pause to let Bon Bon respond, pressing Her hoof to Her chest near Her heart as She dipped Her head in. "Did you feel anything? Was there any unexpected pain or discomfort you felt as you were carrying him back?" Well... yes, but it had been because she was carrying around a lame hoof. If there had been any kind of abnormal pain to accompany his resurrection, she wouldn't have been able to tell. She tried her best to wipe the uncertainty from her face as she swallowed, and forced out a response. "Light... exhibited the beginning stage of Black magic corruption in the discoloration of his eyes, but otherwise... no, Highness. Nothing like that." Princess Celestia's hoof leapt to Her mouth almost instantly after her response: Her gaze growing distant between blinks as muttered breaths murmured out from around the obstruction. Her eyes flicked about the air in front of Her as if searching for the miraculous answer to the mystery, though judging by the growing air of agitation around Her, none were coming to mind. It only took a few moments before Her Highness focused back in, and Her hoof fell to point at her as She spoke again, somewhat more urgently than before. "Was there any noticeable decay in the environment beyond the usual for the Everfree?" She swerved Her hoof from its point to tap against the table aside them, Her gaze reflecting the continued alarm in Her voice. "Did you observe any nearby animals acting oddly? Did anything perish at any time around you?" Bon Bon felt increasingly as though she was unfit to answer any of Her Highness' questions, because she hadn't noticed anything like what She was asking. The vegetation of the Everfree already looked perpetually dead, so if anything had happened to the flora on account of Light, she hadn't noticed. She hadn't seen any animals, either, which was very common for the Everfree considering it was almost exclusively home to predators. If she'd seen any animals, she might be dead right now. Knowing that it wasn't the answer Her Highness was looking for, she couldn't quite keep herself from adopting a slight expression of shame as she succinctly answered Her with a frown and a sigh. "No, Highness." It was all too possible that she'd only failed to notice the signs, not that there weren't any. For the dire look of disbelief in Her Highness' eye, however, she could be fooled into thinking otherwise. "That can't be... It's unprecedented..." came Her faint whisper as Her hoof slowly tracked up to hold against the side of Her head. Beyond that, She seemed to be lost for words as She only absently studied the air before Her. A cold sense of unease had long since gripped her from Her Highness' line of questions, and it only grew worse to see Her so utterly confused. Her Highness always seemed to know everything, and seeing otherwise was making it a little hard to breathe right. Bon Bon swallowed thickly through the squeezing knot of discontent lodged in her throat, letting her hoof fall from her forehead to rub under her chin. Only a moment later, a modicum of focus returned to Princess Celestia's searching gaze, and it raised in a blink to behind Bon Bon. "Luna, a moment?" She sharply addressed Her sight-gazing Sister as Her hoof fell to the table. The called-to Princess perked and turned to catch Her Sister's eye; then, with Her attention drawn, Princess Celestia gave a short, hurried huff. "I'm sorry, sister, but our difficulties must be put aside. I urgently require your counsel on this matter." Princess Luna frowned at that, though it was a ridiculously light frown given Her average. Even the thoughtful glimmer in Her eye as She shimmied to face Her Sister seemed more genuine- impossibly so. She could almost say She seemed to care about what Her Sister was asking. It was like... every deeply-coded negative reaction She normally showed had just been swapped out for a less antagonistic suite of moods. At least, that was how it seemed through studying Her for the few moments it took Her to respond to Princess Celestia. And as She did, She did so with a curious, troubled frown. "We agree, sister, that our grievances be cast aside." She placed Her hoof onto Her chest. "The blame lies with us, ill-considered it was. Thou need not consider us any further aggrieved." As Bon Bon softly gaped at the formerly stubborn Princess admitting Her fault, said Princess raised Her hoof in a shrug. "However, we cannot provide thee with thy sought answer. In this matter, we are as unsure as thou art." To that lukewarm response, Princess Celestia visibly fought back a grimace. "Sister, please." She stopped short with a frustrated sigh, casting Her gaze aside in a sudden fit of concern. It further narrowed as a haze of brilliantly golden mana crept up the length of Her horn, and as the rabble of the noisy crowd pressing on her ears grew muted, the world around them became shaded with a distinctly faded grey. With the obvious Bubble of Silence erected with startling efficiency, Princess Celestia turned Her attention back to Her Sister. "This lies beyond anything I've ever learned of Black Magic." The faint echo behind Her voice as caused by the spell made the plea seem all the more striking, further impounding as She shook Her head with another frustrated sigh. "It's completely unprecedented for a pony to simply come back to life without a spell. It shouldn't be possible like this." Princess Luna showed little signs of reacting to the cautionary spell to protect the privacy of the situation, only narrowing Her eyes as She raised Her eyebrow in dry derision. "Forgive the implication, sister," She spoke dubiously, going so far as to cross Her hooves over Her barrel. "-but thou art hardly the most fanatic proponent of the dark arts." Her expression soured further, spitting Her next words with sudden scorn. "Of thy Black magic." With the dig she didn't understand out of the way, Her expression lightened, though remained completely doubting. "That answers confidently elude thee is no surprise." The stark denouncement of Her Highness- now that was unprecedented- was met with little but a reserved huff, though there was no anger in Her eyes. "I am not arguing with you, Luna." She did furrow Her brow, frowning with resolve as Her voice echoed out into the bubble. "That is why I seek your insight. The ties you hold to Necromancers, especially, mean you may be the foremost living authority on the school." Bon Bon had to take a second to blink at that, whirling around as soon as she was able to stare unabashedly at Princess Luna as She sighed. Her posture slumped as She turned to lean into the table, resting Her head on a hoof as Her eyes fell shut, the barest flash of pain crossing over Her face before it was obscured by Her drooping mane. She was silent for a moment in the anticipatory dead quiet, before Her downcast voice finally drifted out of the drooping corner of Her mouth. "How easily thou speak of it, as though it was not why we once..." The trailing thought went unfinished, and Bon Bon was left achingly curious as the Princess rose from the table with a sigh, keeping Her gaze on the grey blur of the crowd outside as She raised Her weary voice. "...Very well, sister, we shall do our best to provide our... most earnest counsel." In an odd, contradictory moment, She paused in Her melancholy to grunt out a wan little laugh with a tart smile. "It may yet be the least we can do." The silence stretched for as long as it took Princess Luna to gaze intensely into the crowd, until She straightened in an instant and promptly turned to Her Sister, Her momentary smile gone as quickly as it had come. "We know a great deal of the art, yet it remains unfathomable. We have intimately known many who practiced Necromancy, but it must be understood that very few of them were true Necromancers." Her busy tone dipped into a deep intonation bordering on reverence as She tilted Her head up, frowning at the horizon. "Any unicorn may enter into the school and perform the spells, yet only those blessed few had true ties to the practice." She returned Her gaze to them, narrowing it as She did. "There are the rabble, and then there are destiny's chosen; they are those who truly understand Necromancy." She paused for a moment to take a breath, then finished in a deeply sober tone. "Light Flow is one such pony." For the entire time that Princess Luna was speaking- more passionately than She'd been even in anger- Bon Bon only felt a dull, throbbing sense of shock. At how energetic Princess Luna had become in the minutes after She'd learned Light was alive, but moreso at how casually They were discussing Black magic. Princess Celestia was the foremost authority on many subjects of magic; She'd either learned from or outright taught most of the greatest Arcanicism revolutionaries in history. She was the head of the facility She'd established to help safeguard against Black magic. Of course She knew about Black magic. That wasn't so disconcerting. What was currently crawling on the back of her throat was hearing Princess Luna's intimate relationship with the forbidden school. Hearing that She'd rubbed elbows with criminals by today's standards, and knowing that She was the Celestia-ascribed foremost expert on a forbidden school of magic. It sent shivers down her back. It made her skin feel clammy. It filled her head with angry, intrusive thoughts that she couldn't help but listen to. Not worthy of a Goddess. Not befitting. What was a Goddess if not pure? Princess Luna was not pure. Was she even a Goddess? And the worst part of it all was that it wasn't even intrusive. It sat like a benign stone in the back of her mind the entire time she listened, and it didn't steal a moment of her focus as Princess Luna finished one thread with a grand air of finality before swiftly sweeping into the next one. Bon Bon only sat and listened, taking in every movement through pure, observational instinct, thinking very little of the discussion going on. Wondering who to pray to. In the moment after Princess Luna named Light, She took a firm moment to stare unblinkingly towards Her Sister, as if waiting for a response. Perhaps not seeing one, She finally broke Her stare with a shake of Her head and a sigh, continuing on as She turned to the table. Her hooves dropped onto it with a defeated thunk as Her tone lowered into dismissal. "But it is a useless distinction." She stared down at the table's edge for a moment as Her eyes continued to narrow, then shook Her head again with a growl. "Light Flow is truly unique; it is one of the reasons we sought him out. Thou hast the right of it: no Necromancer has ever done as he did without the aid of a spell." She went silent, working Her tense jaw for a few moments as She turned her gaze to the sky, idly scrutinizing it as She began to slowly speak in a low, lilting tone. "...None who we have known." She quieted, then continued in a lonely, hollow tone. "Those who died in vain... Blight... Aching Sore... Bitter Pill... and even those who lived too long... Curtain Call... and Candlebright..." She trailed off on the end of the list of unfamiliar names. Her eyes that had grown so distant through the recollection gradually fell to reality, and as though the sadness that had crept into Her expression were a physical malady subject to motion, She roughly shook Her head: Her glistening eyes fluttering in time with a thinning crack in Her voice. "Without their spells and souls to save them... in the end, they all perished..." The grieving whisper slipped past Her sullen lip with a sigh as She shut Her eyes, and without another word, Her head hung slowly forward until it met Her outstretched hoof. With the lifeless strands of Her mane fallen about Her hidden face, She went silent but for the softest shudder of breath. Until a slender white hoof crept in past the edge of Bon Bon's vision, and she was suddenly reminded that the Pure Goddess was still there. Her hoof crept through the air to make gentle contact with Her Sister's shoulder, and with its barest brush, the Lunar Princess stiffened in a tensing ripple from Her back to Her shoulders. She sucked in a throaty gasp as Her head flew from her hoof, Her mane bouncing into disarray as Her teary eyes landed on Princess Celestia, smiling so softly that Her face seemed like immaculately molded clay. "It's okay, Lulu," She murmured- and the raw, emotional gratitude in Her voice brought a shiver running down Bon Bon's spine. The suddenly frenetic pace of Princess Luna's breath began to calm as lucidity returned to Her eyes and Her Sister continued, creeping Her hoof over to affectionately cup the shoulder She held. "You don't have to go on. I don't expect an answer you don't have." The melancholy mare seemed to dwell on that for a few moments, Her eyes searching Her Sister's face first, then falling to consider the table as Her struggling breath continued to slow. After a few moments and as Her first steady breath came in a sigh, She hesitantly raised Her markedly drier eyes to Her Sister with a restless frown. "We... thank thee for thy consideration..." She trailed off as Her eyes remained on Princess Celestia's face for a few moments, clouding in some moment of far-away recollection. Then She blinked, and like a gracious miracle, a small, genuine smile crept up onto Her face. "...sister mine. It means much to us." The elder Sister's own smile grew wider at that, leaving the moment utterly noiseless between Their silence and the forced quiet of the bubble. It left Bon Bon feeling stuck and snubbed- nearly like a voyeur, and completely without a way to bridge the gap between her and the Sisters that really needed the moment of heartfelt connection. That is, until her eye happened to drift down. "Highness..." The warning came as instinct to the longtime surveillance agent, and she felt no shame in breaking the silence as she continued to stare intently forward while the Divine pair turned Their gazes to her curiously. Feeling Their attention, she met Princess Celestia's curious eye so she could flick hers forward with a wordless tap on the table. She didn't have to verbalize it; Princess Celestia quickly picked up on her subtle hint with a hum and turned to see what she was looking at. The slightest breath of a sudden gasp was the confirmation that the problem was noticed, and all at once, She extracted Herself from touching Her Sister to sit straight while Her horn busily wreathed with mana. Bon Bon's head swam for a moment as her ears popped, and with the sensation of air rapidly sucking into itself, there was suddenly noise and color in the world. Most predominantly the color purple, as one such unicorn cantered up to the table, stopping just shy of treading into the battleground of treats and finery. Her hooves and her well-trimmed fetlocks remaining carefully clean as she came as close as she could seemingly bear judging by the troubled leer on her face. "Twilight," Princess Celestia greeted the mare warmly as she slowed to a stop, any vestige of Her concern over Light's situation hidden behind the thick layers of love and tolerance She held in Her smile. The named mare turned her nose up from where she'd been frowning down at the mess, passing her gaze from one Princess to the other as the taller of the Two addressed her fondly. "-my dear student, I'm so pleased to see you once more before I leave." As it was the first moment in a while she'd had to herself without some kind of stress or issue to solve, Bon Bon could finally shoot a pitying look towards the smear her discarded bonbons had made just beyond the table's edge, for how little solace it brought her. Making them had been a lot of work for Princess Luna to eat one, insult her, and eventually knock them off the table. Their only true purpose had been to facilitate her approach to the Princesses, but still. She had some pride as a baker, and seeing them discarded like actual trash kind of... stomped all over it. It was a passing moment of regret that went as quickly as it came, leaving Bon Bon wholly alert and focused on the Princess' student. Even though Twilight's typical pensive leer lightened at Princess Celestia's address, she still seemed quite tense, her eye flicking periodically down as she responded. "Thank you, Princess, I'm always glad to see you, as well." At Princess Celestia's somewhat chiding head tilt that spoke of some history, Twilight finally managed to keep her eyes from straying- at least, to the ground. The mare spoke with a distracted lilt. "I've just... come to tell you that I've finished double-checking my New Homeowner's Checklist, and I've already sent word to Canterlot to have the materials I've been using for my theorum on the properties of dragonfire transported here sometime... soon..." As she spoke, instead of frowning in curiosity at the many pastries and finery discarded around her hooves, her glance instead continually veered... slightly to the right. A leer that Bon Bon had assumed was at the surprisingly attentive Princess Luna watching the mare with careful eyes, that she quickly realized fell just a little short. The oddest straying attention that grew more pronounced with her every word until she was trailing off on a half-finished sentence, beginning to lean in as she pressed a hoof to her curious frown and her purple gaze narrowed and narrowed. Exactly on the spot where Bon Bon was sitting and sweating. As she met Twilight Sparkle's searching- completely leering gaze, there was a large part of her that knew there was no way. Of course Twilight couldn't see her; that was impossible. It was Princess Celestia's spell, and that meant it was impenetrable. But then, as she shifted slightly in a minute paranoid reflex and Twilight's brow jumped, she happened to remember just who the mare somehow staring an invisible pony dead in the eye was. Even during her easy assignment in a backwater, it was still Bon Bon's job to remain informed on ponies like her, and she knew very much. Twilight Sparkle was more than the Princess' Personal Student- a highly sought after title gifted once in generations- and she was even more than any average magical genius. Through the exhaustive amounts of aptitude tests, intelligence tests, and even the various methods designed by historic Arcanicists- some incredible ponies in their own rights- to categorize unicorns exactly like her, she'd managed to outperform literally every attempt at possibly quantifying her potential. As it stood in the intellectual world, postulating the heights of her ability was considered theoretical work. A title-bearing Lady in Canterlot's court, commanding a considerable amount of respect in the intellectual world; a mare that had contributed more to arcanicism in the past ten years than most did in their entire lives. From registering a perfect ten on Chaff's scale at age ten to writing essays deconstructing well known principles at twelve, Twilight was known as something of an unquantifiable anomaly- the kind that came along once in a millennia, if even. From what Bon Bon understood, there had been talks at the Council of Organized Magical Study of revamping the current method of testing mana circulation and channeling to better accommodate statistical nuances like her- an idea put into contention by Twilight herself. She had her hoof firmly on the pulse of arcanicism and a steady eye on many other sciences as well; though she was a undeniable loner, she was undeniably committed to the pure pursuit of understanding. So, maybe it wasn't impossible that Twilight might have noticed something erroneous about the mana in the air. Twilight was becoming more suspicious for every second her genius analyzed whatever discrepancy she'd isolated, while Bon Bon felt more and more exposed. A waterfall of thoughts pouring through her head to match the sweat on her brow, each trying desperately to weigh her towards one action or the other. Was it really so bad for Twilight to find out she was there? She was a pony in the relative know, but could she accidentally blow her cover to everypony? Judging by the spectacle at Light's cabin, Twilight loved to make a scene! This was why she didn't like academics! She licked her lips, flicking her gaze to the right. Princess Celestia was frowning. A cold stab of uncertainty struck her. She didn't have time to look to her left. "Twilight Sparkle!" came the suddenly gallant cry from the archaically inclined Princess, drawing every tense eye to Her along with the shocked-out-of-a-stupor glance of the adept magical student. The called-out mare flinching back from the sudden volume of the Lunar Princess as She spiritedly raised Her hoof in obvious, overblown greeting. "We are pleased to see thee again as well, our most admirable savior!" The bookish mare barely had time to raise her hoof and stammer out something that might've been a greeting before a blue shimmer of mana took her limb and tugged her closer on three hooves. A discarded plate clattered away as she stumbled toward the Princess hoof-first, seeming lost for words or action as the haze of mana cut suddenly out and she tumbled chest-first into the edge of the table: barely supporting herself onto it before the overexcited Princess leapt forward to snatch her aggrieved hoof that She then shook up and down. "We must once again extend our deepest thanks for all that thee and thine have done for us," the Princess chattered in a bright tone of voice that immediately seemed horribly wrong coming from Her. If Twilight's put-off, wildly uncertain expression was anything to go by, she was just as disconcerted to see the generally downcast Goddess so subject to emotion. Or, she was just upset to be forced into a violent hoofshake. Through the dual stares of bewilderment trained on Her, Princess Luna continued to very gaily shake Twilight's hoof with a cheek-splitting smile. "Without thy heroic involvement through incredible adversity, we may never have come to our senses, or to reconcile with our sister!" After thoroughly shaking the petite mare to the point of senselessness, She slowed, and only continued to smile as Her eager tone eased slightly. "It is a great debt we owe to thee, one and all." Eventually, once her eyes stopped rolling in her head, Twilight was able to moderately collect herself. Her dizzied purple eyes crawled to stop on Princess Luna, and slowly, she gave Her a half smile. "It... was no problem, Princess Luna," she spoke slowly, then quickly dropped her eyes as her tone became a bashful murmur. "I'm just thankful that you're doing well and you're where you belong." Princess Luna nodded at that, finally releasing the mare's tampered hoof which said mare cautiously cradled to her chest like bruised goods. "We must say, Twilight Sparkle," The Lunar Princess ventured, drawing an inquisitive tilt to the academic's head as the previously withdrawn Princess went on with a hoof laid coquettishly over Her chest. "We are familiar with thy life's works and achievements, and, daresay, they read as the storied precursor to legend." It took Bon Bon a moment to parse the compliment, but the meaning must have been evident to Twilight judging by the immediate pink flush that shone through her fur as the Lunar Princess, perhaps in Her first show of whimsy, leaned slyly forward as Her hoof crept to Her chin to support Her daring smile. "It must be said that thy genius is extraordinary, perhaps the most we have ever seen," She drawled, Her eyes drawing to a sultry lid. "Tell us, if thou please, whether thou think of thyself so highly as we do?" This was just mean. Twilight's jaw worked in seeming consternation, sputtering small noises of rebuttal as her head jittered from side to side and she retreated a step backward. "That's- I- I think that's a bit overstated!" she finally half-yelled with great effort, though her volume might've stemmed from her folded-back ears. The poor mare seemed very much like Berry Punch had earlier: about ready to bolt from the Princess playing games. As Princess Luna hummed a devious closed-mouth laugh, however, the mare appeared to stop in place. Her frantic eyes falling still a moment before she shut them, gently lowering her chin as her hoof rose to her shaking chest. She took a deep breath in with her chin pressed down, letting it out in a single, smooth stream: staying in that pose for a few scant moments- while Bon Bon peered sideways to find Princess Luna's laughing smile turned startlingly down. There was no more humor in Her lidded eyes, nor amusement in the hard edges of Her face. She choked back a nervous swallow at the frigid-faced Goddess, turning back to Twilight with a silent prayer that the mare not disappoint. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity in the silence, Twilight raised her head and opened her eyes in a synchronous motion, seeming at once resolved. "It is true that I've been gifted with many natural talents, aptitudes and advantages, perhaps even more than I deserve," she spoke firmly, a far cry from her nervous stammering of moments ago. Her eyes narrowed as she raised her chin, while her voice further firmed into certainty. "-but I don't think anything I've accomplished is impossible for anypony else, so long as they possess the necessary drive and determination." It was a commendable answer, though Bon Bon was thrown off the sentiment as something shifted in the tension of the air, the temperature around them seeming to plummet. Princess Luna continued to stilly stare the stern-faced mare down in a reclined pose until She suddenly straightened, placing Her hooves over each other on the table as Her eyes narrowed further, and Her chin raised up. "...What of the circumstances of one's birth, or their status throughout life?" The sudden question came in the unexpected tightening of the Lunar Princess' voice, as She stared down at the smaller mare with a frighteningly rigid air. "Can equality be achieved through action in a world constantly seeking to rob it from its creatures?" Bon Bon, hopelessly jeering as she tried to conceive of the implications of the question, had to finally shake some interestingly intrusive thoughts away as Twilight drew attention back to herself. The mare drawing in a short, composed breath with a slow blink, seeming to bounce gently on her hooves as she returned Princess Luna's piercing stare with an equally proud air of utter confidence. "I would argue," she stated slowly, with a gradual bob of her head, "-that... as success is judged by its completion rather than its conception, the only regarded merit should be the result, and thus the variable difficulty of the individual to accomplish their goal is ultimately negligible." In the wake of the steadily-given speech, Bon Bon had to stare at the shrewd mare in wordless thought for a long moment, as Princess Luna did the same. Perhaps thinking just the same as she was that their perception of Twilight Sparkle may have been subject to change. For an undeniably simple assertion that held so much clarity under deeper scrutiny to be given so readily, with apparent ease, was... ...well, she sort of understood how Twilight had come to accomplish so much, to circumvent a question at a moment's notice like that. Bon Bon liked to think of herself as well-read and witty, but it did not often occur to her to specially mold a response to a question rather than just answering. She might've been stuck up and hard to understand, but maybe she was as incisive as her reputation. For another long, few moments after Twilight finished speaking and Bon Bon had stopped trying to decide whether the answer was at all merited, Princess Luna only continued to stare critically at Twilight. Something calculating twinkling behind Her narrowed eyes, that finally faded in a blink to reserved finality. "...A very narrow view," She echoed out, though as Twilight processed that with a start and a bemused blink, Princess Luna's frigid stare softened to something approaching genuine care. "We should like to speak to thee again, Twilight Sparkle. Consider our ear bent." Twilight blinked at that, going so far as to seem outwardly confused as Princess Luna turned away in casual disinterest, having found something on the horizon to capture Her ever-wandering interest. The intelligent mare seeming much less so as she worked her jaw for words that didn't come, until she finally managed to shake the confusion off long enough to turn from the enigmatic Princess. Sometimes, it was best to just leave something alone. Twilight seemed to understand that. Her eye flicked to the ground as she shuffled to her left- and to Bon Bon- until she was fully regarding Princess Celestia, who had stayed as silent as a ghost throughout her encounter with Her Sister. Truthfully, it had been a while since even Bon Bon had let her eye stray to the somehow innocuous Solar Princess- though not for nothing. It was hardly every day when one of the greater minds of the century clashed with a Deity not heard for ten. Whatever the case, it was probably a bad sign for her to not to have remained markedly cognizant of the center of her faith. She'd punish herself later. Or something. Feh. There was little to Her Highness' expression but a shining note of love as She gazed upon Twilight- and there was certainly an amount of reciprocation in Her student's gaze, but it was mostly a hesitant reservation underscored by a wiggly frown. "Well... Princess, I think I really should be... going, now," she spoke haltingly, taking very evident peeks to her right between every word. Whether she was looking at Bon Bon or Princess Luna was up in the air, but the table to to the right of Princess Celestia was undeniably troubling for her. It didn't seem to trouble Princess Celestia, who only tilted Her head humorously. "Of course, Twilight, I'm sure you have much to do to." Her smile widened further as She extended Her hoof forward and turned it in the air, waiting for a moment as Twilight eyed the appendage, hesitantly meeting Her gaze again as she crept her hoof out to lay against the larger mare's frog. "I hope to hear from you soon about your new study of friendship and Harmony. You know I'll always make time to see you." Bon Bon's inspection of their embrace took a strange turn as the two seemed to halt, the next few moments spent in gradual silence as they only gazed into each other's eyes. What seemed like... a wordless exchange passing between them in the gradual slanting of Princess Celestia's eyes and the quiet swallow Twilight took. Something conveyed in meaning alone. But then, as all silences did, the inexplicable quiet between the Goddess and Her pupil ended as the larger mare let out a whispered breath. "Twilight..." She murmured, Her smile creeping down at its ends as the named mare perked. Princess Celestia seemed to mull on Her words for a moment, speaking again on what sounded like a whim. "-could I ask... a favor..?" The unsteady murmur drew a curious frown from the smaller mare, while Bon Bon only found it odd that the Goddess was having difficulty asking for something. "Anything, Princess," Twilight quickly replied, leaning in on her concerned tone. The action drew a smile from the Princess, softly opening Her mouth to respond a moment later, and... ...closing it again. Her frown once again curling into a dismissive smile as she shook Her head with a huff. "Oh... nevermind me," She whispered out with a gentle laugh. A benign note of wistfulness sparkling in Her humored eye as She withdrew Her hoof, leaving Twilight's resting on air- and wanting for the contact as her hoof crept an inch after it. "I feel silly for even thinking of it. Foolish, even." Princess Celestia sat tall in Her seat once more, seeming to all the world returned to the kindly smiling, serene figure She often was. "It was nothing, Twilight. Don't pay this old mare and her whims any mind." She nodded forward, flicking Her eye up. "You've had a long night, my faithful student. Get some rest, and do give Spike my best regards." The soft, albeit strenuous speech left Twilight gently gaping, seeming torn with indecision as her hoof hovered nervously in the air between them. She closed her mouth in a grimace as she looked away, then opened it as she met Her Highness' eyes again. Still, nothing came out besides a sigh, and Twilight resignedly let her hoof down. "...Alright." Her downcast tone and expression of total frustration made it clear that it really wasn't alright, but she didn't pursue the dropped thread any further. With a last glance cast to Princess Luna who had returned to intensely observing her, as well as a suspicious squint to where Bon Bon was sitting, Twilight turned from the table, though not without a final call over her shoulder. "I'll...write to you once Spike and I have settled in." With Princess Celestia returning a kind smile to her, Twilight gradually tore her gaze off the serene Goddess and began a brisk trot away. Three sets of eyes and likely many more watching her egress, and though she couldn't speak for anypony else, Bon Bon was thinking most of the quiet moment only a minute past. The tender moment they'd spent just watching each other. How desperate Twilight had seemed, and how... frustrated Princess Celestia was. She was sure that's what it was. A deep wanting for something She hadn't deemed fit to vocalize. Twilight Sparkle and the Pure Goddess... Maybe the rumors about them were true. Though, of course, it wasn't proper to fantasize. Bon Bon's attention was solely focused on Princess Celestia and the quiet expression of melancholy She wore, so she was slightly shocked to hear Princess Luna's raise Her voice from aside her. "Adherent." She turned, balking as she found Princess Luna staring at her out of the corner of Her eye. The ever-stoic Goddess seeming to have lost Her earlier energy, returned to sitting straight with Her hooves crossed sternly over Her chest as She spoke in a refined murmur. "Consider our earlier theatrics an apology for how we have treated you, and for our intrusion into thy mind." Bon Bon blinked. Had... Princess Luna been acting? Well- sure She had seemed rather excessively pleased to see Twilight, but it hadn't crossed her mind that the emotion had been facetious. Logically, but not empirically; Princess Luna had expressed Herself so genuinely that it hadn't at all seemed as though it was fake. Impressive. She was probably better at acting than Bon Bon was. That... sort of irked her. It wasn't an emotion that she showed in her uneasy smile, nor one she planned on voicing anytime soon. "Erm... thank you... Princess," she grated out through her teeth- maybe she was worse at acting than Princess Luna... She supposed she was grateful that She'd drawn Twilight's attention away from her, if only for a while. It might've saved her from a security breach and a tight situation, as well as having to clue Twilight into some need to know affairs. All in all, something she'd really rather not have to deal with. So why was she having to fake her smile? Princess Luna narrowed Her stare on Bon Bon for a few anxious moments before She raised Her gaze to Princess Celestia, allowing Bon Bon to take a relieved breath and stop biting her cheek. "Sister, it was thy intent to ask for Twilight's aid on our Black magic conundrum." She'd barely begun to relax from the intense Deity's weighty stare when the statement landed, and Bon Bon once again bit her cheek in a gasp: a sleep-deprived instinct that she muffled with a hoof, jerking around to stare in shock at the stolid Solar Princess. Not reacting in the slightest to Her Sister's borderline accusation as She continued to smile wistfully out into the crowd, not seeming at all concerned at the... ...somewhat rational notion. Hm. Maybe she'd overreacted. It would explain why Princess Celestia was seemingly underreacting. Feeling a little embarrassed at the breach of conduct, Bon Bon dropped her hoof to her lap as Princess Celestia softly shook Her head without dropping Her smile. "...It was a very silly whim of mine," She murmured, giving off a sound not totally unalike a scoff. "For all her talent, Twilight... would not be any help in this matter." Princess Luna's stare did not waver in its accusation, though neither did Her expression grow any more resentful. "She is unversed in Black magic." At that, Princess Celestia could only sigh: oddly melancholic for the wry smile She kept. "I have... not gone to great lengths to hide my distaste for the dark arts." Her quiet, close to bashful murmur was yet accompanied by the smile she still wore, making it all the more ill-fitting as She sighed forlornly. "I trust Twilight, enough to allow her the opportunity to learn about Black magic if that were what she truly wished." Her gaze tilted up, her smile becoming almost puzzled. "Yet... despite her fervor for learning, she's never shown the slightest interest." She opened Her mouth, then closed it with a wan chuckle. "I suppose," She added after a moment in which Her gaze fell to the table. "-she may fear the connotations such a request would bear." Princess Luna kept Her ever-critical gaze on Her ever-smiling Sister for another few moments- thinking just as much as Bon Bon was- until She bobbed Her head once. "Forgive us if we speak out of turn, sister mine," She said, sliding Her staring gaze out to the plaza as Her Sister gave a hum. "-but we find ourselves concerned of thy prized student." Her Highness had bravely kept Her smile throughout what little they had discussed, but as the uneasy thought was fully broached, Her loving smile slipped sadly, corner by corner, to a knowing, tired expression. "Yes... I'm well aware of what you mean, sister," She murmured, dropping Her gaze low as Her tone sagged. Watching Her Sister's downcast reaction, Princess Luna gave a quiet, unconcerned huff as She turned again to the crowd. "For all her intelligent appearances, we only needed but one response to understand her ways." Her frown crept lower, nearly edging into a glare to match the dire edge of foreboding in Her tone. "She is like to kill herself in her desperate attempts to prove her worth to the world. Her desire for approval is fanatical." As Princess Celestia gave a hefty sigh, the Lunar Princess dropped Her gaze in a blink to the table, upon which She spun Her hoof in a slow circle. "Time shall only tell how Magic develops..." Her dark mutter encompassed a single turn of Her hoof, stopping as the circle came full circle, and She leaned back to cast a glance to Her Sister. "Is it truly wise to allow her to remain here in Ponyville under her own discretion?" It was a long, quiet moment of contemplation for Princess Celestia. For the moments after Her Sister's question, and even after The Lunar Princess leaned back into the table seemingly unconcerned with the question She Herself had asked, Princess Celestia remained quiet. Staring out after wherever Twilight had left, Her eyes narrowing at something Bon Bon couldn't see. "...I have pursued the education of a brilliant mind in the wrong ways many times before, Luna," was Her eventual response, given quietly in a raw murmur of cloudy regret. With it, She raised Her closing gaze to the sky, Her next whisper coming as a throaty warble. "I do not wish to retread my failures in Twilight. She deserves better." Bon Bon's hoof was already over her heart, but to hear the emotional pledge spoken aloud came very near to breaking it. She truly felt it: a weak flutter in the skip of her heartbeat under her frog that only grew more evident as she took in every darkened line of true feeling Her Highness held. A thousand lifetimes of memory reflected in the bare parting of Her lips, well-tread in uncountable recollections of tragedies far past remembering. At a time like this... there was one particular verse of a Dusk era canticle written in the revised Hymns of the Heavens that came to mind. One of the few that truly stuck with her from her memory of the worn and faded copy a determined little orphan had staggered into Canterlot with. 'The Sun above, where none shall fly. Of pegasi and birds on high, yet ever higher lies She.' She was utterly unattainable. Even in Her basest moments of emotion, She remained so ancient. Though her eyes were only for Her Highness, the Heavens' newest member sounded from relatively behind her, causing her to turn her head only enough to swivel her ear towards the voice. "...Take heart, sister." The unexpectedly gratifying tone from the mare who never seemed to show it had Bon Bon turn the rest of the way, along with Princess Celestia in her peripheral. They both found Princess Luna staring their direction, a soft, wistful smile under Her gaze slanted low with care. "The past is behind us, as are its regrets." Her hoof crept out to touch upon Her Sister's shoulder, drawing Her eye to it first, then to the mare across from Her as Her frown curled into a small smile: the younger Sister continuing in an ever-warming tone as Her extended hoof was covered by its white twin. "Though we cannot forget what has taken place, we can still live our lives after, and allow what we have learned to carry us into tomorrow." The poignant speech had Bon Bon staring in bemusement at the moody Princess, though she shook it off to watch as Princess Celestia's seemed to give a gentle start. Her smile widening as She shifted the hoof She held over Her Sister's on Her shoulder. "Then... have you given more thought to what I asked you?" It was a seeming non sequitur, though for how Princess Luna's smile slowly slipped down in a nearly resigned manner, it seemed She had expected the question. Her eyes kept low for a moment, nearly on Bon Bon- though certainly not looking at her- while She did little but take a deep breath, Her glowing cyan stare hiding in the bare motions of recurrent blinks. "We... are warming to the idea." Her much smaller voice wavered in its simplicity, then raised entirely as did Her eyes. "As what little time passes, we find our heart lighter than it had seemed in its first, resounding guilt." She gave a few slow blinks with a small nod as Her glimmering gaze lowered again. "In truth... we believe..." She went silent as Bon Bon held her breath, then all at once, turned Her gaze back to Her Sister. "Though we do not feel altogether worthy of the honor, there may be much we can yet accomplish." Her suddenly firm voice smoothed to a point as Her free hoof rose to lay across Her chest in a rigid salute, while She straightened to Her full, towering height. "For all that we mourn, our duty holds true. We cannot ignore those who call for us." She took a single, stern breath, then proudly set Her jaw. "We remain Equestria's Princess." There was only a moment in-between; little but a single spare second of thought to linger on, for the depths of passion that had shone through in the few words of resolve shared by the Deity who had... until then, seemed not to care for Equestria nor her citizens. Yet in Her unbelievable reverie, She had proved Bon Bon wrong. Princess Luna had a heart. A proud, strong heart that ached for the land She'd built. And that was respectable. The beginning of a burgeoning, begrudging admiration for the Goddess, whom she really still didn't like, barely had time to take hold before she was being shifted. Unexpectedly, from behind her came an emotional whisper- "Oh, Luna..." -serving as her only warning before a weight was bearing down on her back. Well, less bearing down and more being shunted aside. Her hooves were taken off the table and she fell, head over rear with her head taking the brunt, backwards to the ground with a squawk of indignation as Princess Celestia swept towards Her Sister to wrap Her entirely in a very touching hug. Much of the scene was hidden from view by Her Highness' massive size and otherwise obscuring miasma of a mane, so she was really only imagining it was very touching, but of course it was. She just... wished she wasn't taking it in from the ground. Gradually- though the ground was surprisingly comfortable- she levered herself into a sitting position on her hooves, and voiced her disgruntled thoughts with a huff. "Um- Highness?" She left the 'are you forgetting someone' purely implicit, because she was only annoyed and not angry at her patron. She had a great observer's view as Princess Celestia's head rose like a rock in the sea from the middle of Her constantly weaving fog of a mane, and swiveled around to send her a curious, then shocked glance. "Oh!" was Her only exclamation before Her head bobbed back into Her mane, then the entire cloud that She was moved stolidly across the bench. The space she'd once occupied was now open- though she could hardly tear her eyes off what little she could see of Princess Luna's red cheeks- but before she could make to regain her seat, Princess Celestia's hoof roved from Her side to surreptitiously lay across it. "My deepest apologies. Why don't you come around the table, agent?" Bon Bon blinked up at the Goddess' back and the solitary white spire that rose from the undulating waterfall of colors that was Her profile. Her horn and what little she could see of the massive cloak of Her wings didn't give much indication as to what face She wore or Her intentions, so in the end, there was little else to think about. She gave a quiet grunt as she pushed herself the rest of the way onto her legs, stretching back as she fell onto all fours. Finding herself standing once more with slightly sleepy limbs, she tried to catch either Princess' eye, to no avail. Princess Luna had Her head on Her hoof and wasn't looking anywhere near her- perhaps pointedly- and she couldn't see much of Princess Celestia past Her mane. With a feeling like she'd somehow messed up, Bon Bon worked her shoulders in a circle with a short breath, then began to walk back around the table. Passing Her Highness first then the corner quickly after as she fought the fuzziness in her legs, rounding the other side and balking for a split-second at the mess strewn about in front of it. She quickly shook the sight off and carefully began to pick her way through the disaster that had been made of the offerings, finally arriving to stand calmly before the sole gaze of Her Highness. Princess Luna was... She might've been ignoring her on purpose. That was fine; if the Goddess wanted to act like a foal just a minute after She'd genuinely inspired her, then that was up to the discretion of the unknowable Divine. Who was she to question such a great mind? Meeting Princess Celestia's somewhat apologetic gaze instead, Bon Bon allowed her stoic frown to gain an edge of confusion. "Has the debriefing concluded, Highness?" She flicked a slight glance down to the long streak of a carrot cake next to her hoof, trying to keep her voice from wavering into irreverence. "I believe there's still more about Light we could discuss." Though Princess Celestia held an air of emphatic joy around Her in that moment, her question brought Her smile down for the faintest second, and the vaguest flash of disquiet. "Is it dire?" Bon Bon gaped softly for a moment, regaining her wits and shaking her head a moment later. "N- No, Highness, I don't... believe so." There... wasn't anything she'd wanted to bring up, was there? Right now, that couldn't wait for a written report? Anything immediate? ...Nothing was coming to mind. Her mind was fairly tired, to be fair, but no, there really didn't seem to be anything immediately concerning to remember. Otherwise, she'd remember it. She was better than otherwise. She hoped. In the moment that Her Highness had seemingly given her to think, and as she remained silent, Her serene smile once again returned to full force. "Then you have performed your duties exhaustively, my most loyal agent." The growing warmth under the scrutiny of Her smile was short lived as She once again frowned, and Her tone lowered. "However..." The trailing word was only left in the air for a moment as Her Highness took a short breath, then straightened. Bon Bon's eye drew up as Her horn lit, and with as little circumstance as the time before, the world around them greyed and an oppressive quiet descended upon them. With their privacy assured, Princess Celestia cleared Her throat. "Much has changed, and your duties will have to follow accordingly." Her stern brow jumped as Her head lowered to a tilt. "At this point, I can only assume that Light has regained his full self and, thus, his complete memory." It was an easy statement, and with the given lull, Bon Bon opened her mouth to respond in the affirmative. However, Princess Luna with Her eye still on the horizon beat her to it. "Yes, sister, thou hath the right of it." Princess Celestia turned Her eye just enough to capture Her Sister, who continued to speak in a resoundingly bored drone. "During the time after we regained full control of him, we freed him from every shackle that once bound him." She sighed melodramatically: an overly melancholic sound. "So long as his... death has not changed that, it should yet remain true." Bon Bon shut her mouth with a clack at the most competent affirmation possible, while Princess Celestia gave a single, curt nod. "Thank you, Lulu," She murmured- the quietest note of fondness shining through Her business-like acumen, before She turned Her attention back to Bon Bon. "Then Light is undoubtedly aware of the actions we took, and that he is under surveillance." In the lull, Bon Bon swallowed against the knot that rose in her throat. "...Yes, Highness," she responded quietly. She gave a cough to try to mask the note of weakness in her voice, and raised it again to agent-standard firmness. "He affirmed it to me directly, and I made no attempt to hide his circumstances or to make any pretense of secrecy." At that, Princess Celestia rose slightly on a sigh through Her nose, and gave a short nod. "Then... we are in a delicate situation," She murmured as Her gaze fell to the table. She studied its surface for a moment as Her eyes narrowed, then blinked to smooth the expression to certainty as She met Bon Bon's gaze again. "I must amend my previous orders. We cannot continue as we were, and, as it stands, I see multiple options before us." To make a point, She slid Her right hoof out to rest its back against the table. "We may attempt to do as we did before, and take that which lies in his memory that would compromise our agency." Her jaw firmed with Her brow. "In that way, we may prevent the possibility of his becoming a threat entirely." The steady drone of the factual option brought a cold shiver straight down the middle of Bon Bon's back, and she made no attempt to hide her uncertainty. Unexpectedly, to match her own reaction, Princess Luna whirled a sharp glare to Princess Celestia as She spoke: the smaller Goddess baring a sudden displeasure in a vengeful snarl that shone with bright reciprocation in Her glowing eyes. "Sister." The one-word rebuttal that ripped from the terse grit of Princess Luna's teeth dripped with unrestrained warning. The sheer turn of emotion for the typically calm Goddess had Bon Bon shivering for a whole other reason, as the very air seemed to cool in time with the flaring temper of the Deity. All the while, Princess Celestia did not turn from Her ultimatum. Through the spectacle of Princess Luna creeping towards the verge of fury, Her upturned hoof holding Light's potential future in its crook did not waver. Rather, it was soon joined by its twin, which matched it upon the table with as little emotion as the first motion had. Yet, as She laid the second alternative on the table, Princess Celestia's iron-clad mask finally broke in a tight grimace. "There is little I would abhor more than to tread that path again." The reserved appeal lightened Her Sister's lour in a surprised blink, and even Her own expression softened slightly as She gently shook Her second hoof. "It is this second option I would rather pursue, for any good that may yet be done after all that has already transpired." As Princess Luna leaned back to Her own seat, a lessened glare of intrepid curiosity on Her face, and as Bon Bon let out a painful breath she'd held unconsciously, Princess Celestia raised Her hoof over the option She'd laid first. Letting the alternative tower over the past, as a small, daring smile rose over Her grim countenance. "We do as what once was done, and take a bet against the future." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Agent, I understand you have reservations, but know that I have given much thought to this decision." One hoof in front of the other, the faint sounds of whooping and laughing trailing on the wind as it quieted on its path past her. The day's dusk still ahead, yet the air carried that nostalgic scent of rest. Almost comforting if not for the week she'd had. Could something this severe be properly considered at all? For the danger they faced, was this truly all that wise? A laugh, a smile. Unconcerned expressions held on a mask of empathy. "No, I don't believe it is all that wise. But sometimes, wisdom simply must be let rest." The trod dirt underhoof first changed colors, then grew silent as it packed tightly together. A less gratifying noise, yet all the more resigned. What did that even mean? Why should any action be taken outside of wisdom? What purpose did ignorance serve? The tilt of Her head: so chiding, so knowing. So withholding as to be nearly sly. "Kindness is often blind, agent. I have lived lifetimes in the defiance of ignorance, and I have found it to be tiring." Even then, Her words brought a small, huffing smile to her dragging face, passing its first reflection in a window upon many. So enigmatic- so nonsensical that it was just funny. Maybe even more so thinking of her reaction at the time. She still didn't understand. Why did they have to be kind? Why now, and not earlier? Why to him? Her first frown in a while. A considering expression. A low, contrite thing. "I cannot explain it. I have the words to do so, and I may even muster the emotion, but It would not be right to lie." Then She smiled beatifically again, as though She had never frowned. "Perhaps I have simply gone mad." There were many other things. Orders and rescindments and new, confusing commandments that flew in the face of what had come before, as though the past were well and truly dead and all that had been established going along with it. In the eyes of the Pure Goddess, the only thing that remained was the future. And, she mused, as she veered onto a grey, graveled path, the last thing She had impressed before they parted. "Go home, agent. Go to she whom you love, and leave the day behind you. Make love in the dead of night, and return to life in the light unburdened of that which you know. Leave what I have asked in the past, and take this new creed on my promise that it holds meaning." As She smiled fondly, looking towards something in the horizon that only She could see, She spoke in a reverent murmur. Nearly close to absent, yet so startlingly present that every word could only be Her most genuine thought. "Do what you feel you must. As much or as little as you find right; follow where your heart leads. Stay or waver as you please; concern yourself of my affairs however you wish. Write me a report if it so prompts you, or cease all contact with the agency if that is what you desire." Then She had dropped Her eye to meet hers. Staring deeply into her being, and finding nothing wanting. "I have seen how my hooves bring ruin and pain, and in this matter, I would keep them out of it." And Her smile widened. "Light Flow is at your discretion, my most loyal agent. I trust you to uphold the future before him." As Bon Bon held the handle of the door to her home, she found she could do little but stare at her shaking hoof. The hoof she'd stared at the entire way home after Her Highness had dismissed her. For the five minutes she'd taken to hide as the Notice-Me-Not spell had worn off, and as she'd pulled herself out of the loneliest bush she could find. She'd only stared at that soggy, bruised limb that had only half a day prior brought her to the brink of death. The absent proof that she was not loyal. She was not pious. She was not just nor possessing of honor. She did not, now or ever, have the right to arbitrate the fate of anypony. Yet she did, and she had for a very long time. She had never once hesitated. For the first time in a long time, Bon Bon wondered whether the Sun would welcome her into heaven at the end of her life. And then she opened the door. The scents of home welcomed her. Dust and lingering stains. She called out, echoing in the quiet space. "Lyra?" A shadow grew in the hallway across the room, past the stairs that the paranoid government agent constantly made sure made no noise, and the single worn-down dresser that Lyra had brought from the communal home she'd lived in before they met. Her first thought- whether the world was at peace after the long night- was forgotten in a rapt murmur as green fur and shining yellow eyes over dark bags crept from the hall. Her second worry- that of her animosity towards Princess Luna- seemed long past as her love breathed out a quiet sigh. A soft, blissful noise of body-shaking relief. Every doubt about her faith fled as she heard her voice. "I waited for you." With her first step, and with every hoof forward, the picture of Light's mutilated corpse was driven from her mind. Everything else about Light went as her hoof brushed against soft, minty fur- and her sweet love gave the softest breath of a laugh. Reciprocating in the same moment as their hooves cradled each other's napes, while her every concern about the future eased away. When their lips met, there remained but three thoughts in her mind. That ignorance was indeed more than the absence of wisdom. Kindness was often blind. As was love. > Intermission - The Toll > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Carousel Boutique As the gallant cries and joyful whoops of too many ponies all celebrating in one too small town filled the outside air, there was one building amidst the many decorated affairs around it that sat silent. It was decorated as well- very beautifully- but its doors were shut, and the sign in the dark window promptly read 'closed.' What welcoming atmosphere it normally enjoyed was instead barred from the air of festivity that surrounded it. Inside, behind the lovely purple veneer, the firm tack tack tack of a needle puncturing thread filled what little air it could in the darkened building. If one were to trace the sound to its origin as a precocious little filly might, they would find themselves hopping up the flight of stairs hidden behind a meticulously threaded silk curtain, and towards an open door spilling shallow light into the end of the shadowed hallway. Within that room, that same little precocious filly, also being possessed of the most pernicious quality, would find a veritable fashion showroom of fabulous fabrics strung together over posed ponnequins looming from every dark, crowded corner. Materials and tools alike scattered about the floor in some seeming resemblance of a tornado in a dressmaker's shop. Patterns and plans hung from the rafters by twine in obvious, eye-catching places, as though an overly fashionable spider had crawled through. At the opposite end of the dimly lit room, a white unicorn sat before a sewing machine in the light of a window, half-drawn by a color-complimentary curtain. Said mare didn't move at the small creaking of the door being pushed aside, nor had she seemingly reacted at all to the jingle bell on the front door, or to the squeaky shout that had accompanied it. "Um, Rarity?" Sweetie Belle, standing uncertainly in the darkened frame of the door, tried for the third time since she'd run through the door. "I'm home from school." At that, the mare finally raised her head. Her inattention seemed immediately odd to Sweetie, most especially because her sister had never failed to welcome her home from school. Even when she was exhausted or had genuinely passed out from overwork, she'd always managed a yell or groan of some sort when the excitable filly came running through the boutique. "Oh, Sweetie Belle. I hadn't realized it was that time. Welcome home," her sister responded distractedly, which wasn't all that out of the norm. Rarity would often become distracted when she was working. What was troubling was how her sister didn't turn to actually welcome her even then, simply continuing to run her busy hooves across the surface of her working desk, which very nearly seemed like her. But Rarity would never let Sweetie just stand around in her work room, the increasingly worried filly thought. Usually, she would've turned to shoo her out the moment she stepped in. After all the times Sweetie had come in without her sister's knowing and dropped something or knocked a ponnequin over or accidentally set fire to a dress, Rarity had instated a very strict 'no sisters' policy when it came to the room. While the possibility of rifling through her sister's things while she was distracted was appealing enough on its own, it was the Summer Sun Celebration, and her sister had said ahead of time that the shop would be closed for the day so they could spend time together. She'd been looking forward to it all week, even more so after hearing about last night. The filly had slept through the night and missed some big disaster that everypony at school was talking about, and had repeatedly heard all about how Princess Celestia had a Sister and that the world had been in danger. That and the fact that she didn't get the day off school because of it was already disappointing, but now? Seeing her sister alone in the dark, clearly hard at work despite her promise of free time, was cause for worry. So, despite the many warnings she'd received in the past, the small white filly pushed the rest of the way into the room and towards her sister. "I thought you said you weren't going to work, today," she said as she crossed the room, eventually making it to her sister's side. The mare not glancing her way even as she reared up onto the counter, only continuing to scrutinize the sheets of fabric before her through a small pair of red half-glasses. A few seconds passed, and though Sweetie tried to peer around the counter to see what must have been so important to her sister, she couldn't find anything except the usual scattered sewing necessities and a shiny golden necklace that she didn't recognize. "Rarity?" she tried again, turning to her sister who finally gave a small start at hearing her voice so close. "Hm? What?" The creative-focused mare paused in her work to glance in a few wrong directions, before finally landing on Sweetie Belle. It was only then, as her sister was facing her in the shallow light of the window, that Sweetie could see the faint red bags under her eyes. As they locked eyes, the surprised expression Rarity had adopted faded away to a tired frown. "What is it, Sweetie, dear? I'm very busy," she murmured raggedly as she turned her attention to pulling the ends of her fabric back into position. Feeling a growing amount of snub and worry, Sweetie Belle frowned. "But sis, you'd said you were going to take a break today." As Sweetie Belle continued, Rarity took a sharp breath in, seeming to sag a small bit. As the seamstress pulled the already messily-seamed fabric out of the needle's path for a moment, Sweetie Belle reared higher onto the counter to stare pleadingly at her sister. "Aren't you done yet? You've been busy all week, and you spent all day yesterday decorating Town Hall!" Her sister was already nodding, sighing as the machine in front of her rumbled hungrily for the folded fabric she held away from it. "Yes... yes, Sweetie, I know." To the young filly's disappointment, instead of standing up and upholding her promise, Rarity only began to feed the unfinished edge back into the machine again. "I'm sorry, dear, but I don't think I have the energy to play with you right now." All at once, Sweetie Belle's heart dropped into her chest. Her sister was already intently returned to her work, intent on salvaging something workable from the couture she had at this point horribly mangled and paying little mind to the filly. Fearing the possibility of an entire afternoon with her sister to be lost, Sweetie tried to stand taller onto the desk to catch the working mare's eye. "Is... this about whatever happened last night?" The filly's insistently worried question drew a choked gasp from the mare, who once again let uncrossed stitches run wild across her fabric as she flicked a wide eye to her sister, then strangely to her side. Sweetie tried to look, but again didn't see anything odd but the necklace and a pattern her sister wasn't really following. After a moment of the fashionista seeming overly shocked at something innocuous, the expression of tired resignation returned to her as she turned back to her work. "...No, Sweetie Belle," she answered with a shuddering sigh. "-your big sister is just... very tired right now. I'm sorry." That was the last word, Sweetie knew. It held a very familiar tone of finality, and as she knew from experience, pushing any further past this point was only going to end in a fight. As much as she wanted to argue for her sister's time, she knew there probably wasn't much point, and so she dropped down from the counter. With her head hanging low, she marched sadly to the door with the intent of watching the festivities from the window in her room. Except, before she'd even made it halfway to the exit, she was stopped by her sister's voice. "Sweetie Belle?" The named filly halted in her tracks as her ear perked, and she turned curiously to her sister. Though she hadn't turned to address her, she continued anyway: her voice faltering for a moment before it rose with oddly fake cheer. "Would you... like to come and sit with me awhile?" A flash of memory crossed the filly's mind of the last time they'd sat together, and she hesitated. As she remained silent, Rarity spoke again, softer than before. "I would... really enjoy it if you... spent this time with me." She only needed to hear the gentlest edge of pleading in her sister's voice to begin walking back to her. As she cautiously approached the seamstress' side, her horn lit to grasp something before her, and her hoof rose from her side to gesture the filly closer. Though it all seemed a little out of character for the high-strung mare she knew to be her sister, Sweetie wasn't about to relinquish this chance for a rare hug. She crept forward quickly, lowering her head and minding her horn as she ducked beneath her sister's outstretched hoof, coming up between it and the desk and shuffling back until she felt her sister's back legs on either side of hers. Then, before she could react, her sister's still hoof swept her gently closer until her other hoof snugly wrapped around her midsection. Just as the disgruntled filly thought she couldn't feel any more suffocated, the soft weight of her sister's chin pressed onto the top of her head, shifting down to press a loving little kiss into her mane. "Ugh- Rarity, you're squishing me!" the off-white filly squealed, attempting to shimmy into a more comfortable position that didn't have both of her sister's hooves crushing her sides. It was, unfortunately, for naught, as her sister only hummed busily while beginning to gently rock Sweetie Belle from side to side: seemingly able to continue feeding and tugging and turning with her magic. Realizing her sister wasn't likely to let her go, the coddled filly huffed, and crossed her hooves over the ones over her stomach. It was nice, at least. Rarity was her favorite, most warm and comforting pony to hug, and there weren't many ways to be closer to her. And since she was so close to her sister, Sweetie was able to clearly feel as something began to softly shake against her back. Her every attempt to escape ceased as she gasped quietly and tried to crane her head up to see her sister's face, though she wasn't able to see anything past her own curly, pink mane. Feeling her sister continue to silently shiver, Sweetie hugged the hooves around her waist closer. "Are... you okay, Rarity?" Sweetie Belle asked quietly, and at that, her sister only tittered. Her thick voice seeming a contrast to the busy speed of her work that, even then, didn't slow in the slightest from its frantic pace. "Oh, Sweetie. I'm always okay." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ponyville Proper Ponyville was home to quite a few strange occurrences. For one, it was a farming town with a small hoofful of actual working farmers. Not only that, they still celebrated the Running of the Leaves, despite it having been antiquated for well over a century. It wasn't even for fertilizer; they simply did it as tradition. It was at the edge of the Everfree Forest, a place well known as the most dangerous woods in Equestria. It had a reservoir and a high-class boutique, yet only a meagre one-room schoolhouse. Worst of all, the practical joke shop was right next to the spa. Though, maybe that wasn't the strangest thing. That would probably be Pinkie Pie. The Summer Sun Celebration may well have been the largest sanctioned party of the year, excluding the ultra-rarified Grand Galloping Gala, so it was no surprise that during such an event wherein every other conscious pony was engaged in enjoying themselves in whatever way they saw fit, the mare who everypony knew loved to party more than anything else was present and then some. Nopony ever really saw Pinkie Pie coming, though one pair certainly saw her leaving. The two pegasi she'd accompanied into town from its fringes could only look after her retreating tail- "Hey! Pinkie Pie?! What gives?!" -and shout their grievances after their friend as she disappeared into the crowd with so little as a parting gasp of excitement. It wasn't out of malice. It wasn't because she didn't want to party with them. She loved her friends. Yet all the same, Pinkie ran from them. From one end of the square to the other as though the soiree were a race and she the frontrunner, Pinkie took in every spectacle all at once. Every face to see, she saw. Every friend, recognized. Every stranger, greeted. With no seeming pause, she dove headfirst into the festivities as only she could. With an ever-present smile on her cheery pink face, she left more ponies than not looking after her fondly as they committed the oddly excitable mare with the shiny blue necklace to memory. Those who already knew her shaking their heads with resigned indulgence, while the former strangers often held somewhat bemused grins of their own. She never stopped. She came up in the middle of a circle of conversation- "Hiya! Betcha haven't heard this one!" -and before any of them could blink, they were laughing. An inside joke like she'd been there all along dropped like a dangerous comedy bomb, and then she was gone. Giggles in her wake and smiles trailing after her. She didn't stay to chat. A filly trotted after her mother with a plate balanced precariously between their teeth, stumbling with every step. The poor thing barely even able to see past her small mound of treats, and so liable to trip, as she soon did. An awful, world-ending moment of her hooves falling under her as her plate tipped past its edge, eyes barely able to trail after her bounty as it heartbreakingly fell to its end. Except Pinkie Pie was suddenly there. The plate slid soundly onto her outstretched hoof and caught on its rim, without a single speck of food falling from it. The filly looking up at the shining smile the mare wore, sparkling with humor- "You don't have to feed the pigeons, silly!" -as a joke slipped from her lip, that drew the sniffling filly's frown up with a snrk. The plate was set down in front of her as she stood, and before she could look up again to thank the mare, she was gone. A smile on her face all the way. A balloon slipped from a pegasus colt's hoof. Pinkie Pie was there to catch it- "Don't go floating after it!" -and it was in his hoof again before he could even turn to look. Always smiling. A tipsy mare already laughing way too much let her drink slip just that bit too far. Before it could splash onto her friend's chest, Pinkie was there with a rag- "Party emergency!" -to catch the liquid before it had even begun to fall. The mare was left with a cloth stuffed in her cup and a confused stare after a pink blur too fast to see. The vague shape of a smile on her face. A tourist hailed a passerby for directions. "Down the street, take two lefts and a right!" A stallion looked up, realizing his friend had walked away. "He's over there, by the fountain!" A mare walking with her coltfriend by the stream began to teeter. "Whoopsie-daisie! I've got you!" There was a sudden commotion at Town Hall, and everypony turned to look as the new relative of Princess Celestia made an uproarious show of rearing onto the table. Plates and cakes went flying across the gravel as She fanned Her wings and shouted out. And Pinkie Pie only stared from halfway across the plaza. Still smiling. Her gaze fixed unflinchingly on the Lunar Princess. Her smile began to waver. Seeing it all play out again behind her eyes. One corner fell. The cliff. The Timberwolf. The river, the bridge and the castle. It was gone. In that moment, the voice whispered in. Low and mocking and devious beyond any expression heard by mortals. Aw, what's the matter, Pinkie Pie? Not feeling like laughing anymore? It was back. Her smile rose again as though it had never been gone, and she turned away from the table at the stoop of Town Hall. For the rest of the day, she was at the corner of everypony's moment, smiling for their benefit. She was at the edge of every group as somepony cracked a joke, laughing right along with the rest. She was there for every slip and dizzy stumble with a helping hoof or a convenient napkin. She was the comforting presence for every foal who had lost their parent or couldn't find the bathroom. When the sun began to wane and the air began to chill, she looked to the sky along with everypony else. The first resounding rumble of static charge as streaks of smoke and fire cut through the sky brought a deafening cheer that she uproariously led alongside a prismatic pegasus. For every trick the Wonderbolts performed, she was the voice at the corner of a stranger's ear that voiced their amazement. She peeked over a new shoulder for every dive, uttering murmurs of awe alongside their own. At every death-defying swoop, she was the excited laugh beside a group of foals. Pinkie Pie introduced herself into the margins of everypony's story that day, keeping to the sides of friends and strangers alike for the briefest of seconds each. Though the accounts could never feasibly be compiled, a hundred ponies and then some would go to bed that night with a story of the pink mare who had poked her head in. How she never stopped smiling. Except for a single second to herself. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Short Distance From Ponyville It was always such a comfort, coming home after such a long day. It had been a harsh day. A difficult, tense day like she scarcely had to endure. A day full of so much fear. So much danger. Afterwards... so many eyes. But a day to cherish, regardless. As every one was. And she considered herself lucky to have gained so much. It was only a short walk from Ponyville- a path she'd tread for only a few short years, but never had she felt more fulfilled. To feel her hooves on the ground- an escape from the pressure above her. There was never any pressure; if she didn't want to, she never had to fly. She often didn't. It made the walk longer, but what was an hour spent in nature? There wasn't a need to hurry. Dusk was drawing slowly across the sky as she neared her home, such a familiar relief that warmed her weary bones, just to see it. To hear the quiet scritching of her many friends in the hills around her. Listening to the greeting call of flapping wings fluttering to fill the trees as she approached. As she crossed the bridge over the splashing stream that cordoned her home, a scurry of squirrels rose from their own homes to peer at her. A multitude of furry tails hopping from their trees and their burrows to crowd the path and trail at her hooves as she began to ascend the hill, skittering and squeaking in pitches that lifted her heart with their loving messages. A scarce flock of birds abandoned any number of the swaying houses hanging from the trees in the scant surrounding grove to swoop past where she'd been and where she was going, calling out in solitary songs and choral movements in such melodious harmony that she only barely stopped herself from joining in. Her door came before her, as it always did, and as they always did, her friends came to greet her. Filling the windows with curious black eyes peering to see who had come. The smaller creatures trailing from the carved holes in the bottom to inspect the scents she carried on her fur. Like clockwork, a white bun of fluff filled the glass porthole in the door as it was raised on its hinge, and eyed her cautiously from its narrow rim. With the quiet cacophony of chirps and squeaks and whines that filled her dreams at night around her, she gave the eye-level rabbit her kindest smile. The rabbit, in return, crossed its arms over the fluff of its chest. A single ear perked with its eyebrow, as if to say: 'It's about time.' For the walk up the hill, she'd actually felt the suffocating wear begin to fade, and though she loved each and every one of her friends without end, the silent expression from the rabbit introduced a long-suffering fatigue in her. With a tired sigh and making sure to watch her hooves carefully, she pushed the door- rabbit and all- open. "Oh, Angel bunny... this isn't a great time, sweetheart," she murmured softly as she took her first step into her home, while behind her, the so-named rabbit curiously poked his head from the front of the open door's porthole. The lovely noise of her faunal congregation quieted as the door swung gently closed on its cushioned hinge, while any animal that could made their way in through any entrance available. Only a few steps in, and there was already a mischief of mice running about her slow hooves. A small business of ferrets slunk down the steps from upstairs to watch her as she stopped in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath. A family gaze of raccoons tramped in from the kitchen as her shoulders sagged. What was first? It only took her a moment to remember; after so long, it was a familiar routine. The hens were first to feed, and while she was in the backyard she needed to refill the bird feeders for some of her more domesticated friends. Then she could check on the many groups of mammals, run through the various types of care for her more unique friends, and by the time she made sure the reptiles were keeping warm, she might finally be able to rest. It was only a single sigh. That was all she allowed herself before she began to make her way to the kitchen. She was already thinking about the step after the hens, even before she'd left the room. She would need to shoo the self-sufficient animals out first, and of course then she would also have to contend with Angel's wildly unpredictable tastes, and whenever she'd finished with that she would need to- She was so used to shrugging off dizziness- and so unused to actually facing it, that when the world began to spin just that little bit more than it usually did, it came as a total shock to feel her hooves slip out from under her. The instinct to catch herself on her wings wasn't there, and in the span of a single blink, she'd toppled onto the floor halfway between rooms. With a cheek pressed to the floor and one spinning eye half-open, she took deep, panting breaths from her suddenly tight chest as she tried to work her hooves under her. With every half-inch she raised, her vision began to fade, and she found herself pressed painfully back to the floor. No matter how she kicked her back legs out or flapped her useless wings for desperate lift, the vertigo overwhelmed her over and over again. In the back of her worsening, feverish mind, she registered the drawing presence of wet, sniffing noses- and all she could do was go still. For fear of accidentally hurting somecreature, she only laid sprawled over the floor as innumerable little searching paws began to climb up and over her. Their intent so obviously concerned, that she found it all the sadder they were searching for injuries that just weren't there. The effort to even slowly push herself onto her back seemed agonizing, and she had to wonder just when it had become so bad. The ceiling as it came into view spun without any motion from her; her forehead felt hot and clammy at the same time; for each moment that she thought of standing up, her stomach furiously rebelled. With her back beginning to ache because she'd forgotten to tuck her wings in, all she could do was lay there with her many friends, all trying in their own precious ways to figure out what was wrong, as she feverishly hoped that it would just end soon. She had so much to do... she couldn't lay around like this... A loud, high squeaking began to ring in her ringing ears, and like somepony had shouted owl, the warm, squirming bodies all over her began to scurry off. A single, familiar weight climbed up onto her thigh in their absence, and before she could even try to blink to process that he was there, Angel was there. She tried to close her eyes again and focus on her breathing long enough to not hyperventilate. "Angel... bunny... mama's not feeling... so good right now..." she whispered out in a thin breath. She tried to raise her hoof to lay on Angel's head- to pet him or maybe to push him away- but found the limb falling on air. She peeked an eye open as the weight shifted forward, then shut it as a terrible wave of nausea swept over her. Immaculate softness wiggled into the cleft of her neck, and a faint smile came to her face as she let out a faint, unsteady coo. Two deft little paws slid around the back of her neck before she could realize the bunny wasn't coming in for snuggles, and by the time the uncomfortable metal she'd forgotten was there was sliding off, she could only suck in a slightly more panicked gasp. She tried to force her eyes open- then quickly gave up. Instead, she tried to voice her fear. "Angel, no! That's very-" She broke off in a ragged, thin cough that wracked her body in burning shivers, laying back with a gasp and the deepest breath she could handle. "...important... that's... important..." she managed, barely. But then the weight on her chest lifted. Angel was gone, along with her Element. In the back of her burning mind, the vague hope that he hadn't been trying to sell her things again flashed by. For what felt like the next few minutes, she took shallow breaths, trying to conserve what little oxygen was still captured in her lungs. She'd be able to get up soon, just as soon as she'd recovered from the dizzy spell, she'd get up soon. She had so much to do... so many to take care of... she needed... she had to take care of them... get her Element back... Faintly, though her mind was growing ever dimmer, she felt a tremble under her hooves. A subtle shake. The quiet rattle of furniture being slightly displaced. A very heavy presence growing ever closer. A wet, sniffing nose shuffled through her mane, then roved over her face. A quiet huff filled her panting mouth with a familiar scent, and she gradually forced herself to peel her eyes open against the vertigo. A rough, brown face with a big black nose and curious black eyes greeted her, and she managed a faint, delirious smile. "Harry, honey bear..." she murmured, weakly levering her hoof up to stroke along the leaning bear's proud snout, barely above her face. "I'm so sorry... I can't stand to greet you..." The bear, so much larger than her, gave a very huffy huff at that, and the upside-down face in her vision crept out of sight. She shut her eyes again, mostly content to lie as she was and that her friend had gone away, only moments before something slid under her side and she was jerked upwards. She coughed out a startled gasp with air she didn't have, the pent-up adrenaline forcing her eyes open as the ceiling grew closer, and the soft warmth of a fuzzy pelt enveloped the left half of her body. Her head lolled to stare at the wall as it suddenly inched closer, then blearily back to the presence holding her up. A rough, brown face with a big black nose, and unconcerned black eyes staring forward as they advanced another step. Careful claws grasped around her flank and gently cradling her neck, letting her gradually pan her view around to see how high she was. Her back legs and her wings swaying bonelessly out under her as she vainly tried to curl them in and away from smacking into things. With another step on his upright paws, Harry ferried her towards the stairs just ahead- directly away from the kitchen she needed to go to. "No... Harry bear, I need to..." Her weak mumbles certainly conveyed as she weakly hoofed at the large animal's chest, yet all the same her big brown friend only continued towards the stairs. Their pace surprisingly quick, as in only a few steps they were at the stairwell's foot, and began to climb one by one. She sucked in another dizzy breath of the bear's wild scent, clutching at him for how little she could as they ascended the stairs. "Please, Harry, I need to... I still have to..." She trailed off on a pant as her energy vanished in a wave of nausea, and it was all she could do to roll her head over to try to convey her message in her eyes. Except, as Harry focused on the delicate work of going up stairs that were much smaller than he was, she didn't happen to catch his eye. Instead, a shock of white fluff peeked out over his shoulder to meet her gaze. A hard frown on the soft face that, after so long of seeing it, really did fit him. She sighed, because she understood. Angel's doing. She only wondered how he'd gotten the comparatively massive animal to do what he wanted so quickly. She allowed herself- though she really couldn't have possibly stopped what was happening- to be carried up the stairs. Into and under the awning that her friend had to bend down to fit into, then through the hall made noisy by the inquisitive scurrying of her menagerie and the huffing of her considerate honey bear. Sometime around passing the bathroom door on their left, her eyes drifted slowly closed, and she must have blacked out. Her next memory was being gently laid onto her bed; her head hit the pillow as she took a shallow breath of relief, only luxuriating in the comfort for a moment before she glanced over to her bear friend standing at her bedside. Cautious, concerned eyes. He was worried he might've hurt her. She breathed out a sigh that took most of her breath, only managing the thinnest of whispers. "I'm okay, honey bear... Thank you... for bringing me to bed..." She let her eyes drift shut with a sigh, and with a faint huff, the presence gradually stomped away. She was content for the moment to just lay sprawled out over her bed, just until she recovered her strength. Just until she was ready... to get up... and take care of her friends... She still had so much to do... feed the hens... count heads... put the mammals to bed... Her nose twitched. A scent, distinct from what lingered of Harry. Not any of her friends and certainly not a playful ferret. What was it? It was... familiar. Intoxicating? Something crept up her bed past her hindleg towards her head, while the scent in the air grew thicker and thicker. So... mesmerizing... maybe the most tantalizing scent she'd ever smelled... Something round and hard rolled up against her prone chin, and as though a light had flourished to life in her brain, her eyes flew open. Angel to the side, with his little bunny paws on his little bunny hips- but there. In front of him, that he'd rolled across the bed towards her. An apple. Her next breath was deeper- her nose flared to take in the scent. So unmistakable as fruit now that she knew, and so familiarly exhilarating! Her breaths turned to pants, desperate and needy. Her hooves, moments before void of any marked energy at all, slowly began to shift up from her sides. Her head tilted to lay her chin flat as her ears strained to a painful degree. Every sensation sharpening to a jagged point as her entire focus became her prey. Fruit... so... Delicious. In a flash, her hooves whipped up to take fevered hold of the apple at the exact same moment she tensed her jaw to jerk forward. She stuffed the unassuming apple into her mouth nearly faster than she could open it, and it caught halfway onto her front teeth. She let out a relieved hiss of breath as her teeth punctured its supple flesh, and she began to drink. From the rafters, floorboards, windows, and her bedside, dozens of animals of all kinds stood careful vigil over the resting mare as she fed on the offered fruit. Every animal that was large enough clutching another of a variety of fruits, just waiting for the moment she finished so they could present her with another. Protectively watching over her delicate form with loving warmth. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Skies Above Ponyville The summer sun was setting, and there was a bit of a bracing chill in the air. That made sense, since warmer temperatures usually brought colder ones, too. It had to balance out somehow. Nice night for a flight. Rainbow Dash kicked her hooves into the breeze falling past her, because it was fun to mess with the pressure on her body. It was still fun, even after she'd been flying for a while and her back began to burn with that great sense of activity. She rolled her head against the back of her neck, fading for a few hoof-lengths while she fought back a yawn before pushing herself back into the stream with a flap into a sharp descent. Pitching her wings between every flap and narrowing her eyes against the sudden wind as she trailed the edge of a hill, taking what speed she could keep as she angled up and began to ascend. Ponyville was just about a smear on the horizon under the half-circle sun ahead of her, funnily enough. Wasn't everyday she lost track of time or where she was going. Er- maybe not time, but it was definitely weird that she'd flown out so far. Almost far west enough to see the train tracks where they disappeared into a tunnel in the mountain. Out towards... crap, she couldn't remember. She was feeling kinda... all over the place today. Letting loose a hum she couldn't hear through the wind, Rainbow fought her hooves into a point in front of her as she corrected her course. Accounting for the wind and weather to take her just northwest of Ponyville, instead of flying right into it. She almost felt bad for denying anypony still partying a chance to see her whiz by, but whatever. If they were really dying for front row seats, then they could line up and buy tickets. Maybe she just felt weird from seeing the Wonderbolts earlier. Oh, that'd been so freakin' cool. It was practically the best day ever! Pinkie had been acting a little weird, even for her, but at least Fluttershy had watched with her the whole time. Really, if she didn't have somepony to blabber to during the routine, she'd have probably just jumped up and tried to upstage them. That wouldn't have been very cool. Pretty much the opposite of cool. Gosh, she was still feeling giddy. It was bad form to smile while she flew because of, like, bugs and stuff, but she couldn't help it! Getting the chance to see the members that had come for the show in pony- Captain Spitfire, Lieutenant Soarin, Officers Fleetfoot, Misty Fly and Fire Streak- and seeing them perform the Icaranian Sun Salutation of all things was practically a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! They pretty much only did that stunt for the Princess! Rainbow sighed dreamily, taking in a whole lungful of the cooling dusk air as she fanned her wings forward for the briefest second to bounce her up in a prance. Yeah, it sure had been a great day. Partying with her friends, seeing the Wonderbolts, getting the day off work... As her wings shifted to ride the breeze, something brushed against her chest, and she tried to swipe it off. Only, it didn't come off, because it was attached to her neck. Her frog touched against the unexpectedly cold curve of a gem, and she shivered in the chilly air. Oh yeah, saving Equestria. That had happened too. She frowned as she let her exploring hoof come back up, and decided that she'd had enough of sightseeing. It was time to go home. It was kind of a tough mental adjustment to stop letting the wind carry her and actually start flying, but it was no biggie; she couldn't really focus on it, anyway. She knew she'd just do it and she'd get home eventually, which really helped take the pressure off. Thank Celestia for how awesome she was. No, it wasn't like she'd forgotten about last night, it was- she'd just had so much fun today that it hadn't really stuck in her mind. Distractions and stuff. It wasn't on purpose or anything; she wasn't avoiding thinking about it. She could think all about it if she wanted to. It was just about doing it, and it wasn't like there was anything stopping her. Last night had been a blast. Kicking evil Moon Goddess butt and saving the world. She'd made a cool new friend- and hey, she thought it was awesome to be the Element of Loyalty. That was the best one. That meant she was a great, dependable friend. So yeah, she was smiling as her home came up on the horizon, because she was thinking about it just fine. She wasn't avoiding it. Rainbow Dash stalled in the air for a moment as she braced herself, then dipped into the air as she threw herself forward. A nervous rush of power rose in her core as the distance closed in a blink and a surge of mana that made her hooves tingle, and finally, she was home. Her hooves came down onto the thin, bubbly surface of her cloud lawn, and she took a moment to just stare at her incredible house. It wasn't as big as she wanted it, and she couldn't really afford the materials for the waterfalls she wanted right now, but it was still really cool. For real, though- what was cooler than a tower? It was, like, the most imposing structure. What burglar would mosey on up to a fortress like hers? She was glad she'd set up above a lake, too. One of her better decisions. Since it was a fair bit out from Ponyville and everypony who really wanted to go to a lake just went to Marigold lake, it was pretty much off the map entirely, and nopony really bothered her. Didn't even have a name before she came along. Now, it was Rainbow's Oasis. She cast a glance behind her, off the edge. ...In name. She couldn't buy the land under her house yet. Definitely once she was a Wonderbolt, though. She made a note to make a physical note about renaming the pond once she could buy it as she trotted up the loose path to her door, because she kept forgetting to actually write it down. She eyed the darker cloud handle as she stepped up and halted for a moment, then shrugged and forced herself through the door, shaking cloud and mist off her pelt as it reformed behind her. It was pretty much just for decoration. Not like she'd ever had any non-pegasi up here. With the sun so low, it was pretty much completely dark inside, but it wasn't much to adjust to. A couple blinks and she could see again- she was just that good. Her cool posters and trophies on the first floor probably warranted gloating over like she did most nights, but tonight... Rainbow stopped in the middle of the room with a conflicted frown. No, she wasn't really feeling it. She kicked off the floor, being careful not to push too hard as she half-jumped, half-flew to the ceiling. Pressing one hoof to it to test its surface, then fully climbing through and forcing the floor to solidity with a gentle press of mana as she found hoofing on the other side. She spared a glance for her kitchen, and kicked off again. As she made contact with the second ceiling, she thought again about whether she should ever install stairs. It wasn't like it would jack up her rent as long as she didn't move the walls, and it wouldn't take up that much space. Maybe when she had a day off and nothing better to do. She breached the third floor, shaking cloudstuff off her mane as she pulled her hindlegs out of the floor. The bathroom... nah, she didn't have to go. She jumped up, and dove through the floor of the fourth floor in a single flap. Blinking as she passed through the floor and into the air, she wondered if she had flapped too hard and knocked some stuff in the bathroom over. She flicked glances over the boxes of random stuff in her spare room, before deciding it was probably for tomorrow morning Dash to worry about. When she finally pulled herself out into the sixth floor, she'd begun to wonder why she hadn't just flown up to a window as she finally staggered over to her bed. She stared resignedly down at the bed-shaped cloud with the not-cloud blankets, and as she did every time she saw them, let out a groan. Because she was pretty tired and she did have work in the morning, Rainbow Dash flopped face first into her bed with its magical blankets that had cost her a hindleg and an arm, wiggling forward and soundly curling up in the middle of it. No, there was no time to actually tuck herself in; it was sleepy time. She laid there, eyes closed and nose tucked into the crook of her hoof, for what felt like a few minutes. Practically counting the seconds until she arched her back with a growl and flipped over onto her other side. Where she laid for another few minutes before she repeated herself. The third time, she decided it was time to actually get into bed. That was probably what was keeping her awake. By the fifth time her blankets were already on the floor, and Dash was trying to see if resting with her head laying over the hoof of the bed would help her sleep. It helped the blood rush to her head, anyway. When she got out of bed for the eighth failure and the second time she'd gotten up, she tried to pace. She paced and she paced and paced until she wasn't even sure what paced really even meant. It was easier to just say she trotted. Paced was a stupid word. Trotting was just about as stupid as pacing, she found. So she sat her butt down at a window, laid her head on the sill, and watched the sun. It still hadn't gone down, which meant it hadn't been the hour it felt like, which was just so aggravating. She felt like screaming. For the first time since she'd failed to sleep, Rainbow thought to ask herself what was wrong. Because, obviously, something was wrong, and she actually had a pretty good idea what it was. Yeah, she felt uneasy. She had all day, and now it was getting in the way of her sleeping. So what if last night had sucked? Most nights do suck when you're a member of the weather team. Nights meant night flying, and doing stuff like stuffing clouds full of condensation for a planned precipitation in the morning. Boring. She wished she could be a worse captain and just throw jobs like that on ponies like Thunderlane and Blossomforth. But no, she was a really good captain. She prided herself on working harder than anypony under her and keeping delegation spread out, because really, what kind of captain would she be if she left anypony hanging? Twilight's hooves clutching hers so tight as her legs kicked out under her. So much heavier than she'd looked. Rainbow sucked in a breath and quickly covered her eyes with a hoof, gritting her teeth and forcing the memory away. It was fine, because everypony was fine. They were all still trotting around and having a good time on the big day that Princess Luna came back, because they were fine. The scream from down the hall, and Rainbow was the first one flying towards it. "No, no, no, no- shut up, shut up," she muttered, sitting up and shaking her head to try to dislodge the sound. Gah- she could still hear it. It wasn't like anypony was hurt, and Twilight had walked away perfectly fine both times. Everything was just fine. The haunted look on Applejack's face as they stared up at the castle, and something inside of Rainbow felt sick. She brought her hoof down hard on the edge of her window, and loudly cursed as a bit of cloud was knocked out of it. She reached out towards it before it floated away, and held onto the rippling sensation in her chest as she smoothed it back into the frame. Buck, she must've accidentally let her mana flare up without realizing. The danger in the air as they stood Nightmare Moon down. The snarl on Her face as Her horn lit. She smacked her hoof- because there was cloudstuff smeared on her fetlock, was all. Not because it was shaking. She wasn't letting it get to her. She was fine. She could deal with it. It wasn't a problem. Gathering up in Town Hall and feeling her heart drop while Princess Celestia told them that they had to play dumb. Frustrating- it was so stupid! She still couldn't believe they couldn't tell anypony they'd stopped Nightmare Moon! Her hoof found the gem around her neck again, but this time she cupped it in indignant anger. It was hers to fondle however she wanted, and she should've been able to tell ponies about it! She didn't care how dangerous it was! Maybe she wanted to have the whole world knocking at her door for an autograph, or to murder her or whatever! Meeting those red eyes, and remembering every reason why she didn't trust him. Rainbow blew out a short breath, kneeling forward with her forehead pressed onto her windowsill, glaring down at the fluffy white floor. Because white was white, and it didn't change colors for no reason. No- she knew what was getting her so riled up. Everything was fine with her and her friends and being a big hero- though she wished she could brag about it- but there was still something wrong. Light Flow. That... stuck-up jerk who had left Applejack behind and gone off who knew where, leaving her a sorry mess for the entire night and making it so hard to focus. There was something wrong with him- she knew it. She'd known it the entire night and she just hadn't had the guts to tell Applejack. She was angry at him. Yeah, Light was really pissing her off. She was sure of it. His eye color changed, and he'd made Applejack all mopey. He was... always making Applejack act all weird. It bit! It freakin' sucked that her friend was still palling around with someone like- like him! Rainbow gradually lifted her head from her window, and let out a quiet seethe at the sun that still hadn't gone down. Feeling the cloud under her hoof crumble as she- ugh, she couldn't stop herself from just- she wanted to just squeeze something! Or kick something! Or just- to not sit there and do nothing! She wouldn't. Rainbow Dash was not the kind of mare to just sit around. She let go of the windowsill, and pushed herself over it on a wave of furious adrenaline. Perching for a moment as she dipped forward before she kicked off its surface with her hindlegs hard enough that she knew it scattered into clumps of mist, but she'd fix it when she got home. She had to go set somepony straight. Somepony who'd been telling lies to her friend, and who'd hurt her. The knot in her chest would go away. If she just confronted him, she'd get better. Applejack's sigh. Applejack's face. Leaving Applejack alone when she should've- Rainbow Dash grit her teeth into the wind, and pushed. Mana from her core surged through her veins in a mighty flap that pulled the air in behind her in a tight vortex. The mind-numbing sensation of speed hit her all at once as her own tailwind formed and threw her forward. The faint sound of sparkling power trailing through the roar in her ears as her narrowed eyes began to water, the reflection of a starry rainbow flashing by in the dusking sky as she passed a lake and a river in a literal blink. Nopony hurt her friends. Not without getting a hoof in the teeth. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Golden Oaks Library It was quiet. Well into the dead of night. The sort of silence that could only really exist at night, when so little as crickets and cicadas dared to make themselves known. After such a day that had transpired, it only seemed natural that even the bugs feared to break that silence. Yet, for every other pony who had long since curled into their beds in a drunken stupor, perhaps clutching their dismayed loved ones close, there was yet one pony who found herself very awake. One mare who, if she were even to try, would find herself soundly unable to sleep. Alone in a darkened library only barely lit by the flickering wick of a candle, that mare sat tall before a desk. It was not her usual desk, nor was it much of a desk at all; it was simply what she found to use as one. Rather, it was more of a lectern. She would call it a podium, but that may have been a misnomer. For whatever semantics she would rather not quarrel with herself over, it was what held a small sheaf of paper before her. Slanted and hewn from the very wood of the tree, protruding from the floor itself. Thankfully, its top corner was level in a small, flat square, or else she would have to hold the candle and inkwell herself. What she did hold was a quill. Her favorite writing utensil, even despite the far more applicable appliances she had ready access to. If necessary, she even knew a way in which to funnel ink in the correct volume at appropriate times through a duct of mana, though that entirely eliminated the tactile pleasure present in writing with a quill. For all intents, the quill was the most refined and aesthetically pleasing writing tool. Yet tonight, holding a quill aloft did not fill her with as much pleasure as it normally did. Twilight Sparkle, for the first time in a long time, let her quill lay in the cleft of the lectern under her blank paper. The quill still dry; the paper lacking even her name. And she sighed. Closing her eyes against the warm light of the everlit candle, oddly wishing that the enchantment upon it would fail and the fire would go out, leaving her in the utter darkness of the late night. Then she could pretend like she was home. But that wasn't apropos. Her eye gradually drifted half open as she raised her hoof to the stand's edge, and traced the small protrusion there. The writing stand she'd had in her old tower had been carved from pure, polished onyx; a beautiful swirl of white cut through the firm, unyielding black. A gift from her mentor for her success in completing her dissertation on the geothermal consequences of leylines and their significance in Equus' seismic stability. It wasn't about the beauty of the construction or its priceless materials. That didn't matter to her. It was simply an object of sentiment that she currently lacked. It was like a reminder. When she'd used to write on it... she'd felt competent. She let her hoof fall from the plain, wooden edge, and cast her gaze up. To the stairs she sat under, to the dark recesses of the rest of her home. Her new home. She rose from her seat, the creak of the wooden stool she'd rested upon her only companion as she walked around to the hoof of the stairs. Staring up into its darkness as a deeply conflicted expression of perturbation worked across her face. Spike was up there. But Spike was sleeping, she reminded herself. She'd seen that he went to bed with great care, and the promise that she'd not be long after him. Waking him would be selfish. He'd complain, but of course he'd talk with her about whatever she pleased. She stared up into the dark for a few moments more before turning and making her way back to her seat. Welcoming the creak of the stool like an old friend as she lit her horn and raised her quill with a thought. She squinted at the floating tool for a moment before relaxing, and letting it float down to the paper. She took a deep breath, and pushed in. The small scritch the dry point made onto the paper did little to assuage her stress. Still, she kept it on the paper. Motionless and benign, as she only stared at it in the low light. Silently. At its stark impression. She still wondered whether Applejack had known about Rainbow Dash. Had it been blind faith that compelled her to let go, or had she truly trusted the mare? So soon after they'd met? With so little penance on her part? Even after she'd been so awful to the farm mare, she still dove down that slope to catch her. Her throat was dry. Twilight swallowed, and glanced up for the glass of water she kept stool-side. But then, as the quill in her grasp wavered, she remembered. Of course. She wasn't at home, and she didn't have a glass of water nearby. She was home, though. Thinking in permanency was useless; this was as much her home as her tower in Canterlot had been. She'd settle in. This was only the perfunctory period of restlessness. It would pass soon enough. Twilight let out a quiet, murmuring sigh as she raised her quill, letting it hang in the air as she cast her gaze to her side. There were more books of more subjects than she'd expected for a library of this size in a town of this size. As it stood, the many smatterings of colorful spines were rather disquietingly disparate. After waking up, taking stock, and adjusting her morning routine, a cursory reorganization of the library's shelves was in order for the morning. She was surprised the morning was still coming. A dull, barely-felt surprise, but she still felt slightly shocked. For a while, she'd been readily unsure whether literal mornings or any real denomination of time at all would still even exist. If nighttime were to last forever, how quickly would ponies adapt? The circadian rhythm was at least partly linked to sunlight, so it was possible ponies would have to evolve to monitor their internal clocks by different standards. She gave a small hum as she turned to inspect the closest window just beyond the hoof of the stairs. She'd closed the shutters for privacy, but maybe it wouldn't be all that invalidating to just open one up. There would be moonlight, even through the bushes. Thinking of its new, pale face, she wondered how her father would react. Twilight stared at the dark, lacquered blinders for a moment before she turned back to her paper. With her quill still deftly kept in the hold of her levitation, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She did not raise her hoof to her chest, though its absence meant little. It was only a mnemonic. She could calm herself without it. She could do this. She was Twilight Sparkle. She was intelligent and wise. She was desired for her genius. She was very capable of plying her genius. Her genius was not at stake, nor was her pretense of capability. Nopony was around. Nopony could see her. She was not in the public's eye. She was not in Canterlot. Twilight opened her eyes, and raised her quill to the uncorked inkwell at the lectern's top. She dipped it in once, then tapped the point against its edge. She flicked her eye down to her paper as her quill followed suit, hovering at the ready at the page's corner. She remained that way for a few seconds of silent staring. Then, she began to write. Dear Princess Celestia Last night was the most terrifying night of my life. More than the night before my evaluation to earn a place at your school, and even more than the night my big brother was late coming home from his deployment near the border of the Dragon Lands. Those nights that I spent curled in my sheets with a sick feeling in my stomach and a persisting headache that kept me from sleeping scarcely compare. I have never been in true danger before last night, and now that I have, I find myself plagued by doubts and insecurity that seem not to fade at my harshest insistence. They simply persist beyond all reason, and I can do little but ponder these whims while they are still benign. Why did Applejack let herself fall from safety to save my life? I haven't known her for more than a day, and yet she still threw herself into the open mouth of danger to rescue me. When she told me to let go and that I would be safe in Rainbow Dash's hooves, I believed her without a thought. I cannot understand why, and though I can conceptualize why she was gifted with the Element of Honesty, I cannot fathom how it relates. I do not understand Applejack, and that frightens me. Her quill ran dry, and she raised it to dip for more ink. A tink against its side, and she lowered it again. I thought of you in the moments I spent falling before Rainbow Dash caught me. I thought of you, Spike, my brother and Cadence, but I did not think of my parents. I still don't miss them, even when I go to see them. When I receive their letters filled with heartfelt professions of their love, I do not feel anything. Except then, I feel guilt. Even now I feel guilty, because I did not say goodbye to them before I left Canterlot. I will write to them soon, but I don't know if I will tell them about what happened last night. It makes me feel hollow inside. Why did I laugh when Pinkie Pie sang? I was frightened and confused, and I still wasn't happy when I laughed, but it came regardless. It is possible I was in shock and the laughter was the product of delirium, but my mental acuity was not compromised and I recovered quickly. I understand why Pinkie was gifted with the Element of Laughter, but the bounds of such a title seem improbable. I do not understand Pinkie Pie, and that frightens me. Her quill dried; she wet it. When I look at Princess Luna, I still see Nightmare Moon's snarling face. I remember how She swept into the Town Hall with scornful professions of your fall, and how afraid I was. How vindicated I felt, and how horrible that made me feel. I remember when She attacked at the castle, and how my hope fled when She separated me from my friends. I can still taste the burn of static in the air around Her horn as She flew at me faster than I could process. It was the second time I have ever teleported, and I still do not understand how it happened. I still do not have a proper grasp on the spell theory, and I am unable to replicate the occurrence. I cannot even remember much of my thought process or how I felt. I know I was afraid. I thought I was going to die. What did Fluttershy do to that Timberwolf? I was ready to flee from the mere sight of the unconscious Manticore, yet she held its head in her hooves with tears in her eyes. She faced the Timberwolf that stalked from the undergrowth as though the fallen beast were her child and she a vengeful mother. She only stared at it, and I felt a magical imbalance in the air. It ran away whining in terror. She said there was nothing to do for the Manticore, and we left it to die. She did not cry again. I understand why Fluttershy was gifted with the Element of Kindness, but I do not understand her abilities or her countenance. I do not know if I will be able to meet her eyes the next time I see her. With a few lines before the edge of the paper, Twilight leaned back with her quill. She shuffled the finished page aside as she wet her implement, then leaned in and placed it to the fresh sheet of paper. I am afraid for Spike. I fear that he will still not find anypony to make friends with here in Ponyville, or that whomever he chooses will be as objectionable as Light Flow. I am afraid he will have a hard time adjusting to life here, and I am worried that he may not speak to me about what troubles him. It festers in my mind. I struggle to conceive of how I could impress upon him his importance to me. I cannot imagine somepony as ill-fit for Spike as Light Flow. Special Agent Bon Bon told me that Nightmare Moon had been using him as a puppet until my friends and I defeated her, and that causes me no small amount of unease. I am as yet unassured of his veracity when it comes to his condition, and I am lastingly perturbed that his proximity to Spike yesterday endangered him from Nightmare Moon. I am still unnerved by how he looked at me when we met. I wish I had told Spike not to bother with him. What compelled Rarity to reason with that water serpent? Upon his entrance from the river, I was immediately disconcerted by his size and appearance, and I am still ashamed of how I reacted. Even though I backed away, Rarity only swaggered forward, showering him with compliments and causing him to become bashful. In the end, he was upstanding, yet I find it improbable that Rarity could judge that at a glance. I have met ponies as charismatic as her, but I don't know how that correlates to her Element of Generosity. My dearth of understanding unnerves me. She took a breath as she raised her quill to wet it. Her chest hurt. Her throat itched. She kept writing. Something heavily compelled me when my friends and I discovered our Elements, and I still do not understand what it was. Every word of what I spoke came to my mind alone, yet they still seem rehearsed in retrospect. You spoke to us of Harmony, yet I still cannot fully grasp its concept. Was Harmony speaking through me? The thought of it makes me feel oddly, and I am lastingly perturbed by the implication that my mind may be coerced without my realizing it. What did Rainbow Dash experience on the other side of the bridge? The fog was a magically inert area, yet she pushed through it with little issue, to my amazement. Voices and shouts echoed from the other side, and when she returned with the bridge's rope, her expression was grim. She would not speak of the events, and in the time that I spent with her after, they did not seem to trouble her. If she went through some great trial out of sight, then I understand why she was gifted with the Element of Loyalty, yet her mind remains a mystery. I find myself unable to guess her intentions, and that sits strangely in my stomach. For what little time I have known her, however, she has been fascinating. The uneasiness I feel compels a deep desire to learn more about her and what drives her. She and I are at intellectual odds, yet she is an undeniable savant when it comes to pegasus magic. Her ego may be great, though it is readily backed by her ability. The notion that I could somehow learn from her is scintillating, and the disparity between her mind and her talent is endlessly curious. I hope that she holds to her Element, and that she may be open to speaking of herself to the extent that I wish. There was only a little big of page left, she mused as she dipped her quill for the fifth time. Why was I gifted with the Element of Magic? I know that it means something more than my arcane aptitude, yet my mind boggles at the implications. I do not understand what destiny lies ahead of me. I cannot even conceive of it. I am afraid. I do not feel competent. I do not feel strong, and I do not feel smart. When I think of my new friends and my new responsibilities away from the only home I have ever known, I become overwhelmingly nauseous. I am gripped with a desire to run away. I feel like a coward. I do not know how to proceed. I feel unworthy of what I am allowed. When I looked into the mirror of my new bathroom, I wondered if something that I could not see had changed. I cannot bear the burden of all that has happened. I do not know how I will face my friends. I feel trapped. I feel as though I have made the wrong choices, and I cannot think of what the right ones were. I feel awful. I feel guilty. I feel worthless. I feel- Her quill scratched onto wood, and Twilight realized that she had run out of space. She lifted the implement from the page in a trembling haze of mana as she struggled to keep her horn lit, breathing heavily in time with its pulse around her heart as her unfocused eyes roved over the messy bottom of the page. It was nearly illegible. For a few minutes, Twilight simply read over what she had written. Over and over again, committing the words to memory. Thinking of their impact. How her mentor would react at reading them. The pity and the consideration. Long after she had stopped reading and even after she regained control of her breath and her mana, Twilight still stared at the long list of fears she had penned. Until, in a smooth, unfaltering motion, she promptly set her quill to the bottom of the lectern. She shifted the first page of what she had written over onto the second, pressing their edges straight as she lifted the note to study closer. She read through it once more. Then she began to pull mana from her fount. Measuring the quantity based on her draw speed over her draw strength, and guiding its fascinating warmth higher into her chest. She kept her breath to perfect time as she pulled her carefully measured arcane mana through the proper valves of her system, making cautious note to keep breathing. The mana warmed; it began to smolder. The noxious heat beginning to undulate in the space around her lungs as the purple light around her horn flickered against the air and hued violently red. The mana churning through the veins around her aching lungs roaring as her focus zeroed onto the paper, and from there, it only required a mere thought. Burn. The top corner of the paper suddenly sparked and burst with furious, burning flames. Twilight watching and guiding with careful prejudice as the fire further crept down the face of the page, while she internally prepared for another spell. Keeping the first spell in precise check as she funneled mana down the small of her back. Arcanic valves itching and hastily filling with flowing mana as she diverted her entire attention between two spells. As the floating page completely engulfed with flames, Twilight sucked in a harsh breath, and pushed her second spell into existence. The mana she loosely held around the burning pages wavered, then smoothed as it bubbled into itself in a perfect sphere of defunct air. She purposefully allowed the blaze to run wild as it suddenly combusted, engulfing the entire space within the vacuum in raging flames and the smoke of burning parchment. Slowly, calmly, Twilight let the mana of her first spell fade on a painfully heated breath, ensuring the fire wouldn't persist on its own, and just as quickly forcing mana into firmly pressing down on everything in a short distance that was liable to fly away. Then, with another sharp inhale, she pushed once more, and the bubble of air shivered and imploded. She held her breath and quickly covered her nose with a hoof as her mane blew in towards the depressurized sphere of displaced air. Everything within was crushed in a matter of seconds, and with a loud pop and the release of the distinct scent of char, the atmosphere filled back into the empty space. No fire to speak of, and the dust of the incriminating paper scattered so finely that it would likely require Chronomancy to piece back together. She'd always liked Pyromancy. Given her ancestry, abilities and company, it only seemed natural. She knew the school had been developed in reverence of dragons, though it shared little in common with their odd means of combustion. She had yet to properly look into whether the Kirin were at all connected. She'd never found any serious materials on the subject. She watched the fuzzy air in front of her for a moment as physics reasserted itself, then closed her eyes. She let her hoof rise to her chest as she took a deep breath, raising her chin on the impulse. She was Twilight Sparkle. She was a genius. She was talented and desired. She had a family who loved her and five new friends with whom she shared a great destiny. Twilight turned and rose from her seat, creaking gently at her egress. The cork set itself back into the inkwell as the quill straightened along the lectern's bottom, while she skirted the edge of the stairs and turned onto their first step. Without so much as a second glance to the neatly arranged stand, she ascended the stairs to her bedroom. > Chapter 58 - Love's Frustration > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was the perfect feeling. Nothing else in the world compared to it- not scorn or spite or even souls. This feeling- this wonderful feeling- was the most pristine sense of wholeness he'd ever had. Her lips on his. It was such a chaste thing, barely more than the soft press of their muzzles together. There was nothing passionate or perverse about it; it was simply an embrace. A loving declaration. Her hooves over and around his shoulders, so close and comforting, and his to match. How warm she was. How her very being suffused his senses. He'd never get tired of it- he genuinely didn't think his joy would ever cease. The pure physicality of it like he'd never felt- the tingle running along his jaw, and the plump feeling of fullness. As though he were being weaned on so little as her touch; as though it was somehow addicting. It must've been, because he suddenly had a sensation to truly put to the word. He'd never been so desperate for a sole feeling- nothing else beyond the present moment. It was intense, and fulfilling, and it left him desiring yet more even as he was still constantly provided the impulse. He wanted more. He never wanted to stop. He murmured in gentle contentedness, and the feeling of his voice rumbling through her lips nearly made his closed eyes roll in ecstasy. So that was what it felt like. He felt like he was drunk- or the closest approximation. Maybe this was what drugs did to ponies. Was Applejack a drug? No, that was such a stupid sentiment. Meaningless hyperbole. He was glad he'd not said it out loud- not just because speaking would involve him losing this feeling. The closeness of it. The unbridled inclusion of mutual love. It was a sign. It was a harkening. It was proof that she loved him. She loved him. All his life, he'd not known how incomplete he'd been. This was true physical closeness. The fulfillment of it soared above petty little misdemeanors like hugging and holding hooves. Amateur hour. This was what it meant to be intimate. How could he have lived as he had, not knowing? He could never go back. Applejack was like his drug. She made him so happy, the thought- no, the fact that she loved him was like nothing he'd dared to dream of. He'd never allowed himself to imagine something like this. He'd thought it was impossible. What idiot would waste time wishing for the impossible? Even then, he'd never glorified kissing of all things. When he'd thought of it before- that stupid, ignorant time before- it hadn't seemed all that truly intimate. It had held such off-putting pretenses of weird, physical feelings that made him feel so sick. He'd turned his nose up. He'd stuck out his tongue and gagged. Now, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live without it. He wanted to do this all the time; he never wanted to stop feeling so wanted. Every time he saw her, he wanted to relive this moment. Spotting her through the grove, staring up through the sunshine at an apple tree. Approaching from behind as he called out a greeting. Her cocky smile as she turned to disparage him for interrupting her while she worked. He'd snark back that she hadn't looked as though she were working at all. Stepping in as her harsh smile eased, and her eyes fluttered. The faded scent of sweat from her day of work as he leaned closer. Her throaty chuckle rubbing fuzzily through his ears as their noses brushed. The world falling away as their lips pressed together. Her pleased murmur. Whispering a soft breath as she- Suddenly, she was pulling away, and Light's lips were left without their beloved partner. His eyes fluttered blearily open as Applejack pushed gently away, their lips parting with the quietest puck. "Wa- Wait..." she murmured- his heart dropped- as she shook her head, brushing her nose against his as it tilted down. Her next breath came out as a pant, and though he was so glad to see them, daring to meet the precious emerald of her eyes seemed like a terrible omen. She took a moment to breathe, their gazes sinking wantonly into each other for some resemblance of comfort. His, sharp and pleading; hers, cloudy and conflicted. When she did finally speak- and her voice was so breathy- her head began to tilt forward, as a strange desire to reciprocate welled in his throat. Their foreheads pressing tightly together as their muzzles met at a frustrating angle; their eyes matching with longing; and her whispered voice tickling his perked ear and bringing to mind so much unmet need. "What... what're... we doing..?" In the forbidden tryst of their gazes, he was sure she must've seen it. With how strongly he felt it, he didn't think there was any way she didn't. He might as well have been wearing a sandwich board with the words 'You're my everything' written across it in bold, unflattering script. Locked in the embrace they were, how did she not feel his every intention? Could she not hear his heartbeat, as he could hers? Did she not know? In the tight clutch of their hooves binding them together like molded statues, could she not infer? How could she ask, when he'd made it so clear? Still, her glazed-over gaze was asking as loudly as she'd voiced- which was pretty quietly. "We're... doing... what I know I've always wanted," he whispered, and for how thickly he'd accidentally laid his love into his tone, she smiled at him. But then, she was shaking her head with it, and his head shook right along. "No, I mean..." Their gazes never left their bonding as she trailed to bite her lip, her eyes almost seeming to shine in the soft light of the waning day. Finally, she came to a conclusive, shuddering sigh. "...What does... this... mean for us..?" His only response- all he could feasibly muster- was a breathy gape. For all he looked, searching her gaze for hidden meaning, there was nothing but the honest question. The genuine concern as the the lingering warmth in his lips only faded and faded. He missed it in each passing second. He shut his dry, lonely mouth and swallowed thickly, blinking twice as his next, thinning breath came out raggedly. "I love you," he whispered thinly, and for how her eyes sparkled, he found the courage to breathe more out. "...that's what this means... to me. I love you, and... you mean... everything to me." He had to stop. He felt the waver rising in his feeble throat before he'd even taken another breath, and he had to stop to just... stare at her. The unflinching smile on her blushing, orange face. Her teeny white freckles coyly hiding as it grew. The reciprocity in her eyes. The love. And as her lips parted, as he felt the warm wash of her breath over his lips as her head began to tilt up, he heard it. "I love you too," she murmured, and it was loving. He had no time to ride out the intense wave of thankfulness that swept over him, and barely enough to lean in as her eyes slid soundly shut. In the moment after, as their muzzles brushed once more, their lips rejoined. Her hooves crossed over his back to press him impossibly closer. Whatever else he might've had to say was gone, because he was closing his eyes again, too, and his own hooves were drawing her as tight as they could. It was just as good the second time. Maybe it would be that good every time. How was that possible? The implausibility- the sheer incredulity of such an illogical concept was going to drive him insane. How could she evoke such feelings in him? Things he'd... forever denounced? How was such... jubilance even warranted after all he'd done? After... he'd even told her of it. Most of it. The most important things, anyway. As his thoughts began to run away with him, their incessant, chattering voices suddenly ceased as her lips shifted against his, and it was all he could think of. How thick his chest felt. His jaw growing so wonderfully sore. When he thought of her and how he'd always felt, it sunk in all over again that she was kissing him. He was kissing her. They were kissing, because they loved each other. She loved him. How much longer would it take until he really believed it? For how unbelievable and surreal every moment of pure, incredibly felt joy was, he was afraid for every second of it that it would end. Abruptly. It wouldn't be true. Like the snap of a dying candle. Like the strain of twine drawn too tense. Like a last, desperate rasp. Over. How the thought played on his fears as she pulled back again- the peck of their parting lips- and let out another sigh over his muzzle that made him want to just rush forward and take the embrace back. It was only through a sheer application of will that he'd not even believed he'd had that he stopped himself, and it was just barely. As it was, he still leaned in to keep the ends of their muzzles touching, even if their lips couldn't. She was already smiling- a loving, instinctive thing- but he liked to imagine the touch bolstered it as she blinked into their reciprocal stare with a satisfied huff. And with that huff, her voice rolled out on a breathy whisper. "Say it again," she murmured, the slightest insistent tone of need in its waver. The raw message of it brought all the more blood rushing to his head- and he'd already thought he was close to fainting. It must've been her presence that kept him alert- however drunkenly- with the presence of mind to stop fighting what indelible joy welled in his eyes. "I love you, Applejack," he whispered thickly - oh and every time he said it, it just felt like the entire world was rebuilding itself around them. Everything felt right. Nothing had ever been wrong. His voice- it was really his own voice- brought the most wonderful thing: a bashful little giggle from the mare in his hooves, that he really had to hold himself back from thinking of as a hyuck. Or it might've been a reserved guffaw. Either way, it was so Applejack. So full of her charm. He was sure his ears were going to explode for how strongly they strained to listen to every little tone of it. He wished he could capture it in a music box and play it back over and over again. His lullaby. As her smile turned grin-like, her hooves trailed up his back to rest on the bones of his shoulders as she pressed her muzzle forward to deviously steal the smallest little peck. Her mouth was there and gone before he could prepare his fragile mind, and she was leaning back with a dangerous feeling of electricity left behind on his lips. "Ah love y'too, Light," she murmured as her grin turned gloating- clearly reveling in the moment. He found himself murmuring a disbelieving chuckle at her, just at the look on her face. She was grinning like- well, to quote something he'd heard her say, like the cat that caught the canary. Or like a dog eating hornets. He'd heard her say that a couple times, too. What mattered was that it looked like she couldn't fight the grin off her face if she tried, and at his laugh, she started to chuckle, too. A low, lilting rumble of a bashful laugh that simply made the most stunning, coquettish impression with the heavy flush of pink that shone through her fur like cracks in a dawning window. She drew out such urges in him, the temptress. He'd not been this needlessly, hopelessly poetic in... a few years, at least. If only she could see inside his head, that blush would bloom. His own face felt pretty warm. Or hot. Or burning. Maybe he was going to pass out after all. He hoped it would be in Applejack's arms, because that would fulfill two or three different fantasies of his. Somehow, he kept his wits and his consciousness hobbled mostly together as Applejack leaned back, shaking her head with her persistently triumphant grin. "Ah just- I'm havin' so much trouble just tryin' to wrap my head 'round this." A huff escaped her lips, as incredulous as it was starkly pleased. "Can't... quite believe this... is actually happenin'." The bouncy undertone of joy in her voice rose again in a very humming giggle. A deep, throaty giggle, but a very cute giggle regardless. He'd hardly ever heard Applejack so... demure- so bordering on reserved embarrassment, and just leaning into it! The happiest, most nervous tone that he'd never thought she could affect! It was so endearing. His own smile wasn't like to die anytime soon regardless, but hearing her own expressiveness was- it was just so exhilarating! He was having this effect on her, and that was incredible! Applejack was laughing and smiling because of something he'd done, and not because he'd done something horrible first and then apologized! He felt like his chest- his cheeks- his heart was on fire! It nearly hurt! He hoped this warmth would never go away. He just had to reciprocate somehow. It felt like they were probably done kissing- maybe, though he hoped not- so he slid his hooves up from where he held her back, and along the curve of her shoulders. Letting out a soft murmur to match a hum from her as his hooves trailed down her arms, and gently tugged them forward off his own shoulders until they were held up in the air. A pleasant feeling of physicality grew as their heels pushed together, the both of them pressing in towards each other. This felt right. Pushing against her as she pushed back; it felt solid. Like they were close. "I know..." he murmured softly, taking care to relish in the physical impulse of her hooves on his, as his eye flicked down to her shining, golden soul. Slightly pinker than its own color, and so, so vibrant. He slid his eyes back up to hers with a cozy feeling of delight, and a satisfied breath. "It feels... surreal. After so long..." His lips parted on their own with a humored cough of a laugh, his ears pressing nervously back as he tilted his head to the side. "Hey, do you mind..?" He trailed off with another nervous chuckle as Applejack's smile grew curious, her head turning the other way as he tried to shake off his trepidation, and take comfort in staring into her eyes. "...How long have you..? I mean- has it always been..?" He stumbled on his words, once- then twice. If his cheeks hadn't already been burning, they would've set fire as he broke down into self-pitying chortles, and Applejack let out a few of her own. At least he was funny. A suddenly insistent push against his hooves brought him back to Equus, and Applejack's smile slowly turning knowingly, daringly chiding. His jaw dropped with a short, upset breath, then his smile returned with a resigned sigh, and he decided to just beat the hesitation off. "How long have you- um- loved me?" His voice came out a little loud and his ears were straining like crazy, but the question came out regardless, and he considered that an accomplishment. At his question, Applejack actually burst out laughing, leaning wholly into his hooves as she doubled over on the recurrent guffaws- and yes, these were guffaws. He weathered his dear, abusive love laughing at him with a few long-suffering- a bit impatient- nods, until she finally levered herself straight with a humored glimmer in her eye. He was glad it was out of laughter this time. "Shucks, Light, y'can up and declare that you love me over an' over again, but y'get all nervous askin' somethin' easy like that?" She shook her head with that gloating smile of hers, suddenly pushing strongly forward on his hooves, gradually forcing him back until he had to lean away with an upset stammer, and her face was able to inch forward until they were nearly eye-to-eye. As she pushed closer and he got more flustered, barely even able to think, her smile only grew. "Well..." she drawled as their muzzles barely brushed, and his breath caught thickly in his throat. Suddenly, his hooves bent to the sides as her head pushed that last little bit forward, and she briefly pressed their lips together in a kiss that just about stopped his heart. She fell all the way back to sitting, then, still smiling as though she'd just won something. "I 'spose it ain't a big secret." He had to shake his head once- twice to get the stars out of his eyes, and to conjure something more intelligible than a drone. Though, it took a moment longer than it took Applejack to sigh, and shake her head dismissively. "...Naw, it really ain't such a bad question, though," she admitted, her smile sadly lowering at its end as her gaze slipped wistfully down. As though... it was somehow something to regret. No, that wasn't acceptable. He pushed his hooves back into hers, drawing her curious attention back up to him, and with her troubled eye on his, he gave her his best, most sincere smile. Not something he really practiced all that often, but all he really had to do was try to wear what he felt. It must've looked at least half as loving as he felt, then, because it had an immediate, warming effect on his love. The bob of her mane dipped over her eyes as they closed with a sigh and her head fell, hiding the returned flush on her cheeks that he definitely saw anyway. "Aw, shoot," she muttered with a shake of her head: a frustrated emotion that didn't show in the slightest as she raised her head again with a bright, beautiful smile. They let out twin breaths of relief as Applejack disarmingly shrugged her shoulders. "It... wasn't all the time," she started on a thin chuckle, charmingly rolling her eyes as she spoke. "Heck, for most'a the time I've known you, it's been a real struggle not to smack 'ya over the head with one 'a them big ol' books 'a 'yers an' just leave 'ya somewhere." His jaw became stuck somewhere halfway between grinding and hanging open, and he blinked to himself a few times as Applejack huffed out a sour breath. Huh. "You know," he ventured, knocking his head forward with a stony smile as something a little bit aside love made home in his head. "-that's funny, because when I met you, I thought you were the meanest little filly I had ever met." He did his best to scoff, making a show of rolling his own eyes- how'd she like it? "Your 'language' of choice was and quite frighteningly often is alarmingly physical." His thickly restrained mutter landed and promptly slid off Applejack's back, and though she first frowned, it quickly slid up into a cocky smile. "And after all'a that," she merrily jeered, pushing their hooves to either side to cock her head forward much as he had. "-who went ahead and kissed who?" Her tone just- ha! He loudly and confidently declared ha with a toss of his head, lowering his gaze to glare back at Applejack, jerking his head down so their foreheads knocked together. "And who kissed who back!?" he mocked loudly, unable to fight the uproarious smile on his face that matched Applejack's, even as he continued hotly. "I might just be going insane again, but I think you liked it!" His completely obvious accusation that could just be construed as a compliment was met with a loud, dramatically obvious gasp and a gape. His lovely, abusive best fr- marefr- kissing partner reared her head back with the exclamation, allowing him to push their hooves closer to her as she seemingly froze up in indignation, though he saw her chest flutter as she struggled not to laugh. "Well, I ain't never heard somethin' so ridiculous!" Her affronted expression shifted in a blink to a concerningly audacious smile as she shifted forwards, forcing his hooves back as she jeered. "After all'a this time, y'all think 'jes 'cause ah keep doin' it-" She abruptly trailed off as she pushed forward, and placed the briefest kiss on his lips before she leaned slightly back, letting out the softest noise of pleased contentment with her muzzle still brushing against his, and continuing in an airy, satisfied tone. "-that ah like it or somethin'?" He had to... woah. He had to shake off the sudden rush of dizziness from the kiss, and the sudden closeness, and- really, he didn't think there was any way to make further joking rebuttal after that. He was... lucky to have kept his brain intact. What she did to him... he'd never thought such a loss of composure could be so desired. At his vacant, dull-eyed stare, Applejack began to let out breathy, peaking chuckles, leaning back and letting his hooves hang in the air as she folded her own to her chest. "Funny," she teased, mocking his earlier tone, and he was able to find enough awareness to make note of the laughter in her emerald eyes. "-I think ah just found my new favorite way to shut you up." That felt like an insult- or was it light hearted teasing? Either way, he felt like he should snipe back- except... wow, he was really lost for words. He just- the electric sensation she left on his lips kind of scrambled his thoughts. He'd get back around to speaking sometime within the hour. Still laughing, still letting out satisfied sighs every time she left him speechless, Applejack rocked back on her hooves with a victorious smile. "Anyways, I dunno when ah started to really think about you." She twirled her gaze around, busily chuckling as her eye stopped here or there. "Think... for a long time, ah was mostly 'jes worried 'bout you." And then, a little bit of the humor fled from her voice. "Actually..." she trailed off, her eyes narrowing in thought as her hooves fell to the ground, and she straightened. "-that might've been how it started..." She worked her jaw for a moment, nodding as she sucked her cheek in and let it go with a pop. "Yeah," she eventually said, turning her eyes back to him. "-I guess I started wonderin' what y'all really meant to me when ah couldn't keep you outta my head 'fer a day." The feeling on his lips- and his daze, not to mention- were gone at that point, and he was leaned curiously forward to catch her words. "You... said something like that earlier," he mused, thinking on it for a moment before he idly reached his hoof out. Applejack only stared at the proffered limb for a moment before her beloved smile returned, and she reached to grasp it. Their gazes matched as her hoof laid over his, and he continued. "You'd been thinking about me a lot?" That drew a huff from his hoof-holding partner. "Now, don't let that get y'all worked up." The brief humor that he felt like he should pout at faded a second later as Applejack frowned consciously. "I didn't really think it was love back then- or, I guess I didn't really believe it was whenever the thought came 'round." She sighed, leaning back a bit as she rolled her head around her shoulders. Once, twice, and again until something made a very interesting pop, and she sighed again- happily. "Mmyeah, it wasn't really 'till last night when it really clicked how much you meant 't me." Her eyes fluttered dreamily open- don't get distracted by how beautiful she was- and she leaned back in as she met his eye again with a genuine little smile. "That's kinda what I think it's like, anyway. Just... thinkin' 'bout you all the time. More'n anything else, anyways." Light opened his mouth, then shut it with a frown as Applejack watched, then opened her mouth. "So, that's me squared away," she said in a clear lead, pausing for a moment as he remained silent, then she leaned obviously in. "Seems like it'd been a while 'fer you, and- honestly-" She seemed oddly proud at that. "-I'd kinda got a feelin' you'd been pinin' after me, Light." He opened his mouth again, and- augh, why was it so hard to speak?! He choked on his tongue for the nth time as Applejack waited for him to respond, and as he didn't, and as he tried- sputtering and shaking their hooves up and down- she sighed with a slump, straightening as she fixed him with a patient leer. "...Are y'all gonna be able to tell me how far back you'd been feelin' for me, or am I gonna hafta go on not knowin'?" Light swallowed, and sent a silent prayer to either Deity he held extreme contempt for to regardless help him speak. "I- It's been- well- a long time!" He began on a lilting course of slowly formed words, easing in as Applejack nodded with a knowingly condescending smile, until something finally ticked over in his head and his last words came out on a wave of energy as a shout that he desperately took her hoof in both of his for. Oh, how words failed him. His greatest enemy; his most grappled-with philosophy. Words. He hated words almost as much as he hated himself. He tried not to cringe away in total mortification as Applejack simply stared widely at him for a moment, until an amused smile grew over her face and she let out a loud snort. The- difficulty notwithstanding- love of his life rocked back with a peaky chuckle, still holding his hoof as the other came up to rub through her mane. Presumably on the instinct to knock her hat up, even though it wasn't there. ...Now that he thought of it, where was her hat? With all those heartfelt professions and world-rocking smooches, he hadn't quite been the eagle-eyed observer he normally figured himself to be, and sometime between when she'd set it down behind her and now, it'd disappeared. He averted his gaze from its surreptitious peek behind her and back to her tolerant stare, pursing his lips with a hum. Should he..? ...Not right now. A different question, first. He was calming down, able to breathe right and stop feeling his tongue so much. Still, he bit his lip, pressing into the tic to feel a bit of centering pain as he nodded, casting his gaze down at her hoof held in his. "Sorry, I just-" He blew out another anxious breath, forcing himself to meet her eyes with a useless chuckle. "This isn't a question I'd ever really... given thought to actually answering." Applejack's brows jumped with a slow blink as her smile turned wry. "Can't say I'd done, either," she pointed out humorously- nearly mocking if not for the note of fondness in her tone as her head tilted curiously to the side. "Why don'cha 'jes say whatever you think of first? That's kinda what I did." He took a moment to imagine that, then sighed. "Do you even... know me?" he muttered lowly as he sagged from the effort, and of course Applejack laughed. He waited an irritated moment to let her finish as he more or less straightened, and her attention was fully on him again. "I suppose..." He thought about his answer for a moment, then shook his head. "-I'm not really sure." The immediate reaction was an unimpressed snort, to which he bristled with indignation. "It's hard, alright?!" he snapped back to his smugly grinning love, for what little actual impression it made. He gave a short huff as he wrenched his hooves off hers, petulantly hugging his own sides. "I mean- I can't just put definite dates to my feelings!" With her hoof free, Applejack was free to lean forward. "Well, give it a try!" she shouted daringly- right into his face. Still smiling, looking to be on the verge of laughter, she rocked back again as he tried to take a swing for her- which probably would've just hurt his hoof. Her lips were soft, but the rest of her might as well have been one giant muscle. Light simmered with grit teeth for a moment, internally debating whether it was worth it to lunge after her for some kind of ultimately petty retribution, before he discarded the stupid idea altogether. "Fine!" he groaned, tossing his head aside and throwing his hooves up to the benefit of Applejack's smile. His hooves lowered and crossed over his chest again. "I guess it was the first weekday after I met you!" His shout rung out in the slowly dusking riverside clearing, and suddenly, Applejack wasn't smiling or chuckling anymore, only... staring at him with a small, open gape. Her eyes wide and her cheeks quickly returning to a familiar flush; her hooves idly folded to her chest and her ears pressed lamely back, for all the world looking like the glossary-standard exhibit of shock. There was a part of Light- maybe a fourth- that felt just as embarrassed or even more, and it was that part that was currently warming his own cheeks. It was a pretty big declaration to make, and in any other situation, he'd probably be looking for a convenient hole in the ground nearby to scurry into. He was very well in tune with his fight-or-flight response. The dominant portion of his brain, though, was pretty busy relishing how quickly he'd gotten her to shut up. Hey, maybe this was his new favorite way to get her to be quiet! Blabbing some ultra-schlocky romantic expression that usually flit about his mind when he was trying to sleep at night. He had a ton of them, after all. He'd used to fill books with them until it occurred to him how inane that was, and he'd chucked every volume he'd ever written into the Everfree. There just may have been some lovestruck monster somewhere in there that had weaned itself on his foalish notions of romance. If that was to be his retribution, then it was probably deserved. With a victorious grin that was beginning to hurt his cheeks, Light leaned in on a humming, mocking little snicker. "Come on, Applejack," he sneered- lovingly, he should add- poking his hoof forward to gently boop her muzzle, finally snapping her out of the trance as her eyes crossed. "-I just said something nice, didn't I? You're starting to hurt my feelings." He loved Applejack- more than anything- but he also loved to make fun of her. Some of her best expressions were out of anger or annoyance, and the frown that slowly grew over her face as her eyes uncrossed to levy a dry stare at him was definitely one of them. The slow clasp of her lips together, that so smoothly pressed thin before its ends were drawn down like a rope pulling sheer orange curtains slack. The gradual creep of her expressive eyebrows to hover menacingly over the dying spark of humor in her eyes- though not to anger, either. Her freckles folding out to glare harshly at him. The bags under her eyes pronouncing with intent. His hoof still connected to her muzzle- -until she swatted it aside, and audibly huffed. The moment of Apple-watching was over, leaving Light with his taunting smile and a fresh wave of appreciation for her beauty. His annoyed, ever lovely love kept her put-off expression for another moment as she only glared at him, until it began to lighten in gradual strokes from her brows to her frown. "It can't have been... all that time," she half-spoke to him, half-muttered to herself. Seeming altogether unsure as some modicum of her previous shock returned, then snuffed with guarded curiosity as he made careful effort to catch her eye before he shook his head. "I suppose that might've been facetious," he echoed in idle admittance- making sure to keep his mouth open as Applejack immediately rolled her eyes. "All I really know is that, after I saw more of you than just your hooves, I couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful you were." He began on a casual, matter-of-fact tone that quickly lowered into a deep, what he hoped sounded sensual, murmur as he leaned forward, entering Applejack's personal space and brazenly grasping her hoof in his at once. Before she could react- and how she began to flush- he quickly raised her hoof up as his head lowered, and, with as much overblown panache as he could muster, laid a soft whisper of a kiss to the dirt-smeared bridge between her pastern and hoof. It felt weird- and he felt sort of stupid where he didn't also feel horrible, heart-rending anxiety. Tartarus below... he sounded like a romance novel protagonist. Though, in the end, as he retreated back to his haunches while trying not to scream, he was still glad he'd tried it out. Light was not suave, nor was he smooth, nor did he think he was very capable of pretending to be either. Everything he'd just done had been more or less channeled directly from emulating a mental picture of Rarity and the trashy ponies in the equally trashy magazines she left around the lobby of the boutique for bored patrons just such as him. His entire romantic charade was based on a drama queen and her beloved tabloids. As dumb and worthless as he'd felt, however, the emotions were more or less snuffed by a deep source of astonishment as Applejack... reacted. He couldn't quite see her face through the crook of the hoof she'd almost immediately slapped over it, but what little he could see was definitely very red, and her eyes were just about as wide as her head. Like... dinnerplates, he was sure was another countryism. Or... that might've just been regular hyperbole. Who really knew? Her ears were flicking about in distress, too, he noticed just before he was roughly shoved onto his back. The grass cushioned his head as he suddenly blinked up at the red, blushing sky that hadn't been there a moment ago, before he pushed himself back up to stare curiously at the side of Applejack as she turned away to further hide her face. A short huff or three made its way to his ears as the mare... tried in vain to deal with... whatever clumsy spell he'd somehow put her under. Slowly, a niggling little smile that felt oh so very pleased began to worm its way onto his face. He elected to stay quiet as he pushed himself back up to a sitting position, content to just wait it out and, more importantly, to unabashedly ogle his- evidently much more demure than he'd thought- love's shoulder. His joy was... somewhat lessened by her position showing him the coarse little dot of red painted in the center of her mane that she'd told him came from last night, but he'd come to terms with that. Mostly. One day. He kept smiling, because today was about proving his mind and his instincts wrong. Sometimes. He was trying. Eventually, his blushy love turned slowly back to him, still hiding her face with a hoof crooked over her muzzle. Her eyes, at least, were fully focused on him, and she was blinking now. Cautiously, Applejack's hoof slowly slid down her muzzle to show her still-red face, resting on her chest as she gave him a wary side-eye. "...That ain't you, sugarcube," was her eventual, quiet response. The reserved tone of solemnity in her voice let him know that this was the time to stop smiling, and so, he let it slip away with a sigh. He let his head hang forward on a tired wave of resignation as his eyes shut for a moment, then opened as he tilted his head up to apologetically catch her gaze. "You're right," he murmured, forcing a sorry smile onto his face. "-it's really not." His seeming regret was enough to draw Applejack back out of her shell bit by bit, her smile beginning to make a delightful reappearance. The extremely brief moment of tension that'd flared to life in the air lessening by the second as they took a solitary moment to simply stare at each other. It was nice. Until he opened his mouth again. "But it could be." The sudden reemergence of intensity in the unusually somber tone of his voice cut Applejack's smile cruelly short as she tensed slightly back once more, her new frown colored apprehensively confused. "What... d'you mean?" Her matched her gaze for a few, painful moments of real regret before he let out another sigh, and straightened. Lowering his lidded gaze to the bright ball of golden light behind the hoof on her chest, shining through her very flesh in all its yellow-tinged, slightly-sped glory. She was a little afraid of what he might say- or, his implication had genuinely been that disconcerting. He hoped not, otherwise everything he was about to say was going to really knock her for a loop. "Applejack... I love you," he began, because that was a very good place to begin. It brought an evident hint of fondness back into her expression, and the tense, yellow glow over her soul eased a bit- how nice. It almost swayed him to just shut up and be happy, but he continued on anyway. "...and, because I do love you, so much, I need to know..." The question was right there. Nearly broached. His mouth was already open, so if he just leaned into the anxiety, it would provide the terrifying antithesis to just say it. If he bit his lip like he wanted to, he might chicken out. If he waited too long, poor Applejack's conflicted face might stop him. If he didn't say it now, then he wouldn't sleep right tonight. And how he needed a good night's sleep. His mouth was already open, waiting for the next words, and after only a few moments, he found where the rest had been hiding. "...what are we, now?" In the moment after, understanding bloomed on his love's face, and he closed his eyes with a short, exerted breath. "Where do we... go from here?" It was quiet in more ways than one after that, as the dusk began to creep by. In the chilling air, even the background noise of the stream, filling every silence as water was wont to do, sounded ever so much quieter. It pressed relentlessly on his ears, hoping to muffle his every sense in penance for what he'd dared to speak of. The dreaded question. He didn't like books about romance, or romance-related stories at all- on general principle- but he knew some romantic tropes and clichés, regardless. Tantamount to relationship poison was asking where the relationship was going- or, in their case, whether they were in one. He couldn't just... not ask. He had to know- they had to put a label on this before the day was over... for his own sanity. He was still so afraid. He wanted it... this, to be real. It took Applejack a long while to respond. Long enough for him to actually tidy up his thoughts, however impossible that should've been, leaving him just staring and waiting for her as her muzzle remained scrunched in clear thought. Her hoof still on her chest; her jaw working on way or the other every few seconds. For what it was worth, she didn't seem to be afraid or lastingly disturbed anymore, so he had that going for him. Hooray. They were practically married already. Finally, as she softly opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, her voice trotted cautiously out. "Ah'm... not sure," she badly enunciated as her gaze tracked up, and her hoof slid up to rest on the latch of her throat. She seemed to be picking words straight out of her mind, if her lilting choice of speech was any indication. "For the moment... I hadn't really... thought about it." She pressed her lips together as her hoof came sideways and wrapped around her ponytail, smacking them apart in idle thought as she tugged her mane around her shoulder. "Ah'd... thought to think 'bout it when we started kissin', 'cept after that ah'd kinda gotten distracted with..." She trailed off, and somehow managed to keep a straight face as she trailed down to meet his eyes. "-well, y'know, the kissing." He hesitantly met her gaze as she repeatedly brushed her hoof down what she could reach of her ponytail, while his mouth gaped gently open in an air of... incredulity. He began to wonder whether anything his love did made any sense at all as she hummed, and knocked her head ponderingly to one side. "Ah do really like kissin' you." Her statement hung in the air before it registered, and then he felt his cheeks begin to refill with warmth. Somehow, as mortified horror began to well in his throat, Applejack continued nonchalantly as her gaze once again tracked up. "Can't deny that. Can't rightly say it's the only thing I love 'bout y'all, either." Well... that was... good? He felt lost, and a bit afraid. Light continued to struggle between balking, blushing and screaming as Applejack finally showed some emotion other than hard-hitting thought. Her contemplative frown turning apologetic as her eyes, lowering to his, narrowed in sincere concern. "Ah guess... ah'm not really sure?" His heart shattered- but Applejack quickly continued as his face immediately twisted in pain- there was the welling in his eyes again- leaning forward, waving her hoof in a panic. "Not- not because ah don't love you, or that ah don't wanna be with you!" His heart messily reconsolidated for the moment as confusion took over for agony on his face, and Applejack let out a tired sigh. "It's 'jes..." She trailed off on a half-spoken thought as faltered, shaking her head with another sigh a moment before her glimmering, questioning gaze met his. "What would... really change?" she asked, her voice suddenly softening to a quiet, considerate murmur. And, as his mouth opened, he found that to be a very good question. "Uh..." His first response went on perhaps a few seconds too long, and drew an unsatisfied grunt from Applejack that very expediently sped his thoughts up. "Well- I mean, we'd tell ponies, right?" he hurried out, speaking as quickly as the words came to mind. At that ill-considered notion, Applejack's expression lightened, and she let out a thoughtful hum. "Ah guess..." she murmured vacantly, raising her hoof to her chin again as she seemed to... scrutinize him. "'S not like my family don't like you, and ah wouldn't be all that surprised if Granny wasn't surprised." It was just a passing mention, but the very mention of Applejack's grandmare brought a sudden shiver down his back. It seemed as though she didn't notice- deep in thought about her family, as was typical for her- but he still had to hug his hooves to himself to fight off another shiver as he gave it some deep thought of his own. He'd known Granny Smith since... he was about nine years old, and it hadn't taken him until ten to realize that he ought to fear her. She was... perhaps the single most intimidating mortal mare he'd ever met, and that was with her extreme age. The magic of earth ponies was not well understood, especially not by him, but he'd sort of learned through intuition that it probably had something to do with longevity. She'd already been a young mare when she'd founded Ponyville with the Rich family, and that had been about one-hundred and forty years ago. And yet, he'd seen her do a full hoofstand once- for over three minutes. Applejack had told him about how the old mare had her off days, but was otherwise sharp as a tack with the business acumen and physical ability of a magnate merged with a... well, her. Of course, not every earth pony lived as long as she had, which really only meant that Applejack's grandmare had some serious magical potential- well, for an earth pony, anyway. Still frightening. He tried to imagine that old mare, who had given him more scoldings and slaps on the rear than his own mother had, reacting to the news that he was dating her granddaughter. ...It might not be worth it. He opened his mouth- sorry, Applejack, but he was having second thoughts on account of terrifying elderly- and was stopped mid-breath as Applejack shook her head, and spoke in a glum tone. "Naw... it's not really about what other ponies'd be thinkin'." She caught his eye again- he shut his stupid mouth- as she scooted closer, and suddenly his hoof was in hers. "It's about how we'd be treatin' each other." He stared down at his hoof held solidly in hers, and though he'd liked the embrace thus far, now it felt a little like a steel trap. He suddenly distinctly remembered the time they'd accidentally tipped a whole bucket of apples into a pond, and she'd grabbed hold of his hoof and marched the two of them back to her house to fess up. He had a vague recollection of the idea of chewing his arm off, and it was once again evident why. Oh, well. He could live with a metaphorically maimed hoof. He met her gaze with a sinking feeling of acceptance as he took a moment to think, then nodded his assent. It was a question of how their relationship would modulate going forward, after all. Of course the most important change would be about them. Seeing his speechless thought on the matter, Applejack blew out a breath, and dropped her gaze. "Yeah, alright, so..." she ventured out on a limb, taking another stern breath as she bounced his hoof in hers. He hoped it brought her some comfort as she took the moment to ponder, staring down until, suddenly, her gaze rose to meet his in a moment of serious connection, and she bravely continued in a semi-confident tone. "Ah don't... really think I wanna change how we act." He tried not to feel hurt at that- he really did- and it was all the sadder that he did a very bad job at it, because the emotion instinctively showed all over his face. Applejack- bless her hateful heart- jumped forward to cut her own implication off, freeing a hoof to wave it in a panic. "Ah mean- we can still act all close an' touchy an... kissy with each other, but-" As she reached the tail-end of a hasty explanation, she stopped short with a half-drawn breath, topped off with a subtle slump. Some of her frantic energy seemed to calm in the next few seconds as she raised her hoof consciously, flicking her gaze up with her mouth open for... whatever she was trying to say. Whatever it was, she found it a few moments after her mouth shut with a silent clack. The farmer seemed to reel herself back in a deep breath that she straightened for, opening her eyes to his with markedly more control. "I really 'jes meant... ah don't think it'd be right to start actin' like... this-" She waved her hoof in a circle between them. "-changes how we already feel." Oh. Okay, that made... a little more sense if he was understanding it right, which he was fairly sure he... might've. He was a little confused, and, he couldn't deny, just a little bit hurt, so he tried to silently prod Applejack to continue with a little nod of his head. If she was frustrated by his mute contribution, she probably clamped down it like she'd had ten years of practice doing, because she fairly readily pressed on with a bob of her head and a brisk tone. "I know ah already think 'bout you a whole lot, an' ah can only assume-" She paused, and after shaking off the put on the spot feeling, he nodded, and she nodded relievedly back with a flash of a smile. "-yeah, an' we already spend a whole lotta time together, so..." She trailed off, pressing her lips together as she seemed to think, finally going on in a reserved tone of airy thought. "I'm really 'jes wonderin'..." Again, she trailed off with a grim note of unrest gleaming in her eye, so believably genuine in its deserved concern that even Light began to feel it. "Should we really change that?" It was quiet for a while after that, as they both sat in their own silences. Still holding hooves- reveling in the comfort- but with their minds and their eyes on their own thoughts. He found looking at his back legs tucked under him helped him think, only not really about anything helpful. Somewhere along the way, he'd become distracted wondering about pinpointing the exact moment when his legs went numb enough for the position to become comfortable, and how that sort of inconvenience was so readily accepted. He'd had this thought before, it felt like. ...And he'd done it again, even after realizing he was doing it. What a dumb colt he was. He deserved worse. Thinking of it, blinders were a macabre invention meant to keep slaves in line, but maybe he could benefit from having his vision controlled. Might help keep his thoughts in line. He'd put a thought or two together along the way, though, so with his eyes still down on his hooves that had taken him down a weird hole, he bobbed his head in an absent nod. "I guess not." His shallow response was as good a place as any to jump back into the semi-comfortable, super frightening topic of categorizing their budding relationship, and he did so while meeting his love's curious gaze. "But... I think..." He spoke slowly, picking his words carefully as he dropped his gaze back down, then back up on a daring little feeling of bravery. "I wouldn't mind spending... just a little more time with you?" The stress written on her face seemed to ease at that, the sight giving him a tiny boost of hope of his own. He scooched closer- on his numb haunches- gathering her hooves into his in an earnest hold as their back legs came inches away from touching. "And... and maybe being a little more... considerate? Just- here and there, you know?" As her smile grew- as his excitement grew- and as he grew worse at hiding the frank adoration in his voice, the bashful pink flush that had escaped from her cheeks began to trickle back in. The love of his life seeming so uncharacteristically soft as he raised their hooves between them, nearly pressing them to his chest- she'd be able to hear his heart pounding. A lump was clawing its way up his throat, and he appeased it by giving a wan chuckle as he dropped his gaze to their hooves. "It... doesn't have to be all the time," he murmured, his voice lowering as he found it suddenly harder to speak up. Still smiling, perhaps even more so, he raised his lidded eyes back to hers. "I don't really think I could pretend like you don't frustrate me sometimes." Applejack's own smile curled into a smirk as she snorted, as clearly amused as was her eyebrow creeping up her forehead. "'Bout as fair a chance 'a that on my side as there is 'fer apples to start growin' blue." It was a familiar tease in such a familiar tone- and it just made the feeling in his chest swell. He couldn't stop smiling at that point as he gave a reckless, coughing laugh of his own, shaking the clouds out of his head as he tried to keep focused on speaking. "We don't really have to act like Equestria's most perfect couple, but... in-between the physical closeness and the time we spend together..." He trailed off, because it was almost too much to say. Even then, sitting so close to her that he could easily collapse into and over her lap, and her face within kissing range, there was some tiny part of him that... still couldn't believe it. It could've all been an illusion, or this entire day could've just been his afterlife. None of it might matter. None of it might've been real. The thought seemed a little stupid, looking into her eyes. Those emerald-green, dark-flecked eyes with their uncountable flaws, lidded and shining with unrepressed love. For him. For him. Sitting there with her, wreathed in her scent mixed with the chilling dusk, everything seemed brighter. Everything seemed better. He wasn't trapped. He felt free. He smiled as he spoke, because he wasn't afraid. He didn't feel the need to lie to her, or to himself. "...we could just... act like how we feel?" It only needed a moment to settle in the air before her smile grew in reciprocity, and she raised her hoof to wrap around one of his. The both of them squeezing their hooves together in a tight ball of comfort, finding immaculate solace in the simple pleasure of the mere sight of each other. How he'd missed her in that time he'd thought he was beyond saving. "Ah think I'd like that." Her quiet, husky voice tickled in the most scintillating way on his strained ears, and brought a relieved breath washing over his parted lips. "So..?" he pressed gently, insistently, waiting with that bated breath for the answer that was only seconds to come. Her next blink was slow, coquettish for how it seemed as her grin curled, her eyes glittering in the orange light of the dusk as her gaze fell to their hooves. Light's nerves cut to the breaking point of anticipation as she chuckled- once, then twice. "Heh... yeah..." She shook her head again, faster this time. "Shoot, why not?" Her head swayed to a stop fully focused on him; a moment of unconquerable steadiness as her eyes seemed to glint to perfect time with a pulse of her incandescent golden soul. Showing but one emotion to lay bare, and for the first time in such a very long time, he saw how that inscrutable orb could singularly shade with such bashful pink. All for him. All for him. "I'll be 'yer marefriend, if you'll be my coltfriend." How she must have missed him these past two years. He had nothing else to say, nor did she. When next he blinked, her eyes were closed, as soon were his. The worsening chill in the air seeming so negligible as their muzzles brushed, warming each other with the breath of their lungs. What brilliance she made out of life... How amazing it all seemed for her to complement it... The cold of the night was soon to come, yet for the two of them- for Light- there was more warmth on Equus than ever. Never had he felt so warm- so connected. So loved. So... complete. She'd banished his fears; she'd made little his loneliness and driven away the shadows that yet clung to him. So much had transpired, yet for her, he could think so little of it. The long night. The two years of suffering. The sacrifice he'd made, and the judgement cast over him for daring to survive it. His secrets. His foolish notions. The hunger that even then still brimmed in a placeless part of his heart. He could ignore it. He could move on. He'd found tomorrow. Eventually, they parted, as all things, good or bad, must find their end. When she began to pull away- hooves gently pushing at his chest- he let her, content that any of it had happened at all. He'd keep the warmth on his lips just as much as he kept her love in his mind. With their lips freed, the sides of their muzzles enjoyed an embrace of their own. Their eyes, as well. All the more intimacy to remember- to cherish, as it all was. How he cherished her. His greatest treasure; he'd finally captured her for himself. All for him. She murmured to him- "Think ah should be heading home soon." -and he made his peace with that. For the summer sun soon to set on their mutual inclusion, of course he knew she couldn't stay there with him forever, no matter the idyllic surroundings. No matter how briefly he'd entertained the fantasy of resting here with her, aside the burbling stream where they'd professed their love. Laying together under the sparkling night's sky, holding hooves in body and mind as they drifted away... But that was only a fantasy, though it was always alright to fantasize. He'd fantasized of their relationship in he first place, and just look what had become of them. They yet had an entire future together to destroy their postures and mark indelible grass stains on their coats. Was that innuendo? He hadn't meant it. He murmured something loving- something incomprehensibly mushy- as she pulled away, showing her love in as much as her sparkling gaze and her trailing hoof as she made to stand. Letting both hang- and how he pleaded for them both to stay- for a moment longer than necessary, before she shook her head with a snicker and pushed herself up. He laughed too, as much as he wanted to weep. He may have accepted that she needed to go home, but that didn't mean his peace wasn't shaky. Mark his words, there would one day be great conflict in her name, with their love at its center. He would go to war for her, if only to see how she'd stop him. He... was getting really poetic. It was probably best she was leaving, or else he might've begun to wax a soliloquy in her name. Heavens above be damned, he may still after she'd gone. He didn't stand as Applejack did. He was content to lay prone- even fall to lay on his side as she busily brushed stray grass and smudged dirt off her haunches. His marefriend- his marefriend- giving him another brief smile as she turned further, and for the simple meaning of it, he happened to take a moment to... give her a little ogle. He'd always been attracted to her form, however disgusted he typically was of contact. There was just a certain... something about the power she held. The sheer fitness she put on display that was always so discernable at any one time, provided he only pay attention. It was intoxicating. How her fur barely contained her form- how she rippled with such tight muscle underneath it all, and for actions so common as moving. That may have been the best part of it: she needn't even show off; her physique simply accentuated itself. Her shoulders rolling with control as she asserted her collar. Her haunches tensing at her thighs as she moved- oh, he'd always been so impressed by the points of articulation in her lower half. She held such raw power in that ompact frame. He'd always wondered, just how far might she be able to go? How much did she hold back when bucking trees? It would be enthralling indeed to see what may happen were she not to. Such thoughts may have been creepy, he was aware, and in the past, he'd often abstained for that very thought. Now, though, he was afraid it was his job as the coltfriend. Literature- however trashy- had instilled the concept of an apprising leer into him. It was accepted- perhaps even encouraged. He was always very discreet, but if she were to make notice, it would only be right that she be flattered. Of course he held interest in every part of her, and that should've been a compliment. He... was pretty sure. That was the trope, anyway. He pursed his lips as Applejack momentarily escaped his awareness. Maybe it was best for his glances to remain discreet, at least for now. It may just destroy him beyond any saving were he to wreck their relationship so soon after it just began. "Hey... where'd mah hat go?" He tuned back in as Applejack, his marefriend, spun around in a tight circle, forcing him to lean back just in time to avoid her swinging tail. Her head jerking this way and that as she trotted to the side, then back, then leaned over the edge of the stream with a confused drone. He followed her gaze in as many directions as was obvious were the wrong ones, and craned his head up to the sky to think of it on his own with a curious murmur. Where had her hat gone? She'd... put it down behind her when she'd turned to show him how she'd been hit on the head... and then... He propped himself back up onto his haunches, putting a hoof to his chin as he idly scrutinized their surroundings. There wasn't really anywhere it could've gone, besides... His gaze crawled to a stop at the stream, which had gained a new occupant while he wasn't paying attention. Applejack had jumped in to wade up its path a short distance, looking all the more perturbed as her hat continued to hide from her. Splashing about in its very shallow depths as it carried past her... soaked... hooves... Hm. "Hey, do you think..?" he mused, catching her eye as she turned to him with a start. He thought for a moment more, staring up and down the stream again, soon turning to her with a curious tilt of his head. "Maybe it got carried downstream?" He may have said that a bit matter-of-factly, but he tended to get that way when he was thinking. It was better than smarming it, as scorn tended to be his other default emotion when making observations. Well, for however he'd said it, he sure felt a little responsible as his marefriend... turned a bit white at that. "It- down- gone-" she stammered, jerking her head between him and the distant trail of the stream, only managing to quiet as she took a deep swallow with her gaze firmly set on the stream, and she finally put the pieces of her sentence together. "It went downstream?!" she cried, and Light bit his lip, cringing back as his marefriend leapt forward, scattering water every which way- and most importantly his way. He let out a shout of indignation as she splashed her way a short bit down the stream, then froze. She stayed there for a moment as Light glared after her, scrubbing stray water drops off his flank, before she quickly turned and splashed back to him- scattering more water onto him. "Light, listen," she hurried out, as he tried to dry himself with a scowl. "There's- gosh, there's still a whole lot I wanna talk with y'all about, but-" She cut herself off with a panicked growl, jerking her head again to the area downstream. She... seemed to bounce on her water-bound hooves as she turned back to him, and for how aggravating it was- it's not like she'd lose it any more at this point- there was a note of genuine regret in her gaze, as well as the most pitiable yellow sheen over the spinning orb in her chest. He kept his hard stare for a moment, before letting it fade with a sigh. "Go," he murmured, nodding his head forward, as a small smile grew on his marefriend's face. Her cute little freckles hiding away. "I'm sure you'll catch it before it... gets away." His small attempt at dry humor rolled off her back like- like water, as she nodded back to him, smiling all the more apologetically. "Come on by the farm tomorrow, alright?" He opened his mouth to accede, before she gave a start with a groan, and shook her head roughly. "No, not tomorrow- all the family's gonna be there..." He closed his mouth with a long-suffering sigh, then opened it again to give a suggestion- as Applejack shook her head again, glancing downstream as she teetered on her heels. "Can't be- not th' day after, either... not... this weekend, still got that meetin' 'bout the harvest... um.. well... shoot..." One way, then the other; Applejack really could work herself into a remarkable lather. Just like him. No wonder they'd fallen in love. ...even in passing thought, the thought was still so delightfully squeamish. Just sent warm little pangs all through his chest. As in many things, Light was content to bite his lip and watch Applejack as she fussed over her various responsibilities, growing more and more frustrated as she looked at him then the stream then him and back to the stream as she probably wished she could just split herself in two. One Applejack was enough for him. He... could barely even handle that. Finally, with a half growl, half yell, she threw her head back and slapped a hoof to her forehead. The distinctive noise brought the slightest grimace to his face, that he quickly wiped as she levied a final, despondent stare on him. "I'll 'jes come by your place!" she... yelled at him, and because it seemed like the right thing to do when one's marefriend shouted at them with so much conflicted emotion, he nodded. At that, Applejack nodded back with a smile that didn't really look right when half of it was so wiggly, and turned away from him for the final time. Again, she splashed a short distance away, then froze, then whirled around to stare at him. "Er- bye! I love you!" He watched with some trepidation as she then turned from him for the actual final time and quickly ran- well, more like floundered downstream, trying in vain to open his mouth to reciprocate the hurried sentiment. His marefriend seeming little more than a bobbing set of shoulders as the bank framed her retreating form, then a scant circle of blond mane, then she was gone. Around a bend and out of sight; very suddenly, he was alone. Light, still sitting stock-still in place, his mouth dumbly open until he finally caught a breath, managed a quiet, conflicted murmur. "I... love you too?" He didn't really know why, since it was far too late for her to hear him. He supposed... for the sentiment? It was nice to say, and to imagine a world where he'd spoken up sooner, and louder. Maybe a world where they shared one last kiss... He'd get over it. Kissing wasn't everything, it was just... really nice. As Light was alone now, alone by the stream his marefriend and her hat had vanished down, he had a moment to think on the events that had transpired. He did enjoy thinking, he thought. There was the proof, as well. How circuitous. ...Okay, he was stalling. He cared enough to admit that. Applejack was a conflicting mare. He did love her, with all his heart- well, most of his heart- it was just that she was more than a bit... difficult sometimes. There was some part of him that surmised her difficulties only made him love her all the more- the thrill of the chase, and whatnot- but it was undeniable that there were some aspects of his new and very cherished marefriend that were somewhat disconcerting. Her attitude was not always quite as agreeable as he'd like, though to be fair, neither was his. Still, it was a gripe, and her attitude wasn't exactly all that held her back from total amicability. She was fairly open-minded at most times, but she could be a bit obstinate in some circumstances that... really didn't call for it. Again, he was the same. Actually, thinking of it, they happened to share quite a few negative traits. What Applejack would call pig-headedness, as well as a temper, unwillingness to change, and more than a small penchant for dry humor. He was a big fan of it, for what it mattered, but irony and spite sometimes rubbed ponies the wrong way. He'd found that out the hard way- another, even less enviable, wrong way. He gave a sigh through his nose, flicking his eye up to watch the darkening sky for a moment. He'd missed the hue that matched Applejack, unfortunately, and now it was approaching nighttime. How thematic. How reminiscent. He'd prefer not to idle on his own in the dark. Through some adversity, Light managed to rise to his hooves for the first time in... heavens, it may just have been a few hours. He did his best to stretch out the aches in his semi-recently pulverized bones, rolling his head around his shoulders without the satisfying pop Applejack had managed, and fighting back a tantalizing yawn as... he began to notice how sleepy he was. Funny, he usually skipped past sleepiness and straight to passing directly out. That... might've been Nightmare Moon's fault, granted, but all the same, it was a somewhat foreign concept. He took his last looks around, just for kicks. Trying his best to take in as many details that he'd likely forget, because when he'd remember his and Applejack's first kiss, it wasn't like the background would be what stood out. The stream, he'd remember, at least. The bank, the hushed grove, and the opposite side, though, were little more than forgettable scenery. He'd take what mattered from the experience, and so he didn't give any of it a third look as he turned to the woods. It would be a long trot home. Already, as he weaved through the first trees, entering the darker canopy that really made him feel the chilling dusk, he was having to focus more than he'd like on remembering where he should be going. He figured... just so long as he remained set on a general direction, he'd find a landmark eventually. In the distance or otherwise, he'd find his way home one way or the other. The walk, at least, gave him time to think. For every bush he circumvented, frowning at the brambles in his path, he had much to dwell on. Much as he'd... prefer not to. He'd never told Applejack the truth about his special talent, and he felt truly bad about that. He'd really meant to... only... her lips had kind of precluded his attempt at honesty. The thought drew a frown from him, even deeper than the one he wore on principle. But then, something else returned a somber grin to him as he turned around a tree, heading towards what he felt like may have been a break in the treeline. A kiss was not the worst thing that could have stopped him. She'd kissed him, because she loved him. It was still so wonderful. The thought of it... of her... oh, it may have been the one thing in his life that actually made him want to run. Such nervous energy in his trembling hooves. Except, he was exhausted. He really couldn't run, because he'd probably collapse. He kept that stark thought in mind as he stopped, then turned to the right, because it was a very real eventuality. He'd still had an unfairly rough day, no matter how life-affirming its relative end had been. He'd... died, of course. A bad start to any day, to be certain. Coming back to life may have just been worse given that it invited every turn that came after. Even the best events took so much effort- not that he would trade them away for the peace of death. It was just... tiring. He stopped, just to lean a hoof into a tree. It turned out what he'd seen hadn't been a break in the trees, and so he'd tried a different direction. Really, he had no idea where he was going, so he was pretty much running for any exit to the woods at all. It all looked so stupidly similar. Shouldn't take too much longer. He kept that comforting lie in mind as he pushed away from the tree with a groan, and kept trotting ever forward. It had been an interesting experience to be arrested, as had been the interrogation. A very harrowing experience that he'd... rather not think much of. Of all the things he'd endured, it may have just been the most jarring, and for that, it might've been the time he abhorred the most. He'd met Bon Bon, at least, and finally found a face to throw blame at. It was a good face for such a thing, he thought as he idly picked a path around a small hill. A nice, angry face to ascribe horrible deeds to. Why did she seem so angry all the time? Was she trying to make the worst impression possible? Not to mention when she'd broke that character, and had pretended to care about him when he obviously knew she didn't. She was terrible, and rude, and had helped to kickstart some of the most damaging events in his life. Her marefriend was needlessly energetic and horribly salacious- ew- and her penchant to wear false faces may have just been the most damnable aspect of her. No integrity to speak of. She sickened him. And yet, as he somehow picked out an incongruence in the endless rows of trees ahead, he thought again of the moment she'd laid atop him. The brief flash of blue through the false soul she somehow wore just after she'd arrested him. Her hurried admittance of her name after he'd healed her, thrown over her cold shoulder as she'd run ahead regardless of the danger it posed to him. As he shouldered through a bush- pricklier than it'd looked- out into the open air, with trees trailing after him and a darkened, sleepy town in the drooping distance ahead, he couldn't help but wonder if it had really been an act. Maybe she had a heart. Maybe said heart was dark enough to fake it all. He stared out into the horizon for a moment, relishing the breeze over his head as he took a refreshing breath. Lonely, outside air. The first time to himself in so long. She probably didn't deserve any more thought. Applejack should've been the foremost mare on his mind. He thought no more of Bon Bon as he focused his attention to the left, where a much darker expanse of trees laid nestled a short distance away from the unassuming rows of buildings. As he began anew in his travels home, he cast his thought elsewhere, to what lay ahead. He'd sleep when he got home, of course, but what then? In the morning, he'd probably... see somepony about fixing his door- that seemed like a start. That'd take some bits of course- but that wasn't a thought for now. Besides what he'd be doing for money, how would he be spending his time going forward? It was a thoughtless effort, trailing through the plains, yet even that innocuous thought brought a frown. He'd... wasted his life up to this point, he could admit that. He'd read too much of too little, sat on his butt, slept at his desk, and gone exactly nowhere. He wanted to change that. He had a destiny he'd been neglecting, and it was time to indulge. His marefriend may not approve, but he had a purpose to follow. A... dream that... may no longer seem so tantalizing, yet all the same, he wanted to live. To Light, living started with just two things. He'd already acquired one: the mare of his dreams, and so it was time to start on the other. Necromancy. The sweet little taste he'd had in the woods just hadn't been enough. He'd healed Bon Bon- but there was so much lacking. He was inexperienced- he had to practice! Again and again, he wanted to repeat it. He wanted to try other things, too! Any spell he could conceive of, he could apply himself! The rules meant little to him. The art... tailored itself for him. The thought came with a huff as he came to a stream running down towards Ponyville, and yet... it came with an odd little smile. For all that he hated Her... She had taught him much. If he was to move forward, he ought to recognize that, at least. He could hate Her with all his being if he pleased- and he did so please- but he'd be a horrible sport indeed if he didn't benefit in some way from his lessons under the Goddess that had torn him limb from conceptual limb. At least, in actuality, he'd subjected himself to more physical pain than She had. Small blessings that She'd not killed him in the end. That honor was his alone. He didn't need spellbooks- and he should scrutinize the events surrounding his life with just a bit more suspicion. If he'd been able to achieve more in a single night with his least favorite mare in the world than he had in eight years with the mere five books his long-dead benefactor had provided him with, then there may have been some truth to Her professions that he was some kind of vast fool. Light and that old sorcerer. The both of them were great fools indeed. He was approaching the Everfree, then, and at the perfect angle that he could begin to pick out an odd speck of charred brown from the brown outskirts. He'd taken a soul last night- that of a crow, but regardless, it was an achievement. It was even still there inside of him, however little he could feel it without concentrating; it remained a semi-physical proof that he was a Necromancer. And... there was another. How could he forget for even a single second? His house was in sight- how comforting- and just aside him was a previously verdant tree, reduced to a scarred husk. He really had no idea what had happened to it, though there was also an odd circle of dead grass and ash just aside it, about the direction the char on the tree curled away from, so whatever it was had an epicenter. But that was a mere distraction, he mused as he ran a hoof along its dead bark. Its crusty covering flaking off from his hoof where it wasn't already burned smooth. What a sad sight. What a sad sort it, and he, was. The tree may have held no soul, nor any remaining life at all, yet he held three all to his own. Only one was rightful, and though nopony would ever miss a crow, there was another the world would sorely lack for. He sighed, and trailed his hoof away. Hanging his head towards the tree, perhaps in reverent proxy. Only for a moment, though. That solitary moment he spent with his head uselessly bowed to a tree, before he raised his head and turned, walking briskly towards his house. His sad little house all covered in ivy; it made such a depressing impression. No wonder he had no visitors. Not even a mailpony. He supposed he liked it that way, though alas- it was such a depressing concept. He thought of little behind his lidded eyes as he trailed up to the face of his house, slowing to a halt before its open, yawning mouth. The windows ever closed and barred with vines, and his poor door so cruelly kicked in. Not just once, but twice. He could forgive Applejack- she'd been worried- but if there were any way he'd be able to bill Bon Bon for damages, then he'd find it. The inside of his home was dark from where he stood, suffocatingly so even for how near to night it was. The sky was yet dimly orange, and the sun was not entirely gone, and even still the depths of his house remained an inscrutable wall. Perhaps that was why he idled in front of it, barely managing to raise a hoof to take him forward. Perhaps it was a lingering memory of... some horror he'd once endured- perhaps of a fake voice, or of shattered golden rings- but for whatever reason that compelled him, he found his gaze trailing to the side. Around the corner of his house, closely hugged on both sides by overzealous trees, at its back and nestled into a small crook between walls, there was a cellar door held shut by chains and a padlock. Its dark recesses so vaguely foreboding in his memory now, and for what they contained... A little box meant for apples shoved into a corner and plugged into a mana battery to keep its contents frozen. Preserved, and eventually forgotten. He stared at the corner for a moment, before he let out a small huff, and turned to trot into his home. He'd get it back to her soon. That was his first goal. Although... as he eyed the door on his left hanging weakly out by a hinge, he amended that. Fixing his door was the first goal. Zebra resurrection was number two, sorry to say. He'd rather not get robbed or murdered in the meanwhile. He spared a glance and a grimace for the empty room- trashed beyond cleaning- before he turned to the door. Summoning his magic- bit of a headache- he managed grasp its edge and press it closed... for all the good it did without a frame for the knob to latch into, though that seemed more like semantics. Earlier in the day, while Bon Bon had burned a hole into the back of his head, he'd found a stuck-out nail in the frame that he'd tied some twine to from his doorknob. Thankfully, when Applejack had later bucked it open, it had only snapped the twine rather than displace the nail further. Staring then at the somewhat wimpy looking nail- practically halfway out of the frame- it seemed a little improbable that it had been the survivor, but he supposed that only meant he'd used some really weak twine. He only had the one spool on the floor where his desk had been, though- he wasn't Rarity- so the most he could do as a precaution was to use a few more loops. He'd spun his temporary lock, cut it and tied it off, and stepped back to inspect his work. There remained a tiny crack of light in-between the door and the frame at its bottom and top corners, but that seemed fitting. He hated the pun, but he liked that he could make the pun. He turned from the door more content than he was discontent, however barely, and to the... room... ...So messy. Light groaned, and made his way to the center of the main room. He cast a pitying glance to either side of the room- his kitchen mostly undisturbed, the hearth the same, and a bent knife buried in the opposite wall where his desk should be- as he arrived to what lay immediately before him. His toppled-over desk, and the inscrutable remains of a machine he still had trouble conceptualizing. Standing over his desk on its side and a scattering of broken glass and some colorful gems, Light could only feel tired. He didn't want to deal with this right now. Judging by how even closing his door had made his skull ache, he wasn't sure if he could right his desk at the moment. His broom was... somewhere, ugh, it felt like it'd been years since he'd been home. He was getting bleary, his mind was growing fuzzy, and his eyes felt heavy. Staring at the mess... the knife in the wall... the black stains he'd only just seen on the grey stone of the hearth... he just... Light turned away, and trotted on unsteady hooves to his bedroom door. He spared one last glance to the room, and to his vandalized front door that wouldn't ever stop anypony who actually wanted to come in, before he pushed the slightly-ajar door open and into his bedroom. It seemed less disastrous in here, at least. His dresser was there, with his cloak that needed replacing probably stuffed into one of its drawers, as was his bed aside from it; both of his things remained relatively undisturbed. The one openable window on his bed's other side was firmly latched, so nopony had broken in. Otherwise, he'd never decorated. He'd thought about getting a plant, but he hadn't because he'd figured he'd forget about it and let it die. Or... maybe he'd had a plant, but he'd forgotten about it, let it die, and thrown it away. One of them was right, he was sure. There had been something about a plant at some point. When had his hooves gotten so heavy? He shuffled tiredly over to his bedside, staring apprehensively down at his black covers. He'd purposefully bought an uncomfortable blanket after he'd grown too large of the one he'd brought from his foalhood home, because it had made sense at the time. Because he was and is an idiot. What if it was stained, as well? It was already black, so if he'd thrown up on it, then he'd not be able to tell. Should he risk it, anyway? He didn't even know what that black stuff was. It could've been hazardous. He weighed his options for a moment. It was good enough to collapse into, as he did with a groan. That was nice; it didn't feel sticky or slimy. Just as scratchy as usual. He'd always been very good at falling asleep. It hardly took any time or effort most days, or even those scarce times he fell asleep at night. So it was that he didn't even have to really curl up on his mattress, or squirm very far onto its surface. He didn't need his uncomfortable, dubiously-colored blanket or a goodnight lullaby, nor did he need to think of his new marefriend and how he loved her so. He did not think of what troubled him, nor of what had transpired. Not of what was to come or what he'd left behind. Not what he'd done or what he wanted to do. Not of Applejack, Nightmare Moon, or that stupid EIA agent. Within moments of laying down, Light Flow simply slept. And for the first time in a long time, he did not dream. > Chapter 59 - Chromatic Interjection > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Light Flow!" The faintest echo of a furious shout jerked Light back from the fringe of slumber, the once profound peace of nothingness rippling at once to gut-wrenching fear as consciousness slammed back into him. The scratchy weight of the mattress against his cheek. A grimy feeling. A hundred different aches. What few thoughts he instinctively put together as his eyes flew open were immediately rescattered by three, rhythmic bangs that each brought a painful pulse of adrenaline-laced blood rushing through his body. His first conscious breath was a deep gulp of air, stuck halfway in his craw when his jaws snapped shut on his lip from pure, shock-laced panic. What was happening? Who was there? Was he dying again? He'd barely finished three, terrified thoughts as he scrambled up onto sleepy legs before the mattress under him began to buckle, and he began to stumble. All too suddenly there was noise and definition and physicality and his mind was awake and- ouch! His head hit the floor- stars flew by- followed by the rest of his still-numb body in short sequence as he toppled over the side of his bed. No longer numb, he noted as his teeth rattled in his skull, settling just enough to allow him to eke out a pained groan and to peel his eyes open to the shadowed ceiling. The sudden shock of it all just might have been enough to kill him once and for all on its own, yet somehow the moment became all the more terrifying as a nerve-rending slam rung through his room, then through his bones. The window audibly rattled, and his entire house shook from a deafening crash as sense returned in a flash aside the pain and the delirium. He wrenched his eyes widely open as he hurriedly bent his still-trembling back forward into a sitting position, catching a hot, dust-scented breath as he scanned the shadowed wooden wall over his bed- the closed window, barely light outside- then jerked around to stare at his bedroom door. His heart jumped into his throat as an immediate sense of cold fear washed over his extremities; a thousand thoughts of danger and doom ran through his mind too quickly to process as the world seemed to still to a dispassionate grey around him. His fur began to prickle with foreboding as his entire focus in that moment zeroed down to nothing except that door. Somepony had broken in. But he might've recognized that voice. It was less conscious thought and more instinct that had him pushing forward onto all fours and twirling around to his door. He didn't waste a single second, discarding the throbbing ache in his head and gnawing fretfully at his lip as he rushed in a flurry of painfully awake hooves to the closed portal, not bothering to stir the still-sleeping mana under his skin as he reached a hoof forward to fling it open with all of his feeble strength. Without a blink, he pranced into the room on a rush of terrified energy, jerking his head around to the beat of four, solid clops. The up-tempo tension painfully straining his ears as he took in as many details as he could in as little time as possible while hoping his hammering heart wouldn't just explode. As it was since last he'd seen it, the room still remained dully lit by branching cracks of shadow, barely half-cast in fading orange infancy from the open door at the far end. His eye was instantly drawn to the overturned desk amidst a field of gleaming glass dust, hardly visible in the middle of the room as the dusk waned. Of course, he only knew the dusk was waning from the open door. Actually... open wasn't correct. Across the room, his door had come entirely loose from the frame, leaving a ruin of splinters and hanging planks in its place; the brutalized structure instead laid dead on its back directly in front of the now perpetually agape entrance to his home. With the downed barrier acting as a raggedy brown carpet for the entrance, it somehow made what little of the room was lit seem even smaller. It was immediately stressful- stars above why him- but even through the spiraling vortex of disassociation he was rapidly disappearing into, he still found time to make a note that its severance must have been the fourth bang that had so rudely shaken his house. Some small part of him found the discovery comforting in some oddball expression of roundabout irony. It was mostly dismaying. Standing over it in the dusk-filtered light of the previously-filled frame, a slightly guilty scowl on her blue face, was Rainbow Dash, daring to sport a golden necklace bejeweled with a thunderbolt-shaped ruby in his home. Her flushed cheeks and limp, multicolored locks spoke of some kind of exertion, though her tense, jerky posture didn't exactly scream aggressor. She obviously was; it didn't matter how sickly the hue of her bright, blue soul was. Why was that, though? It only took a few seconds to dissect what he saw. All of his vast speculative ability soundly led him to one inarguable conclusion: that Rainbow Dash seemed surprised. He'd not been asleep for very long, and his house remained otherwise unmauled. That was all he gleaned. And then the anger sparked to life in his chest. "What in Tartarus' deathly bespoken name have you done?!" he cried in horror- far sooner than the words even entered his head- while he cantered closer in open-mouthed mortification. The entire world seemed tinged ever so blurrily red as he mindfully skirted the glass around his downed desk, the fear for his life sinking in an instant to bitter vengeance as the clinging grasp of sleep sloughed off, dousing him in pure, heart-pumping adrenaline. He barely held his tongue from some kind of thoughtless slur against her kind as Rainbow Dash, somewhat struck from his sudden appearance as she broke into his home, jerked a startled glance from him to his downed door. "Uh..." she droned, fixing her dim stare on him then his door and then him again in sequence as she took a hesitant step back towards the outside. "It... was an accident?" Yeah, he was gonna believe anything she said. She was gonna try to sell him a bridge next, and he was gonna buy into that, too! Cart him off to become the duke of Manehatten, why wouldn't she?! He shook the weak apology off with a snort, feeding the growing flame behind his cheeks with a dose of hot air. "How, on the great green globe of Equus, do you knock somepony's door down by accident?!" he snapped as he advanced further, keeping his head high and his gaze low with arrogant fury as the sky blue pegasus before him cringed back with a seethe. Her eye flicked edgily to the side, then cautiously back to him as he growled at her. "An accident is innocuous! An accident is dropping a cup! Bumping into somepony! Forgetting a date!" He stopped in his tirade to recover a thin breath, gathering his all into his chest as his hoof slammed into the floor. "It is not an accident to besiege my home!" he snarled in a moment of excess enragement, and as his own voice deafened his strained ears in the small space of his home, the world seemed to darken with antipathy as the mare before him finally grew a careless scowl of her own. "Hey, it's not my fault your dumb door can't handle a freakin' knock!" Rainbow snapped back, straightening as her soul shone and spun at once into a purplish-red shade, and she took a pointed stomp forward. The show of defiance grew all the more infuriating as she cantered straight over his fallen door, showing abject disrespect for its passing as she stepped off its surface, rolling either shoulder menacingly with every step closer. "Anyway, I'm the one who came here to yell, so go ahead and can it!" The raspy shout clashing on his ears drew genuine, incredulous confusion from somewhere behind his font of anger, enough to manifest a scowling gape where he'd been gritting his teeth. "Wha-" His knee-jerk cliché swept into something very intensely hateful as the somehow aggrieved mare provokingly jerked her head up towards him, and Light remembered to shake the confusion off. Don't let her get to him. "You came here to break my door down and to scream at me?!" He shook his head with a sputter as she drew up to him, the smaller mare holding herself nearly up to his height through sheer moxie as he threw his hoof aside in irate befuddlement. "What in all the hells have I done to you, you maniac?!" Her mouth opened, and his gaze was drawn to her angry eyes. The infuriatingly beautiful pink before him nearly caused him to double-take, leaving him defenseless as her hoof suddenly jabbed into his chest. Not painful, but absolutely infuriating. "You wanna know what the hell you did? Well, I'll tell you, you no-good creep!" Her flat insult only half registered as he skittered two steps back from her push, only recovering in time to glare defensively back at her as she snarled into his face. "You got Applejack all upset!" What- what even- what in the- how- why- The many- many questions that immediately crowded his mind had to be shoved unceremoniously aside as he tried to make room for rebuttal. It was hard- his mouth didn't seem to want to shut- but he managed, however barely, to make a case for words as he jerkily shook his head from side to side. "What... do you even mean?!" Whatever excess anger he could funnel into his tone was a bit less than he'd managed before as he took yet another unsteady step back, due of course to all the incomprehension. Before his still sleep-laced eyes, the world behind Rainbow Dash began to gently whorl as her snarl grew more gritted teeth. He tried to blink the delirium away to no avail as the scene before him stubbornly continued to change. Maybe he'd banged his head harder than he'd thought. In one moment, the mare was set firmly onto the floor like a bedeviled oak tree, yet in the next, somehow keeping in time with the shifting space behind her, her wings unfurled with a strong gust. Her figure at once grew frighteningly larger, shading the falling dusk light through curtains of flexing feathers as she stepped into the air with unfathomable ease, following his next unconscious step back and keeping her hoof level with his face as she poked it forward again. "You heard me!" she accused, forcing him back another step to avoid her pointing hoof poking his eye out. Anger- surprisingly genuine anger- gleamed in what he caught of the mare's narrowed eyes, though her entire expression towered over him by unfair virtue of flight. "Applejack's been acting like a zombie all day because of whatever you did to her last night! She was practically green the whole way through our entire adventure!" She poked her hoof forward again, catching him with his butt against the wall and managing to make contact with his forehead as Light instinctively growled. "So, fess up! What'd you say to her?! What'd you do?! Huh?!" Maybe it was the sharp point of dull pain left on his forehead by her hoof. Maybe it was how close she was, still yelling at him. Maybe it was being trapped against the wall. Maybe it was his tired delirium from being woken up. Maybe it was how she thought she knew enough to talk about Applejack to him. For whatever reason, he found it so very tempting. She was so close. It was right there. He felt the urge; it was like a hammering, smoldering barb under his skin- like sharp clawing behind his eyes. He always felt it; it sat in the back of his mind like a monster in a wooden cage, just waiting and watching with such calculating patience. It was so strong then, and he knew it would be so easy. She was smaller than he was- pegasi tended to be on the lithe side. She was quick, though; maybe he wouldn't be able to subdue her, but if he got even the flimsiest hold, he'd have the time to get in and out. Mana seeps into flesh like a sponge; he'd felt it for himself. He could see it right there: blue shaded over with red to make the faintest purple. Spinning madly about in vacant circles. The annoyance would be out of his mane forever. What a prize hers would be. Such a talented mare. The Bearer of an Element of Harmony. It was just a flash. A single moment of temptation. That's all it was. A temptation. And yet it made his eyes itch. He knew what had to happen. He wanted the anger- it was so sinfully intoxicating, but he knew. It... had to go. One breath. One second. Out and in. Two seconds. Orange fur. Breathy laugh. Soft lips and tender whispers. He knew he was keeping her waiting; he could feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and he could practically see her fidgeting behind his closed eyes. She was such a fathomless nuisance. Stupid rainbow dodo. He'd had dreams of her falling out of the clouds and going splat. Treasured memories, however fake. Three... stupid, freakin' seconds. And he could breathe. When Light opened his eyes, the fringes of his vision were blissfully clear of purple smoke, though he couldn't say for sure that there hadn't been any. Rainbow hadn't backed off, so if she'd seen, then she hadn't cared to comment or to paste a reaction onto her face. Lousy ingrate. Like pestilence on wings. A sigh built in his chest, one that he clamped resolutely down on. It was fine; everything was fine. He wasn't that angry. Not enough to murder Rainbow Dash, anyway. His skin wasn't clammy, and his head wasn't hot with enraged fervor. The urge was safely locked back up. No... in actuality, what he felt most strongly was a sensible smattering of weariness. With dispassionate candor, he eyed the hoof stiff hovering just above his nose, then raised his gaze to the increasingly sour-faced mare it belonged to. If she pouted any harder, her face was just going to pucker in and disappear. Not like that'd be a bad thing. The day when Rainbow finally shut up would be a great day indeed. He blinked, and with the sensation of a plaster mask shattering, he hooked the end of his frown up into a sneer. "You have... no idea what you're talking about," he muttered resignedly as he dropped his gaze, casually waving her hoof out of his face as he turned. He could only assume she'd jerked back to avoid touching him, as though he was hazardous or something. He tried his best, sure, but he didn't think his frown was that toxic. Of course, the anger was still there- for both of them- but he didn't let either sway him as he left the wall and walked away from Rainbow Dash with a dismissive huff. The mare let out a half-spoken squawk of consternation as he turned his sights to the other side of his home, where his bathroom door sat. His thoughts were finally catching up to his whirling mind, and the racing urgency of his sudden awakening was slowing by the second. He was still tired- still so unbearably sleepy somewhere behind the lace of adrenaline- but he didn't think he'd be getting back to sleep anytime in the next twenty minutes. If he was up, then he might as well make use of the time. With conscious effort to seem nonplussed, he made for his bathroom in an easy trot, somehow traveling the entire distance without Rainbow jumping onto his back to rip his mane from its roots. As he came to a halt in front of the door, laying his hoof on its knob, he chanced a glance back to see his colorful nemesis trailing after him with cautious, continuous beats of her wings: a distrustful leer on her face and her forelimbs crossed sternly over her chest, within which rapidly spun a soul sporting a deep, suspiciously lime sheen. A suspicious color, indeed. It had taken him a long time of telling obvious lies to decide what shade of green it was. He shook his head with a groan as he turned to the door, pushing it open and bravely peeking his head into the dark room. He spared short glances to the vague shape of his bathtub and sink... and the box of brown contacts laying on its shady, black-speckled rim. He balked at the implication of the object for a moment, idly sliding his gaze up to the shadowed face of the mirror and his... ugh, was that what he really looked like? Applejack was a brave mare indeed to kiss that colt. ...Wait... Light blinked, pushing the door further open and taking a short step into the bathroom as he peered closer. Had that been..? He shut his eyes, pressing them tightly together until he saw dizzy stars, then opened them once more. He blinked once more for good measure as he stretched his neck out, straining to make what he'd seen out through the deep well of shadows. Okay, so he had seen right. His eyes were red. That wasn't right. He swallowed as he took a step back, flicking his eyes to the left of his reflection, and to what sat just behind the open door. He'd figured it'd been in the bathroom since it hadn't been anywhere else, but... The thought that... okay, he'd already known about his eyes changing color, but only to blue. And as disconcerting as seeing that box of contacts was, seeing for himself that his face wasn't how he'd remembered it might've been even worse. Nightmare Moon had the means to walk around as him without any tell whatsoever. The thought of it just added a whole other layer of... unpleasant, creeping, crawling motes on the lining of his throat to think about- and that was on top of the mental abuse and years of torment. She'd used his body. And his body had changed. He shook off a shiver as he stirred his mana and lit his horn, wincing at the ache behind his eyes as his magical pathways blearily woke from their own slumber. The stern handle of his erstwhile broom came quietly after him on a sparkling river of red as he turned from the bathroom with a seethe, leaving its door ajar as he trotted past the curiously peering mare in the air aside him. How long had his eyes been red? When had he last looked at himself in the mirror? It wasn't very often he did; there was a reason the bathroom was the only room with one, and it wasn't like he did much grooming. He just didn't like to look at himself very much. Something about it just irked him. He'd gone through a phase where he'd thought he liked to, but then he'd kept waking up in the night with cold sweats after mirror-related nightmares, and he'd come away from the whole period with some horrible insecurities. He'd spent years compensating, and... he was pretty sure he still was. Aside from his varied traumas, he knew one thing for sure. Nopony had brought it up, and that either meant it was nothing to worry about or that everypony everywhere was completely blind. There was also the possibility it had only cropped up after he'd fallen asleep- but he was trying not to think about that. He had to keep up appearances, at least in front of Rainbow Dash. At least for the moment. He could feel her glare trailing after him as he maneuvered the incumbent, cumbersome cleaning implement out in front of him, heading for the disastrous middle of the room where what he could see of the machine's remains laid. Only a few steps away from the bathroom, though, a lilting breeze began to wash over his side. "I've got plenty of ideas about you, jerk," came the annoyed grumble near his ear that he didn't even bother turning to reciprocate. If Rainbow wanted to idle at his side like an annoying little pigeon and spout insults like a... him, then she was free to do so. He was awake, he was home, and he didn't have much else to do besides get yelled at, so he might as well clean in the interim. He could argue and sweep. He was multifaceted like that. He let the brush tilt down to the floor, beginning to drag it wherever it looked necessary as he idly worked his jaw. Aching, like everything else was. He clamped his teeth together, licking the backs of them anxiously for a moment and keeping his eyes down as he stepped back to resweep a spotty patch of floor. So much to do... He flicked a glance up, to the mare at his side. He only caught a flash of frowning blue under the whole other spectrum before he turned back to his work, and managed a word. "You know..." It was two words, actually, and that very thought may have been what brought the slow chuckle rumbling from his chest as he shook his head dismissively. "Actually, never mind." He wore a spontaneous, sardonic smile as he flew his broom closer, making a show of pretending to lean on the floating stick as he shot a glance at the grimacing pegasus hovering over him. "Tell me all about the devil you claim I am," he mocked with a grin, pushing as much sarcastic intent into his expression as he could as he leered back at the brash mare. "Maybe Cerberus will hear your pleas of my villainy and drag me off to Tartarus." At least he still had his humor to keep him warm, however frigid Rainbow's glare was. He forced himself to snicker at his own joke to make a point as he turned back to his sweeping, advancing forward to the upturned side of his desk. There was really no way to actually see where there may have been glass... he'd better just sweep wherever. As he'd begun to do when blue crept into the top of his vision, and he found it prudent to catch her in his peripheral as the upper half of the mare leaned over the side of his desk. "How about we start with that," she spoke hotly, drawing Light's confused stare to her as she impatiently knocked one of her crossed hooves to the desk's face. "Why're you always such a mule?" The hostile tilt of her eyebrows was enough to catch his attention for a moment, but only a moment. He turned his attention back to his sweeping- he tried, anyway- as he gave a disdainful sniff for the mare hovering over the edge of his desk. "I could say the same about you, Bow." The nickname came as naturally as rote as he swept forward- literally swept forward- while he did his best to skirt under the air hazard as he tried to make a general circle of broken glass. Oh, there was one of those gems. Should he save those? His broom suddenly halted, and more importantly, a painful swell of fuzz pulsed through his head that he was forced to close his eyes in a seethe to weather. Nothing worse... than magical feedback... bucking... Tartarus... With some difficulty, he peeled a suddenly stinging eye open to see a blue hoof pressed to the top of his broom and a frowning pegasus at its end, having crept forward to perch entirely on the edge of his desk like some kind of massive, ego-driven bird. "I told you not to call me that," she huffed mightily, narrowing her gaze a moment before she pushed the tip of his broom away, allowing him to clumsily grab it in a crooked hoof. "It creeps me out." He glared at her, contemplating for the briefest second jabbing her in the eye with his broom before he thought less of the effort, and set the brush back to the floor with a huff. Resuming his cleaning, he opened his mouth to snark back that that was why he did it before he was suddenly interrupted- "Hey! That right there!" -bringing a frown to his face as he straightened, meeting Rainbow's eyes as she tilted back on her haunches to point accusingly at him. "You're always making up those mean nicknames for everypony! That's not cool!" He had to admit, a tiny fraction of his attention was more or less focused on wondering how in the world she was keeping her balance on the edge of his desk. It wasn't even wobbling or anything! Her hooves just sat flat on the wood's surface in a neat row like some ultra boring variation of a tightrope act. He hated that he admired her ability. Ugh, he hated her. As the miraculously balanced pegasus seemingly tried to bore a hole in his head through sheer vitriol alone, Light drew his broom closer to himself, slumping slightly as he tilted his head off to his right, towards the door. "Rainbow..." he muttered, losing himself to a seethe for a moment before he caught himself, and placed a hoof to his head with a shake. Growing headache. "-I don't know what you want from me. That's just... what I do." Was it nice? No, but neither was he. How was it his fault if mocking ponies was one of the few things that brought him joy? She should blame his upbringing. Not like he pointed hooves at her for being an egotist. Lousy egotist. He glared towards the door for another moment before he remembered a better use for the lour, and leered to the side until he caught the mare sitting on the side of his desk. He matched her angered gaze in every respect as he bit back a frustrated growl. "What are you even doing here?" His grimace rose to a sneer as he jerked his chin forward. "Did you really bust my door down at the cusp of night just to tell me you don't like me?" He honestly had no idea. He'd known since earlier that day that she was angry at him for whatever reason, but he'd never managed to puzzle out the reason. Rainbow Dash was many contradictory things- slacker, savant, egotist, self-pitying- but she wasn't needlessly cruel. However rude she often was, and however mean-spirited her pranks could sometimes be, she had morals- and despite what he'd always assumed, they were evidently laudable enough to earn her an Element of Harmony. That had to count for something. So, however much resentment burned in her narrowed pink eyes- far too acidic for a hero like her- the necklace she wore just under it told a different story. Much as he loathed it, and her. The mare was silent for a moment as he remained steadfast in their heated staring match, working her jaw behind a disgruntled pout as her tense brows continued to furrow. Finally, she began to tilt forward, keeping her eyes on him as her perch dissolved, her wings once again unfurling to catch her with ease as her hooves alit on the air and she dipped, then leaned towards him. Her body kept even as she drew closer and closer, her head tilting down as she went until they were about eye to eye. It was then, as he entertained the thought of whacking her in the nose with the end of his broom, that she spoke again. "Why'd your eyes change color?" It was a matter-of-fact statement as much as it was a genuine question, and for how horribly Rainbow's sense of flair somehow failed her in that moment as she cut straight to the issue, Light still felt a cold shiver of unease ripple uncomfortably across his pelt. His every hair stood on end as Rainbow narrowed her eyes, staring deeply into his own as they widened, and he swallowed. Uh oh. Which did she mean? She meant the red color, dummy. What should he say? He... didn't even know what caused it, so how could he lie effectively? Actually, he didn't know much of anything about the change since he'd only found out a few minutes ago. He didn't know long it'd been since it happened, whether it was permanent, or whether it wasn't really just some cruel trick of the light. Maybe it was about the blue- though why wouldn't she have brought it up earlier? Too many unknowns! For a split second, Light thought about turning away; perhaps, if he hid his face, she'd not see how her question affected him, and he could make some clever deflection. Yeah, that was good... But then, as another second went by, he realized all too quickly how stupid that would be. Of course she'd already noticed; Rainbow happened to possess a gift for observation, perhaps even greater than his own. If he could tell that there was something besides anger driving her, then she could tell he was deflecting out of fear. One plan came and was thrown into the trash in a blink, and he knew he'd already taken too long. He'd used up the vague second of inherently righteous denial he'd had with redundancies; now, he'd have to improvise. This wasn't like bickering with Applejack; if he took too long, then Rainbow would take his silence as confirmation of guilt, and she would not be giving him the benefit of the doubt. It was fine. It was gonna be okay. All he had to do was let his impulse drive him. Don't overthink. Let the lies form on their own; let the lies come naturally. As he'd been taught. "Contacts," he answered stiffly- too stiffly. He forced himself to relax, letting his broom sway out from where he'd leaned it onto his shoulder as he turned away in a huff, making a show of casual dismissal for the suspiciously peering pegasus. He returned to sweeping without so much as a second look at Rainbow- pointedly, because he'd provided a reason not to look at her anymore. He was making an assumption, he knew, but the other option was to say something lame and risk falling flat. That was almost as bad as failing to provide any lie at all. That notion had been... impressed upon him. The smoky realm of dreams. Warmth on his back. Her purring voice. He took a breath with each uneven pass of his broom, letting his eyes dart about the floor wherever they pleased as he pretended to search around for glass. Really, he was doing his best not to freak out and drop his façade: a task made all the harder as Rainbow Dash leaned in around his shoulder to catch his gaze. "What, is that it?" she sneered in an obvious taunt- and Light had to bite his lip. Hard. Her hooves uncrossed from her chest to lay on her sides, leaning low to badger him even as he returned his burning eyes down to the ground. "You just woke up! You think I'm gonna buy that you wear 'em in bed?" Light begrudgingly let his lip escape from its torture, reveling in the mental feeling of frustration as he pushed his mana out, sweeping his broom forcefully forward without bothering to look if Rainbow was in the way. She'd move aside, he reasoned as he trotted forward, letting his broom angle to the side as he veered in a gentle circle around the overturned desk. The physical action was doing wonders for his mental agility; it helped take his mind off providing an outward front as he submersed himself fully into his own thoughts. He'd answered contacts for two reasons: it was the most readily logical answer, of course, but then there was the somewhat misappropriated truth of it. The best sort of lie was the kind based on a truth, to wit: he'd actually worn contacts before. And so, he arrived to the answer. Light tossed his head, forcing the nervous, anxious energy building behind his eyes down as he instead pasted a cocky smirk onto his face, swiveling his head around to the pegasus hovering in place with as much flourish as he could manage while coincidentally holding a broom. "I didn't say I wore red contacts." His smarmy retort landed on deaf ears as Rainbow immediately threw her head to the side with a scoff, so he went further, rolling his eyes and waving his hoof in her direction in his most outlandish manner. "I typically wear brown, and I'm not right now!" A total, bald-faced lie, but hopefully good enough to escape scrutiny. All he had to do was stay calm. Or stay angry. Either worked. With a tepid sense of victory brimming behind his fear-driven smile- because he was bad at taking his own advice- he turned back to his sweeping. A stray gem here, some dangerous shards of glass there... it was fine enough just to bunch it all up near the machine's dead husk for the moment. Such a sad sight in the shadow of the table with its strewn wires all crossed and tied together. It'd probably never return to operational status. As he scrutinized the machine, there was suddenly a weight on the top of his head. Vertigo overwhelmed him for a moment as the weight tilted, and he was forced to dip forward and turn on the tips of his hooves to stop from being pushed down altogether. His broom went clattering... somewhere- hell if he knew. He swayed to a halt after his spin, locking apparently red eyes with unfitting pink narrow with distrust. Rainbow withdrew the hoof she'd used to tilt him around- as he swatted at it- and raised her front half with her hooves splayed in either direction in a clear, angered affront. "Yeah, right!" she jeered, jerking her head down and forcing him to lean back as she shouted into his face. "You expect me to believe that all these years, you've been wearing contacts every time I've seen you?! Get real!" Light stepped back with a snarl, feeling around with a scan of mana for his broom- it'd make a good weapon- but finding little success in anything besides flattening his ears and spitting out a retort. "I'm not lying!" He jerked his head in the direction of his bathroom. "You were looking in after me, weren't you?" He forced out a heavy snort, poking his hoof accusatorily forward. "If you didn't see the box of contacts on the sink, then you're a disgrace of a weathermare!" Rainbow sucked in half of a gasp as her front raised back up, drawing it short as she straightened out and bared her teeth in anger. "What'd you say?!" she barked roughly, lowering again and poking her hoof forward into his nose. He growled at the first dull prod, grimacing deeper as he pulled away from her second attempt, but keeping in close range of her. Something brushed against his formless awareness, bringing a vindictive smirk to his face as he pulled his broom up from the floor in a haze of red, poking its wooden tip forward to stave her off before she could advance on him again. "You heard me!" he threatened- he tried, anyway- jabbing his broom forward again as she tensed towards him, forcing her back as he advanced a step, instead. Her position in the air grew markedly less confident as she was strangely aggressed by a cleaning utensil, bringing a nearly unsure tilt to her expression. He knew she was quick enough- impulsive enough- to just knock the pole away, and him shortly after, but it was possible the sheer oddity of it was throwing her off. That was fine; he'd take whatever he could get. With his agile broomplay driving her back to whence she came, Rainbow Dash retreated away into the air with a deeply conflicted grimace, laying nearly all the way onto her back as her wings picked up speed to keep her aloft- scattering all his sweeping work! Hey! He cried out in vein-bursting frustration as glass blew in every direction and gems clattered across the floor, subtly thanking his lucky stars that none of it had hit him as he levied his stare up, glaring intensely at the rainbow pest who was peering down over her shoulder with an uneasy, regretful wince. Well, that's what it read as, anyway; her soul was still mostly red. He doubted she really felt bad. He poked his broom forward again, drawing her attention back as she swept away from him in a few flaps, nearly to the opposite wall. "You're full of it, Bow!" he shouted after her, raising his broom above his head and shaking it aggressively as he nearly stomped his hoof down- then thought better of it. Still, he shook his head with a rough snort, indulging the growing rage squeezing his chest as he screamed. "Go ahead and drop the act! You don't care enough to ask about my stupid eye color- so why're you really here?!" As he vented his rage, the oddly expressive mare curled her hooves into her stomach, quietly seething his way from the opposite end of the room. Her face scrunched tighter and tighter until she shut her eyes, raising her forelimbs to her head as she roughly shook with a strangled grunt. An angry little ball hanging in the air. What was causing her so much distress? What turmoil was driving her, even as far as going to war with herself? It was obvious she wasn't here just to yell at him, but he just couldn't decipher anything past her mask of anger. Why was she really here? Rainbow's tightly wound pose of pure self-contradiction abruptly ended as quickly as she'd started as, suddenly, her head sprang out from its cage of hooves with a wholly unrestrained groan. He'd barely had the time to recoil before her head fell back down with her hooves along with it: a stormy veil of fury raging like a pink thunderstorm behind her narrow stare, strikingly accented by the vein-deep lines of her tight, twitching grimace. It struck Light then that, from her position just aside the open door, she was flying nearly perfectly in between the terse line of fading dusk light and the shade of his darkened home. Half of her stare shone from a pink pinprick out of the dark, while the other half lent gleaming orange light to the glowing reflections of her still, utterly impassioned eye. And her Element. Half of the red jewel reflecting a hundred points of glinting orange light like a raging wildfire, while the other side sat dull and inert in the recesses of the color-muted void. An impossible contradiction of opposing forces, clasped uncompromisingly together in unholy matrimony by an unyielding golden frame. It was an odd, nearly contrived time to remember that... he didn't know anything about the Elements of Harmony. Not their individual names, nor their bounds, or even the leagues of their power. He didn't know a single thing. What if she were to invoke it? How was such a thing done? Where once had been a fire-fueled anger lodged at home in his heart, there instead nestled something new. An inscrutable emotion of incontinent proportions that he had no time to sift, as the light-divided mare hovering across the room from him like a heralded angel of heavenly duality began to waver. She shifted an inch one way, then the other. The dark, then the light. Her glowing eyes following every tilt. And Light held his breath for every tenth of a second that adrenaline forced him to endure. Watching in hopeless agony, waiting in tragic trepidation to see which side would win out on the battlefield of blue fur. The light, creating a million new patterns of endless, individual beauty with every motion off the jewel, or the dark, simply rising and ebbing into the tide. The corona of her spinning, blue soul beneath it all, set apart from the madness. Pure and undisturbed. Beginning to glow with colors beyond emotion. She hesitated for what may have been a single second. And then she shifted to the right, into the light. Light heaved out a breath from the pit of his chest where it had been held captive as Rainbow Dash let her front half fall, paying no mind to what must have been entirely his own delusion as her hooves alit on solid air. Obviously, her wings caught her with a lilting series of flaps, but to his eyes, it really did seem as though she was actually standing on the air. And then she began to walk forward- making the actual motions of walking as her wings drew her closer, somehow at perfect pace with the ambling of her hooves. If he hadn't stunned himself to silence with an odd moment of undeserved reverence, then watching the spectacle of a pegasus mimicking trotting in the air consummately would've shut him right up. Of course, Rainbow's voice ringing out would've done that as well. "Fine. You wanna know so bad?" She'd kept a grim mask of resentment through the moments after he'd yelled at her, but then, she began to scowl. Not hatefully, nor was it all that resentful as she'd been only moments ago. It was only a vague expression of loathing, for the sheer statement of it. A physical statement that carried its message through the mare's advance, first over his desk and then down its side as she solidly stepped down invisible stairs. She didn't waver in the slightest from her stare or her pace as her hooves made contact with the floor, and simply continued to carry forward. Even as her soundless steps began to creak under her and her wings slowed to a halt and folded into her sides, she continued towards him at the same, intent pace. Until they were eye to eye with little but two hoof-lengths between them. Light Flow, standing in silent inspection of the mare before him, and Rainbow Dash, rapidly proving that she did have some kind of self-control as, below the ruby clasp of her necklace, the uncountable strands of her spinning blue soul began to shine. Every strand running with messy, liquid paints in every color of the rainbow. In that moment, she stood taller than he did. Rainbow Dash thumped her hoof to her chest, keeping it just below her necklace as her frown deepened with... resolve. "I got Loyalty." The clear tone of her voice rung out through his suddenly quiet cabin, and Light's heart skipped a beat as the proudly saluting mare before him let out an unsatisfied huff. "That means it's up to me to make sure my friends don't get hurt. You got that?" Light swallowed, his throat suddenly unbearably dry as that emotion- that inscrutable idea- began to rise in time with the take of his breath. It spoke to him; a growing compulsion was taking over his being. He felt it, every second of it. His fear of her Element. His anger towards her. His undeserved reticence, even in his own home. He remembered now. The Element of Generosity. Rarity had told him. That was how they were named. He was careful not to blink. Not to break that stare he held with the Bearer of the Element of Loyalty, for fear of seeing a memory of a throne room. Of seeing through the eyes of a colt just finding his legs for the first time in his life, and finding the scarred pupils of a dread Nightmare before him. It was only a memory, but as he cleared his throat, and as he spoke, he felt the deja-vu of having spoken before. Of what he'd felt then, as he felt it now. "So?" Courage. Light Flow stood tall against the threat to his way of life, as said threat finally split her resolute frown to quirk up into a scowl. "Yeah. So," she parroted back as she dropped her hoof from her chest. Making no motion beyond it, for there was little need to sully the message. She knew that, surprisingly. All she needed was a tone: suddenly low, and pointed. "I don't like how you treat Applejack." No longer were her eyes at all hooded; now, she met his with fire, her brow darkly drawn and deeply tense with pronounced intention. "I don't like how you treat anypony. I think you're a crappy friend, and a crappier pony." As Rainbow grew angrier and angrier, rapidly returning to her former indulgent state, Light only watched. Keeping a shell of passivity as her breath came recurrently deeper- hotter than before, while below it all, the beautiful spectrum drained from her soul. Every single strand of it that he could perceive withering of every color besides red. Blue and red. Almost purple. She'd fallen from grace in countable seconds. The hard heel of her hoof laid roughly onto his chest, and Light levied his gaze up from her soul. Her eyes were nearly black with antipathy. Two raging cesspools of bitter anger, the vitriolic likes of which he'd only seen in a mare... a madmare who'd gone far beyond the unspoken line of heroism. And when she spoke, her voice was a whispered hiss. "You don't deserve her. I want you to-" She didn't finish, of course. Heroes shouldn't spout dreck like she was, especially not in somepony else's home. Of course he was angry. Of course he was. But he still didn't expect it when he hit her. Light was not a strong pony- he wasn't even a candle's flicker next to his marefriend- and so Rainbow Dash was not sent flying or falling or even greatly stumbling away from him as his hoof flew out to soundly smack her cheek mid-sentence. Nor was the smack itself even very pronounced. If his ears hadn't been so painfully strained, he might've mistaken it for an innocuous whack instead. It actually almost hurt his hoof a bit. But Rainbow did lean away from the hit, and she actually took a step aside as a strangled gasp eked from her throat. Her head lolled limply forward as she took another step aside, even... even tottering for the briefest second as she leaned into the shade of his desk. If he was at all strong enough to warrant such an overblown reaction, he didn't stop to think on it. Instead, he soundly stamped his hoof back to the floor where it belonged, and spoke in his loudest, clearest intonation. "Applejack and I are in love." The assertion- that little assertion- may as well have been a second punch for how Rainbow reacted. First, she froze, then, almost before she'd even finished stopping her previous motion, her head whipped around to stare at him, her nearly ridiculously wide eyes only as striking as her subtly gaping jaw. The prismatic mare, nearly crouched low to the floor from his physical and... verbal assault, seemed to try to muster a response, though little came but petered groans and smallish whimpers. It was almost pathetic, especially sporting that red welt just below her eye. She looked... tinier than he'd ever seen her. It brought him some satisfaction, though not nearly enough to make up for the simmering anger he felt. It was a good anger, though. It consigned itself to his will; it bent to his whim. He was angry for a reason, and it was righteous. This anger was deserved. And so he graciously allowed it to creep into his tone. Towering as he was over the silently murmuring mare, his voice gained an undercurrent of power- of purpose. "Earlier today, she and I spoke about what happened yesterday, and about last night." He broadened his shoulders- was he suddenly taller? An aptly tough grin worked its way onto his face, all the more so as some kind of... something seemed to shatter in the mare's wide eyes. "We talked for a long time, and we got a lot off our chests." He nodded his head forward, taking pride in the motion. "I apologized." With his next words, something seemed to change about the crouching mare before him. Rainbow Dash almost always kept a sense of swagger about her; there was always a true sense of unthinking confidence behind her every action. He'd seen behind the veneer a few times, but she was otherwise genuinely self-assured to a borderline harmful degree. As he spoke, he couldn't see it. Not at all. "We kissed. Afterwards, I asked, and she said yes. She and I are dating." As her eyes widened even further, beginning to pronounce veins around their edges as glinting spots of wetness welled from their verges, he felt less vindicated than he'd expected. He'd had the sense that saying it would break her, for whatever reason, but he'd thought it would be sweeter. More satisfying. When Rainbow's head fell, and a muffled little whimper broke out from her audibly bit lip, Light wasn't able to smile. When she slumped, laying her forehead to the floor as the curve of her back arched, he couldn't bring himself to laugh at her. In the long few moments after his proud declaration of his and Applejack's courting, he simply sat where he'd once proudly stood. He remained quiet, only listening to the heavy panting of a very proud mare struggling not to cry, and not jeering as he once would have. In the low light of dusk filtering in through the door, he could only regard her crumpled, half-shadowed form with pity. He'd not known. Genuinely, he'd never known Rainbow had felt that way. He hadn't thought the two were all that close, actually. Applejack hardly ever spoke of her as anything but a nuisance, as he often did. He was fairly sure... no, he knew his marefriend didn't feel the same way. He supposed... it didn't have to be reciprocated. Actually... he knew what it was like to be in that situation. That had been him just recently. In silent reverie, he closed his eyes in a slow blink, and in that brief flash of darkness, he could see it. Brown fur instead of blue, and a red mane instead of every other color. A prone colt crumbling into himself in dejection. He wouldn't have had the strength to stop from crying. She was stronger than him in a lot of ways, and he'd always known that. He'd always figured. When a pony's soul was naturally blue, how was he supposed to tell when they were sad? Though the proceeding moments of inattention may have felt long to Light Flow, sitting squat on his haunches none too impatiently, he knew very well it didn't take very long for Rainbow to recover. She was strong like that. A proud, strong mare who could very well stand on unsteady legs and push herself up from the pits of despair. As she stood in her defiant way, her face still hidden behind a partitioned waterfall of colors, he stood with her. He chose to remain silent as the mare wobbled, steadying as she shook her head minutely, hawking as she... great, she just went ahead and spat on his floor. Barbarian. A broken heart was no excuse for poor manners. He tried not to grimace too resentfully as the mare jerked up from kneeling and to facing away from him, only raising her head with a drawn out sniff as soon as he couldn't see her face, and if he wasn't mistaken... Frowning, he leaned his head forward, perking his ear curiously. "Sorry?" If she repeated whatever she mumbled to herself, then he didn't hear it. Oddly, the mare only rolled her shoulders as, before his eyes, the delicately laid lines of her wings crept up and away from her back, taking delicate care to flap a single time and fan away as Rainbow raised one hoof, then oddly set it back down. He licked the backs of his teeth, outwardly frowning puzzledly at the downplayed actions of the pegasus who he'd more or less expected to tackle him for evidently stealing the mare she liked away from her, stopping his oral ministration after a moment as... something began to... change..? His fur was beginning to prickle. Painfully beginning to stand on end as the pressure in the already dry air began to rise- he felt the change in the back of his throat. He opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but found his words choked to a halt as the air over his tongue tasted... burnt. It tasted chemical. Like condensed heat. This had happened before. Before his unblinking eyes, and before it had even begun, he could see it again. He was back in the throne room; She was sat before him. They were speaking of the Elements. She wanted him to understand. Arcs of dying sparks bouncing down silver metal. A solemn frown. The air itself burning. Light that seared his eyes. The pressure. The flash. The explosion. The bang. The visions of the shortly-passed endless night faded with a blink, but the smell- the cruel anticipation in the air remained. The fading light of the trailing dusk that dared to creep in from his door was at once smothered as a blueish-white snap of light flickered across the room from the unseen front of Rainbow Dash, illuminating the cramped space of his home insofar as it dominated it. That one show of light alone was enough to make him hear his heartbeat, loud and hammering in his ears, and then, as a grating crack broke through the tense, suffocating silence, his ears went deaf to all besides the drowned-out echo of her voice. "I said..." Then, only the static rumbling of the growing light. The echoing, buzzing hum of rapidly intensifying electricity emanating from such a foully sordid source as Rainbow Dash, seeming all too much like the horrible epicenter of a steadily expanding maelstrom of rebounding streams of jagged plasma. A phenomenon grown and cultured in a literal flash. Her rear, pointed towards him, remained so little as dramatically shaded by an expanding wreath of electricity, growing more and more definition by the second, all wholly centered at the end of her hunched, hung head. It crawled about her upper half in mischievous, bouncing waves, forming shapeless, eclectic patterns just as often as they randomly sparked and withered. All the while, its radius grew and grew. Where it had first begun as mere sparks of light falling to the floor and dying in lame cinders, before his eyes were forming jagged, definable arcs daring to lick and lash at the air as they snapped apart ad infinitum. A terrifying show of static current held in place by the mare's stout hooves, somehow tamed to the ease of unerringly straying from flicking into the floor and catching alight. It only kept to her. She was its center. It all happened too quickly to react. Or, perhaps the sight of it all had struck him dumb and deaf to the world. For whatever compelled him, he would forever malign the cruel impulse that stayed his hooves for as long as they did. As they always did. As he always was. The ill-fated observer. Light kept dead-hooved and open-mouthed as Rainbow remained proudly still, her wings fanned to a pristine stress of feathers and the tiding ebb of her rainbow mane blustering about her head like an impossible refraction of light from where she stood at the middle of a perpetually shifting sphere of deadly electricity. Her posture far too relaxed for what she was causing, yet still leagues apart from calm. And all the tenser did she seem as she turned. As Light's eyes widened, and his every muscle clenched in a body-wide shift of tension- a true, conscious moment of realization- Rainbow Dash swept to face him in a single motion in which she leaned back and sidled all the way over his desk with a flap of her wings. Uncountable strands of held-together static current falling from her hooves and staining the air with crumbling flecks of smoke for every inch that she shifted. In his mind and to his eye, there was little but a single second of scene-wide sight. As his forelimbs pushed with all of their unconscious might to rear into the air, and he sucked in breath for a silent scream that would never be heard by any ear, the world seemed to freeze. A blinding white light reflected in two sets of wide eyes, framing the entire cabin in a single moment of pure iridescence. If one were looking in from the outside, they, too, would see the flash reaching out from the broken doorway in a futile attempt at escape. For it wished to escape as much as he did. A cage of perpetually rebounding electricity with its uneasy center cast around two blue hooves, raised with their owner into the air in pure defiance of fate. The unending pitch of the phenomena ever rising as the chaotic energy seemed to form sets of broken spirals around the limbs, rearing back in unspoken preparation to bring all beholden to a sight of pure, unfaltering control over a primal force of nature. Beautiful and deadly, as was the mare around which it wreathed. Her hide unsinged as the electricity crawled across its every breadth. Her mouth wide open in a shout. Her wings pitched long to curl around her form like an angel's cloak. Her wide, pink eyes clouded with such fury to the point of seeming unhinged. And the tears that crawled down her cheeks. Her hooves shot forward. It was only in the moments after that Light processed the words that she'd spoken- the shout that had preceded, or perhaps, accompanied her turn. The last thing he heard before the flash. The bang. The jolt. "-you had better take care of her!" And then, the world went white. It took a long time to understand what happened at that moment, or even in the moments after. He'd not blinked, even through the blinding light that seemed intent on burning his retinas out completely. Though it was difficult to make out through the intensely disorienting overlay of pure white, he'd actually seen the moment that a concentrated coil of lightning leapt from the end of Rainbow's hoof to piece the floor in front of him. A single snapshot of connection between herself and her target: less than a tenth of a second, if such a thing were possible. It took him a while to realize that he should be grateful it hadn't hit him. That she hadn't hit him. That she hadn't intended to. His forelimbs had been up; he'd been trying to rear away in some dumb excuse of an escape attempt. A fool like him, thinking he could outrun lightning, probably deserved the jolt. The sting. The resounding, overpowering resonance that shook his floor, that quaked through his back legs and up his spine. The unadulterated discharge of electric current. Every inch of his body subject to its fury all at once. He felt it like a convulsing impact in his bones. It was like an acidic fire in his blood. In his teeth, his eyes and his horn, it was like nothing he could equate it to. Like a sting. Like he'd been stung by a bee, in every inch of his extremities. And then it was gone. It was only that single moment after the flash, and the bang that he swore should've popped his eardrums, that he felt the shock. In the moment after, there only remained a dull ache. Like muscle cramps. He didn't know when he'd started sitting. All four hooves were on the floor, so he must've landed sometime after he'd reared. It was good that gravity was still in effect. Times like these, a stallion needed to remind himself of all the principles of physics just to assert some kind of understanding. He'd not blinked in a while. Or, maybe he was blinking too much. When he closed his eyes, he saw the same thing as he did when they were open, he was pretty sure, so it was kind of hard to tell. A hole in the floor a hoof-length away from his own hoof, surrounded by blackened char, against a burned-in backdrop of fuzzy white. No matter how he blinked or shook his head or looked anywhere else, it was all he saw. Like a mirage burned into all the scenery. It followed him relentlessly. So, he resigned himself to staring at it. Just until he could feel his extremities again. Just until he stopped tasting chemicals and acid. Until he stopped shaking. Until the world stopped shaking. The hole was jagged and roughly burned at its edges, about three inches both ways around. From his angle where he sat, he couldn't see very far down into it, but he could see a single, small beam of wood an inch or two into the depths. He was guessing it went down further. Maybe all the way to the cellar. Magically created lightning was not the same thing as natural lightning. He'd vaguely known that before, and now he had a tangible proof of concept, because he'd be dead if natural lightning had struck so close to him. It might've still punched through the floor, but it also would have fried him to a crisp several times over and set his house on fire while it was at it. He didn't know whether to say he was lucky to be alive given that his attacker had been the captain of a weather team well-versed in handling lightning of both varieties, but if he ever told anypony about what had just happened, he probably would. He could do with some prestige. There was still a discharge. Of such a controlled measurement with so little energy passing through him that he'd not even spasmed- he didn't think- but he'd still felt it. He'd never been shocked before. Was he in shock? Maybe. He was having a difficult time feeling anything but a dull, throbbing sense of discontent, and that about checked out with what he knew about shock. His ears hurt. The ringing had only started a few seconds after the initial impact, and now it was almost overwhelming. Like an endless school bell- no, three of them all overlaid. He wished he could go back to when it'd been quiet; when he'd not been able to hear anything. This was... making it hard to think. It felt like a monumental effort just to fold one ear back, and it was still with jerky, cautious movements. Feeling it cup against his head, however pleasant the physical feeling of eye-twitching discomfort, just wasn't enough. He had to flex it back up- then press both down. Up, then down again. As he performed routine calisthenics with his ears in the hopes that it would alleviate the ringing, he broke from his sculpted line of sight to slowly slide a glance up, to the edge of his peripherals. No blue. The smear of dirty green he could see from out of his door was growing darker. Dusk was almost up. He dropped his gaze, falling back to the hole that had trailed up with his glance. He could have Rainbow Dash arrested. What she'd done was tantamount to assault in any regard, hero status or not. Broken heart or not. He'd hit her first, but that was after she'd broken in. Literally. Broken in. Self-defense wasn't self-defense when striking back at somepony who had acted in self-defense. That was just aggravated assault. Light slid his gaze to the side, feeling somewhat like a creeping painting on a mansion wall as he did. He could barely see the corner of the room at all in the worsening dark, and with the light burnt into his eyes- still so bright- he didn't have a chance of adjusting. He could barely see the frame of the bathroom door, and that was barely. He'd impressed himself with that lie about his contacts. His marefriend would disapprove, but he'd only promised himself that he'd be honest with her. Maybe that itself was a bit dishonest, but what was a relationship without a little mischief? Feigning a ghost of a smile- feeling like it could shatter at any second- Light tipped his gaze to his other side. The vague shape of table legs, and a conspicuously large shard of glass propped against it. So much for getting something useful out of the time. The stupid rainbow bird-brain had scattered all the work he'd done, and now it'd be even harder to clean up. Who even knew where his broom had gone. He certainly couldn't peer into the gloom to find it as he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the outline of his bookshelf, and that, at least, lent a little authenticity to his smile. For all that Rainbow Dash could have destroyed, he was glad she'd chosen the floor. A sigh slipped over his lip as he bent his head down to his chest, then up against the back of his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing the white that robbed him of peace, then he opened them to the still vaguely white ceiling that was, in actuality, completely dark. Even through the returning sense of danger- oh, there were his feelings- he couldn't help looking back on the moment with some kind of despondent awe. That had been... truly spectacular. He'd seen electricity handled before- felt it before in a very similar antagonistic sense, but what Nightmare Moon had done somehow managed to pale in comparison to... eugh- Rainbow Dash. That made him feel gross to think. He was a stranger to pegasus magic, he could admit. A very distant stranger- basically all he knew was that pegasi blended elements of earth pony and unicorn magic. They were the in-between. Other than that, he knew they could manipulate weather and control electricity, as had been succinctly demonstrated to him by a mare on the verge of committing murder out of jealousy. What a show she'd put on... The strings of jagged light, seeming so impermanent and fragile. The composure. The lightning's contiguity to the mare's limbs, like loose sleeves of shifting electricity. The sound of buzzing. The chemical smell. The feeling of total despair. Another sigh slipped from his lips, altogether more dreamy than his last. Call him a romantic lunatic with odd fondness for mares who had come close to killing him or had actually done so, but the sight of Rainbow Dash wearing an interlocking grid of lightning around her body as she turned to throw it at him may well have been one of the coolest things he'd ever seen. Like a winged spirit of nature itself. Still, he hated her for it, and for a dozen other things that had happened today. Whatever lame attraction he'd once felt towards her was over. She was pretty, but he just couldn't ignore what a mule she was anymore. Actually, she deserved a worse word. Rainbow Dash was a certified ass. His hooves found themselves under him by some gods-forsaken miracle, and he actually managed to stay standing, against all odds. His hooves were... wobbly- and he had to take a deep breath- but he was fine with shaking out the jittery nerves, for the most part. He didn't even stumble or anything. On his way to the front door, though, he felt as though he should, at least in homage. He sighed again- somewhat of a habit- as he stood over the mangled carcass of his door. Not that it was scarred or anything, but it was suitably desiccated. It'd gone far beyond the expected punishment threshold for any piece of furniture, and it'd finally paid the price. For the briefest moment, he considered trying to get it up off the floor. Perhaps leaning it halfway across the open frame to mimic closing it as much as he could, or to keep some of the weather out. He'd always been fond of half-done pretenses, after all. It was a whim that came as quickly as it went, and he soon turned away with a mournful parting glance over his shoulder. He was in a realistic mood at the moment, and he knew he'd sooner spark a stream of electricity of his own than conjure up the strength to lift the Tartarus-bound thing. Trotting across the room, his eye settled on a great many things he could- probably should occupy the time with. There was his broom, carelessly tossed aside. He could finally finish sweeping. His overturned desk was overdue to be righted, he knew. There was a loose stack of books next to his bookshelf that... somepony had gathered up- who'd been in his house? Had it been Rarity? It had probably been Rarity. There was still a knife stuck in the wall. He needed to find the dustpan. It was probably time for a shower. When Light pushed the door to his bedroom open, he'd already decided to push it all back. Later. Tomorrow. In the morning. Sometime that wasn't right now. It was only a few steps to the bed. It was only a few seconds that he stared down at it. After he'd collapsed onto it, he only spent the bare minimum time required to think back on everything that had happened between him and Rainbow Dash. The pegasus with an aberration for a mane and an unfair amount of skill in her race's magic. The wielder of the Element of Loyalty- if that was even how the titles worked- who had, from his inspection, barely qualified for the title. His undisputed attacker, who had broken his door and put a hole in his floor. As the clinging tendrils of slumber began to drag him deeper, he thought again about whether he should report her to some authority. He could easily have her thrown in jail, and he'd never even have to tell anypony he'd been the one to turn her in. Her crimes spoke for themselves. A smile crept over his face, half-hidden behind the blanket he laid face-down on. On the other hoof... it'd probably pay off to have some blackmail in his pocket... > Chapter 60 - Awake > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Light Flow opened his eyes, he found... nothing. Nothing looming over. Nothing baring its teeth. Nothing lurking in the shadows. Awareness pressed in. Sensation reasserted itself. He snorted back a film of built-up phlegm as he bent forward—oddly forward—to reach a sitting position in the middle of his bed, even though he was fairly sure he'd collapsed face-first on its edge. He blinked away sticky flecks of sleep, sweeping a tingly hoof up to ruffle through his mussed mane as he muffled a yawn in his throat. When his limb fell to the sheets, a powerful shiver tugged at his nape, and his next breath came short. Why wasn't he in the position he'd been in when he'd gone to bed? Someone had moved him. Who'd been in his house? Was he in danger? Three hyper breaths came and went in the short time it took for him to blink again, and as he did, his next breath was slower. Another blink, and he counted the milliseconds it took for his head to hit the pillow. His third exhale was calm as his eyes slid to lid lazily on the perpetually shaded ceiling of his bedroom. A vague memory, half-obscured by a foggy veil of sleep, flitted by. Tossing in his sleep, unthinkingly reasoning with his sense of pragmatism that he didn't want to wake up yet. He'd crawled forward to hug his pillow, drifting away with the self-reassurance that he'd try not to drool on it, already come to terms with the knowledge he'd probably fail. Ordinary. Nothing. His eyes slid shut, and he blew out a long, unbroken stream of built-up air as he curled his forearms into his chest. It had been his first instinct at waking up to hold his breath—to find something wrong. Something to freak out about. Everything was normal. There wasn't anything to freak out about. His mouth drew shut, settling into a thin frown. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up again, leaning on his hooves this time. He scanned the blank opposite wall for a moment, bracing for the ache as he slid forward on his butt towards the edge of his bed with... a little bit of surprise that there wasn't any. His mind must've still been waking up. He'd feel the regular pains and aches any moment now, surely. The floor peeked up at him from his bedside, while Light grimaced unpleasantly back. He counted off in his head, rolling over onto his hooves on two instead of three to let the expected ache come as a shock, only... as he pushed himself to unsteady hoofing on the springy surface of his bed, there wasn't any ache. One good hoof forward, then four on the floor with a genuinely pleasant jolt through his legs—his legs that weren't screaming in agony. He didn't feel shaky and wobbly, his skin wasn't clammy, nor did his bones feel bruised and battered like he'd gone six rounds with an angry Manticore and gotten back up for another. When Light fell off his bed to land on his hooves, his hooves felt fine. His body felt fine. Nothing hurt. He wasn't in pain. With a blink, cool air rushed in over his tongue as he let his mouth gape open, taking a moment to listen... and hearing nothing but quiet rustling. Light peered over his shoulder, first over his messy, black bedspread, then to the window at the bed's other side. The panes were bright; it was morning. The four dew-clouded panels of glass graciously allowed a shy little ray of light to flicker in and lounge over the black surface of his dresser, as though the light itself was relieved and relaxing. The air tasted fresh. Cool and earthy and kinda like dirt, like it always was near the Everfree. It was the scent of musty pines and cloying nettles—of thick greenery, so pungent that it even penetrated the walls of his home. But it was fresh. Untainted. The air smelled... clean. His mouth felt clean. Light Flow stood in the middle of his room next to his bed, unmade from his recent slumber. The risen sun was shining in through the overbearing Everfree, lazily lighting what it could find of his room. The plain, brown walls of his forest-side cabin did as little as they were meant to in muffling the quiet sounds of nature, however dead that nature actually was. His ruby red eyes flicked one way, then the next, and finally came to a stop on the wall opposite him. He didn't hurt. His head felt open and clear. His pelt felt a little scratchy, and his nose was a little clogged. Regular things. Regular feelings and regular sensations. He'd forgotten what it was like to be well. To be okay. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Swish. Brush. Sweep. For all the onomatopoeia he could think of for sweeping, none of them really actually sounded like a brush on wood, and for the life of him, he couldn't think of one. Not even with a clear head. Light had stood around in his bedroom for a while—not just standing, actually. For judgement's edification, he'd done quite a bit while he was there. He'd... made his bed, and... checked his drawers, and.... Okay, screw trying to convince himself; there wasn't anything to do in there. His bedroom was as sparse as scarce and scant, and maybe another word he couldn't think of. He'd found his cape, at least. The tattered, vomit-doused remains of his cape. Light looked up from his efforts to work his broom both into and out of the corner of his sitting room, towards his desk that he'd made an effort to right. It was back against the wall where it belonged, and on its top was where he'd laid the sad scrap of fabric to rest. It was half torn in... half, and the embroidered skulls on its hem were all either shredded or stained beyond recognition. The whole thing was functionally unattractive, now. His gaze lingered for a moment, and because he felt like he should, he gave a sagging sigh of pity. Then he straightened and continued sweeping. Into the corner and scraping along the wall to nab some tricky stray glass dust, and away he busily swept it into the pile in the middle of the room while mindfully avoiding the little hole in the floor. After having been ready to drop for so long, it was nice to have to work his system, and to really feel the steady thrum of his mana humming in his veins. He didn't feel great about his cloak, but it wasn't like it was the first he'd ruined, and—hey, Rarity was the Bearer of the Element of Generosity, now, wasn't she? She'd sewn him a free replacement out of pity once before, and he was not above victimizing himself to the fullest extent of the law to get free stuff! By his name of Light Flow, on his secondary talent for whining, he would get a new one oh so Generously free! With a satisfied, blissfully guilt-free sigh, he swept the bits of glass he'd been intent on into the sparkling pile of hazards, and let his mana trickle away to grab his broom in the crook of his hoof. Resting his hooves on it and cradling the implement in the cleft of his shoulder, he swept his gaze across his sitting room. It was looking better, even after the measly thirtyish minutes he'd been cleaning. His desk was where it should've been; he'd stacked his books—what books weren't ruined, anyway—where they should've been next to his full-to-bursting bookshelf and around his desk, and his door... Light's content smile dipped down. It was hard to stay marginally peppy or blissfully ignorant when he was still having to skirt mindfully around his very dead and soon-to-be-buried door. The poor thing. Cut down in its prime, face-down in its own splinters. He didn't know if the other doors in his house knew, but he was not looking forward to breaking the news of their relative's breaking without just breaking their wooden hearts. A few hoof-lengths away from the head of the kicked in door bathed in the mourning light of his open doorway, Light gave the formerly valiant defender a little nod of respect. It hadn't ever stopped anypony from coming in, but at least it'd made things more dramatic. He loved it for that, if nothing else. He kept a solemn frown for another moment before he really couldn't anymore, and a quiet snrk escaped from his pursed lips. Shaking his head good-naturedly—because he was getting a little silly—Light stood with his broom and lit his horn. Mana began to churn from that special place inside him, and he exulted in the pure feeling of total fullness it brought to him. Like pleasant warmth filling his every vein, from one end to the other and another, his entire body flushed in a gradual journey of crossing wires from his stomach up and up and up... Red light seeped like gaseous liquid from the spiral line scored around his horn, filling and thickening until his skull's extremity felt thick and pressured, and at once, it expanded, and his horn blossomed with manifest mana. A sense of cramped feeling within feeling crept into the back of his mind as he reached out from that formless area behind his eyes, and wood, solid and sturdy, pressed back. Light stood as his broom lifted from his hoof, held halfway up its length by a steadfast haze of red light. It was depressing just how disconnected he'd begun to feel from sensation. Back then, and even for the past two years, channeling mana had been like flipping a switch for a definite state of off or on. Now, he could so clearly remember that it had once been so much more. The... other night, it'd been like that for a moment, but then... He flicked a glance up to his broom, keeping his gaze steady for a moment before it creased with concentration. He hefted the weight of the broom up above his head, while its weight hefted in his mind. Pressure. The most natural, unnatural pressure levied on his brain. He'd been very tired. After a while, it had all just felt... the same. The monotony of a broken mind. His broom tilted down to the floor, and as he dragged its end forward, he could feel the reverberations—so strongly that he could swear they came just shy of rattling his teeth. Everything had been so much more vibrant since he'd woken up this morning. When he stepped forward, skirting the pile of glass to make his way to the room's adjunct corner, he could feel how the wood floor had the slightest amount of give under his hooves. The space under his house was hollow, of course. He had a cellar, and he could tell that. When he sidled up to the wall, nestled right into the unused corner between the hearth and where his bookshelf stood, he could clearly smell the wafting musk of stone and soot. The cloying scent of sick, as well; there was no use in ignoring how the large, stone-encircled pit of ash bore its many black stains. He spared them, and directed towards himself, a glance of short regret before he moved up to the corner. He swept his broom in, then again, and on the third pass he let his broom carry too far to knock into the wall. He closed his eyes. The reverb in his mind. The hollow sound. The tells of a room on the other side. He'd been so tired... for so long. Light's eyes slid open; his doe-eyed stare idly scrutinized his work as he gathered what dust and dangerous contaminants he could, watching how the film of grey on the floor streaked with each sweep. It was so indicative of his general attitude towards cleaning, not to mention the location. Of course there'd be so much extra schmutz next to the hearth; it wasn't like he ever maintained or even used the glorified conversation piece. It was probably all full of brambles, anyway. It was some trouble to work the dust out of the corner, but he worked it all the same, leaving the corner mostly clean—at first or second glance—as he shepherded his molecular flock towards the pile. He already had eyes for the next corner as he tidied the new addition with the rest, and made his way towards it in short order. His kitchen nook, with all its stark facets. The little mana-battery powered fridge that he'd never actually bought a new battery for; the oven—in similar neglect—next to it; the two short, dust-caked counters; and the slightly out-of-order wicker cabinet next to them. Compact, utilitarian, and, most importantly of all, unused. He'd never been very big on eating—not on an extravagant level, anyway. Most things just tasted kinda like ash to him, and his diet pretty much consisted entirely of apples. Light stopped from where he'd been raising his broom to stupidly sweep it over the counters, letting the ill-conceived plan hang and fall along with his broom as his mind skipped off the record. Then a dopey smile grew over his face. The apples his marefriend would always bring him, because she loved him and cared for him and worried that he'd starve or something. So impetuous. So aggravating. Light sighed—a dreamy, oblivious sigh—as his mana once again drained from his magical pathways and he leaned forward to support himself on his broom. He hugged it to his shoulder, and sure, it hurt to suspend himself on the pole, but what could he say? He was in love. Applejack. Beautiful, annoying Applejack. Always checking in on him and bringing a box of apples for him even though he always told her not to and called her names for doing so. She'd throw one at him, and he'd chase her out with a bump on his head and bloody murder dripping from his lips. The easiest thing in the world. Life was always so much better when she was around. He wished she was here. He blinked bubbling hearts out of his eyes and straightened with a contented, slightly saddened murmur. He took his broom in hold of his mana once more—the wonderful feeling of channeling—and refocused his interest on his task. He mused an idle little pondering to himself as he swept his broom into the side of the cabinets, letting the wood rattle on the oven's front as he messily swept the utensil all about his kitchen area. He missed her. Yeah, it'd only been sixteen hours, if even, since they'd last seen each other, but her absence just made his heart grow so much deliriously fonder! It didn't help that they'd left their interaction on such a cliffhanger, with so much unsaid... Pursing his lips as he peered down to try to see any glimmers of glass in the wake of his broom, it occurred to him that he was heading towards the sad edge of an emotional cliff. He almost turned back, but what the heck. What if things changed? It'd been a feverish moment back at the river for both of them, and they'd both come so close to dying, so what if she changed her mind? What if a good night's sleep cleared the fog of delusion from her mind? What if, when next he saw her, she looked back on it all as... ...some kind of mistake? He nearly stopped. Halfway between turning to push his newly swept spoils towards their proper place, he nearly lost the will. He didn't. He didn't falter, either. He swept right on towards the center pile. Because he believed in Applejack. In their love. He'd been there, and he'd felt it. He'd felt her, and how she'd felt. He knew it was real. The glimmer in her eye as she smiled at him, and the flutter in her voice. The pulse of her heart through their held hooves. The press of her lips on his. The rosy hue of pink painting her soul. There was no doubt. He wouldn't betray what they shared by doubting her. After a moment, Light realized he was just standing and smiling at the pile of glass and dust he'd gathered. He may have felt clear-headed and clean-minded like he hadn't in years, but it seemed as though he wouldn't ever quite shake off that little bit of core nuttiness. Light considered that for a moment, eventually shrugging and turning around to retrieve the dustpan from where it sat hearth-side. Nuttiness was flavor. Without it, he'd just be really dull. His brain begrudgingly made space for the second weight pressing down as the dustpan raised on a mist red river, and Light turned back to press the receptacle to the floor. It was... a big pile of disconcertingly accumulated dust and grime, not to mention all the glass. The next obstacle for him to overcome. He hoped he got it done before the end of the day. His broom at the ready, he began to coerce half or so of the mound into the pan a little bit at a time, taking a moment as he did to glance up towards his desk. Next to his cloak, making a stark impression amidst the obligatory stacks of books, he'd gathered up the metal remains of Bon Bon's strange machine. The arcanic crystagram, as Twilight—lousy, know-it-all Twilight—had called it. He'd wrapped up its snapped wires, gathered up its scattered gems, and tried his best to unbend it in half from when it had hit the floor. For how evidently fragile the breadbox-like thing was, he kinda understood why society had apparently left it to be antiquated. It made him wonder why Bon Bon even had it. Was she not getting enough funding for her ultra important mission of stalking a teenager? Hemming to himself, Light returned his attention to his work, raising the full dustpan and turning to the open door a moment later. He didn't really think he'd actually get anything out of keeping the somewhat trauma-laden box, but he was nothing if not redundant. When it came to safety, he meant, not- oh... whatever. Leaving his mental gaffe behind and keeping his new predilection for life in mind, Light did his best to not completely ignore his surroundings as he emerged from his home into the morning air. It was a little difficult—though he did take a satisfying moment to suck in the fresh air—because, all in all, nature was pretty unobtrusive. He didn't really have to focus on it. As he turned from his door towards the Everfree, broom and heavy dustpan in tow, he would've had to try to ignore the spiky grass poking into his frogs. It was like that near the forest; the grass may have been more or less green, but it was actually pretty dead, and the ground under it was hard. The breeze was alive and well, though. No birdsong near the cursed woods, but the wind howling through the boughs was a nice replacement. A little eerie—he'd never really noticed, before—but he actually enjoyed the aesthetic. Made him feel a little like his old self. He cantered up to the hoof of a tree, about in line with the very edge of the darkly-shaded forest, and maneuvered his dustpan forward. He stuck his tongue out and blew a little raspberry as he jerked the receptacle forward, his ear instinctively flicking at the heavy sound of waste flumping into a bush. It was fine. The Everfree might've been 'alive' or whatever, but it hadn't killed him yet, so it probably didn't care. If the forest had eyes, it very well may have glared at the careless unicorn as he turned back to his home and shortly disappeared into it. Further, it may have rolled its nonexistent eyes in exasperation as he reappeared a few moments later with the rest of his trash. What a prick that unicorn was. It was true that the Everfree's perspective was a figment of his own imagination, as was the self-inflicted insult, but it was sort of funny, and it did make him feel a little better as he followed suit with the rest of the grime he'd gathered. Into the forest and out of his life; after his garbage-based projectile disappeared into the darkness of the forest's bounds, it may as well have been nonexistent. The Everfree was nice and convenient like that. Provided one didn't get themselves disposed of in its endless maze, it was as convenient a dumping ground as it was a hiding place. Actually, the two kind of intersected. If he ever had... say, a spare dead body he didn't otherwise know what to do with, then he wouldn't have to look very far to find a place to toss it! The admittedly creepy thought brought a fleeting smile to his face. A smile that predictably died in favor of a curious frown as his ear perked, and he turned to the growing sound of rumbling coming from somewhere out in the plains. His eye instinctively caught on the burned tree husk some distance away, but he soon found more interest in the all-too-conspicuous wooden cart that had already passed it on a path towards him. Just as soon, he took note of the two ponies it brought along: the... stallion at the cart's head and the... mare trotting alongside him. An earth pony and a unicorn, about the same height, wearing orange, denimish uniforms cut off at their barrels and forearms, complimented by matching purple hoofball caps. Sort of beefy-looking; their expressions were kinda peevish; their pace was as quick as was probably possible; and the hues of their souls—one brown and the other magenta—were both a bit... muddy. Not like Bon Bon's, but more purple and orange mixed together. He was guessing... carpenters. Not that it was all that hard to figure out; the cart the stallion was pulling was full of rattling wood, and what he could already hear sounded like clanking tools. They seemed annoyed. He licked the backs of his teeth, chewing on a thought as he flicked a quick glance to his open—no, broken door. He could... no, he really couldn't. What in the world would hiding accomplish? At best, it would be an unnecessary provocation of the as-yet unexplainable strangers, and that was potentially dangerous. It wasn't easy, but Light tore his gaze and his mind off the potential for running away with a sigh, setting his broom and dustpan on the grass beside him and letting his mana flow die down. He stepped forward, giving the Everfree a wistful glance over his shoulder before he picked up his pace and trotted to greet the approaching duo. He only wondered what he owed the displeasure to. They couldn't have gotten lost, could they? What maniacs would trek so far out of town just to see him? They must've been lost. It was a question he intended to ask, perhaps word for word, as the material-laden cart rolled to a halt, as did the ponies to whom it belonged. Standing before them, he was just a teensy bit intimidated that they were both so obviously muscled, and they were both taller than him. They didn't look all that pleased to see him, either. What if they ganged up on him? Could he defend himself? What if he couldn't? ...He needed to calm down. Luckily, he was more than predisposed to wearing a mask of placidity, and he did so excellently as the stocky grey stallion with the equally stocky grey mane turned in his harness to unbuckle himself from the cart. His partner, the somewhat disheveled blue unicorn whose muzzle looked as if it had been dipped in a touch lighter shade of blue paint, stepped forward in his place. "You Light Flow?" she asked—or maybe growled. It was hard to tell, what with her gravelly voice and definite air of hostility. It was kind of heartwarming in a weird, nostalgic way. He stared for a bemused moment at the genuine invocation of his name before he shook it off and forced his eyes to lid nonchalantly. "Depends," he hedged, quirking an eyebrow noncommittally as he made a show of looking the mare up and down. He held his gaze on her face for a moment as it began to twitch with anger, and finally, he jerked his head up a little. Street. "Are you guys here to extort me?" It was kind of his attempt at a joke, but all it seemed to do was sharpen the glimmer of aggravation in the mare's eye, while even the stallion looked up to give him a funny side-eye before turning back to his harness. He had to bite back a self-pitying lour as the mare snorted. "We was wonderin' what kind of nutjob'd live out here in just about the crack of the Everfree, but you sure fit the bill, mister." The mare's dull, slightly Manehatten-accented retort had Light raise his other eyebrow, and a moment later, a chortle. He tried to cover his expression of genuine humor behind a hoof, but by the way the mare rolled her eyes, he was sure he'd failed. He could hardly help it; it was pretty funny that she'd labelled him so effectively, not to mention he'd just gotten done calling himself a nut. It must've been obvious. Regardless of his mirth, the stallion threw the mare a glance as he finally unhooked himself and turned to sidle around the cart. "Don't fly off the handle, Nail," he ground out—or he might've been speaking normally; it was just so hard to tell with these two. The mare, Nail, shot him a glare as he rounded the cart's side and reared up onto it, speaking again as the poor thing half-buckled under his weight. "We got a job to do, so keep it friendly." Nail, if that was her real name, gave a snort of her own. "Yeah," was all she gave as a response as her horn poking up out of a hole in her cap lit with an orange haze, and a flap in the front of her uniform opened. Now that he was closer and not otherwise occupied, he could spy a little label stamped on its front in purple text. 'Hammer n' Nail n' Associates' So, with the mare, Nail, that either made the stallion Hammer or Associates, and he had a bit of an inkling which it might've been. He focused out of the tiny text as Nail pulled a folded up piece of paper from her breast pocket, unfolding it with a busy grumble. Her eyes scanned over it as she raised her gritty voice again. "We got a work order from a mare named... Bon Bon, says there's a door needs fixin'." Light did his best not to double take—spectacularly failing—as the mare lowered the paper to hit him with a dry stare. "So, there a door needs fixin' or what?" He shut his mouth to stop himself from spewing a slurry of incomprehensible gibberish, and instead focused on breathing. In and out. One, two. Deep breaths. Bon Bon... had come through for him?! Yesterday... he'd snarked at her that she oughta pay for his door, and- sure, she'd said something along the lines of yeah, yeah, whatever, but he'd never really thought she'd... she'd never seemed like... he'd thought she was... The squabbling voices of tandem confusion and discontent rose in volume for a moment, until a tiny, tenuous voice rose up on a quavering warble, and like Celestia parting the clouds, the din quieted and swept away. It was a little voice. A little, angry voice. This didn't change a thing. And despite all the conflicting whorls of emotion making war in his head, that made sense to him. Light blinked and refocused on the mare—on Nail. On her blue-furred, blue-tipped muzzle set in a pursed-lip frown, all a ways under her orange cap doing its best to contain a mop of straggly cyan mane. Blue eyes and a magenta soul; short, mussed fur; and a nail half bent out of a board on her flank. Observation helped to calm him down. He was alright. Anachronisms just... wigged him out, was all. Bon Bon wigged him out. He was fine; he was perfectly awake. Light blew out a short breath, and mentally gathered the scattered notation of his mind. He decided to play it safe, drawing back with a suspicious leer after a moment with his tail curled around his leg defensively. He had to make sure. "I don't have any money." The mare snorted. "Sucks to be you." She waved the paper she still held into his face, and though it was tempting to freak her out, he cautiously took it in a hoof. "This job's all paid up, so that don't matter." Once in his hoof, he lit his horn to then float the paper closer for inspection. Yadda yadda, technical info, boring stuff... yep, there it was. Amount due: a number that made him happy to see, and under that, the signed name of his nemesis slash stalker. He passed the paper back to his hoof, then back to the mare looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. She was lucky he cared enough to spare her the apparent discomfort of his mana, otherwise, he'd be looking at a snarky mare with a whole lot less snark, and that would've been as vindicating as Tartarus set free. He slid his gaze past her, to where her cohort was... already at his door and inspecting the frame. Huh. He droned out a bemused syllable for a second, drawing Nail to look back with a disgruntled murmur as he found his tongue. "Well... there's the door, I... uh, guess." He focused back onto the mare. "You can go ahead and-" ...and she trotted away. She promptly turned on a heel, walked around the side of her cart to retrieve something from it, and then joined her partner in assessing the doorframe's condition. Her wordless dismissal left him... very slightly dismayed as he chewed on his lip, but somewhere in the back of his head, he was a little relieved. Despite the mare's obstinance, it was a professional encounter, through and through. Simple and clean. He had to relish the little things in life, like not abruptly and very expectedly becoming embroiled in a tangled web of emotions and entanglements with every stranger he met. Come to think of it, he was rapidly growing more appreciative of a lot of little things. He spared a moment to... just appreciate the situation he was in. He took a deep breath, and after a moment, he craned his head up to the bright, blue, perfectly cloudy sky. It was getting to be noon soon, which only lit the picturesque scene of the sky with ever more beautiful rays of sunlight. With the subtle sound of grass swaying and trees humming in the breeze, it truly seemed completely idyllic. He liked looking at the sky, and he liked the feeling of fresh air filling his throat. The warmth of the sun on his pelt, too, and the endless rustling of the trees behind him. The earthy scent of grass and mud. Life was so wonderful. A true gift. There were so many reasons to live everywhere he looked. As Light kept his neck bent back and his eyes on the sky, his instinctive smile began to hue a little wistful. No matter how beautiful it all was—and it was—he couldn't stop his mind from straying. Every moment he'd been in his house, even feeling so clean as he did, there lurked a dark secret just underhoof. It was almost like the Dash-donated hole in his floor was a reminder, and for as stark as he still remembered the flash to be, it was hard to forget. That there was a mare who he'd robbed of peaceful days in the sun. Even then, her heart beat inside of his own. He could feel it. Light let his eyes drift closed with a soft sigh. A sigh such as this was a true testament of melancholic reminiscence. The guilt of it all. It was like remembering a horrid memory of a past self long dead and buried, as mortifying as it was truly regretful. Why did it see fit to surface, then? Why did it ever? Because life itself was an invitation to the past—of that which was dead and buried. As long as the living remembered, nothing truly died, and even the sinful act of forgetting wouldn't cause the pure reality of such things to cease. Even if he forgot, and even if he ran, there was still a body under his house. There was a soul not his own inside of him. Running wouldn't make it better, and neither would forgetting. When he opened his eyes, there was a cloud over the sun. A wandering, fluffy reminder. The sight made him smile a little for how fitting it seemed. It was almost as if the heavens themselves were corroborating his thoughts. What had occurred to him, then. Maybe it was time to stop staring at the sky and go own up. Light rose on all fours, shaking a growing cramp out with a shiver and turning just as promptly to where he'd laid his cleaning tools. He cantered to retrieve them, lighting his horn with a thought and having them follow along after him as he turned again to make his way to his front door. The workponies Bon Bon had apparently sent over were still peering and prodding at his doorframe, and Nail had even pulled over a toolbox that sat in the grass beside them. He was assuming it was Nail, anyway, since she was the one holding a measuring tape to the corner of the frame. Could've been indicative. Maybe. He eyed her, then her partner standing just inside of his home. Luckily, he didn't have to raise his voice to catch the grey stallion's eye, who then none-too-subtly let out a sharp whistle that actually kind of hurt his ears. While he grimaced and pressed a hoof to his stinging ear, Nail looked up from her measuring, first to her partner, then back at him from where she was kneeling on the grass. Her expression never left annoyed, but he could imagine that it hit the second stage then as she growled—yes, actually growled. She rose with an assuredly indecent grumble and stepped back, emphatically gesturing at his open door with her tape as her partner stepped back into his house. He averted his eyes from the scorching gaze of the irate carpenter as he dipped his head in thanks, trotting forward with a courteous murmur as he crossed the threshold into his home. As the darkness crawled over him and he passed the stallion, he felt the stallion move back in behind him. Light jerked a glance back to see the both of them returned to work, then his gaze landed on the door on his floor. "Hey, um..." He caught their attention as he turned, drawing them towards the fallen portal with a discreet hoof gesture. "I... don't know if you're gonna need to put in a new one, since... this one is pretty beat up, so..." He trailed off, pursing his lips as he took a moment to think. After that cursory moment, he shrugged, and took on a more casual tone. "Whatever you need to replace it and to take the old one with you when you leave, you can bill Bon Bon for." Over the placid stallion's shoulder, he caught the edge of Nail's raised eyebrow, so he went a little further. "Tell her it's compensatory damages if you need to." He waited for a moment until he got a gradual nod from the stallion—a scoff from the mare—and the two promptly returned to assessing the frame's condition. He watched them for a moment until he was sure they were alright on their own, waving the broom he held in his mana back and forth for a moment of thought before he turned to trot across the room to his desk. He laid the animate broom into its corner while the pan settled onto the floor, idly perking an ear to listen for the workers' murmurs to each other as he pulled his chair to the side. He spared a glance to the contents on the desk's top, then another over his shoulder to check if any eyes were wandering. Nope. Those ponies' eyes were raptly kept by their job. Feeling somewhat safe, he kneeled onto his knees and craned his head around to look at the underside of the table. After a bit of shuffling, he gently reached a hoof out and pressed it into an innocuous spot beside one of the support beams. There was a little bit of give as he pressed up, and the quiet sound of a scrape. The edge of his mouth quirked up in a sneaky grin as the false square of wood gave way after a bit of prodding, allowing him to sidle it off into the side of the hidden compartment. It wasn't really a hidden compartment as much as the desk was built hollow and he'd cut a hole in the bottom, but it worked for his purposes regardless. Nopony but him knew about it, and it was a compartment, so it really didn't matter if it wasn't nearly as cool as was implied. All that mattered was that he thought it was cool. He withdrew his hoof and threw another glance over his shoulder as he urged mana through his system. The feeling of security as he found the carpenters still absorbed in their task only compounded the plump feeling of mana circulation, as showed in his grin as he peered back into the revealed hole to snake a trail of mana inside. It was... hard, he had to kind of feel around without actually being able to feel much. He knew the key was in there somewhere... though it was hard to say where after all the flips his poor desk had been through. The phantom hardness of wood brushing against his brain... wood... wood... more wood... oh! The shiny coolness of metal pressed back at him, and he pulled at the impending sense of victory. There was a subtle sound of dragging, and after only a moment, a haze of red receded from the hole with a shiny golden key in its center. He stood with a full smile, inspecting the key for impurities for a moment before he placed it gently onto his desk, bending back down as he did to pull the square of wood back into the hole in his desk. With that short task over in a moment, he rose again and grasped the key in the hold of his mana once more, floating it up to turn it this way and that. Looked good. Nightmare Moon would've been the only other pony who could've messed with it in any way—not that there was any reason to. Sure, She was an enormously enigmatic jerk who no doubt would've jumped at any feasible chance to generally inconvenience him, but denying the both of them access to his cellar probably would've been self-defeating. He passed another glance over his shoulder—still uncaring of his escapades—as he pressed the key to his chest, doing his best to hide the sparkle of mana as he turned to trot towards his bedroom. If he had to be honest, the secrecy probably wasn't necessary or even very smart, but it made him feel a little daring, and who was he to deny his recently revived sense of whimsy? The door opened before him and closed all the same, and he was alone in his room. With his rear pressed to the door, Light blew out a small sigh of overblown relief, though a moment later, as he stood in silent contemplation, he began to feel a little like his ears were getting hotter. ...Maybe whimsy was better off dead, because he felt kind of like a doofus. Trying his best to shake off... whimsy, he made a beeline to the window across the room from him. He skirted the edge of his bed and slowed as he came up to the squat dresser under his goal, wasting little time in pondering the logistics before he confidently reared two hooves onto its top. He gave a small huff as he worked a back hoof up, teetering on two as he spared one to shakily push the window open on its hinge. The surreptitious rear exit from his home opened wide with a none-too-pleasant whine on unoiled hinges, allowing him to grab hold of its small edge and pull his last hoof up. He gave a puff as he let his other forelimb join it, and pulled himself forward with all the massively inadequate strength he possessed. He scrabbled against the wall as his head passed the threshold, giving him a faceful of fresh air for a surprisingly peaceful moment of stability before he began to tilt. Once upon a time, he'd had no idea how to follow up the routine gymnastics as he'd just done them, but after a while, he'd figured out how to catch his back hooves on the windowsill. As he did, he let his front hooves swing out as he pushed off with his back, landing him squarely in the shaded grass with a satisfying fwump as the key carried after him. He straightened, taking a moment to close his eyes and breathe a sigh of relief that he hadn't forgotten how not to land on his face. There was no telling whether dying had killed off any parts of his brain like whichever grey matter bits made him not dumb. As the adrenaline of movement ebbed away in a chilly tide, he took a short glance around the back of his house. Dark, dead, and silent, like it always was in the Everfree. The Everfree never changed, and pointing that out was getting to be a bit redundant. At least there was a bit of sunlight beaming down from the short gap between his house's roofing and the treeline, so it wasn't all gloomy. Not that he didn't enjoy gloom. Light surveyed for another moment before turning to make his way around the corner to his left. He slowed for a moment to take a cautious peek from behind the corner's edge, though, thankfully, nothing had taken initiative to guard his cellar door. It sat alone, benign, and otherwise totally unnoticeable by itself in the cleft between his bedroom wall and what may have also qualified as a wall of thorns and brambles blocking the house's side. It was hard to quantify what he felt as he came to stand before the inset of stone with its thick wooden doors staring up at him—though not because he couldn't find the words. He just didn't really want to. It felt... invalidating to bring it up so directly. Like spitting on her grave. Maybe it was the environment. He didn't like applying the word accusing to everything that he didn't like, but the heavy chain looped through the doors' handles and held together by a padlock of similarly intimidating heaviness had the sharp sheen of a thick glare. Which was why he only wasted time to grimace at it for a moment before he brought his key to bear and slipped it into the lock. With the colluding click of a latch undone, he pulled the key out of the padlock and slipped it out of the chains' junction. He set the lock aside, then did the same with the rattling chains. Darn... heavy things. Unlike the last time he'd pulled on the handles, the cellar doors came smoothly out of place with nearly unsatisfying prudence, leaving him to blink owlishly into the spray of must that wafted from the doors' opening. He took an unthinking sniff—then a choked half-breath as he spit thick dust over his shoulder. Eyes watering, Light let gravity take the doors from him as he shied away from the dark. He pumped one hoof against his chest and waved the other in his face in an attempt to clear the air for a clean breath, and though he was still on the verge of choking, he forced himself to turn back, straightening marginally as he gathered himself as best he could through the tightness in his chest. For a moment, Light considered what awaited him in the depths of his cellar. With the sun's overhead glare as overbearing as it was even on the edge of the Everfree, it was just about impossible to see a hoof-length into the shadows of the staircase, even with his gift for adjustment. It was symbolic, certainly, and if he were anypony else, it'd even be a bit frightening. Well... in a way, he was a little frightened. Not of the dark, but of... what he'd hidden there. To an extent, it wasn't even really fear, it was more like... Light tensed his jaw and took a heavy swallow, hoping the next breath of musty air would bring him comfort. ...it was like... reluctance, in a way. He didn't want to go down there. He knew very well what would make him happiest, and going to look at Zecora's dead body wasn't it. However much corpses may have fascinated him, this was... it was different. It was real. It made him think of bunnies, and the more he thought of it, the more the air tasted like it. Copper and iron and mushy flesh under cold, dirt-smeared fur. The ill, beginning taste of decay. Okay, he was starting to freak out. Imagining the sight in store for him and his own hoof in it was making him nauseous, and he was starting to think too much—the memories were flooding in. He didn't want to go down; he wanted to run off and be with his marefriend and maybe give her a kiss. Her warm, soft lips that tasted like cold, saggy flesh and copper and iron and- He pried his jaw open, and cold metal hit his tongue. His bit down on the end of his cellar key—hard enough that his gums ached and his teeth wobbled. It didn't matter; it helped take his mind off. The actual taste of metal was helping to shoo away what he remembered it tasting like, and each time his nose flared to heave in a breath, he smelled scentless iron instead of mush and decay. He had to go. Right now, or he might lose his nerve and lock the door back up. Slightly jittery, Light forced one hoof in front of the other and took his first steps down the stairs into his cellar. Darkness pressed in on him, and after only a few steps into the growing blindness, he paused in chewing on the key to try to recall where he'd left his lantern. He had no idea, obviously—he'd not been him the last time he'd walked out of here—which suddenly had him wondering whether the venture was altogether inadvisable. It wasn't too late. He could still go back up and... go out to buy matches! Yeah! He could do that, and while he was in town, it wouldn't kill him to drift a bit off the path to drop by Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack's family was still around, so maybe this was the best time to come out about their relationship! What better time than in front of all her relatives? It'd be like killing a crow with—no, that was a poorly chosen example. Regardless, he was certain beyond any doubt, anypony else in his situation would turn around and- His hoof bumped something. He flicked a glance down, and in the barest ray of light shining in from outside, he caught the reflection of glass. The key flew from his mouth as he spat a furious curse, forcing him to press his ears back from the deafening clatter of metal hitting stone echoing through the tiny room. How apt the pain he caused himself felt. He simmered on his foul invocation of Luna's name—he needed to not invoke Her name, ever—for a hot-blooded moment before he bit back a second ill-considered likening to a mule and lit his horn. It was Her fault, though. Stupid insane Goddess not smashing his lantern and making him have to follow through. He leaned into the mental heft of the oil lantern to assuage his anger at the proactivity he was being forced to endure, shuffling his hoof forward on the next step until it bumped something softer, and he lit his horn to lift the matches along with the lantern. Crank the wick up, open the window, light a match, light the wick. He took a deep whiff of smoke as he shut the lit lantern's window, smothering the burning match in an unthinking press of mana that made him wince. He tossed the impetuous match aside with a grumble and lifted the merrily flickering lantern up, casting the room in receded shadows running from its glare. Instantly, he recognized the shape of his cellar's desk at the other end of the room, sitting at odds with the upturned chair with its legs sticking into the air beside it. Seeing the carelessly strewn object, he sagged with a frustrated groan. Between his bookshelf and now his chair, he was starting to think Nightmare Moon had some vendetta against properly arranged furniture. Or him. Either or. He began to trot forward with the intent to right it, already simmering on the thought of plopping into it and reliving some torrid memories. He had a second heavy hoof in the air when his eye caught the reflection of fire on metal, and without thinking much of it, he flicked a glance to the nearest corner of the room with a questioning tilt of his head. He stopped. His mana flow wavered, and it was only through what he could only assume was some mental failsafe that it didn't cut out completely and drop the lantern on the floor. Not that it was much of a concern to him, then. At that moment, Light only had eyes for one thing in the room. There was a rectangular, dull metal box snugly nestled into the corner, laid with its length across the wall with the stairs. Carelessly strewn about the floor around it were small, discarded piles of dull blue crystals, all of them the same size and shape. It was unmistakable, and in a room as small as this, it was unmissable. Light had never seen it before in his entire life. The matches fell to the floor, barely making a sound over the beginning movement of a chorus of lilting hoofsteps echoing through the deadened silence of the buried storeroom. With the melody's tragic conception came the solemn lantern's dancing flame, carried along a running river of red. Its passage marked a tired rite of remembrance through the stoic dark, carried with purpose, yet moving with dissonance. The subtle sway of the metal pyre in the air clashed horribly with the off-kilter sound of intermittent hoofsteps, each one a monumental statement for their sheer existence. For they came with such fear, and such hesitance, and yet they came. All the same, he walked. For though the bob of the lantern cast his path in uncertain shades, and though he could scarcely hear the noise of his own steps through the din of his heartbeat, and though he felt something deep within him tug him back, he went on. One step at a time, for as few steps as it took, for as much as it hurt. Until his lantern found home at the side of the freezer, and Light Flow's hoof came to rest atop its door. It was cold to the touch—surprisingly so, even for metal. Still running, he guessed. He supposed... if he focused... he could hear the subtle hum. The quiet tinkling of mana transference. If he looked, he was sure he'd find the occupied slot for a mana battery on its back. The little bumps of gently rough metal played ticklish games with his frog as he swept his hoof slowly across its surface, following the lidded path of his dull eyeline until it came up to a jutting metal protrusion. Like playing with fire, his hoof crept into the air with foolish daring, making a mock show of keep-away as the limb hovered nearer to it, then away. Back and forth, toying with his own emotions. Feeling his confidence swell with the noxious heat of fear as his hoof crept in, then growing cold with incertitude as his hoof flitted away—all of it in time with the flicker of crackling fire. A maddening exercise, and for what? What was he trying to convince himself of? His hoof crept in. Was he going to do it? His hoof shied away. Or was he not? Only you know the answer. Of course he knew. It was obvious. His hoof crept in, and as he closed his eyes, he felt something cold. Something slim, made out of metal. He was done with reluctance. It was like a pop. A squelch of displaced air as his hoof lifted, and the door of the freezer came with it. As he forced his eyes to peel open, he was met with the shy emittance of mana light brimming in the door's barely ajar opening. The hum was a little louder, and growing louder as his other hoof gently raised to work into the widening crevice. Little by little, bit by bit, he pried the door open. Slowly widening, slowly approaching, something began to tickle at his nose, and his nostrils flared to take it in. It was like... it was scentless, and septic, but as if the smell of nothing had begun to decay. A rotten core of illness, difficult to discern, yet impossibly relentless. It was so much like that incessant smell he'd grown so fond of, but... off. Dulled. The curious light of the lantern began to meld with the subtle blue of mana as both lights fled from where they were cast, and with a rush of billowing cold air that stung at his eyes, the door had opened wide enough to show its contents. The signifier of the final threshold. The stolid beckoning of eventuality. His heart beating at the backs of his teeth, Light inched his way forward to cross it. How the dread mounted in his heart. He blinked, and he could see her face again. Even after two years, he could remember the intense curiosity of her appearance. The foreign flavor of her facets: her stark colors so unlike the fur of ponies; her inquisitive cyan eyes that seemed so tainted in retrospect; and the lithe way her toned physique shimmered under her fur as she moved. Graceful and mysterious. Foreign and exotic. The only Zebra he'd ever met, and such a contrast she'd struck. She'd looked at him like there was something only she could see under his skin. She'd moved with the flexile insistence of rushing water, yet it hadn't been enough. She'd smiled at him with creased eyes full of humor. She'd bared her teeth with focused eyes full of sharpened intention. She'd spent her last moments choking on blood. Pop. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap—he could hear it. He could still hear it. And now, he could see it. He didn't know whether to shy away or not. He didn't know how to feel. Was he disgusted? He should be. Did that mean he was? Could he force himself to be? Would that even mean anything? It wouldn't make up for it. The door of the freezer swung back and hit the wall with a solid thunk, leaving Light to crouch back with his hooves on the box's rim, simply... staring. His face a dim, melancholic expression of pure, integral apprehension, he only stared. He didn't know what else to do. How else to pay respect if not by... just revering the sight? Regretting it. Wishing it wasn't true. He'd seen dead bodies before—he'd gotten his cutie mark by touching one—but he'd never seen one so... desiccated. What lay inside the slate metal inside the fridge was as identifiable as a corpse as anything sharing the same general shape would be, and he was thinking that on a course of reverence. His eye wandered from one area to the next. His first glance had landed on her neck—or, the shredded, frost-riddled tatters that had once been... a neck. He knew her spine had been displaced from its suspension, and he remembered how the bones had jutted from her limp flesh, so... they must have... skewed and torn out. Because there they were. Inside of the open hollow of her blackened, frosted-over husk of a neck, where her entropy-hued flesh had been peeled away in once-limp, now hardened tatters, he could see the white chunks of broken vertebrae amidst the ice that had taken her body. He could... barely tell what was bone and what was hunks of ice inside her torn-open throat. What wasn't swollen black or colored with faded red was just white. Her body laid straight out barely fit in the freezer, leaving no room for her hooves to lay at her sides. They'd been tucked into her chest—her chest that was now... peeled and chipped open. It was like a horribly twisted-out-of-shape anatomical diagram. He could barely stand to look without... blinking. Further down, uneven hunks of rusted gold seemed to have melded into her forearms as... he guessed as they froze and crumbled. Her hooves were little more than swollen hunks of blackened flesh tinged frosty white, laid just into the open dip of her yawning stomach. That was another sobering sight. It almost looked like... she was grasping into herself. It was less upsetting than the gunk at the bottom of the fridge, at least. Underneath her, made of what he could only assume was the liquefied refuse of whatever had decomposed from the zebra, was a frozen film of... it was a slurry. If nothing else about her corpse's appearance put him off, then the grainy pool of gory red chunks and frozen gobs of viscera that had congealed around the sides of her back would have. It... somehow didn't. His throat felt a little tight, but he wasn't really feeling the telltale pressure rising against his jaw that would've signified a coming mess. His stomach felt a little queasy, and the scent in the air—like flavorless decay—was upsetting for what it signified, but the smell itself didn't really wig him out. His gaze flicked away for a moment—a necessary moment of shame—before he once again focused in on her carcass. Her chest, this time, barely even recognizable with how the frost had mangled it. Her grey fur, dappled with shining flecks of ice, was a far cry from the beautiful dichotomy it had once signified. When most of her body had been burned to the bone with ice, everything was hued a little grey. Even the blackened flesh of her chest cavity had been overtaken by the cold color. He was thinking... most of her organs must have liquefied, but he could see a few chunks of ice in her open stomach that seemed... irregular. They didn't even really fit inside the small space of her body, and certainly not beneath the jutting jaws of her gaping ribcage. He... thought that was what those stalagmites of ice were. With how jutting they were, and with the little icicles speared up through her coat in random places, it was almost as if ice had burst out from inside of her. That sounded fantastical, but that really was how ice worked. Flesh would harden and begin to chip under frigid temperatures. Everything gave way to the pressure of water as it cruelly solidified, even the body. The body was mostly water, after all. With her skin made so fragile by the cold, all of that liquid running through her would naturally just... expand. It was a matter of pressure. The end product was startling. Macabre. It was hard to believe the body could be so mangled—her flesh rubbed raw to red strings, frozen again and again until it was all composite ice—by something so common as the cold. Nature was a thing to fear. His gaze, ever the weary traveler, made its way up, and Light had to close his eyes for a moment. It was disconcerting, remembering how Zecora had looked at him. Remembering the life in her eyes, and having to see the open sockets in her head in front of those faded memories. She'd smiled at him. She'd laughed. And there were her teeth in the black stumps of her gums, grinning at him once more from the peeled-off flecks of her muzzle. An eternal smile. She looked so happy. It was only as his chest began to pang that Light realized he'd been holding his breath. That his heart had been racing. He couldn't hear anything else. When he opened his eyes, and the empty expression of Zecora's frozen corpse stared back at him, something tugged at his lips. So hard and so suddenly that he bit his lip on instinct, and his lips kept shaking. His horn lit. The freezer door began to tilt down. He closed his eyes, but she was still smiling at him. Such a wide smile. So happy. The door of the freezer fell down and closed with a satisfying fwump, but it didn't make him feel better. There was something wrong. Inside, something hurt. He turned, falling back on his hocks and pressing his back to the cold metal of the fridge's side. His hoof, trembling, made it way up from the floor to press at where his heart was. Where the pain was. A stab. A sting. He was having trouble breathing—every breath felt like it was being choked out of him. He could barely stand it; he half wanted to hold his breath again, just so the pain of it would stop. So his throat could just keep clear for just a second to let him think! Something cold fell to his lap, and Light sucked in a startled gasp. He swept his hoof against his fur—something wet—then raised it to touch his cheek. Something wet. Tears. He was crying. He snorted a glob of snot back, trying to blink the sudden blurriness from his gaze as he scrubbed at one eye then the other with his forearm. It was fine; he was fine. Crying was alright. Crying was a perfectly natural response to staring a corpse in its liquefied eye. Sure, it had come on incredibly suddenly, and he didn't really know why he was crying, but crying was weird like that! He didn't understand the occurrence in the best of times! It was fine if he cried. It wasn't like he was smiling. He wasn't nine anymore. He lowered his hoof from his face, touching his frog once more to the warm fuzz of his chest. It was fine if the tears wouldn't stop. He needed to focus on something else, anyway. Something more important. Inside. He needed to focus inside, because he knew it wasn't his heart that was hurting. That was illogical. Hearts couldn't hurt unless they were being attacked. A heart couldn't bear the weight of memories. But souls could. The last time he'd done this, he'd had an external locus to help him focus into himself. He didn't have Nightmare Moon to help him, this time. He had to do it by himself. He had to stand on his own, and find his inner peace. He caught a frantic breath, holding it with a shiver as he shut his teary eyes. He pursed his trembling lips, ignoring the slick trails of warmth running off his cheeks to bead on his chin. He focused on his breath, instead. How it built within him. How it raged to be set free. Like water, dammed to a stop and made to wait. Water. Water. The flow of his breath was like water. An internal system of flowing water at his beck and whim. It would guide him to where he needed to go. He let his breath go. One stream, long and unbroken. As he emptied, he would then refill. It was a matter of his will. He made it so. It was a matter of perspective. Separation and distinction. He had no flame to focus upon, but the flame was not all there was. It was only a metaphor. All he needed was the focus—what it represented. The perspective. Out, then in. From without came air, and from within it flowed through him. As without, so within; as within, so without. What lay outside was the same as what lay within, and what lay within could be controlled as what lay outside. They were the same: that was where his focus laid. Air. Fire. Mana. If he could manifest it, he could control it; if he was able to control it, then he could manifest it. It was all the same; if it existed in one place, then its existence was omnipresent. There was no difference between them. Mana came from within him, and air came from without. If mana could be felt outside, then air could be felt within. Exhalation was an invitation for inhalation. What laid without must come within. As without, so within. All he needed was to follow his breath. In and out. From without to within. He could feel what laid inside. In his lungs and in his magical pathways; the flow of air and mana was so similar. His blood vessels carried blood and air to every part of his body; magical pathways carried mana to his every extremity. A constant stream of power, of unceasing life ebbing and flowing by autonomous rote. By nothing but its own insistence. It was warm. It pulsed. He could feel it scrape over the bumps that made magic possible. He could feel where it sat heaviest, and he could feel what it wanted. And within his heart, within his core being, he could feel its pulse. He could feel their pulse. Two. Only two of them. One of them lingered. One of them hurt. It wept. As did Light. When he opened his eyes, he could only silently weep. It was all cold. Everything was cold, and the fire that lit the room only made him feel colder. There was no warmth to be had. Not outside, and not within. He could do little more than pull his hooves closer, hugging them to his chest as his hindlegs shook. Not from the cold stone of the floor he sat on did he shake, nor from the emanating chill from the fridge he rested against. From the cold within. The cold of two souls in his chest. One of them was Zecora's. It had been her pain; it had been the pain of looking upon what had become of her. It had overcome him. He had felt what she felt. Forlorn woe. A deep, emanating sadness. He'd remembered how he'd spoken of her. He'd used the memory of her death as a snide weapon. He'd relished in its impact against the agent. He'd not cared. Regret. Pain. Knowing. His head lolled back on a full-body shiver, and by consequence, Light was left to stare at the blurry, flickering ceiling of the lantern-lit cellar. He could hardly even see through the tears rolling freely down his cheeks, yet through the labored breaths he couldn't help but take half-heartedly, he smiled. With his lungs aching and something deep within his chest mourning, and with the quietest, warbling waver in his voice, Light spoke. "Zecora..." he whispered out in a rasp, shutting his eyes on a tremble of fear for breaking the silence. His voice hoarse and thin, he went on. "-I'm sorry for what I did to you, and for what's been done to you since." He trailed off on what he thought was a cough, until it rose, and his chest began to flutter with a broken chuckle. "I wanted to... give it back. I wanted to give you back everything you'd lost. Everything you deserve to have." His voice fell on deaf ears. There was nopony to listen. Nopony to grieve. His head fell. As it shook, jerking from side to side as though his strings were being tugged, Light continued to laugh. Like the quiet rumble of the quaking earth—like the last rattle of death—the empty sound trickled out through the empty cellar. As he spoke through gritted teeth, struggling to form words through the laughs that sounded so very much like sobs, his hooves came up to rest on his head. The motion barely hid how every inch of his body shook. And it certainly didn't hide the hollow fear in his whispered voice. "I don't know if I can, anymore..." Within him, there beat two hearts. One was the stolen heart of an outcast. One who had run from her home and whose life had been taken from her after she'd already lost everything. A heart that wept alongside him. A heart that ached. The other was the heart of a crow. Because there was no gift in the world that did not demand an equal price. > Chapter 61 - Waxing Crescent > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- A mist of water sprayed from the showerhead, sloughing down his body in hurried streams and pooling around his hooves laying mostly flat on the sloped surface of the ceramic. From the tip of his nose all the way down to his sodden tail laid across his back leg, all manner of grime was washed away in a mass drowning of filth. In the shaded shallows of his darkened bathroom, Light Flow sat stoically in the bathtub with his eyes closed and his head tilted up into the running showerhead. The water freely ran off his pressed-back ears, cascading in heavy rivulets off his apathy-leaden shoulders. As still as a statue. He'd jumped into the shower... by instinct, really. After he'd... well, he'd woken up on the cold cellar floor, so he was assuming that sometime between then and when he'd curled up on it to cry, he'd gone and passed out. It was all kind of a blur, though; he'd not really been putting all that much thought into what he was doing. He remembered the bleary indecision of wondering what in Tartarus he should do as he stumbled up the cellar's stairs, but he didn't remember getting into the shower. He couldn't recall how long he'd been in the shower, either. It seemed... it really seemed as though he'd gone straight from the cellar to the shower, and that'd been it. For... awhile now. Light's mouth drifted open and filled with a coppery splash of liquid, thoroughly choking him as he tried to let out a sigh. As he sputtered and shook his head away from the water, he thought to himself of the symbolism of the mistake. Even when he was deserved, and even when he thought he had, he never really got what he wanted. Eventually, the shower's spray slowed to a halt, and he was left to drip in the bracing air of his bathroom without really knowing how it had come to be that way. He was sure he must've turned the water off, because of course that made sense. He blinked dripping water out of his eyes to cast a glance up to the showerhead. Still seeping with drops. He didn't remember turning it off. In another blink, he stood in front of the mirror hanging over the sink. Immediately, this seemed a little strange to him, because he was sure he'd just been in the bathtub. His hoof rose into his eyeline, and he happened to catch it in a wayward glance, turning it this way and that to inspect it. His fur was a little moist, but he was otherwise dry. His back felt dry, too. He was dry all over. His mouth fell slightly open, perhaps to ask his timeline a question, but his interest was stolen away by a flash of movement at the top of his vision. Diverting his attention that way, he found... somepony staring back. A colt with thin brown fur and a soggy, two-tone red and brown mane that didn't quite cover his forehead, holding his hoof up in front of him. His red eyes stood out like sparkling lights in the darkened room, staring back at him with confusion in their depths. So alike to him, but so different. Like an uncanny double of the picture he held in his head. Slowly, as he watched in transfixed silence, the colt's hoof crept away, inching carefully towards his own chest. His hoof pressed against damp, brown fur, and his eyebrows furrowed in dissatisfaction. At the edge of his awareness, the colt's lips parted and mouthed a word. "Empty..." Light echoed quietly, holding his hoof to the center of his chest. He couldn't see anything in the colt's. Inside of Light's, it was only cold. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The setting summer sun cast dark, creeping shadows across the verdant fields of apple trees in the valley, seeding the air with the ripe scent of life and pleasure. The air was growing colder as the night encroached, but it didn't worry him. Not when he had the warmth of another pressed close to his pelt. Aside Light, her head pressed into the cleft of his neck from where she was slumped against him, Applejack let out a soft, murmuring sigh. He felt his own breath leave him to mingle with hers, and he squeezed her hoof tighter. With their backs to an apple tree on the highest hill in the orchard, they had a scenic view of farmland for miles. Rural countryside as far as the eye could see. He wondered what his special somepony was thinking, staring out over all of those trees. A sense of responsibility? Pride? Whatever it was, he wanted to share it with her. For the warmth she suffused into him, and for the tight sense of safeness he kept in his heart as they held each other, he knew he would gladly share anything he had with her. He shifted, drawing a lilting, teasing chuckle from his marefriend as he angled his head to catch her face, already opening his mouth to tell the mare he loved of all that he felt for her. The empty, eyeless sockets of a gray maned corpse stared back at him. The presence at his side was cold. Light sucked in a breath, the air suddenly heavy with the cloying scent of deathly frost and sickly decay. Every nerve in his body fired at once as he tried to jerk away, but he was stopped with a painful tug in the socket of his arm, and when he chanced a look, he found his hoof held fast in a jagged chunk of ice stuck to a reddened, raw hunk of bone. His skin was already starting to blister and peel, blackening with entropy at the ice's edge. Every breath he took was faster; every breath smelled more and more of cloying iron and sickness. Panting for visible puffs of breath in the rapidly chilling air, Light tried again to jerk his hoof back from the ice it was stuck in, though he only succeeded in squirming enough to fall onto his back. He hit the grass—but the grass was gone. Instead, he fell onto what felt like a hard bed of ice, shocking his system in such a terrible moment of antipathy that all the air in his chest was forced out of him at once. All he could do as he laid against the frozen block was gasp for breath that wasn't there as he tried in vain to see around him. The valley had gone. The trees had gone. All he could see were two towering walls of dull metal rising up around him. His head was stuck; he couldn't move his hindlegs. The cold was gnawing away at his bones. Something moved at the edge of his peripheral. Something was creeping in over the side of the box. He couldn't breathe. The shape was inching over. He was choking on ice. Two empty sockets met his, and the decayed smile of Zecora's corpse looming over him parted with a huff of frosted, billowing air. The ice-riddled stumps of her hooves crept over the sides of the fridge, stooping and curling around his numbed body as the gaping void of her rib-toothed chest opened wide to envelop him. Her eyeless head crept closer. As the blackened stubs that held her grinning teeth parted for a kiss, Light coughed out flecks of bloody ice to choke out a scream- -a scream that rang off the walls of his bedroom as Light Flow jerked to a sitting position in his bed. He took a breath—no, two—no, three—as his hoof flew to check the frantic pulse of his heart in his chest, then up to the sweaty, matted fur of his forehead. He flicked a glance one way, then the other, finding his window at the side of his bed as soon as he remembered it was there. A bright, albeit beleaguered, filtered light shone through the window panes at startling contrast to his dresser. He didn't need to open the window to discern the scent in the air. It was the dewy, fresh scent of morning. Had... had he slept through the rest of the day? And the night?! Light muttered some conciliatory nonsense to himself that even he didn't care to pay attention to as he threw his covers to the side and sidled out of bed. From the bedside to the floor to his door; Light threw the closed portal open and placed a hoof to its frame, taking a cautious peek out into his sitting room. Dark. Empty. Quiet. More importantly, at the far end of the room, there was a door. That shouldn't have been as surprising to him as it was, but it was, because that meant the work on his door had been finished already. Still trying to catch his breath from the very vivid nightmare that wasn't fading from memory fast enough, Light stumbled away from his bedroom and managed a canter across the room. He stopped short at the newly furbished door, blinking a few extra times as he did to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was. A door. Nothing fancy; it was a plain, wooden door with a plain, metal latch from which hung a small, shapely key. Stuck to the door by a small patch of yellow tape was a small note, presumably for him. As he lit his horn to detach it and float it closer—the feeling of mana in his veins was helping to wake him up—he cast another glance up at the door, then down to the hovering note. He had to cross his eyes a little to make sense of the rough scrawling, but it was mostly legible. Mister Nutjob, We got the door installed. Bill's going to your marefriend. Key's on the latch. Look us up for all your residential or professional construction needs. We're located on the west side. 060 Autumn Run Way, Ponyville, Equestria, bucking Equus. It's a building in a field, just find it, freak. Hammer 'n Nail 'n Associates One end of the paper pulled down as the opposite corner pulled up, and Light blew out a sigh of frustration as he tore the note in half. The rip was satisfying, and he appreciated that mare's candor, but he would not stand idly by and let anypony call Bon Bon his marefriend. Staring at the two halves of the note hanging in his telekinetic field of mana, he had half a mind to toss them in a garbage can and vomit on them. It just made him so sick. The thought was anathema. Unfortunately, he didn't have a garbage can. He did once, but he'd not been able to find it since he'd been home. If he had to make a wild, out of nowhere guess, Nightmare Moon had probably thrown it into the woods or something. Whatever. He turned around, making a useless note to himself that he'd buy a new one as he made his way to his desk. On his way, he- His eye caught something, and his head jittered to a stop, jerking oddly with his next step as though he were connected to a taut string. There was a knife in the wall. In the corner of the room, on the same wall as his desk and bathroom door, there was a knife bent in half and stuck into the wall. He—no, wait, of course there was. That was right; Bon Bon had knocked it out of his- Nightmare Moon's grasp when they'd had their... confrontation. Of course he remembered that; it hadn't been too long after he'd had his own control of his body. He remembered... it'd been hard to feel anything at the time, but he distinctly remembered an overpowering sense of fear and vindication. Of course, the fear had been pretty all consuming at the time, but the vindication was a nice little light in the ever-present darkness of those days. Of... a week ago. Huh. It really felt as though it'd been longer. Light considered the out-of-place implement for a moment, hemming to himself on a circuitous back-and-forth between action and neglect. It would be logically sensible to take the knife out. It didn't make much sense there, and he was really just lucky it was near enough to the corner that nopony had noticed it. Or—he reasoned with a thoughtful hum—he could leave it, because it was the physical proof of Nightmare Moon's failure to manage Her schemes. It stood as a proof of concept for the fallibility of Goddesses. The exact culmination of mortal endeavors to overcome that which should've been unconquerable. Also, it was cool. Kind of like an art piece, actually. That more or less settled the matter, and Light didn't give the eccentricity a second thought as he approached his desk. He kicked his dust pan out of the way and lifted the leaning broom off the desk's corner to clatter onto the floor, pulling out his chair and finding a seat as he dropped the two halves of the carpenter's note off to the side. He murmured in discontent as he looked over the desk's clutter for a moment, keeping his horn lit to lift the Arcanic Crystagram holding its gems in its carcass and place it on the floor amidst the stacks of books next to his desk. He gathered his tattered cloak in a hoof and threw it off to join the broken machine, scanning the books on his desk's top for what he needed. Ah, there it was, and conveniently on the top of the pile! It was almost as if he'd taken his needs into account as he was cleaning his books up! He almost managed a laugh for his pitiable sense of humor as he brought the notebook over, placing a hoof on its black cover as it settled and he cast his attention to the desk again. A pencil—the sole pencil he owned, apparently, came into his grasp as easily as the book had. As he held it aloft, taking note of its weight in his mind and the barest texture of wood, he took a moment to think. Because before he embarked on the journey he was about to, he needed to think about some things. Yesterday was a blur—no, it was an illegible smear in his memory. He'd been so grief-stricken that he'd readily chosen to shirk all his responsibilities and slept the day away, not that anytime before then had been all that memorable. He genuinely couldn't remember any of it, though he was fairly sure he'd just taken a shower, stared at himself in the mirror, and then leapt into bed. Then came the nightmare. Light shivered, leaning back on his hocks and holding a hoof to his head as he tried to blink the fading sight of Zecora's widening smile out of his sight. It was only a nightmare. Predicated on some very real problems, but the events themselves weren't real. What was real, though... that was really upsetting... The pencil set itself down, and Light leaned forward. He set his hooves across the surface of his desk and laid his head over them, muffling a tired groan into the unfeeling wood. He just... yesterday, it'd come as such a shock that he'd literally lost all sense, and now, when he could actually think about it, he just... ...he didn't know. He just didn't know what to do. His soul was gone. What... was he supposed to do in this situation? What would anypony do? What was this situation most analogous to? A disease? Was this terminal? The thought was enough to make him feel his blood chill in his veins. No. It couldn't be. Not now. He couldn't lose everything after he'd... after all that he'd gained. But what was the alternative? He was assuming that... he'd lost his soul when he died, so what did that mean? Did he revive because he had another soul to take its place? Wouldn't that have made him... Zecora? Shouldn't he have been her, now? Or... a crow, maybe? No- just- his point was that he shouldn't have been him, anymore! So why was he? Why was he still Light Flow? What did losing his soul mean for him? He wanted to know. He wanted to find out. There was no point in curling into a pathetic little ball and sobbing until he couldn't feel his eyes. He... didn't want to. The need to let it all fade away just wasn't there. He didn't feel nothing. He wanted to... to... His head shifted up, and slowly—ever so slowly, his gaze came to rest on the bright shock of yellow in the dim shade. The pencil he'd laid on the notebook's head. There was a lot to record. A lot of half-blurred memories to sift through that he... just couldn't tackle all at once. The night at the castle; the years of dreams; the scattered threads of passing conversations. What he knew. What he was going to use. It was a big jump to make. Yesterday, solutions hadn't even been a word to him. From total despair to figuring out how Necromancy worked? Consolidating into a notebook all that he knew of Alicorns and Black magic? Who had taken Light Flow while he slept and replaced him with a changeling double? Light sniffed back a humorless chortle, lighting his horn and grabbing his pencil as he mentally prepared himself to endure the feeling of channeling for a few hours while he wrote. It was a nice feeling, but anything became grating after long enough, and he knew writing for a long period of time brought that sense of aggravation out. He'd persist. As Light flipped the black front cover of the notebook over, and as he looked down at the blank, white sheet with a profound sense of impending achievement beating in his chest, he'd already decided on the course he was going to take. It was the very same course he'd had in mind yesterday morning, and his discovery hadn't discouraged that. At first, he'd been inconsolable. Now that his emotions had sanded off and his acuity had been restored, he felt very differently. He was intrigued. He wanted to know more. He wanted to discern the basics of Necromancy, his bounds as a Necromancer, and the breadth of the abilities afforded to him. What use was there in lamenting something arbitrary when he'd already been afforded a second chance at life? The fact of the matter was that he was alive—and that sheer fact standing in direct defiance of the facts he thought he knew provided a tantalizing mystery. He'd spent years wallowing in pity for himself. Waiting for the day when he'd receive his call to action and he'd magically become able. Well, that day had come, but it was his responsibility to make his dreams manifest. They wouldn't just occur if he didn't... try. He had to try. He didn't want to mope, or sob, or collapse. He was well in control of his faculties and his destiny, and he was ready to move forward. He wanted to know how to bring Zecora back, and by the force of the most intrinsic desire that burned in the core being of every living creature that still drew breath, he was not going to compromise on his own life to make it happen. But he was going to make it happen. He took a breath—he held it, counting to three in his head as the pencil hovered over the first line of the first page. It was the countdown to action. The impending promise of a future. The sheer fact of concentrated intent wholly consolidated, in its basest, powerful intention, in the fine point of his pencil! Light huffed out a powerful breath of effort as he forced his mana forward, jabbing his pencil forward to- This is the time. -let the point carry too far and tear a shallow line into the page's fabric as a very noticeable sensation of discontent pressed on the outside of his mind, and Light gasped. He hurriedly lifted the errant implement from the page, but the damage had already been done to the untimely parchment, and as Light scrabbled in his chair to cast panicked glances over one shoulder then the other, he found no face to ascribe the very applicable voice he'd heard. What was that?! He'd heard... there'd been- this was familiar! We have spoken before; you have never truly heard us. A full body shiver trailed down his spine, and he audibly nickered as he shook his head in an attempt to chase the... feeling away. He'd felt it before, but every time before, it'd been barely apparent. Now, the sensation of a thread poking into his skull was more like a straw getting jabbed into it. Not to mention the reverberation in his own mind of... a thousand other voices. It was as though he were standing in a very large hall full of chattering ponies, but they were all speaking at once, and directly into his brain. Was that apropos? He felt like it may have been redundant. Light swallowed, checking over his shoulder again to appease a paranoid urge before he sunk back into his chair, focusing on the uncomfortable feeling rising in his rear and squeezing his pencil in a relative death grip of mana. There was a voice in his head. He'd established that already, and it had once been verified by a secret intelligence agency, but this was different! A different voice, one that spoke to him externally rather than from a place within his mind. This was some... thing somewhere else that was talking to him. You have untempered insight; one day, you will learn to truly ply it. Light bit his lip. That was... an odd thing to say. Barely applicable as a turn of phrase, but given his prior incidents involving ostensible prescience, he was inclined to look on the fantastical side. Plus, he was talking to a voice in his head without putting up much, if any, fuss. Forgive him for asking, but was the voice prophetic? Prescient? Whatever? Prophets are provided knowledge; the prescient interpret the future; we are they who write the future. Whoa... whoa. That was sure to make him shiver up and down... if it didn't take the time to graciously lend a dubious quirk to his eyebrow first. As Light followed the cue of the situation and placed his mostly unused pencil back onto his notebook, he took to directing his expression towards the ceiling, because it felt apt. Just because he'd once toddled off after the first Goddess to barge into his head and say nice things didn't mean he was loose with the space. What credence could the voice lend to its authenticity? What was to stop Light from dismissing the current unbelievable scenario as little more than his own mind doing what it once did best? What if he was just lapsing back into insanity? It is for this reason that this discourse was made to take place; it is for this moment that we have revealed ourselves. There will be a knock at your door. It was almost jarring how on cue the knock was, even though at this point in his life, he'd almost expected it. Knock knock knock. A short series of three knocks—quick, prompt, and to the point. Not quite hurried, but not languid, either. They were even-tempered. As Light stared over his shoulder at his recently installed door, he could only wonder who it could be. Surely it wasn't his marefriend come to visit as she said she would. Applejack would announce herself, and she didn't knock like that anyway. Applejack banged on doors, which was liable to backfire on her one day when she ended up breaking one. ...One that wasn't his, anyway. It... probably wasn't Bon Bon, since he had no doubt she'd be duly impatient to yell at him so she could get as far away from him as she could as soon as she could. It wasn't... Rarity—not refined enough—and from the brief encounter he'd had with them, he didn't think it was either of the construction ponies, either. He supposed... the only way to know would be to go look. It just kind of unnerved him to open the door without knowing anything about who might've been on the other side. Maybe he should jump out his back window, sneak around the side, and try to get a sneaky peek at whoever it was? You will open the door, and you will find shock. All the same, you will open the door. Light cast a sneer up towards the ceiling. Hey, just because the voice had been right about the knock didn't mean he would do everything it said—and there was no way he was going to act surprised just because it had said so! And how did he know it hadn't been the real identity of the voice who had knocked to fool him into thinking it had prescience? You will open the door. That is not a command; it is written that you will open the door, you will disregard what you find, and you will disregard us as well. We are not averse to this outcome. We are patient, and we will speak to you again. With that, as Light balked at the voice's harsh, yet oddly apathetic rhetoric, the line in his head snapped. The latent connection he'd been able to feel quieted, and his headspace was left somewhat... lonely. Interesting. He'd kind of... enjoyed the company in the short time it had been there. He supposed... he'd go open the door, then. He cast a glance to the other side of the room for a moment before he slid out of the chair, trotting over to the overbearing presence that very well could've been hiding on the other side of his otherwise benign door. Standing at its threshold, he paused to press an ear to its surface. He didn't hear anything on the other side—nothing besides nature, anyway. Unless the Everfree manifest had come knocking to get him back for littering, it was either a prank or the pony on the other side was just really quiet. Or... there was another distinct possibility. And the sudden occurrence of that thought made his heart skip a beat on its way to racing. Light grasped the handle, rattling the key with metal dissonance as he threw the door wide open on its brand new hinges, revealing in all its glory the magnificence of his recently installed front entrance and the view it enjoyed. Nopony. Nothing but the dead tree in the distance. And a box on the stoop. A plain cardboard box. He'd had... a lot of thoughts about the boxes since the other night. During the night, even, especially when their authenticity had been called into question. That had begged a lot of questions, and since then, he'd been pleading with himself for an ultimatum. He'd decided a while ago what he'd do with the next box he received. But this was not a new box. This box was open, and by the dark stain of vomit on its side, it was plainly recognizable as the last box he'd received a week ago. The one that Nightmare Moon had retrieved. The one that he'd left in the castle when he'd killed himself. There was something sparkling in the sunlight inside the scant opening of its flaps. To say that Light swept the box into his home was an understatement. He did not stop to see if anypony was around; he did not stoop to examine the box in greater detail; he did not even collapse and weep upon it. As soon as he realized what he was looking at, Light inhaled sharply enough to choke, lit his horn, hefted the surprisingly heavy box, and jerked himself backwards. The door shut in his wake, leaving the outside world to stare in confusion as Light panted for breath on the floor next to the box he'd mostly had to drag inside. He didn't stop to catch his erstwhile air. His muscles strained and screamed from exertion as he hastily scrabbled onto two hooves and towards the box beside him. The cardboard bent in half as he plunged a clumsy hoof into it, drawing a grunt of breathy frustration from him as he shakily retracted his hoof and frantically worked its edge back into the side of the flap. He'd pulled himself up onto his hinds by the time he was able to flip both flaps open, and as he did, he could swear he felt his pupils shrink. Maybe because his focus had zeroed in so hard. The box's contents were not as he'd last seen them. The books that it had come with were still there at the relatively deep bottom, but atop the enticingly-scented tomes were... pieces of armor. Silver pieces of finely shaped armor which gleamed by their own wicked light. His eyes averted by their own volition—he had to close them and count to three before he was ready to look back, and he was only able to do so with a very evident blur. They were just as he'd last seen them. The oddly shaped helmet. The hoofcups with their abnormally lengthy straps. The flexile chestplate that rose up the neck. It was all the same. Just as they'd been when She'd worn them. And he could so clearly see Her draconic cyan eyes in his peripheral. But there was more, and he had to force himself to stare past the bits of apparel which absolutely reeked of foul corruption. Laid over the helmet was a clean envelope sealed with a discouragingly blue stamp, and beside one of the hoofcups sat... what seemed to be a stamp laying atop a smallish brown sack. He disregarded that for the moment—forcing himself to ignore the armor, maybe forever—and hesitantly called for his mana. The haze of red worked itself over the envelope after a moment, however shakily, and lifted the imposing article of mail out for his slightly teary-eyed inspection. He was already having trouble breathing—he swore he could smell Her septic scent—but his difficulty only became more so as he peered towards the seal which marked the envelope, and his breath froze in his throat. The subtle seal of a half crescent moon. She'd sent him mail. She'd sent him... mail? What should he do? How dare She? Did he open it? She couldn't just trot back into his life. What would he gain? He would lose everything. What if it was important? Her words were vile lies. What if it was an apology? He hoped She choked on the words before they touched Her forked tongue. Did he even want to hear from Her? He hated Her more than anything else in life. Would it be cathartic? She would only ever hurt him. By the time he stood in front of the hearth, he wasn't even sure he was thinking straight anymore. Though he'd never used the fixture, a long faded memory told him there was a box of matches in the empty kindling chest aside it. A box which seemed in good condition for its apparent age, and that unsurprisingly only had a few matches left inside when he opened it to check. That was fine. He only needed one. Scratch. Scratch. Snap. Hiss. The letter fluttered to the ashen stone in the back of the fireplace, waiting in anticipatory fear for only a moment before the lit match landed atop it, scattering cinders into the air as the fire wasted no time in greedily leaping onto the unopened paper. Light only watched from the hearth's edge, keeping the sight of the burning letter in the center of his gaze for what felt like an eternity. He watched, and as it burned, he did not think of it. He only knew that he would burn the next that came, and the next, and if She ever dared to send him any more, he would see them all burn amidst Her ashes. It didn't matter if it was an empty threat. He wouldn't forgive what had been done to him. She'd driven him to suicide. The fire was still burning by the time Light turned away, blinking tears away to hurry them down his cheeks like all the rest as he approached his desk. As he passed the box, a corner of the cardboard lit with red and it began to drag along after him, stopping at the side of the broken Arcanic Crystagram as he settled back into his chair. He cleared his throat as he scooted forward in his seat, setting his hooves on the desk's top on either side of his notebook. He took a moment to shake his head, affirming to himself that he was fine. He was still crying, but that was fine, too. Just so long as he didn't cry on his research notes. He'd keep the rest of what She'd given him. He'd put the box back down in the cellar with the other one, and—actually, he'd go ahead and keep both sets of books in the first box. That way, he could keep Nightmare Moon's armor in the second box, and he could keep the second box in the corner where it belonged. Out of sight, out of mind—the last remnants of the insane lunar tyrant left to rot in the depths of an obscure cellar in a backwater town that nopony cared about. Her memory would fade in time, and all that would be left would be frightening mythos that the ignorant celebrated when the weather turned cold. Just as She deserved. No more thinking of Her. Not of that voice, and not of the package he'd received. None of it mattered—and he would disregard the stupid voice in his head. It'd been mocking him, surely. It'd known, and he just didn't have energy to waste on another far-seeing megalomaniac. His thought was better spent on what mattered. > Chapter 62 - Waxing Explication > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wood tasted bad. This was a remarkably insightful observation from the brilliant mind of Light Flow, who was currently quite engrossed in gnawing at the middle of his standard rule pencil. He did so—quite masterfully—in the hunched-over position of a scholar at the end of their rope examining every facet of a work of literature because, as most scholars knew, there was a certain point at which the inherent sense of infallible logic they held to be so laudable skidded off the tracks and smashed against a cliff face. In Light's case, this inextricable work he was discomfortingly engrossed in was his own, and—if it was going to be a sticking point—this work happened to be completely blank. At this point, he was still unsure of how to actually start. To his merit, it hadn't been all that long since he'd set the letter from Nightm- Luna ablaze. He could still smell the cheery scent of rising ash, and the thin trails of tears scored down his cheeks had barely dried. It wasn't like he was overdue, and he was more or less mentally prepared for his coming work. He just- he didn't quite know how. Light sighed—after letting the pencil roll off his tongue. He rested his chin on an awaiting hoof, sending his gaze ceilingward as he shamefully retreated into the hovel that was his mind. Once, it had been a sanctum—to his eyes, anyway. How sad its state was now; he was unable even to expound at useless end. So sorrowful was the state of his vocabulary. How tragic were the lengths of his imagination. Light shook his head, raising it off his hoof with a grumble. Whatever he was trying to do, spinning prose wasn't going to help. Maybe he should step back and reevaluate exactly what he wanted out of this. With a suitably contemplative deep breath, he lit his horn to take his pencil once more. Maybe he'd do that. He wanted to consolidate all that he knew of Necromancy, of Nightmare Moon, and of wherever the two crossed bounds. It was his eventual goal to somehow extrapolate a way to bring Zecora back, and beyond that... to just... gain proficiency. Study was an excellent way to do that, and without supplementary materials, it'd just be a matter of documentation, hypothesis, testing, and interpretation. Chronicling his history with the recently deposed then enthroned Lunar Deity was more for his mental benefit. For Necromancy, through—well, first he had to document what he knew. Then, he'd apply it, see if it worked, and if it didn't, he'd work backwards. Trial and error was a perfectly workable scientific method—ask anypony! His eye wandered down on a whim, catching a shy peek of the brown box hiding just behind a leg of his desk. Of course, he had some supplementary material, he just... He averted his gaze back to his notebook. He didn't know if he really trusted it all that much. Nightmare Moon had been insane—but She'd been so insane that he was more or less absolutely sure of when She'd been telling him the truth. She'd been too desperate not to come off as untrustworthy, and he seriously didn't think She had the wherewithal to very effectively cover deceit as She screamed bloody murder at him. The acidic burn of charged air. Thunder crawling on the crumbling walls around the maddened Goddess on high. He blinked twice, and he was fine. It was okay. Just a passing memory. No danger here. No need for his heart to set aflutter. Everything was fine. Deep breaths. Light was okay. Nightmare Moon had been one of the least trustworthy creatures that had ever slopped their disgusting hooves all over Equus, but he knew She hadn't lied to him. If She believed whoever had sent him the boxes was a fraud, then She had probably personally known them to be some kind of cockatrice-oil salesman. Still... Like a curious child not yet learned of harsh consequences, his eye once more wandered to the sight of the box at the edge of his peripheral, and Light eased out a suffering groan. He turned in his seat, adopting a dubious expression as he dragged the box around the side of the table's leg. Leaning over to peek into its contents, he chewed thoughtfully on his tongue for a moment of indecision before he said buck it and began to feel around inside of the container with an exploratory tendril of mana. Had to... work around the armor... flip it around... sweep it aside... tug... tug... and tug... It wasn't easy, especially not from his awkward vantage point on the chair, but by the time he wiggled the top of one of the books out from under all the silvery apparel with a few panting huffs and puffs, he found it had become more about the principle of the thing. It'd be like letting Nightmare Moon defeat him, otherwise. Eventually, he managed to finagle the tome out from where his sordid past was weighing it down, and he was able to set the first of three on the desk beside his notebook with a sigh. The ever-intriguing heady scent of its cover was almost enough to entice him into staring deeply into its gold-embossed cover as he turned its top page for a mindless delve into tantalizing knowledge—but he stopped himself. Instead, he took the time to work the second—then the third tome out from under the armor, placing them both atop the first in a surprisingly light stack. The books themselves were of varying length, and though the third volume was quite the hefty book, the first two were only about as long when measured together. It'd been a while since he'd been wreathed in this scent—the scent of intoxicating anathema. There was something delightfully sinful about how they smelled, and for the texture of their binding—taut, bumpy, and delicately flexile to the touch—he was somewhat sure he knew why. The only thing that bugged him was the seeming anachronism of it. If the original author hadn't been a Necromancer, then binding their tomes in leather was a gross overcompensation. He wasn't sure if he'd even do such a macabre thing—not that he was all that hardcore to begin with. No matter. He was sure he'd be one day. Breathing deeply in the scent of something long dead and thinking nothing of it, Light found himself markedly more sure of himself as he turned back to his notebook, taking his pencil in a swish of mana and holding it aloft with a twirl. He instantly regretted the showoffy move because turning things that fast was hard and it made his brain hurt, but regardless, he was ready. And he was actually fairly certain of where to start, now. Light Flow's Compendium Volume One: Initial Preconceptions and the Melancholy of Memory A stark beginning on the first page with an appropriately sized header, as bold as he could make bland pencil be. Aside from the tear in the top of the page from being interrupted by a prescient, many-speaking voice in his head, it was immaculately professional. He'd had the idea when he was reminded of the travesty that was the tomes' naming scheme. He didn't even need to look over to see the jumble of words that comprised half the books' faces. When compiling a technical document, a succinct title was rightly the first matter to settle. From there, it all seemed obvious. A foreword, next. In the years that I have This text serves as a collection of my the author's recollections, theories, and preconceptions involving that which cannot be spoken of in public: Dark Black magic. This text is written under no sanction, agreement, or otherwise favorable accord. What follows is a wholly illegal account of magic that may not be a great many topics that each should see their speaker in jail or worse. All the same, these writings must be recorded, because the author knew he was was, in all honesty, rather distractible. It is not as though this is not obvious. Okay, that was a good note to begin on, right? Writing about himself in that removed tense was... suitably haughty, he was thinking. It wasn't weird to phrase it as though anypony but him would ever read this, was it? They probably wouldn't, but pretending like they would made him feel legitimate. It might've been a little personal, but what was a technical document if not personal? He'd second guessed himself a few times, but he was getting the hang of the voice he was wanting to use, at least for the foreword. He'd probably fall out of formal and slip into informal as he wrote down his memories and whatnot. He flipped the page, already dwelling on what the next page looked to be waiting for. He could start with... no, not yet... or... maybe... if he... ...Yes, that seemed to be the most relevant topic. His pencil set itself down, and his eyes drifted closed. His breathing slowed—no, evened. His posture relaxed; as his muscles loosened, his head rose up on a murmuring sigh. His mind began to drift away. Each time, it became easier. The more familiar he became, the more it seemed like walking down a road. He knew what signs to look for and how to tell where the path had been worn by regular use. He remembered the twists and turns, and though he had to stop and think to himself a few times along the way, it was more familiar than it was foreign. When he was alone, he was already well in hoof to forget how he was tethered to the outside world. When he didn't have to deal with a Goddess bearing down or a corpse on the other side of a freezer wall, it became so much easier to stop pretending. It was so much easier to drift away and look inside than it was to deal with reality. Because it really was that simple. They were essentially the same thing. As without, so within. As Light's crimson eyes fluttered open with a shallow sigh, a corporeal flicker of light began to bead from the center of his chest. It roiled under his skin like the sun over the waves, and at his command, and with a breath, it bubbled. Bit by bit, it ballooned outward. He obviously couldn't really watch it, but he could feel it. The odd, detached sensation of something round and warm grow under his skin and push through. It was kind of uncomfortable, but it didn't really hurt. It was just... foreign. It felt like he was pulling a ball out of his chest, but it wasn't like his chest was being torn open, and there wasn't a hole, either. There was just... warmth inside of him that felt... solid. It bubbled and beaded like goosebumps on his skin, and as it grew, the last wisps of what he could feel inside dried and evaporated. The last cord snapped, and though it felt like he'd... lost something, as his eyes widened and he cast a look down, a tiny, perfectly circular orb of shimmering grey light floated down towards his outstretched hoof. It was still kind of cute, in an odd, macabre way, how shy souls seemed to be as they moved. It floated listlessly on a nonexistent breeze, seemingly caught in its own strange way by invisible strings that pulled taut every half-second to make it bob. It made it seem coquettish, too afraid even to freely fall. Well, the crow's soul was like that, anyway. He'd never really seen another outside of its... natural habitat. Light enjoyed a satisfied shiver as the corporeal soul drifted out to land atop his awaiting frog. Oh, the feeling was exactly as he remembered it. Like electricity running down his spine. Like fire in his veins. Intrinsically fulfilling. Though, he couldn't really say for sure whether it'd been better inside or out. As it was, as he lifted his hoof to inspect the pulsing blob of whirling light, he could certainly notice... something lacking inside of him. Not anything all that major—the crow's soul was pretty small, after all—but still, there was something. Something fleeting that just... wasn't there anymore. Staring down at the ever-shifting complexity that was the lowly crow's soul, Light's expression began to hue gently wistful. It really felt... like he was lesser without it. Had he become used to the feeling of two souls inside him? He supposed... it'd been a long time since he'd only had... His smile, sad as it already was, turned down. ...just the one. The regret began to tilt over him—but Light shook it off. He raised himself up on a sudden rush of awareness, taking a deep whiff of dust as he straightened, keeping his eyes wide and alert as he directed his gaze back to the crow's soul he held in a hoof. Waiting and bobbing and scattering coalesced energy like rising embers that smothered in the air. What was that? Where did those little cinders of refuse go? Who knew? Maybe he'd find out one day. Maybe it was soul juice. Light quirked the end of his mouth up in an amused little smile as he reached forward, inwardly sobbing a little bit as he tilted his hoof to the side and let the soul he held aloft begin to float off of it. He held his breath, but kept an easy expression as the crow's soul floated off his hoof and towards the table—outwardly and incredibly relieved as the little orb slowed in its descent and maintained a cool distance from the table's surface. He waited for a moment, watching the orb sit and benignly exist where it really shouldn't have for a moment before he nodded to himself, content to leave his new decoration where it was as he once again retrieved his bygone writing utensil. He cast another... slightly paranoid glance to the soul he'd placed at the corner of his notebook, but he quickly shook the feeling off and let his attention drop to the awaiting page, instead. Souls. What were they? That was the question. A question... he needed to come up with an answer for. That was hard. He knew what he thought souls were, but... what if... ...no, this needed to happen. If he didn't make guesses, he'd never be proven right or wrong. He just needed... to make conjecture. He could do that. Chapter One: Souls. Preconceptions and Intrigue. For all that is waxed on about the intrinsic nature of a pony'sbe broad creature's soul, the actual denomination of such a thing is a matter of mystery. There are a great many philosophical ponderings put forth on what a soul may be, what it may mean to an individual, and how it relates to one's destiny. These beliefs are as numerous as the stars in the night's <--- dumb What is certain is that, despite the mythos, the soul is a very tangible artifact. Not tangible, actually, more It definitively exists as a presumably magical artefact, and it exists within every living creature. He lifted his pencil, casting his gaze to the soul hovering just above the desk. That was... correct, wasn't it? Every living creature had to have a soul, right? He'd not ever seen one that didn't—unless bugs weren't just too small to see. Well, he supposed this was a moment of uncertainty. Here was a presumption he could make. He'd take it to heart, and if he was ever wrong, then he'd take it on the chin. He wasn't above error—he was counting on making errors, as a matter of fact. He'd just ignore the cramped feeling in his chest. -within every living creature. It is a matter of fact that living creatures must possess a soul to be classified as such, otherwise, they possess no obvious identity emphasis of self. This fact is self-evident. As the soul is the ostensible 'existence' of a creature, it must logically hold true that, without a soul, a creature cannot be said to 'exist'. This is true because This fact is predicated on the assumption that death releases one's soul, and such is what causes the actual state of death. Beyond the cessation of natural bodily functions, the soul is a fundamental requirement for a creature's existence, perhaps at an even greater more fundamental level. If this assumption does in fact hold true, then the inverse opposite must, as well. If an expired creature were to have a soul forcibly impressed upon them, would they they would ostensibly reanimate without need for the vital processes. This is the founding principle for the Black magic school of Necromancy: the magic that governs the soul. He paused. Was that correct? He was thinking... probably not. This is the founding principle for the Black magic school of Necromancy: the magic that governs the soul. This is the basis for reanimation, one of the governing principles for the Black magic school of Necromancy. Light leaned back, somewhat more satisfied with his rewording. There was no use in coming off as overeager. He didn't think he was comfortable enough to slap an outright denotation on Necromancy just yet. He had the vague idea that's what it was, but he wasn't sure if it was something that he'd read from his books or the trashy literature he'd used to read as a foal. Otherwise, it seemed to be coming along well! The idea that the soul's separation was what caused death seemed a little iffy in his head, but as he'd written it down and explored what that idea actually meant, it had seemed a bit more intuitive. It was the logical progression, wasn't it? If the soul was the culminative being of a creature, then that meant it was the most vital piece of the greater whole of life. If it was all that remained, well... it wouldn't be whole, but half of a life was probably enough to get by on. That was what zombies—or the real life equivalent of the concept were. It was a major guess, but still. Just because he didn't really know whether putting a soul in a dead body would just revive it didn't have much bearing; he was still in the theoretical phase of his exploration. He'd find out eventually, and if it was true, then hooray! His ideals were intuitive! A stray thought flitted by, buzzing past his ear and drawing a lazy flick from it. He could go try right now... Errant thoughts of that path crashed into his headspace, and momentarily, he was overwhelmed by the possibility. Zecora's blackened gums parting in a frosty wail as unnatural life disturbed her rest. Her empty sockets oozing thawing viscera as she tried to stand from her coffin, fumbling and failing as the jerking stumps of her hooves cracked and snapped in half. Her shambling corpse writhing on the floor as what was left of her innards slipped from her loose chest onto the floor and shattered into icy pieces. The voiceless moaning and pleading of skin flapping and bones crunching in the absence of a windpipe. A smile on her face. Light blinked, shaking away the... nightmare with a distressed exhalation. He had to readjust his aching haunches against the chair as he took a hefty swallow, just trying to... stop feeling whatever he was feeling. No. He'd not be reenacting his nightmare. Best to do something else and wait for a less traumatic opportunity. He chose not to address whatever trauma was trying to spring forth, instead focusing his attention up to the soul that still hovered bookside. Light took a long moment to focus on it—to really stare at it, doing his best to internalize what he was looking at. The approximate dimensions... probably... inch and a half, maybe two inch diameter. Small, but still fairly self-evident with its properties. Relatively benign as far as he'd seen from others' characteristics; it seemed to present the most basic behavior he'd come to expect from souls. Could that be because it had no entity to shape it? That would... no, the soul was the actual 'entity,' wasn't it? Was it because its owner had died? Had that dulled it somehow? Was it just because it came from a crow? He was fairly sure animal souls presented individual characteristics as well—Rarity's cat, for example, was always angry—but was that universal? Its grey shine came from its undefined edges, but its core... within, past the infinitely fluctuating, racing trails of energy that its open bounds kept within themselves, he could swear his eyes were fooling him into believing its core gradually faded to a gentle hue of white. Just... some kind of mirage, maybe. It depended on how he focused on it. If he just looked at it—a glance, really—it was very obviously a single shade of grey all the way down. Its natural color. What it was meant to be. But if he focused... the longer he watched the light shift... it was almost as if... ...it nearly seemed... less than recursive. His eyes slid closed, and it was only then that he realized they were stinging. Aching. His jaw drifted wide open for a mouthy yawn, and as he peeled his suddenly tired eyes open, he cast a glance down to his notebook and the pencil that hovered just above it. He blinked blearily, then again. It looked... better than he'd imagined it to be. Light affected a weary smile as he tilted the front of his notebook up with a lever of his mana, pursing his lips and blowing the eraser shavings off the surprisingly consummate drawing of a soul he'd just spent... some amount of time absently doodling. He'd wanted to draw a picture of a soul, but he'd not anticipated the... trance he'd entered into. He wasn't exactly an artistic whiz—more in the realm of the starving artist who was starving for a reason. He'd expected to spend a few hours hunching over and stealing quick peeks up at the soul before dropping his gaze and hastily whipping his pencil about the page to repeatedly fix and make new mistakes. The drawing he'd done... without ever even looking down, just focusing on his muse, seemed as though it'd come from somepony else. The way he'd outlined its bounds in hard lines—fading and strengthening as they bound out and crossed through the half-articulated lines he'd already scored, bringing a sense of interconnectedness to life through enormity—was... unlike him. It seemed too nuanced to have come from him. The proof was all there, though. The pinching pain in the corners of his eyes from not blinking, the half-shaven eraser topping the pencil he yet held, and even the worsening twinge resonating through his skull and his joints told a story of drawn-out mana use. He'd written a nice, neat hypothesis, and below it, he'd drawn a picture of a soul. Like an extra large period. He felt... what was that..? Was that... pride welling in his breast? Light floated his pencil up to his mouth, once again taking it between his teeth as he let a whistling sigh out through his nose, fanning the tepid flames of self-satisfaction in his chest. It felt... it felt incredible to have... done something. When was the last time he'd done something? It felt like years. It probably was. He... okay, he knew that probably wasn't true—but it felt true. He'd just... he'd been living with such a profound sense of dissatisfaction and unfulfillment for so long that... he didn't really know... maybe this was all just overwhelming him. Maybe he'd jumped in too fast. His chin found home resting atop a frog, and Light blew out around his pencil. To his fuzzy gaze, the wall before him seemed to shift in the dark, spelling out that change was scary. Gone when he blinked, but still, the knots in the wood bore some resemblance to staring eyes, and the books stacked along his desk's back edge only made him feel all the more like there was something lurking behind them. Just... waiting to jump out and steal his meagre accomplishment from him. Simple paranoia, he knew. His eye fell, landing on the shining orb of shifting light floating above the table. His head rose from his hoof; Light let the appendage fall to cross over its twin as he leered closer at the former existence he'd captured and used for reference. Of course, that didn't bother him all that much—it was only a crow—but it was kind of telling that his thoughts had wandered enough to describe it as such. His mouth drifted open, and the pencil rolled out to land on his notebook. In its absence, though fully within the bounds of the taste of chewed wood, Light's jaw quirked up into a wan little grin. He didn't have many moral issues with taking souls, really. Not from... animals, and not from the dead. Murder was... beyond his limit, of course—and he wanted to give back what he'd been forced to steal from Zecora, but... really... that was mostly because she'd not deserved it. The thought felt a little odd. As he dwelled on it, he couldn't figure out the reason why. It wasn't disgust. It wasn't the logical fear of admitting that he didn't mind taking what was his, but maybe... defining what he considered such. He felt as though he'd had some hesitance in the past to imagine possessing any soul besides his own, but... he really couldn't remember why. Who did it hurt if he held onto something no one else was using? The thought was... fuzzy in his mind, like a downy blanket of security. It was nice to affirm his own beliefs—he'd not always been so able. It made him feel less like a shambling shell of a pony wandering around town and more like... Light Flow. Sitting at his own desk in his own home and doing what he liked. He'd capitalize on that. The soul of a pony being manifests as a spherical ball of pure, shifting light, averaging in size at half an one to three four three inches in diameter. This existence is constant, and up until the death of its host, it will remain attached to the being it exists inside of. As is able to be seen by Necromancers and those The pencil stopped its hurried scratching, and Light raised his gaze to the wall with a frown. What had Nightmare Moon told him about Necromancers? He was pretty sure... She'd told him over and over that he was special, right? Because... his abilities were inherent. Other ponies, including Her, needed to use spells to do what he was naturally capable of. His ego, small and abused as it was, certainly enjoyed hugging that cozy thought, but what did that imply? She'd said that he, specifically, was especially special, but to what extent? Was he the only pony with a Necromancy cutie mark that was able to see and interact with souls? That was... ...wait. He was... remembering something... Screaming. Walking towards a door. His mind racing. His own screaming. Angry screaming. He'd totally forgotten. He'd given this matter some thought, hadn't he? That made this a little less confusing for him. As is able to be seen by Necromancers and those who perform spells to alter their perception, souls exist at a magical frequency above at odds with what is typically perceptible, and they keep themselves within the general chest area of a creature. Due to the discrepancy between the frequency of mana and the soul, an alteration must be made to any relevant facet of an individual to make contact with souls in any way. Whether by changing what is perceptible to the retina or by altering the frequency one's own arcane mana resonates with, the foundation for altering souls is that of manipulating magical frequency. It is this principle that chiefly distinguishes those fated with a hollow destiny to perform Necromancy, as such individuals possess a numerically different Light stopped short, pencil held still over the paper. He'd worked off the memory of what he'd attempted to discern in a rather feverish moment the other night, and to his eyes, it was logically consistent. It'd all been such a shot in the dark at the time, but looking back, it'd all been remarkably cogent. Especially considering his relative state. Maybe he thought better when he was angry? That felt like it was probably true. The thing was... he was kind of getting hamstrung by his lacking knowledge of general Arcanicism. Schooling in Ponyville... wasn't exactly the most encompassing method of learning, and it wasn't like he'd ever cared enough to look very far into the matter at any other time. What he knew kind of boiled down to generalized bullet points that... he wasn't sure were all that accurate. Natural and arcane mana... Magical frequencies... Magical pathways... When he tried to follow the thread of logic for any of the topics, he only found himself dangling about an inch off a cliffside. That's how short the thread was. He didn't think he was comfortable pursuing the relationship between Necromancy and magical frequency much farther at the moment. He didn't even know what frequency mana existed at—or what that even really meant! What was frequency, anyway? How did it relate to wavelength, again? Was any of this congruent? He wanted to postulate that he, as a natural born Necromancer—and that was the term he was going with—possessed some kind of difference in the characteristics of arcane mana, because that just made sense. If he was going to put forth that souls existed at a similar frequency to mana, then of course it had to be different, because otherwise there'd be a whole bunch of ponies running around gawking at what he'd long since learned not to. Without really knowing how frequency even related to mana's properties, though, it just seemed like bad hypothesizing. He'd just wind up falling flat on his intellectual face and probably breaking his big nerd glasses when he hit the ground. His hoof met his face—none too gently—and Light sighed into the soft pad of his frog. He needed better foundations, because the public education system had failed him. Where could he go to learn more about magic, though? He didn't have any textbooks at home, so maybe he could go to- 'Me and Twilight are gonna be staying in Ponyville for a while while she studies friendship, at the Golden Oaks Library.' Oh no. Light's next breath came as a drawn out whine as his hoof slid down his jaw, hitting his table with a thump as his head lolled back against his neck. He'd not internalized it. Why was he only realizing now? Twilight was the new librarian, and she was living at the library. Lucky mare. What had happened to the old librarian, though? Come to think of it, when was the last time he'd been to the library? It had been... wait, it had been the Summer Sun Celebration! That was why there'd been a party in the library—and there was a fuzzy blank in his memory filled in! Ugh. Ew. He'd accidentally attended Twilight's welcome party without even thinking about it. He'd helped Spike out, sure, but he'd also given Nightmare Moon an in into his mind by hanging around Applejack. Not to mention the ill-fitting elephant in the library that really hadn't been built to host a party; he'd attended a party for Twilight. He cast a glance heavenward, whispering a silent prayer to the guardian of Tartarus that he'd not be judged for it when his time came. Then he slumped forward, laying his head on his hoof once more and pouting at the shining soul floating over his desk. Great. What a swell turn of events. If he wanted to check anything out ever again, he'd either have to skip town to Canterlot, or suck it up and talk to Twilight. He'd have to endure her nattering about consequences this and danger that, and he'd probably have to avoid eye contact with Spike so Twilight wouldn't yell at him for... whatever. He could practically hear her know-it-all tone. 'Light, it's not that I don't like you, it's that you're absolutely repellant, and your proximity may just be enough to finally make me combust. Don't talk to me or my dragon ever again.' A snort escaped the stern expression he'd adopted to internally mock Twilight, segueing perfectly into an eye roll as he knocked his head to one side then the other. He was overaccentuating, he knew, but he just despised her so much. She'd already told him to stay away from her once, and she'd even used harsher words. Bigger words, too. He sighed as his head rose from his hoof, taking a moment to glare down at his imaginary image of Twilight before he lit his horn to take his pencil and stabbed it into her stupid, purple forehead. Whatever. He'd figure it out. He had better things to do than sit around cursing Twilight's name—fun though it was. The corner of the page before him wrinkled and rose in a shimmer of mana, turning a couple pages to one that felt right as he cast his thoughts out into the southern sea of wondering once more. He'd skip past the particulars of the soul's existence and how Necromancers were kin to it until he was more sure-hooved in Arcanicism. 'Till then, he had plenty of other thoughts to explore. The light that evidently comprises the soul is more than simple iridescence; it is most analogous to the light that mana presents itself as, though not quite the same. Whereas mana is ------------- the makeup of a soul is a complex array of innumerable shifting lines that intersect and interlock with each other. In this way, souls are somewhat like lattices. Light paused, barely even a quarter of the way into the thought he was trying to expound. Was making a comparison to lattices presumptuous? The simile... was similar to the literal definition of a lattice, but he'd had the mana construct more in mind as he'd written it. Were the two similar? He didn't really know how lattices worked, either—at least, not any more than the average understanding that the commercial mana battery was a specialized type of lattice, and that they just about powered the world. Outside of podunk Ponyville, anyway. What did they do beyond that? How did they work? He was familiar with the outward structure—that was what led him to make the comparison to souls—but he wasn't sure of their internals. Was he comfortable leaving that vague proposal there, or should he cross it out? If he did, then like all the rest, at least it'd still be there for his future consideration in case it became relevant. Light thought for another moment before he clicked his tongue and lowered his pencil once more. Eh. These lines of indeterminable energy that comprise the soul are, in actuality, the arbitrating code that accounts for every facet of an individual's unequivocal individuality. If a being could be said to have a personality, then the existence of the soul is what ultimately determines such a thing; the soul's intangible luminescence is the exact, culminated core of what may be described as individual existence. It is quite analogous to the genetic code which comprises living beings, if only at a superficial level. As the particle particular chains of molecules such as DNA provide biological instructions for the physical propagation and growth of life, the particles that somewhat similarly comprise the soul instead govern thought and character at a spiritual level. This behavior may or may not harbor some connection to the inscrutable nature of mana. (???) It is this fact that lends the school of Necromancy its extreme abhorrence. As its categorized spells may allow an individual to see, to touch, and even to alter these sacrosanct articles of pure personage, it is possible to change the defining nature of any creature which possesses such. If desired, a soul could be plucked apart, strand by strand, and made unrecognizable from what it once was. Naturally, this would reflect on its owner. One's outward appearance and the inward existence of a soul are like two halves of a mirror; if one were to change, then the other would follow accordingly. Great turmoil affecting one's life may irrevocably change them forever, and all the same, the soul could be made to undergo this change unnaturally. The actual ability to do so is predicated on Light stopped short, pencil kept trembling above the page in a haze of red mana, while the throat-choking exhilaration that had crept over him at thinking of gleefully playing with the spiritual anatomy of another being began to ebb from the back of his tongue. Like a carriage halted at the castle walls, his thoughts stopped. The steady stream of exposition that had come so easily to him... ceased. The taut thread of explication suddenly fell slack. As Light pulled it up for owl-eyed inspection, he found it so much shorter than he'd been expecting. He didn't have the necessary experience. He'd never... he didn't know how to... ...He'd performed Flesh Manipulation, hadn't he? He knew enough about the internal workings of a pony and how to channel his magic to avail or abet them, as he'd recently done, and he'd done it with only a few minor mistakes. Whatever he'd done to Bon Bon's nervous system had healed well enough, so in his eyes, he'd earned a passing grade. He'd taken a soul—plucked it right from the still-breathing chest of a crow—and he was getting better at removing them from his body, too. It was such a profoundly meditative experience; he'd practically spent his whole life preparing for it. It wouldn't be long before he could do it effortlessly, and maybe without it feeling like he was ripping his kidney out. Or some such organ. But he'd... he'd been able to see souls for nearly half his life, now, but he was... Like rote, his forearms crossed over his desk—the position of resignation. His shoulders sagged as he bent forward, and as his pencil laid at ease at the heading of his scrawlings, his chin lowered onto the pointy, uncomfortable junction where his pasterns gave way to the solid edges of his hooves. Sitting there in that position that no doubt wreaked havoc on his back, Light let out a puffing sigh of a breath through his pursed lips; his sullen, melancholic eyes kept lidded and focused on that taunting little sphere of grey light just before him. Spinning about with its paradoxical white genesis. Mocking him. He didn't understand anything about it. His eyes drifted closed, yet the soul's light stayed in the dark. Still shining. Still a mystery. Just... stunted. It would help if he'd ever actually tried to manipulate a soul. He didn't want to mess around with the crow's soul, though. He didn't want to... mess it up. He wanted... to know before he did anything crazy. He needed more info. He had to... he had to... ...He didn't even really know what he wanted. To just... watch ponies? To what—understand what governed them? If he'd never been able to figure anything out before, then what use was there now? Maybe it would be better to experiment with the crow's soul. It was like a controlled environment—any failure he made with it wouldn't really damage anything, would it? But it'd still be a failure. He should be more comfortable with failure. Why wasn't he? Why did it... why could he feel the disappointment just... squeezing his lungs? Why did his stomach feel so heavy? Why'd it make his teeth ache so bad? What was wrong with him? He should've been... better. Why was he experiencing this... dysphoria? Nightmare Moon was gone. Applejack was his marefriend. He had the freedom to pursue his special talent. So... why did he... ...feel so cold..? > Chapter 63 - Begrudged Accord > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the vastly misinformed sagas of religious nattering such as the abhorrent Sun's Reverency, itself a hugely antiquated book of prayers and conflated misconceptions about the so-beloved Princess Celestia, there have been scant references to an expanded pantheon beyond the great Sun above. Of course, it is far from the only body amidst the high heavens. It's only logical to assume there may be corresponding Deities. But why are Alicorns hailed as Goddesses at all? Religious paraphernalia spanning centuries of history has explicitly gone out of its way to denote Princess Celestia, the Holy Sun, as the one true genesis of Equine, and of Equus itself. She, the only living Alicorn in existence, represents so much as the source of all life. Of warmth itself. She is special. She is unique. She is divinity given form. And now there are two of Them. -Light Flow's Compendium, Chapter 4: The Imperfect Heavens --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Light Flow woke up with his face planted snout-deep into the welcoming crook of his notebook about an hour ago, he'd only vaguely been able to remember the preceding moments of his long—seemingly long, judging by the faint scent of morning—slumber. A long... long stretch of time of just... writing. And writing. And writing. Until he'd passed out. The logical progression of study, as he understood it. He'd risen up from his exhaustive transcription with a groan, rolling his very sore shoulders and yawning as wide as his mouth could allow as he scooted out of his chair and turned his already wandering attention towards his kitchen nook. An apple or two later, a glass of water, and he'd had a quick scan through the half-filled first volume of his work. It was kind of hard to make his bleary eyes actually focus on the thick walls of loopy horn writing, but he'd more or less forced himself to remember most of his disquisitive tribulation from the previous day. He'd gotten... a lot of work done, though he'd chosen to give up on expanding the section on souls until he was more versed in his desired profession, which really freed up a ton of mental space for other topics. He'd written a bit more on Necromancy as a whole, some technical stuff about Flesh Manipulation, and a couple thousand lines of what began to feel more and more like a dramatic diary entry about Alicorns and Nightmare Moon. He'd half expected to find a tear-stained entry about how wronged he felt that went on for fifty paragraphs. He'd only found one or two, thankfully. Regardless, it was a good day's work. So much of it was such a blur in his mind that he was sure to be surprised at the cogency of his work when he eventually returned to it, but that sort of came with the territory of writing. As did the ache behind his eyes. Mana burnout. He felt like a zombie. So, in the interest of not driving himself back into the hooves of insanity by mindlessly writing for another day and overtaxing his arcane system, he'd decided to get up and go out for the day. He had plenty to do about town, after all, and it wasn't like he had a secret doppelganger he could just order out to do it all for him. Unfortunately. He wished he did. It'd be like having twice the productivity! Twice the mania, too... It probably wasn't worth the complex it'd give him. With half a smile on his face—because he was sure to put himself into an uncomfortable situation—he'd messed about with his mane and his fur in his bathroom mirror—he was a good-looking zombie, indeed—retrieved his surprisingly intact saddlebag from his bedroom dresser, and... spent a good minute or two examining the key to his new door. He couldn't be all proactive. If he hadn't stopped to examine all its ridges and facets, he'd just get twitchy. Locking the door behind him and taking a deep whiff of the sunny summer day as he did, it occurred to Light the potential repercussions of leaving his books on Necromancy on his desk beside the box that had Nightmare Moon's armor in it. Just about as damning as it would've been to find him in attendance with the maniacal Goddess, he was guessing. In the wake of the recent insurrection, he wasn't sure any explanation would've satisfied for what he was hiding. Her armor? If anypony had seen Her, they'd seen it. He'd come home to a lynching. But then, he'd just shaken his head as he wiggled the key under the flap of his bag. He'd gone so far as to lock the door, and who would ever break into someplace that looked so rundown? Illegal tomes on Black magic were probably the best thing anypony so vagabond would be hoping to find. Nightmare Moon's armor... would be a little more incredulous—but the whole paranoid venture was only a hypothetical, anyway, so he'd not dwelled on it for very long. Literary tropes be damned. He'd be fiiiine. He spent the short walk to Ponyville mostly ruminating, as he often did, but he did drag himself out of his own head a few times to at least try to appreciate the nature he was traversing. The rolling plains dotted with freckles of trees, the babbling stream he had to walk the breadth of until he came to the ratty stone bridge that forded it, not to mention the increasing uptick in general life around him. Near the Everfree, things were just dead. In the closer periphery of Ponyville, though, there were critters and birds and the trees were actually brown! Oh, it was all so quaint and endearing. It'd been just a day or two since he'd sat by the river with Applejack, positively swaddled in the enchanting grasp of creation, but there was just... something about his new lease on life that made him actually care about whether he ever experienced things. It was just so nice to feel so alive and warm after... yesterday. Yesterday... The thought had crept up on him then, though he'd done a remarkable job of not dwelling on his previous feelings. It was in the past, and at least he was starting to gain an inkling of why he'd been so cold. So... chilled to his bones. As long as he knew why, then he could avoid it. He'd not venture out on that branch again. Those thoughts were still fresh in Light's head, as it had only been a few minutes ago that he'd had his stumble. He'd been near enough to Ponyville that his walk was soon to end, though as he'd crossed the bridge over the stream that made a boundary of Town Hall, he'd been rather rudely stopped. Well, it was more like he stopped to gawk, as were quite a few other ponies—as he still was. He'd never considered himself much of a crowd pony before, but when he'd seen the loose gaggle of wide-eyed bystanders standing around and staring Town Hall's way, he'd had a surprisingly difficult time convincing himself not to investigate. Such was his nature, he supposed; he was thoroughly entranced by outstanding details. So he'd sidled in between two strangers, mentally commending himself for not making a point to stare at anypony's souls—though they were all right there—as he came to the front and saw for himself what all the big fuss was about. And... that was about where he still was, because for the life of him, he really didn't know what to think about it. Though there was only a small bunch of ponies watching from the outskirts like he was, there was a quantifiable gathering of ponies gathered around the fountain in front of Town Hall. A gathering in number, but more like a union in action; whichever ponies weren't sitting and proudly bobbing an assortment of painted signs and posters were marching around and waving them about. The lot of them were shouting something, too. For sleepy old Ponyville, a rally was certainly out of the norm—if there was ever any organized gathering, there was a fair chance Pinkie Pie was involved, and that really just meant it was a party. This was no party. Ironically enough, though, the first glimpse of one of the signs the ponies were presenting hit him with a very similar feeling to what parties instilled in him. A cold, sinking uneasiness. Half of the signs were white and yellow. The other half were blue, white, and red. | The heavens aren't big enough! | Big, bold wording underneath a startlingly vivid red prohibition circle overlaid on a scrawling of a crescent moon in the night sky. The other signs were large drawings of an emblazoned sun in a white sky, proud and unmarred. It was obvious. Hate speech. This was an anti-Luna rally. As something approaching a very stark reality began to wane over him, Light found the shouted words—no, chants, growing clearer. Less... muffled, in a way. As though there had been cotton in his ears and he was only just taking it out. He almost wished he could put it back in. "Cast away the usurper Goddess!" "The heavens aren't big enough!" "Only one Princess!" "Sleep through the night!" It was only a short while that Light stood amidst the quietly whispering crowd, barely even registering the hushed gossip of those who weren't brave enough to dissent. He felt... alone. Staring at the brazenly spread gathering of proudly like-minded ponies—watching the shimmer of a dozen or more souls hued violently red in the sunlight—he truly felt disconnected from the world around him. Because he was not kin to those he stood among, nor was he to those preaching their personal gospel. It was even less than standing in the middle between two sides—it could hardly even be said to be muddled. Who was to say how many ponies around him felt the same? It wasn't as though he could read insurrection off their souls. The air tasted stale and stagnant on Light's tongue as he took a deep breath, drawing himself back to the world from the depths of his mind. He felt... annoyed. Inwardly, he was conflicted, but outwardly, he was just annoyed. It was an expression he wore well as a particularly loud whisper drew his attention to his right, where a mare with a startlingly familiar shade of cream-colored fur made his own fur stand on end for a moment before he realized her mane was some blended shade of red. Not curly pink-and-purple, thank the heavens. His group neighbor was holding some kind of pamphlet in the crook of her hoof, her dubious gaze scanning the text she'd just been passed while her greenish-yellow soul hued insistently purple. Exasperation, or similar to it. The brightly-colored paper readily caught his eye, and he made no small show of leaning over to try to read it over her shoulder. Unfortunately, he was not subtle, and he was forced to lean away as the earth pony mare turned to him, her expression strangely owlish as her greenish eyes met his. Funny, he probably should've been the shocked one. Embarrassed, at least. All the same, before he could get an unfelt apology out, the mare's gaze tracked down to the pamphlet she held, then back up to him. In a jerky motion, she shoved the paper into his chest with a stammer. "Just- here. Take it," she blurted, and as he bewilderedly took it out of her grasp, she turned and shouldered past the pony to her other side, cantering away before he could even think to ask her what her problem was. He barely caught sight of the single red rose on her flank before she was halfway across the plaza in the opposite direction, off on her way to... the looney bin, if he had to guess. Odd mare, but then again, this was Ponyville, proud home to Pinkie Pie. They had more than their fair share of freaks here. What was one more? He didn't pay much mind to whatever the pony she'd shoved aside thought of the encounter, instead taking another glance at the ongoing upset of a crowd in front of him before his gaze fell to the pamphlet he held. He was immediately vindicated on his choice to call it a pamphlet; as he took it out of his hoof with an urge to the mana in his system, he found the paper could unfold rather eponymously in half. He only had to read the front to know exactly what it was about and who had distributed it. Ponyvillians unite! Yesterday evening, the usurper princess, Nightmare Moon, was crowned as an officially recognized Diarch of Equestria. This means she commands the same authority as Her Holy Highness, Princess Sol Celestia. Even if the rest of the world is fooled, we must stand together! We were all there at the Summer Sun Celebration when the usurper princess revealed herself in the Town Hall and proclaimed her ambition to rule Equestria forever in an eternal night! We were personally witness to her hateful presence! It's unknown what foul lies she must have whispered to weasel her way into power alongside our radiant Sun, but rest assured, as long as we remain vigilant, Ponyville will remain a bastion of sanctity until the world is set right. We will not fall prey to what hides in the dark! The blasphemous, night-stalking villain that stole our Princess away is not welcome in our pantheon. Join us in- -and that was where Light Flow had to stop reading, because the propaganda was beginning to make his stomach rebel. There was the real rebellion everypony needed to be aware of. If they weren't careful, he'd go and throw up all over those protestors. He folded the 'righteous' paraphernalia back in half with a snort, sneering down at it for a moment as he considered just tearing it in two. After a moment, his expression eased—barely—and he shook his head instead as he turned and unbuckled his saddlebag to toss the paper in. With any luck, it'd serve as an interesting anecdote. Turning back to the chanting crowd, Light mused to himself that this was all just an interesting anecdote. There was no validity to this crowd's sanctimony. This... crowd, that he was sure now was less than twenty ponies strong. Almost half of them were old, and judging by the fur patterns, it was a few families of ponies. What were they even trying to do? Picketing Town Hall wasn't going to do anything but tick the mayor off. Even if they went and stomped around Canterlot, they'd probably all get thrown in jail for disturbing the peace. Grassroot movements like these were destined to fail, because they were just an extremely disgruntled minority. The sun would not move just because they made a fuss. If anything, they'd just get burnt. Dumb mules. Light stepped forward and broke from the group he'd uncaringly joined, trotting across the plaza and away from the diehards that were mostly all close to dying. He had better things to do than get all anxious about a movement that was destined to fail. Not that he was, he was just... He just- he didn't- it wasn't like he- ...It just irked him to see ponies pretending like Nightmare Moon had affected them in some way. They didn't know... they knew nothing about Her, and they were dumb for pretending as though Her ascension to the throne was any kind of ruse. Didn't they realize they were insulting their precious Sun? Did they think Princess Celestia was so stupid—so easily taken in that She'd somehow just let impure intentions reign?! Like a chump?! He was the only one with any right to talk about Nightmare Moon. The whole rest of the world could just button it until they all killed themselves, too. Nopony knew better than he did. Nopony but him knew anything about Nightmare Moon. And nopony knew anything about Luna. He doubted even Her Sister did. Dumb... stupid... muleish... freakin'... didn't deserve... they didn't even know... didn't even come to damned harm... It was a good thing Light had long since mastered the art of navigating while brooding. His walk continued uninterrupted the rest of the way to his destination while he grumbled to himself, barely even looking where he was going in between casting his eyes up to the heavens in prayer that every stupid pony on the planet would choke on their own drool and burn in Tartarus. Sadly, his prayers went unanswered. As they always did. Regardless, he'd mostly cooled down by the time he stood in the little grass park across the street from the library. He was very thankful that he'd had the wherewithal to stop where he had, because if he'd blindly bumped into the front door like he'd done a few times as a kid, he'd... well... it was obvious what he'd be. Staring up at the boughs of the great tree that housed the library, sporting the odd peeking window and balcony... and telescope, he was actually kind of glad he'd had the chance to let out all his pent-up aggression, if even internally. It was helping his marginally clearer head come to a decision—one that he'd been kind of agonizing over ever since he'd remembered about Spike and Twilight yesterday. Though, Light couldn't help but frown as his gaze fell to the inset door in the base of the tree. Its... little stoop. Its cute little candle insignia in the middle of the top partition. The sign out front with the fancy golden lettering. The... black handles—oh, he couldn't hold it back anymore, he just hated Twilight so much. She was such a pretentious jerk, and he really would've been best suited if he never saw her again! She was pompous, haughty, know-it-all, and unnecessarily mean! But—and this was the part he hated the most—she was living in his favorite building in Ponyville! If he ever wanted to check something out again, and he needed to, he... Light's jaw tensed, grinding his teeth. He didn't know why, it wasn't as though he was saying it out loud, he just... It hurt. He had to... make nice with Twilight. There, he'd admitted it. He had to waddle over, suck it up, and admit that he needed her help—just because she was the librarian. He didn't value her for anything else. He didn't care how studious and well-read she was, even though he would typically find that admirable. On Twilight, it just looked sardonic. She probably only read to keep up to date on how to one-up ponies. She had a dumb manecut. She'd grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth. She was distractible and introverted. She needed her dragon brother... son to clean up after her to survive. She was unfairly protective of her dragon sonbrother, too. For no reason. Because, despite her outward appearances, she wasn't logical. She was illogical and dumb. Dumb dumb stupid dumb stupid purple mulehorse. Okay, he was ready to go knock on the door. He gathered himself with a breath, sweeping the reductive insults out of his headspace with a breezily pleasant hum as he stepped forward. His easygoing trot to the door took less time than he'd otherwise have liked to brace himself, but hey, that was life! Sometimes, going places just happened. Couldn't help it. Oh well! He stopped short at the door's stoop, just under its shallow, protruding arch, taking a moment to examine the plain-looking note tacked to the door's top partition just aside from the candle insignia. Library closed for reorganization. Please come back tomorrow. His hoof made solid contact with the door—once, twice, three times—while he made a concerted effort to roll his eyes. Yeah, like he'd let a notice from Twilight stop him. She'd tell him to leave anyway, so what difference did it make if he visited when it was closed? Until he made some kind of peace, the library was always going to be closed for him. As he let his hoof rest, his ear perked to the faint sound of a voice from somewhere beyond the door. Wood didn't muffle things very well, unfortunately for... Twilight, yes, that was her voice. Then... masculine... Spike's voice... an affirmation. She'd told him to... get the door? Light frowned. What, was she not good enough to get her own door? Though, it was also Spike's door. Hm. That might've been some interesting semantics that he didn't have time to contemplate because the door was opening. Well, the top of the door swung in, anyway, and with the same situational impact as a crossbow bolt suddenly shot from its platform, two scaly... hands grasped the edge of the open door and pulled their owner up. Emerald eyes. His eye flicked down—no, maintain eye contact. It was rude to look at souls while he spoke. Look Spike in his eyes, the emerald eyes above the mouth full of sharp teeth cut in a cute little grin. Focus on the conformation of his overlaid scales if need be—no matter how interesting his soul was. By everything that was unholy was it interesting, though. Light did his best to keep his eyes level with half a smile on his face as Spike, a real sight for sore eyes, wobbled slightly back on what he assumed was a stool. He steadied himself with a groan and one hand on the door, then, as he looked back up to Light, he let out a faint little gasp. "Whoa." The little drake's instinctive exclamation seemed to embarrass him, as Light could see a... very faint green blush press against his scales as he brought a claw up to rub the back of his head, and he gave a wan little chuckle. "I mean... uh... whoa! Hey!" Whatever knee-jerk surprise he'd suffered bled away to warm familiarity as the dragon leaned forward with a smile, proffering a balled-up claw. "What's up, man? What brings you out here?" The put-on tone of casual bravado in his voice... was very nostalgic for Light for a moment, so much so that he found himself lost for a response. He blinked, then again to get rid of the phantom sight of a blurry dirt path, finally managing to manage his voice. "Um... Nothing... really," he wagered unsteadily, doing his best to also seem casual as he lifted his hoof to give Spike the bump he was looking for. The dragon's smile seemed to sparkle as he leaned back onto the doorframe, crossing his arms across it as Light... genuinely smiled back. "I'm... uh... I guess I'm... here to see Twilight." Like poison on his tongue. Seemingly at the mention of her name, a voice rose up from somewhere behind Spike. "Spike? Who's there?" As Spike turned over his shoulder with a frown—a disappointed frown he'd watched grow—Twilight's voice grew a little more muffled, as if she were moving away. "Is it another book delivery from Canterlot?" Light opened his mouth, then shut it a moment later as Spike turned back to him with a blink. They stared at each other silently for a moment while Spike pursed his lips and cocked his head, then turned back into the library. "Yeah, Twilight! I'll go ahead and sign for them and bring them in!" his friend shouted back to his guardian, and... aw. Light couldn't stop himself from murmuring in quiet affection as Spike turned back to him, rubbing a claw against the back of his head as his smile grew sheepish. Sheepish and some amount of guilty. What a good kid. They shared another meaningful glance before Spike shook his head with a sigh, smiling back at him all the same as he beckoned over his shoulder. "Well, I guess... just come on in and... put 'em anywhere. Heh." A better friend than he deserved. He deserved better. ...Bleh. Light mumbled his thanks as the drake turned and hopped off his stool. There was the sound of subtle dragging before the bottom half of the door opened, revealing the mighty dragon in all his short, stout glory. Even shorter than he'd remembered. No wonder the little drake could ride around on ponies when he barely came up to Light's chest. Light wasn't even all that tall. He... was a bit short himself. He did his best not to match his obviously erstwhile friend's quiet sigh as he stepped forward, following Spike's silent beckoning as he stepped around the door and the dragon closed it behind them. Breathing in the comforting scent of must, Light cast a cursory glance around the library, and—woah. Books were everywhere. More books than he was at all sure the library could hold, because there were still a bunch on the shelves while most of the actual space of the library was dominated by stacks of them. On the floor, wherever there were tables—though an odd little corner near the curved staircase held an oddly book-bereft wooden podium. Almost out of place in the middle of a small clearing immediately flanked by books. With how they'd been clearly arranged to leave gaps and paths between them, it was like a maze. The reorganization must have been a lie, but only because he'd be more inclined to call this a reconstruction. Twilight must've been planning on shelving new material that... she was evidently receiving from Canterlot. But what about the old Ponyville material? What about- why- but- Light's mouth quirked up in a little grin as he scanned the disorganized annals, because he couldn't even keep the joke going in his head. He didn't care if new books were coming in, just so long as they were helpful and interesting. Books were books, no matter where they came from or what they were bound in. Inclusivity extended to all kinds of friends, even those ink-stained and paper-reamed. Light turned to his flesh-and-scales friend, standing somewhat awkwardly in the shadow of the door. The poor little drake seemed... almost abashed, and he wasn't really looking at Light all that much. Just a glance here and there while his... appendages wore scuffs into the floor, and he kept his claw firmly bent to the back of his head. It didn't seem right. Seeing him so evidently tense and edgy was making Light feel... guilty. Cold and anxious. The Spike he remembered was... carefree. Easygoing and outgoing. But... there had been a few times he'd seen the lizard clam up, weren't there? When he'd been getting worried about Light. Light turned fully to his dragon friend, inwardly debating with himself for as long as the floor could support his heavy gaze. After more mindless back-and-forth than he'd ever be comfortable admitting to, he found that little voice deep inside that told him to suck it up, and he was able to meet his friend's gaze just as he glanced up. He barely had to read the clouded conflict in his eyes before Spike's gaze fell once more. "I'll, uh... go get Twilight, I guess," he murmured, and with that, the little dragon began to totter off. As he passed, his claw slipped down the back of his head, falling to his front just as Light turned to watch him walk away. A classic anxious tic. Applejack did weird things with her hooves when she got nervous, too. Crap. This was his fault, at least tangentially. He had to do something—say something. "Spike..." The dragon slowed to a halt when Light called his name, and to his friend's credit, he had a smile on his face when he turned to face him. It was fake and incredibly wiggly and anxious, but it was there, regardless. Spike was the kind of dragon to sweep right along past problems, it seemed. Something they had in common. ...No. He was trying to change. Light cleared his throat, working the courage up as quickly as he could to alleviate his friend who was just about bouncing on his... claws. Hands. No—feet! He was sure of it, this time! And... this was the wrong time to pat himself on the back. Sad face. Low tone. Keep it dour enough that Spike would know he was serious. "Do you... want to talk, later?" he murmured, thankfully just loudly enough that, judging by the way the corner of his smile dipped down, his friend definitely heard. He watched Spike play with his claws for a moment, squeezing them together and picking at their ends until he shook his head. His unsteady smile returned. "Uh... nah, dude, it's fine." He raised one of his claws from the rest, poking it towards the ceiling with a wan chuckle. "We're cool! Everything's all good." At that, Spike tried to turn back around to head upstairs, but Light found his voice raising again, stalling his friend where he stood. "I really... I really think we should talk about... what happened, at some point." His already uncertain cadence petered out, leaving Light feeling more and more like a loser as Spike, back turned, stood still. For a few moments, Light thought he'd come off as too uncertain—too lame, and his friend was going to disregard him. There was undeniable tension in his shoulders, certainly, and he could see the subtle motions of his twiddling claws, but nothing else. Maybe he should've been more emphatic. Maybe... But then, as Light returned to guessing at his own intentions, his friend gave an audible, yet still quiet, sniff. "Yeah. Okay," was his only response before the little drake broke out into a wobbly run, swinging his arms jerkily back and forth as he swerved away from the center table, sidled through two walls of book stacks, and finally turned around the bend of the stairs to ascend their odd, gentle curve. He was gone in a moment, disappearing into the stairwell too quickly for Light to even catch a glimpse at his face. But as he'd been seeing for the past minute or so, Spike's soul was showing how he felt very clearly. Of course, given that his soul was a living, crackling ball of green fire, it was just a bit harder for Light to read. He'd been idly fascinated by Spike's soul since he caught his first glimpse of it back when all his friends broke in on his awkward situation with Bon Bon, so finally getting to disregard his own morals and stare at it unabashedly was very intriguing. It had the same basic shape as a regular soul, but where a plain pony's soul was a perfect sphere comprised of lines of harsh light, Spike's was a much rougher sphere of pure, constrained flame. It was wild and merry; a whorling little inferno sat in the dead center of his chest. It was like staring into a living blaze—some sort of captured pyre strung up and made to somehow coexist with the meagre frame that held it. It felt dangerous just to look at it, like it might leap forward and consume him at any moment. Thrilling. Oh, how he wanted to... no, he didn't, because that was bad. It was enough just to look at it, and watch how it flickered and scattered embers and snapped as his mood changed. Like every other soul, its color changed to suit his mood, too, but it also just... did fire stuff! As he'd watched Spike grow sadder and sadder, the more the fire in his chest had condensed, shrinking and whirling faster as it collapsed in on itself. Of course, he felt bad that his friend was sad, but he was also immensely thankful for the opportunity to watch his soul modulate. Were all dragon souls like that? Duh, of course. Dragons had their whole fire connotation, so of course it was just a dragon thing. It really just made him wonder how intrinsic their connection to fire must have been, then. Did fire come from their souls? Was it apart of them? To what extent did a soul match its owner? Was it to the superficial extent of their personality—or were his educated theories correct, and it more closely resembled their existence? Was light somehow the essence of equine? Was that equine's connotation? From a dragon's eyes, would ponies' souls seem as odd as theirs did to him? What were souls to them? It was too bad he'd probably never meet another dragon to compare. Maybe if he- Hoofsteps, just beginning to echo down the stairwell. Growing louder by the second as all Light's thoughts came screaming to a halt, and he was suddenly very aware of his tongue. In the jumbled chaos of the crash, all that was left in the flaming wreckage was one slightly bruised thought. Here went a whole lot of nothing. Though he desperately wanted to dance on his hooves to expend his nervous energy, Light managed to keep still, standing and fidgeting off to the side of the front door as the loudening sound of hoofsteps grew to a head. Everything was fine. All he had to do was be angry. Argumentative. She wouldn't see his anxiety if he was snarking. Light bit down on his lip and tried to keep an expression of casual antipathy as two descending purple hooves heralded a horn, bangs, and an unusually docile expression he'd not thought the well-groomed unicorn emerging from the curve of the stairwell was capable of. Of course, as Twilight Sparkle was wont to do, as she slowed to a halt at the visible top of the stairs circling down to the floor, her purple eyes rose from her path and set on him—and a scowl quickly rolled over her face. Funny. It was suddenly easier to look upset. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Twilight had completely stalled on the crest of the stairs, one hoof hovering in the air as she seemed to wander between setting it down or pointing it at him accusatorily. All the while, her put-off expression only grew moreso, darkening with silent vitriol as something warred behind her eyes, until an aggravated sigh loosed from her pursed lips as she shook her head. "Spike should know better than to lie to me," she grumbled as her hoof finally fell to the next step, carrying her well into the next as she descended the rest of the way down, not even bothering to keep her eyes on him. She'd regret that one day. He'd make sure of it. Watching Twilight daintily walk down the stairs, Light was immediately irked at her insinuation. "It's not like I told him to, you know." He blew out a disdainful snort, quirking an eyebrow at the bobbing side of the purple mare rounding the stairs' curve. "I told him I needed to see you, and he just did it. Was I supposed to stop him?" As Twilight's hooves found the floor and she cantered towards him, her gait stalled for a half-step as something like confusion flickered across her face. But then she continued on, trotting past him as she spoke without so much as a glance back. "No, I suppose not, but I'm somewhat surprised you wouldn't try to cover for him." He followed her with a bemused leer as the subtle sound of mana in the air accompanied Twilight swinging the front door open, peering forward at the sign still stuck to its front before she stole a small glare towards him. Finally, though it was difficult, he found a reasonable response in softly shrugging his shoulders. "I don't... Why would I cover for him?" The door closed, and Twilight met his gaze with a stormy frown as he tried his very hardest not to reciprocate. "I've called him a kid, but he's not. He doesn't need me to cover for him." The very thought was perplexing. Lying to enhance the appearance of others' morals was something foals and lawyers did. Not to mention it obviously wouldn't have been true. Twilight probably would've laughed in his face if he'd tried. Why would she even ask something so confounding? What an strange mare. For a moment after his reply, and as he continued to balk at her implication, Twilight's resentful glare grew ever so slightly unreadable. Even her soul—hued even purpler as soon as she'd seen him—seemed to gain a rather inscrutable twinkle as she turned to face him. Just... something in the way it shone that he didn't quite recognize. But it was only a moment, and Twilight soon shook her head as she began a forward trot. "Never mind," she muttered as she passed him. Light kept his attention solely on her as he turned to watch her approach a particularly dense grouping of books atop the library's central table. As her horn lit once more, she sent another glare back at him. "You know the library's closed, today. If it weren't for Spike, I'd have already sent you away." Aggravation settled over his shoulders at her scornful tone, and he opened his mouth to reply... then shut it as a large, evidently daunting stack of some twenty books lifted into the air in a haze of sparkling purple mana, while Twilight only narrowed her gaze at him over her shoulder. "Why do you need to see me?" she questioned as the hovering stack divided into two halves, and as they floated apart in midair, they split again, and again, and each individual book flew to a discreet, separate place in the room. Without looking. He... was barely able to lift ten or so books—and he had to really focus. Twilight could just... Light swallowed back a rising tide of acid in his throat, making sure to blink twice to keep his eyes dry. Life just wasn't fair. With the growing pounding in his head and heart, Light found himself suddenly reticent to speak, working his jaw in a facsimile of speech as the briefly curious glint in Twilight's eyes dulled to exasperation. She sighed, hanging her head and giving it a weary shake. "If you need time to find the words, then could you spend it handing me that stack of fourteen books at the end of the shelves?" she addressed him as she turned to trot through the rows of books to a corner where she'd flown a few, waving her hoof towards him as she stopped and sat in front of a wall of board-bound spines where he was fairly sure there should've been a window. Light had to blink again at that, turning to lay his eyes on the faceless wall of book stacks that separated him from the other, equally faceless book stacks she was referencing, before he set his gaze back on the bossy unicorn with an incredulous huff. "Are you serious?" Whatever inspection she'd already begun of whatever books she hadn't yet organized halted as she looked his way, holding two books in sparkling beds of purple mana on either side of her head as she frowned at him. She nodded towards the books she'd mentioned. "Please." Then she turned her attention back to her floating books. Light had to... just for a moment... stop to just process the sheer rankling audacity of the mare to actually tell him he shouldn't be here in one breath, then use the next to ask a favor. Just... it left him well and truly shell-shocked for a long moment of breathless—am I really here, living this moment—incertitude. He genuinely had no idea whether he felt like spitting her way and slamming the door on his way out, or just... He could only blink, shaking his head in time with the scratching record of his mind as he shrugged his shoulders once—twice—three times for the pure, indecisive motion of it. He opened his mouth. Then he shut it. Then he sighed. He hoped she didn't take satisfaction in hearing his hoofsteps as he trotted through the winding cliffs of books, griping her way in a testy tone as he did. "I think you meant 'hoofing me those books,' but whatever." Light slowed to a halt in front of just a few of the numerous book stacks, counting each one with a grimace to find which one had fourteen, while he perked his ear to hear Twilight's response float across the room. "I asked if you wouldn't mind 'handing me that stack of fourteen books,' but I suppose you're right, regardless. I'm sorry." He couldn't quite stop himself from levying a disgruntled leer over his shoulder, finding the stuck up unicorn profoundly engrossed in sorting a pile of books into smaller, separate piles. His grimace wormed its way into a vicious sneer. "And I'm sorry, I'm not sure I ever caught it—was yours the Element of Neurosis?" He enjoyed a spiteful smile as he turned his attention back to the correct stack of books amidst... eight others, making a concerted judgement call as he split the stack in half to lift at the wobbly insistence of his horn. He turned with a grunt as the surprisingly heavy stack of just seven books lifted into the air to follow behind him. Though Light's canter faltered in a moment of genuine surprise as he found Twilight halted in her own ministrations, staring his way with an oddly... furrowed expression. Not quite angry or disapproving, though the sheer face of her expression may have been, but he could almost swear her narrowed eyes showed a gleam of... ...hurt? It didn't last long. Seemingly as soon as Light stepped once more towards her somewhat dazedly, she returned her attention forward. Her busy work continued, her critical eyes undoubtedly furiously scanning the titles and spines of each book she swapped out for a new one as he drew up to her side. Unfazed, she seemed. As he lowered his head with a disappointed scoff to bring the books down to the floor, though, his ear happened to perk to just catch a quiet, barely voiced whisper. "...I said I was sorry." The inaudible, repentant murmur lit a flicker confusion somewhere within the pit of swirling abhorrence he'd earmarked for his perception of Twilight, made all the more disconcerting by the genuine flash of subdued blue that swept over her soul for a moment. A moment soon to pass, as by the time he raised up from laying the books down with a blink, it was gone. A perfunctory moment of caution for Light also passed as the purple haze of Twilight's mana swept the books he'd carried over closer to her, bringing one, then another, up into the air as her side profile returned to a dull expression of efficiency. "Bring the rest, please," she intoned, already thoroughly redistracted by her sorting. That was... weird. Weirder than he'd thought Twilight to be. It was something he chose to consider as he turned to retrieve the other seven books. Implications best pondered idly, and best to idle with as mana churned through his abused veins to heft the other seven books up behind him. It was... just a jab. Sure, he'd meant it, but had Twilight actually taken offense? She wasn't that touchy, was she? Wasn't she some bigwig, high-society type? Shouldn't she have been used to ponies being consistently horrible to her in every way? A truly interesting anachronism. What had he misunderstood? Was it Twilight, his perception of her, or his perception of her stereotype? Was it him? Was it her? Did he have any answers, or was he just going to keep posing hypotheticals? He worked his jaw, chewing on whichever mental thread he could catch between his teeth as he came up to Twilight's side once more, setting the other half of the stack where she could see it. She tugged them closer almost as soon as he'd set them down, thankfully missing making contact with his mana by a hair as she brought one of the new books up for inspection. Thankfully for her, anyway. He didn't care if she freaked out. Light huffed in irritation, throwing his hoof up to make an unseen point. "You know, I do have something to talk to you about, unless you just want to run me around the room all day?" He made a sound not unlike a growl. "Not like I have better things to do than play fetch or anything." He'd not hidden the frustration he felt brimming in the back of his throat, though Twilight didn't seem to take notice of it, only waving her own hoof back towards him. It was a great exercise in restraint for Light not to smack it. "You don't have to worry; I already know what you want to ask." Light's frown deepened at that, though not in anger. It was highly unlikely she knew he'd come to ask for library access and help finding a beginner's textbook on Arcanicism. She wasn't so observant that she could guess completely unrelated facets. She wasn't Shadow Spade. Still, because he found himself marginally interested in where she must've been going with her guess, he decided on the simplest response possible, if only to see her fall flat on her smarting face. "Okay." It was silent for another few moments save the busy sound of purple mana flitting books about the air, while Light steadfastly refused any kind of fidgeting. He'd be patient—just because he wasn't the type to get impatient at such a short delay. He was perfectly capable of sitting still, Twilight. How rude of her to assume otherwise. After a short—acceptably short—while of sorting, the divided piles before her dwindled to nonexistence, and Twilight set the last book to where she must've needed it with a sigh. She stood with a short, quiet hum, while Light stepped back to give her more space as she turned to lock her exhaustingly purple eyes with his. Her gaze was narrow—expectant for her—though Light wasn't quite expecting the first words out of her mouth. "You think it's unfair that I forbade you to see Spike, don't you?" It was almost an accusation for how deadpan her tone was, and for how tense the frayed lines of her expression were. Whatever she must've been thinking of him, it weighed heavily on her furrowed brow. Well, it wasn't as though it was all sunshine and daisies in his head, either. Though he felt an awful lot like he should capitalize on her mistake and rub his actual topic all over her muddy brown nose, he felt as much or more like he could capitalize on this opportunity. She'd given him an incredibly convenient in on a conversation he had no idea if he even should've broached. Or... how he felt. Maybe he'd come to his own answer soon. Maybe he already had. Either way, Light made a show of pretending to think very hard as he gave a little thought as to how he should respond. Rolling his eyes, tapping his hoof to his chin as he hemmed, he returned Twilight's unwavering glare with a quirked brow. "Well, I'm not going to say that I don't understand why you did—" Because he did, obviously. "—but... yeah, I do think it's a little unfair of you," he hedged, nodding after a moment of uncertainty. He felt justified in saying that, though with the way Twilight's stony glare bored into him in the proceeding moments, he could've been unreasonably tricked into thinking otherwise. Regardless of the bead of anxious sweat he felt forthcoming, he made a point not to shy away from her faintly upsetting stare. It was just... uncomfortably familiar, was all. Twilight wasn't the only pony who had a habit of just... staring. Sorry—who'd had a habit. Hopefully. Light's idle game of counting his teeth with his tongue ended abruptly as Twilight's scrutiny ended with a shake of her head, while her entire expression turned very evidently wan. "I suppose we have even more in common than is obvious," she murmured as her gaze tracked low, and—wait, what? Light watched owlishly as Twilight took his moment of hesitance to step past him, barely brushing the side of his leg with her tail as she trotted across the room without a glance back. Because... because it was obvious, Light trailed after her, speaking up to catch her attention as he rounded the edge of the center table after her. "Um... what? Do you... are you just gonna leave that and walk off?" She'd barely exited the book maze past the lip of the stairs when she turned back, placing her hoof onto its bottom step for what he guessed was emphasis as her dimly lit gaze fell to him. "Light, I want you to listen to me, please," she began quietly, carrying her intensity-laden forward as she stepped off the stairs and towards him, her frown growing wider. "You do not present the most laudable first impression." His knee-jerk instinct was to open his mouth for rebuttal, but—well, he couldn't really find the words to argue with her. It was all he could do not to agree with her as he averted his gaze away, cautiously returning it as Twilight spoke again with another uncomfortably confident step towards him. "I'm not going to apologize for thinking badly of you, because, as it is, I was justified in doing so when last we spoke." She shook her head slightly, not wavering in her stare. "At the time, you seemed to be some surreal actualization of my doubts in moving out here, and of what I feared may have befallen Spike." Was it him, or were her eyes literally glowing with certainty? "I can't regret doing what I felt was best to protect him." Again, true, if a bit uncomfortably overstated. Most ponies that had spent five minutes with him usually walked away feeling discouraged and disgruntled. That didn't really mean she had to say it, though. If Twilight was looking for some spectacular denial, he supposed he found some amount of joy in giving her a blankly expectant look, instead. It almost seemed to upset her for a moment, the spin of her soul slowing as its sheen gently greyed in time with her wavering brow. It was only a flash, though, and Twilight quickly found her equilibrium again with a steady breath, raising her hoof to her chest as she did. As it had before, the motion lit a spark of interest in his rational mind, tugging at his perked ear as Twilight pressed her frown into a thin line. "I... Still, Light, I think..." Whatever she was trying to say, it stalled as a lame murmur in her throat, bubbling back up in a frustrated grunt as she shook her head and dropped her hoof to the floor—hard enough that he was startled into taking a step backwards by the noise. She sighed, took a breath—and sighed again as she hung her head, then, much to his befuddlement, she turned around. Four clops, a swish of her tail, and Twilight's head rose again. It was only then that her voice rose, stronger than he figured it should've been for a mare who'd elected not to look him in the eyes. "I was unfair. I..." Her voice petered out, then came in a rush. "I don't think it's right for me to forbid the two of you from seeing each other." Oh. Oh. "Oh," he breathed, and just like that, a chuckle rolled from his chest. "Is that... is that right?" The short cough of a laugh beget another, and another bled into more, until a long, lilting stream of laughs rose from Light's throat. Twilight's shoulders stiffened at the obnoxious sound—while Light only laughed harder as her soul bashfully compressed into a pinkish hue and she turned to show a flushed, violet-faced pout. Get it? Her face is purple! He had to fall onto his haunches to stay upright as the giddy sense of humorous irony spread from his chest up to... to his nose, or something! Something ridiculous! Just like her! And- and now, Twilight was blabbering at him! "Why are you... don't- don't laugh!" Light peeled a teary eye open in between giggles to see Twilight advance a step, scowling something fierce, and still keeping that lecturing tone. "Why are you laughing?!" Why? Why, Twilight, that should've been obvious! "Be-because," he wheezed before a particularly guttural snicker took him, barely managing to keep his head upright and his eyes open as he shakily raised a hoof to point right at Twilight's silly purple face. "You're- you, of all ponies—miss Element of Condemnation—are apologizing and eating crow!" It was probably the funniest thing in the entire world. Or maybe just the least believable. He was certain the sheer incongruity of his thoughts verses Twilight's reality was likely to kill him at this point, and although the irreverent palpitations of his irreverence made reality may have been the best he'd felt all day, he mostly managed to quell his laughter down to a series of leashed chuckles over a short minute or so. Still chuckling, brushing a stray tear out of the corner of his eye, Light continued grinning at the mare continuing to frown self-consciously at him. "It's just—sorry, I guess... it's just really funny to me." He rolled his eyes humorously, grinning for the devil-may-care sake of it. "I guess I probably shouldn't be laughing, but hey—" He gave a loose shrug of his shoulders. "—it's the first good joke I've heard all day." Now, that was evidently upsetting to Twilight. "It's not a joke, Light!" she half asserted, half just plain yelled as she took a brazen stomp towards him. Something sizzled—Twilight sucked in half of a breath as she took a step back, and Light's interest was oh-so-piqued. He leaned forward with a hum to see if she'd singed the floor, then back as the cautiously irate mare retook her step, still halfway on the brink of growling. "I'm not joking," she spoke firmly, just a little less like a snarl. Only markedly, but he appreciated the effort, regardless. Or... maybe he didn't? He was momentarily overcome by his own inconsistent dissonance as Twilight sighed, seeming to take a great effort to reel her temper in as she turned, speaking again as she began a slow trot away from him. "I... the other day—the Summer Sun Celebration, I was..." Her train of thought stopped with a breath, then continued with a step. "I was... not thinking entirely clearly." Oh? Was the mare finding her way to an epiphany? Light kind of felt as though he was just along for the ride. Although... his eye fell for the briefest glance at the blackened soot mark that Twilight had hurriedly covered up with a hoof, and he felt a little like posing a question. ...Nah. Not right now. He laid back on his hooves, content to lounge and watch as Twilight continued to slowly walk and talk in a low, anachronistic tone of reflection. "I was... the whole day, I was trying to ascertain whether Nightmare Moon was a real threat or if I was just... getting worked up over nothing." She took a deep breath, not quite deep enough to register as a sigh, while she meandered her way over to the book-bereft podium in the far corner of the room, her soul slowing in its motion all the way. "I could hardly stop thinking about it. I was... it was... very debilitating." As much as he didn't really want to hear Twilight spill whatever guts were closest to the surface, he had to admit, he knew a thing or two about Nightmare Moon being debilitating. It was practically the story of his life thus far. Light shifted on his rear, crossing one hoof over the other, then uncrossing them when he found it to be less comfortable; meanwhile, Twilight reached the side of her clearly seat-marked stand. Rounding its side, trailing a hoof across its face in a familiarly melancholic gesture, her wavering, doubt-riddled voice rose again as she took her place behind it. "To me, it just felt like-" And then she stopped, eyes suddenly wide—then narrow as he realized they were on him. Laying back with only his hooves for support, Light gave Twilight his biggest, smarmiest smile. If it wouldn't make him fall over, he'd go so far as to wave. As obviously luxuriant as he was, she only stared for a moment before disappointment fell over her face like a shamefully wet blanket. "Get off the floor." Well, there was his cue, he supposed. It was sort of nice to act like an imbecile for a minute or two, but it was time to get up and engage. ...If Applejack were here, she'd raise her eyebrow and snark at him. 'Y'all been acting?' or something like that. He missed her. With his mood thoroughly killed by the cruelty of his own mind, Light pushed himself forward with a groan, then onto his hooves with a grunt. He shook out his pelt with a shiver, brushed a hoof across his barrel, then promptly turned to Twilight and gestured towards her with as much fake, overplayed grandeur as he could muster. "Do go on, Lady Twilight." He couldn't—and wouldn't hide his smug smile as Twilight's glare eased for the briefest moment, then immediately fell to a disgusted grimace at his invocation of her apparent title. It almost seemed as though she wanted to say something for a second—and how he would have loved to poke more fun at her—but to his disappointment, it only took a double-take and a shake of her head before she continued right along, placing her hoof sternly to the top of her wooden stand. Lectern? "If you're done antagonizing me-" She actually waited for a moment, glaring pointedly until he finally gave her the least amicable nod possible. She nodded back, though just about as pleasantly. "-then I will go on." She sniffed disdainfully. "I suppose my reasons don't matter insofar as my conclusion, though I can't say I came to the decision on my own." Twilight paused for a moment, flicking an eye down; Light, taking two curious steps forward, caught the edge of a startlingly familiar-colored paper sat front and center on Twilight's lectern. Podium? Either way, and despite his semantic interest, her distraction ended after only a cursory moment, and she continued with a short clearing of her throat. "I talked to Fluttershy and Rarity about it yesterday evening." She nodded, seeming oddly—for her—contented for a moment as something approaching a smile crossed her softly crease-marked face. "It was a very enlightening conversation." Her soul was growing brighter. A smile—an actual, wide smile replaced the space normally reserved for her frown as her second hoof rested atop the podium, while she laid the first over her chest. "They helped me to see... well, they provided... extra dimensions to the situation that... I hadn't given due consideration." Her voice... warm and gentle like he'd never heard it, lowered into a soft murmur as she tilted her chin down, lashes fluttering as she continued just... smiling. "I find myself truly grateful for their insight. Their advice was invaluable." Light blinked. Was that..? Had he seen..? No. Her soul was just glowing gold with gratitude, that was all. Just... for a moment, he could've sworn there was something else there, too. Something out of place that... he was beginning to see as a pattern. He was probably just seeing things as a byproduct of the situational shock he was undergoing. Truthfully, he kinda felt... crampy all over, watching Twilight speak and act like a normal, well-adjusted pony. It was weird. He'd only ever seen her angry, apathetic, or haughty. They hadn't spent all that much time together, but he'd gotten the distinct feeling that Twilight was just that. That and little more. Was that... prejudiced of him? Was it even correct? He wasn't actually sure if he was kidding with himself or not. He wasn't feeling so much out of his depth as he was stuck at the bottom of the ocean, gasping for breath and unsure of how he'd gone from mutual antagonism with his farcical nemesis to spectating an emotional breakthrough. For the moment, Light resolved to simply press his lips together and sit still. That seemed least likely to incur more holdups. None too soon, as only a moment later, Twilight looked up from her reverie with her smile still in full-force. It... dimmed a little as soon as her eyes landed on him, and, oddly enough, it lowered further into an unexpectedly remorseful frown as her gaze dropped back down. When she spoke, the warmth of reminiscence was gone, replaced by a nervous, uncertain waver. "I... thought about asking Applejack what she thought, but I was..." His marefriend's name lit hot fireworks in his brain as Twilight sighed, shaking her head as she averted her gaze entirely. "...I was worried she'd... judge me." Light opened his mouth—and Twilight cut him off, shaking her head again as she met his gaze with an insistently melancholic frown. "I know you two are... close, and I know she and I are friends, as well, it's just..." She trailed off, though Light wisely held his tongue as after a moment of indecision, she averted her gaze again. "I'm having a difficult time relating to her," she mumbled, the tiniest note of shame edging into her clipped tone. Huh. He... wasn't having a difficult time relating to Twilight, which... grossed him out. There was an obvious reason she was talking to him about this, though—and the small, uncertain glance she stole of him before obviously looking away again sealed his impression of the moment. If this was something on her mind, and if there was anypony to talk to about a problem with Applejack, Twilight was astute enough to know he was the one to come to. That kind of warmed his cold, blackened heart. He was savvy with Applejack. He could ride the rollercoaster of stereotyping whiplash and surprising acuity known as his marefriend very well—or, well, he could ride it well enough not to fall off. Most of the time. He... he'd talked her into going out with him, at least. Eventually. He knew enough to give advice to a novice, anyway. If this was the extent of the tangent they'd gone on, then buck it. Best to jump in and do his best to get Twilight emotionally indebted to him. Screw being concerted. "Twilight," he began with a sigh, stepping towards her with a cursory glance upwards to think. "Applejack is... whether or not she'd judge you..." Taking another step to place a hoof on the edge of Twilight's podium just aside hers, he breezily dropped his gaze to the uncertain unicorn with a huff. "Okay, she'd judge you about what you eat for breakfast, and what you like to do in your free time, yeah, but about the big stuff?" He stopped, shutting his mouth with a thoughtful 'clack' and a hum as a stray memory, barely faded, flitted by. His deepest sin. Quiet shock. Growing regret. Timid vulnerability. Understanding. Empathy. Pity. Love. Resplendent, reciprocated love. Light shook his head, the clinging wisps of a great day recently passed falling away as he met Twilight's uncertain gaze with a smile. A soft, unbidden smile. "If it's... really important to you—if you make it clear that it means something to you," he continued quietly, closing his eyes and stopping with a breath that felt fresh in his throat, then letting it out with a sweet sigh. "...No, she wouldn't judge you." He cocked his head softly to the side, opening his eyes to lid with what he felt as common, emphatic kindness. "You should trust her. She wouldn't ever do anything to betray it." He... wasn't sure what had come over him so suddenly. It wasn't... Twilight, barely two hoof-lengths away and staring back at him with her heart clearly bared in her gaze. It wasn't her. It was... Applejack. Just thinking about her. Talking about her out loud, and going so far as to... in his own words, really admit how she made him feel. She made him feel vulnerable. Scared and confused. So... open and afraid. So subject to pain. If that was what it took for the upside... the care... the security... knowing that she held his heart in her hoof, and trusting her to hold it close to hers... He supposed... he'd not really been seeing Twilight. Which made it all the more jarring as her hoof—her purple, dainty hoof—laid atop the one he'd rested in front of her. Something like loss caught in his throat as the moment bled away, his smile fading in a flash even as Twilight kept the one she'd grown at some point, tilting her own head in obvious fondness as he raised his out of a cloud of warmth. She spoke, her voice tender and grateful even as it strained with tepid uncertainty. "Okay. I... will. Thank you, Light." No. This was... wrong. It wasn't right. He wanted... no, he needed... He had to force a normal—ever brittle—expression of ease onto his face, though he couldn't stop himself from jerking his hoof away from the mare's touch. What must she have seen on his face? How had he looked at her? It was probably fine. The glint in her eye—it was only gratitude. He knew enough about Twilight to know she would've bent his leg right over his shoulder if he'd looked at her any kind of... way. She was a mare of strict, if questionable, principles. Their antagonistic relationship was well preserved. He just needed to see Applejack. Soon. Today, if she didn't mind. Light coughed into a hoof as he turned from the mare, hoping to play his hesitance off as simple embarrassment. "W-Well, it's really as easy as just talking to her. Applejack is... plenty easy to get along with, trust me." Twilight's expression had fallen into a curious frown by the time he'd taken a few steps to turn back to her, but Light smiled anyway! "You've got about as low a chance of crawling out of the pits of Tartarus with all your skin as you do of actually upsetting Applejack. She's real forgiving." His forced laugh was more like a choke to accompany jerkily scratching his hoof into his mane, but Twilight's frown eased into a weary smile, all the same. "That's... a rather grim metaphor." At that, Twilight stood from her stand, keeping a hoof on her chest as she cocked her head to the side. "I'd ask if you often made a habit of the macabre, but—" She pointedly nodded her head towards him. "—I think your cutie mark is clear enough proof." Light stalled on another squawking laugh as he stole a glance as far back as he could, barely catching the edge of the grimoire-supported pony skull on his flank. Yeah... there were a lot of reasons he usually wore a cloak. Once, when he'd gone into town without it, he'd made a little filly cry. From looking at his cutie mark, he meant. He'd not purposefully gone around making foals cry since he was one. Though he was cloakless and therefore shameful, he wore a wan smile as he turned back to Twilight, possessing a suitably modest smile of her own. "Yeah..." he eased out, rolling his eyes as he mimed his own thoughts aloud. "I'm not really big on other ponies, and—fair's fair—they're not really all that keen on hanging around the colt who just looks like he likes dead things." The laugh he gave at that—that was real, and... oddly enough, he would've been a little put-off if Twilight's reciprocal chuckle hadn't been. Weird. He still hated her, right? He needed to check on that. He felt a sudden amount of uneasiness prickling on his neck, as though there were something lurking—unseen in the back of his mind. He didn't have time to go chasing after it, though; not a moment after Twilight laughed at what could have reasonably been called a joke at his own expense, her head began to lower in time with her closing eyes. The atmosphere of the library felt... a little colder, then, as Twilight leaned into the hoof on her chest with a deep breath. She raised her head as she inhaled, then set it level with an exhale. Inside her chest, before his cautiously narrowing eyes, her soul began to slow. Its pulse found a rhythm. Even-tempered and paced. When Twilight opened her eyes, a dull sheen covering their depths like a film, that niggling sensation of worry in the back of his mind grew. When she spoke, her voice was even. Sonorous, if the word could mean boring. "...It was Rarity's suggestion that I try to relate to you on an emotional level, actually." She blinked once as the last few words joined the rest in a reasonably toned drone. Not quite... no, not emotionless, just... to the point. Matter of fact. It was only then that it occurred to him how odd it was to hear her regular manner of speaking after their emotional dialogue. After... hearing her emote. Light swallowed, forcing the rising feeling of danger down to respond. "I'm... Is... that right..?" His voice sounded weak—and it warranted a quirked eyebrow from Twilight—though he wasn't quite sure why. Why... did it feel so uncanny to hear Twilight... just speaking as she genuinely had been for most of the time that he'd been here? Maybe he'd just not realized how strange she was. Aside from her sarcastic fits of anger, she didn't really... speak. She stated things. As though her thoughts were facts and he represented a rapt audience of dissertative candidates. Twilight lectured. He was realizing now, and as she turned after a moment of thought, he could hear it in her voice. "Yes. She said that, although you're generally unpleasant, you're relatively kind." She trotted up to a shuttered window a bit behind her podium as she spoke, turning to look over her shoulder as she lit her horn to roll it open. "Fluttershy seemed to agree as well, though, regardless of her expertise, I'm less sure of her familiarity." He had to squint a bit into the sudden onset of noontime light cast into the room, though he kept a close bead on Twilight through the harsh dapple of light. Still staring at him, she turned to return to her stand, while Light... just shook his head. He took a breath—then committed to four in rapid succession. Maybe a bit too quick, but as words tumbled out after them, he was suddenly glad for the air as he repeatedly choked on a rush of confusion. "I'm sorry... I just—are you saying... were you—was that whole conversation just an act?" Settling back to her stand, Twilight looked at him curiously as he continued to work himself up. A blankly considerate expression, as though she'd just been posed a math question. "No, of course not. My feelings were all genuine, and I expressed myself to the extent that I felt was best." Then she frowned. But was it even real? "If it seems facetious of me to return to an equilibrium, then I'm sorry." What came out of Light's mouth may very well have been a scoff—or it could've been the sound of air getting stuck exactly in his craw. Whatever it was, he felt it prudent to fall onto his haunches and muffle the noise into his hooves. He didn't care about how Twilight was looking at him—he just—he didn't—what even was he supposed to say?! He... knew one thing for sure. Out of the... maybe five ponies of any value in his life—headstrong, honest Applejack; vain, empathetic Rarity; excitable, obnoxious Pinkie Pie; etcetera—Twilight was her own kind of pony. Odd, apathetic Twilight. Prone to anger, easily frustrated, yet immaculately calm at her best. Such that she seemed toneless, if just ever so slightly neurotic. A paradox, but that was very equine. Funny, given her intellectual presence. He only wondered how much she understood of herself? ...Not like he understood all that much. Light dropped his hooves from his face, dragging them down and smacking his lips as they hit the floor, choosing to adopt a glare to meet Twilight's furrowed stare. "You know," he began tersely, drawing a dry frown from Twilight as he waved his hooves about his head in frustration. "-I don't get you. How you... act." Whatever he was hoping to accomplish by calling Twilight out on her existence, he was sorely disappointed as she only stared at him for a moment, eventually sending a glance up with a tired sigh as she lolled her head slightly back. "For as much as I logically understand about you, Light, I'm afraid you're a mystery to me, too." Light spat out a frustrated sigh to match Twilight's, rising to his hooves and fighting the urge to clop one to his face again. "Yeah, fine, whatever. Thanks for the 'enlightening conversation,'" he growled, stepping forward to... do something that he had even less of an idea of as he trotted up to Twilight's stand. His eye was once more caught by the conspicuous paper laying atop it, the implication of which extracted a snort out of him. He placed his hoof to the edge of the wooden stand again, pointing down and drawing Twilight's attention to the duplicate pamphlet he'd received not two hours ago. "How about this?" Twilight glanced up at him and quirked an eyebrow. Light groaned in response, tapping his hoof to the stand impatiently. "If we're ever gonna get to know anything about each other, then let's start with this." He lit his horn—still a bit of an ache in his bones—to raise the pamphlet, Twilight's gaze following the haze of red to eye level. "What do you think about this whole Luna denouncement the freaks at Town Hall are on about?" He waved it into her face while her eyes kept firmly trained on it, then slid down to him, back up to the paper, then back to him. Her frown... thinned as her eyes narrowed ever so slightly; despite whatever likely impossible conclusion about him she was reaching, she lit her horn and... She squinted at the paper—no... she was squinting... at something? The glimmering sparks of light barely beginning to come to life from her horn died away as she glanced down at him, and raised her hoof, instead. She tapped its hard edge to her stand twice, keeping steady eye contact with him. Her soul pulsed with certainty. Huh. Did she..? No, she... What had she noticed about his mana? What... was there to notice about his mana? The foundation of frustration he'd built in his chest didn't collapse, but Twilight's casual avoidance of his attempt to disconcert her... was disconcerting him. Was that a chill running its sharp claws along his spine, or was her demeanor just making him cold? If ever he'd wished he could see into other ponies' heads... now would be such a convenient time! Either way, there was no use in waving the paper about anymore. He set it down where Twilight indicated with a suitably put-out grumble—and only as his mana faded to sweet nonexistence did Twilight's begin to shine, and the paper raised in a cautious grasp of purple mana. "I'll be honest," she began as she raised the paper to just below her chin and unfolded it, scanning its contents rather busily. "-I didn't have the pleasure of seeing the so-called freaks." She glanced up from the paper with a frown. "Not that it's very warranted to label them as such." At his groan, Twilight continued reading, her voice falling to a distracted mumble. "It was actually Spike that brought this to my attention. He returned from the post office this morning in quite a fuss, more than eager to strike up a conversation about the movement." Her sentence ended with an abrupt, sharp point as she folded the paper back up with a snap of her mana. With her eyes closed to think, it truly seemed as though the veins in her forehead might've been about to finally just pop out, but her gaze was, as always, perfectly dull as she opened her eyes to catch him in a stare. "I don't have anything to say," was her curt response, punctuated by a prompt press of the paper back onto her stand's top. And... that was it. She glanced up as he stared expectantly back at her, seemingly becoming rather occupied by scrutinizing the room as a whole. Light, meanwhile, could only mouth the words in silent disbelief. "You don't have anything to say?" he repeated after a moment, and Twilight just... looked at him. Lowly, with narrowed eyes, she took a good, hard look at him. "No," she stated quietly, then she shook her head. "I have thoughts, and I could share them, but I don't think there'd be any reason to." She took a breath, raising her gaze from him and setting it on the ceiling with a hum. After a moment of silence in which Light didn't know how to respond, Twilight closed her eyes. "It's not a topic worth discussing," she murmured, and... that was... that was really that. It was kind of incredulous how, in the barest flash of realization, he could so clearly see—and know how Twilight's soul manifested her emotions. In that moment, and as she'd spoken, it was slow, calm, and even-tempered. Its movement was as serene as he'd ever seen from a soul; he'd thought... that was as much as it showed. But the lines were wavering. Even as its outward face showed grace, its depths trembled in uncertainty. And... Light... against his every mental instinct, he found he... didn't want to push it. The thought made his throat feel tight. So he dropped it. He turned, hiding a trembling jaw and more than a little melancholy with a put-on scoff. "That's... whatever. Fine," he forced out, gritting his teeth against the tug of angst that pulled at his lip. He didn't feel anything for Twilight. Who cared about a pony whose basest essence was pride to the extent of self-destruction? He didn't care if she hid her emotions behind a veil of apathy—even at a spiritual level. There was no point. He knew that. He'd... been shown that. Cloudy cyan eyes. A hollow voice. Tears drowned out by black fur. Light shook his head—twice. Hard. When would these stagnant delusions of a madmare long gone cease?! He was sick of... relapsing! She was gone. Her persona had been denounced. Nopony would ever remember Her as anything more than the lunatic that had delayed the sun for a few hours. She was a joke. She was out of his life, and She needed to get out of his head. His next breath was hot—hateful, but... not at anypony but himself. The next after that was cooler, and he raised his hoof to his chest to feel it compress. The next was cooler, and then it was cold. In and out. Just breathe. "Twilight," he murmured, then forced himself to speak louder as he turned back to the mare, placing his hoof down and meeting her curious gaze with a certain gaze. "There's... you know—" He bit off a word in a grumble, shaking his head with a grimace before he sighed, frowning as he returned to her raised eyebrow. "—you were actually wrong about why I came to speak with you. It wasn't to argue about seeing Spike." The admission drew a quiet glimmer of confusion from those indecipherable purple depths, though it was quickly smothered by guarded curiosity as the mare placed a hoof to her stand as a pivot to slide out of her seat. "I'm sorry for presuming, then," she spoke, outright admitting to her own fallacy as easily as she took a step to face up to him with a tilt to her head. "I'm sure you'll forgive me considering I've gone back on my earlier prohibition, but regardless—" She raised a hoof, gesturing that he go on. "—what would you like to ask?" Light's stride was broken for a second at her incessant use of large words in spoken dialogue, but then, he wasn't much to talk—using the word incessant like that. He shook it off quickly, though it took him a moment to think on what, exactly, he wanted to say, tapping his hoof thoughtfully to his chin as he did. ...Well, he actually already knew, he just... ...didn't really like the prospect of actually asking for help. It was a bit concerning to realize, judging by the narrowed leer Twilight was giving him, that the sourness he was tasting in the back of his throat had translated to his expression. He forced his lips to unpucker with a pop, biting his bottom lip and gnawing on it for a moment before, with a sigh, he finally just jerked his head away. "I... need a favor, Twilight," he ground out, abjectly fighting the flush that he knew he felt forthcoming. Oh, how ill this medicine tasted, truly. Like ammonia mixed with grape juice. Or maybe just flat grape juice. He wished Twilight would just stab him or something—or that he could just stab himself. He'd much rather bleed to death than stand there in the silence, just waiting for whatever smarmy thing the know-it-all unicorn would likely shove down his windpipe. He was just waiting... and hoping it wouldn't be too condescending... "Okay. What is it?" Light whipped his gaze back to Twilight's continually blank expression, still just... she was really fond of just staring, wasn't she? "Buh- uh- huh?" he stammered out stupidly—now she looked unamused—though he quickly found his tongue as he shook his head fervently. "That's- that's it? You're not... going to lord that over me?!" Twilight frowned—more of a wince, really, as she recoiled a step back from his... oh, he'd accidentally shouted that, hadn't he? "What? No! Why would I... lord anything over you?" she questioned—more like protested, actually, laying her ears flat in dismay. Huh. For a moment, she actually sounded alive. Light remained open-mouthed and dumbstruck for a moment as, once again, he'd sorely misunderstood the mare before him. He really didn't understand anything about her. Was she haughty? Was she well adjusted? Was she apathetic? Did she actually have feelings? Had he hurt them somehow? Maybe... for once, he was the one in the wrong. ...snrk. Well, he'd better apologize or something. Had to ask that favor, after all. Light did his best to swallow his saliva and seem suitably abashed, rubbing his hoof to the side of his neck with his gaze averted. "I... um... I guess that was... rude of me." He chanced a glance back to Twilight, finding the mare wearing a wary expression with her hoof to her chest, so he shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry." At his apology, Twilight's wariness fell to a slightly grave frown. Aw, she must've seen through his apology. That was fine. He hadn't tried too hard to make it sincere. It would've just looked bad for her if she'd bought it. Her hoof fell to the floor as she shook her head with a weighty sigh. "Just... ask your favor, Light." She raised her gaze to him under the lids of her eyes, nearly glaring as her voice turned testy. "You should be thankful that I feel indebted to you for your affirmation concerning Applejack, because you've insulted me to my face multiple times." Oh, yeah, like he was the only one slinging insults around here. Did she even realize she was doing it? Light sighed to match his nemesis—yes, his nemesis—and raised his hoof in a much more irreverent shrug. "Fine! Tartarus below, I'm just—" He grit his teeth, forcing the words out through his simmering anger. "I need... a book, alright?" He stomped his hoof to the floor. "I need a beginner's level tome on either Arcanicism or general magic." He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at the unicorn as he turned to face towards the front door. "Freakin'... I'm sorry for being such a mule, but I need to learn more about magic, okay? I'm..." He stumbled on a breath, inhaling deeply with the rise of his shoulders and settling with a heated exhale. "I'm not... the most worldly pony when it comes to... magic, and I want to... I need to learn more, so just..." He shut his eyes. Why was it getting so hard to speak? His chest needed to stop tightening. "Just... help me with this, and you can... you never have to actually talk to me again, alright?" He opened his moistening eyes, whirling around to face the silent mare with a snarl. "Is that good enough for-" He stopped short, and a moment later, it occurred to him that it was lucky he'd not bitten through his tongue. He hadn't heard her move, and until he'd turned to face her, it seemed as if he'd also blocked out the sparkling sound of her mana holding a thickly-bound hardcover book in the air beside her. Even through his frustrated welling, he could clearly see the neatly spaced grey lettering on its faceless, brown-colored front. Making Sense of Magic A Theoretical Guide Concerning Arcanicism "You know, Light," Twilight spoke, drawing his disbelieving attention down to her and her frown. It was even, though. Not angry, just... resting. "-you don't have to suck up to me to check a book out of the library." Her frown deepened, almost... offended. "I wouldn't deny anypony access to a book based on a personal grudge. That's unconscionable." Light blinked, once, then twice, before gently reaching a hoof out towards the book floating in the air. Before he could snatch it, Twilight eased it back, seeming abashed for a split second as she averted her gaze, then ashamed as it fell to the floor. "I don't... I don't hate you, Light." Her already uncertain tone skipped a beat, lowering into lilting melancholy as the book floated closer to her, almost comfortingly. "You're... hard to get along with, and hard to understand, and you don't make it easy, but..." She let out a single, long stream of breath, and raised her gaze to him. The shimmering sound of mana grew louder as she pushed the book insistently towards him. She did not hold her hoof to her chest. "You're not... Despite what you could've done, I don't think you're... a bad pony." It was difficult to properly quantify how Light felt, just then. In one sense, he was angry that Twilight had let him go on and on with the self-deprecation despite her full intention of lending him the book, anyway. In another, he felt the logical little spark of happiness that he was getting what he wanted. A large part of him felt endeared to the unicorn he'd already spent more time with than he'd ever wanted. A small part still wanted to carve out her heart and wear it as a beating necklace. Large and then small. A weird tossup for him. It was just getting to be very hard to ignore all the ways that he and Twilight were similar, and he couldn't just believe his conflated ideas about her forever. For all that he'd thought her to be haughty and self-serving, she'd mostly just been... kind of oblivious. Smart, but otherwise overwhelmingly oblivious. He understood, though. She had a temper and deep insecurities, so she wore intellectual prowess and keen insight as a mask to suppress how she felt. That was relatable to the kind of tragic mystique he'd always wanted but failed to endeavor to maintain. Unfortunately, he was just oblivious. His crappy attitude just hid more crap. It was harder than he'd thought it would be to blink his seeming ever-present tears away, and easier to maintain a small smile and a grateful glance to Twilight before he reached forward again to take the book from her. He'd be nice, because she was being nice, and not freak her out by making mana contact. ...Except, as he reached for the book with a beckoning hoof, it floated back away again, and his hoof was left hanging lamely in the air like a wet sock. His grateful expression died, and was resurrected as a shambling scowl. He was going back to his first impression. Twilight was terrible and he hated her. The awful, book-teasing mare leaned back with a thoughtful expression, levitating the book into her open arms and clutching it to her chest as she leered at him—Tartarus below, if she was about to heap more prose about how she only tolerated him, he was going to blow every gasket in his body. As Light simmered—seriously considering reaching in and taking the book along with her boring purple soul—the mare's gaze fell to the book, then rose to him. A gaze full of intense scrutiny, calculating and plotting in the visible motion of her wandering pupils. "...You want to learn about Arcanicism?" she slowly ventured after... longer than he could really tolerate. Light nodded—yes, dummy, that was what he said. At his response, she pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze once more. "What about Arcanicism?" she pressed, sliding her hoof gently across the book's immaculate covering. Light balked for a moment, wondering where on Equus she was going before he blinked, and gradually eased out each of the best words that found their way onto his tongue. "I guess... I want to learn about... the existence of mana, the... properties... spellcasting procedure... spellcrafting theory... arcane anatomy... um... lattices..." He trailed off, resisting the urge to tap his chin thoughtfully as he instead shrugged. "Just... stuff. Whatever I can get my hooves on, I guess." He'd not given it much in-depth thought. He needed... all kinds of info. What use was there in discriminating? There was no useless information. Probably. He really would take anything he could get. Twilight listened intently to his spiel, nodding slightly as her hooves continued to trace the book's binding. As he tapered off, her expression grew more thoughtful. More considerate, as though she were... well, considering something. His internal monologue was getting a little hammy. Something that grew less evident as she spoke: slowly, cautiously. "I want to... better relate to Applejack and Rarity." Her arms tightened around the book. "I want... to be as close to them as possible. I want our peer group to be intimate. I want all of us to be constant, and..." Her gaze rose to him: wary yet firm. "...you're inextricable." Light's brow creased. "Um... thanks? That's... good, I guess?" How was he supposed to take that? It might've just been the most naïve, foalish declaration of affable intent he'd ever heard. Though, if she was implying that she wanted him to be close with all of... the Bearers, he'd guess, then he had some bad news. He and Rainbow Dash hated each other's guts, and he could barely stand just looking at Pinkie Pie. He wasn't gonna tell her that, though. Still needed the book she was holding. He didn't speak up as Twilight mused on her own thoughts for a moment, glancing back down to the book, then to him, then jerkishly back to the book. "I'll give you this book, Light, but I want..." She trailed off, glancing to the side as... her cheeks gently flushed. "I want... you to come back here, sometime. Some...times." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as Light blinked bemusedly, then, still looking away, she hurriedly spoke again. "To see Spike, of course, but... in addition..." Over a long period of grimacing and twitching her jaw into strange shapes, putting her eyes anywhere but on him, Twilight seemed to finally calm as she visibly came to an internal decision. With a breath and a languid blink, Twilight's gaze rose to his. Though her voice was forcibly dull and toneless, he could see how her soul jittered and shook within itself as she spoke, and... Light felt like his would've too. If only he'd still had his, it probably would've halted altogether. Maybe his heart would suffice. "...I want to... teach you, Light. About Arcanicism." > Chapter 64 - Defiance > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- A living being is only meant to have one soul; that should be a given. The soul is the gross summation of unfettered existence; it is, for all dubious intents, the actual life of the living. Why would—and how could anything dare to grasp the means to possess two or, Tartarus forbid, more? We have the souls that we are born with, that represent us, and that bind us to the mortal coil. We do not have the capacity for more. Nothing does. That is what Princess Celestia would have the world think. What could be more anathematic to Her Solar Faith than the concept of hoarded life—of the glorious existence that She so generously granted us plucked from our heart of hearts and made off with like purloined goods? It seems vile. A sick joke at Harmony's expense. Perhaps She is correct. Maybe life is a sacred, individual gift meant to be cherished. Or maybe it's a commodity. -Light Flow's Compendium, Chapter 2: The Soul's Immensity. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light's sullen gaze traced over the usual brown cover of the unusual tome of scientifically-definable fantastical topics again—twice—thrice—and then quarce if... that was even a real word. It sounded right. It probably wasn't. A lot of things were feeling right when they probably shouldn't have. He did his best to suppress a symptomatic sigh as he looked up from the weighty book he held in the tactile grip of his humming mana, peering as best he could through the oppressive sunshine of the perfectly idyllic day to frown at the exterior bark of the large tree he'd left just a few minutes ago. Sitting in the little grassy park across the street from the ironic library location, he had a terrific vantage point to imagine the laughing silhouette of a smug purple unicorn staring down at him from its leaf-rung window. Taunting. Gloating. Purple. He glared back at her—he hoped he did, anyway, and returned to his conflicted inspection of the book's front, scanning his squinting eyes across the boring font of the title's grey lettering. No matter how he wished his perception to blur before his eyes like he was still a mental patient, all remained normal with the innocuous tome. Until he let his gaze wander just a bit farther down. His forehead met the book's cover—a solid thunk of an impact that would've left him cringing in fear for its safety any other time, but at the moment, he was still edging onto the mental precipice of trudging into the woods and just hucking the Tartarus-damned thing. Where did he even start with this one? Twilight Sparkle: her name where the author's name should've been, printed in cute little smarmy text right above the vague date and below the admittedly obvious emblazon. A publication with her accreditation. A book written by her that wasn't a diary or a cleverly worded faux-technical document about something illegal. An actual book about actual things that she'd written and that she'd given to him without even thinking to mention that—oh, was it not obvious—the stupid thing was her work! Twilight wrote it! And it had been her first impulse to shill it. His slightly smarting head rose from the book's unfeeling cover as Light cast his bleary eyes up, pursing his lips and sending a prayer to the heavens. He knew he invoked a lot of names he probably shouldn't, and he knew he was a nonbeliever of every religion ever, but if there was anypony—or anything taking the time to listen in vain to somepony as smugly irreverent as him, would they just... wipe him off the planet? Please? The blue sky above showed little but a sensibly planned smattering of fluffy clouds. A pegasus drifted by. Light shut his eyes and let his head hang forward with a groan. Nothing ever broke his way. Feeling began to funnel back into his legs as he forced himself into a standing position, rolling his shoulders with a gratifying crack and taking the moment of exhilaration to turn and wiggle a hoof into the flap of his right saddlebag. The empty pouch opened—Light sneered at the book—and out of sight went it. He snapped the latch shut with a brief flicker of mana, turning and taking a deep breath in time with the draining sensation of power from his system. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments—all that deserved to be spared—and nodded to himself as he glanced to the left, beginning a quick trot thataway. He didn't have to devote much attention to adjusting to the weight of the book bouncing at his side, but that didn't mean he wasn't tense. He spared nary a glance nor thought to the disparate milling ponies crossing the streets he shortly cantered down, for he had some heavy thoughts to ponder. Yes... most heavy indeed. ...Okay, there really wasn't much to consider besides the potential egotism of Twilight recommending her own book for study. That gesture was just the eye-catching period at the end of an aggrandizing run-on sentence. Back in the library, she'd not given any indication of pride or even special notice of the book, other than hugging it like a foal. Maybe she'd thought he'd noticed and just didn't care? Though, to be fair, he'd not exactly spared much time for chitchat after she'd... ugh. The thought—even the memory just made him... shiver. She wanted to... teach him. Light faltered for a half-step, swallowing down his acid reflux with a gag before returning to pace, narrowly dodging a pair of bystanders as he made a sharp right turn to cross the threshold of Ponyville's downtown area. He was pretty sure he heard a cry of 'rude!' somewhere behind him, but his own actions were hardly his concern. He was more interested in sorting through his feelings, though he was finding it difficult to fully realize just what those were. He could feasibly just slap an emotive mask on and call it an ever-so-dreary day, but he was finding that concept more and more reprehensible, lately. He didn't want to... lie anymore. Not to himself, at least, and certainly not to his marefriend. He'd not been able to trust anything for so long; at this point, he wanted to hold tight to whatever solid reality he could. There was just one problem. There was a part of him that really despised the thought of changing. It seemed a rather difficult portion to change in and of itself, ironically—or maybe that should've been obvious. Either way, it was making his headspace very hard to reckon with. Like... a tug of war. Keep his emotional course, or try to grow? Sneer and spit, or forgive and forget? Stability, or change? The ground fittingly faded from trodden dirt to pleasant greenery as his canter continued. His expression quietly disconcerted, Light looked up from his path, watching the extremely stylized building on the near horizon approach with a... true sense of unease nestled somewhere in his breast. Where was he going with his life, and was he even ready? Did he even want to be? Soon—sooner than he might've been ready for, Light stood at the open door of Carousel Boutique. Feeling at a bit of a loss. As a foal, he'd often been far too recalcitrant to up and walk right into the Boutique—afraid that somepony would see him and mistake him for agreeable—but these days, he just had too much on his mind to care. He busily strode in through the midday-welcoming door and scanned through the professionally messy showroom. There were some ponies in the Boutique today, but that was expected for a place to business. They were mostly off to the side and milling about, showing off their suits and pretty frills in mirrors wherever they weren't rummaging through open drawers for accessories—but no Rarity in sight. Frowning, he flicked a glance wherever he hadn't yet. "Rarity?" he called out, drawing a few turned heads for the perfunctory moment of interest, but as he understood, it was well within the norm to seek an audience with the seamstress. Always in demand, as she'd once told him. He'd told her she was demanding, and she told him the rip in his cloak was going to cost an extra five bits to mend. Good times. Aggravating times. His ear flicked to catch the noise of a muffled shout from upstairs that sounded like Rarity, which he supposed was enough reciprocation, so he leered around once more to make sure none of the other patrons were staring at him and made his way off to the right of the shop. Amidst the standing ponnequins bearing the fashionista's latest designs, he zeroed in on a stray stool by its lonesome. He made his way over without delay, checking over his shoulder at the back of the shop where the stairs were to see if Rarity had come yet, finding nothing so far. Keeping his eyes there for a moment as he rested his rear on the plush surface, he flicked a glance over to the front entrance. Nopony had come in yet, and nopony had left. It was just him and the other patrons. Now seated, surrounded on all sides by dresses and everything else he couldn't name, Light clicked his tongue. Speaking of, he felt sort of strangely fixated on the various ponies lingering in the shop. Not on their souls or anything, either; he was just... weirdly cognizant of their presence, like a burn on his periphery. It felt like they were all staring at him, even when he knew they weren't. They were making him kind of nervous, actually. More than usual. Way more. Hm. ... ... ...Rarity still hadn't come yet. Light's shoulders slumped as he let out an impatient groan, no doubt attracting more attention than he felt was due—but he didn't care! He wasn't comfortable just sitting around, suffering through this... miserable atmoshpere of mundanity while his erstwhile tailor was upstairs catching lint balls or whatever inane task she was working on! All he wanted was to ask for her advice since it'd obviously worked out so well for Twilight, and all, because if he tried to let himself work through these problems like any normal pony could, he'd just walk around in circles until he convinced himself of whatever his worst impulses wanted! He didn't want that! He needed another perspective! He was freaking out, though; he could barely force himself to clamp down on the urge to let his eyes dart about their prisons like caged birds. He'd not had to exist in a public space for more than a moment since he'd died, and he wanted to look everywhere at once, and—and now he was thinking about his death and how abnormal that was and how everypony around him was so mundane and lively and that was making him anxious! He didn't fit in and everypony knew it! They could read it on his face! Stop staring! Crap. This was bad. He was one step away from hyperventilating, he could feel it creeping up on him. His skin felt clammy under his bristling fur, and... and there was a growing... thrumming in his ears. He itched, but he had to cool down—don't look at any of the ponies, not even their souls. Just... he just needed to look down. At his hooves. Nopony was there; he was alone, save for his hooves and the plush cushion he sat on. As long as he kept his attention away from—don't even think it. He was going to be fine. Everything was fine. He was okay. Actually, he had something better to focus on. Something much better. His horn lit with a twitch—he inhaled the electric sensation of pumping mana—and the latch of his saddlebag clicked open. He found it a great comfort to lay eyes upon the book as it floated out, even if Twilight's name was printed on it, and its weight pressing on his mind was already really helping him to... ease up a bit. He ran a hoof over its large purple star with a small, relieved smile to himself, relishing in the ticklish feeling in his brain of brushing his hoof up against his mana. Oh yes, the burning tension was already sloughing off. He flicked half a glance up, then back down to the book as he eased its front cover open, letting his mana trickle down and envelop its backside like a little bed. Restfulness was just as important as mindfulness. Nice, crisp pages—pretty and white—but the first thing that greeted him was a somewhat lengthy foreword. Ew. He didn't want to hear about Twilight or from her. He just wanted to read. He scoffed lightly, keeping his eyes low and lidded with focus as he skipped to the table of contents, scanning down the page as briefly as he could. The first chapter... history? Too in-depth. Too little patience. Not right now. Chapter two was on mana; he'd start there. The correct page earmarked and flipped at his beckoning, and Light was met with a solid wall of text. Already, he could pick out some fascinating buzzwords from his own limited dealings with the topic, and to speak digressively, intrigue was currently a very hearty friend of his. This would be a wonderful way to take his mind off everything for a minute. Chapter 2: Mana’s Characteristics | 2.1: Basic Terms and Meanings When examining the principle fundamentals of magic on Equus, one must first be familiar with a few key terms relating to the study of magic, formally known as Arcanicism. As Arcanicism has been explored as a sister theorem to the less fantastical sciences, many of the long-held colloquial understandings of the past have been upturned and nearly fully explained, leaving just a few mysteries left to magical phenomena. The term 'magic' refers to the manipulation of a natural force in the world - referred to by Equine as 'mana'. Magic is both the literal term used for the act of manipulating mana as well as a sort of catch-all term used to refer to outlying phenomena involving mana. In any form besides those conclusively proven otherwise, any action involving mana is to be referred to as magic, except in cases where outlying, conventionally unexplainable phenomena are involved. Mana is a semi-scientifically defined natural resource existing in multiple different forms, many of which, while seeming opposed in physical concept, retain several key qualities used in their identification. If any phenomenon holds these qualities in common with mana as it is known, it is likely a form of mana, except in cases where an outstanding designation has been given. Also to be referenced is the term ‘arcane,' a typical synonym for magic. This and many more terms are dispersed interchangeably in the place of more common terms depending on the context, some holding additional meanings in different fields, though the majority of arcanicists see little discrepancy in small amounts of contextual liberty. "My, you two do look quite alike at times." Barely registering through his intense focus, a familiarly tinkling laugh shocked Light out of his barely-begun delve into the world of Arcanicism. Alarm sparked through his veins, bringing him to whip his head up from the page at the far-away noise and frantically throw his gaze one way, then the other. "What- who- where- I was-" As he found everything still holding relatively benign, the frenetic hammering of his heart began to ebb in time with the warning sirens going off in his ears, though he still held a hoof to his heart for safety as he finally landed on the white unicorn before him—holding her own hoof to her mouth to very badly muffle a giggle as her flashy purple soul hued faintly gold. She was just the pony he'd been looking for, but he couldn't deny he felt a little violated as he gave Rarity a couple once-overs for peace of mind. She was wearing... some frilly purple frock or something—he didn't know anything about clothes—but what really caught his eye was her very unadorned neck. For whatever reason, even above his own concerns, the sight stuck in his craw. "Hey," he accused—began to, anyway, as he pointed up from his floating book to just under Rarity's questioning stare. "-where's your Element?" At that, she blinked, her hoof trailing down from her open mouth to gently touch at the latch of her throat as Light raised an eyebrow. "I figured you of all ponies would be wearing hers." Twilight hadn't been, either, but he got the sense that mare wouldn't know anything about the importance of appearance if she looked in a mirror and it inexplicably shattered. Or maybe she did, because no sane pony would ever wear that dumb crown around. He soundly clapped the two covers of his book shut, turning to stow the tome away once more just in time for Rarity to stop staring in a sort of haunted fashion and quietly harrumph at him. "That is awfully presumptuous, Light, and I would thank you to enquire into others' business with a bit more tact." He bit back a rude retort as the unicorn drama queen literally turned away in a huff, but wasn't anywhere close to the first thing on his mind. Rarity was a drama queen, but that whole objection was a lot, even for her. She wasn't even the type to deny that she was fashion-focused—she reveled in it! Why'd she get so huffy about her element? Further, when he'd asked, why had she looked so... distant? And why had her soul hued such a muddled green? It was a question to ponder for another day—or maybe later today—as Rarity soon stopped physically shunning him and turned back to set a marginally softer glare on him. "I would ask for your business in coming to see me today, but I believe I'm rather owed an explanation, now." She sniffed disdainfully, turning her nose up at him. "So, what is it you've come for? What is it, darling? I'll have you know I'm very busy." Whoof. She may as well have picked up a broom and swatted him out the door. He made a show of slouching and very obviously rolling his eyes, grousing in a resigned monotone even as Rarity humph'd. "No, please, turn me away faster, why don't you? That's all I came for, you know." He must've piqued her curiosity, and so he perked up as her gaze fell to him from her haughty roof inspection, freely allowing his troubled thoughts to bleed into his conflicted expression. "Seriously, though, I need to ask you for some advice, Rarity." He shrugged gently. "I'm... kind of... stuck, and... Twilight said you were good for it." Taking the gleam of interest in her sapphire-blue gaze as affirmation, Light took a breath to speak—but he was shortly interrupted by a call for Rarity across the shop. The named seamstress' ear flicked and she turned, while Light leaned around her other side to see a blue pegasus in a half done-up... dress thing waving their way. Light frowned, internally wondering if he shouldn't just leave and not look back while Rarity airily waved to the mare. "Be right there, miss Flitter!" With her cheery placation, the shop's in-demand owner turned back to him with an on-brand beatific smile. "As you well know, Light, I can only work but one miracle at a time." She cleared her throat. "So, as much as a pleasant surprise it is to see you opening up—" She cut herself off to lean closer, fluttering her long lashes closed with a curled smile. "And I am so proud of you, darling." She straightened once more, regaining her posture and continuing on as he balked. "—I do have customers waiting, so I haven't much time for a tête-à-tête!" He couldn't help making a face at her insulting commendation, though even his scorn fell away at her dismissal. The unfitting... unfamiliarly foreign phrase gave him pause just long enough for her to turn, already airily waving goodbye to him over her shoulder by the time he stood to babble an attempt to get her to wait a second! Except, as he made to follow her with a pout and an upset tirade making camp on his tongue, Rarity oddly slowed, turning her head with an uncertain murmur as her hoof twisted in the air and suddenly came down in a pivot. The motion was most like a last-second swerve as she turned to face him, her expression a bit more thoughtful. He stepped back with a blink as she softly hummed to herself, eyes and soul alike twinkling with consideration as her expression tilted back and forth from pained indecision to what he hoped was genuine concern. "I... If I could just suggest... this one thing without asking much of the... messy... finer details at the moment?" she ventured haltingly, looking as though she were taking great effort to keep a lid on whatever she was thinking. Light had been surprised enough to halt in place as she'd turned around, but as her seeming mood did a turn of its own, his surprise crawled straight down his throat to wariness. Still, though the gleam of... restlessness in her eye gave him some measurable pause, he nodded, trying not to frown too widely. At his affirmation, she remained silent for another moment more, her gaze hooding with obvious scrutiny as a dainty white hoof rose to press into her lip. For a moment, he was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu, and he had a horrible moment of terror that her pause would somehow end up massively drawn-out or something. Thankfully for his psyche, he only had to urge her along with a pleading stare for a few moments before her eyes narrowed and closed with a subtle nod. With a hefty breath through her nose, she opened them to set upon his, her ever-flashing purple soul twinkling all the brighter for it. The she smiled. A coy, knowing smile, as though she had it all figured out. "You simply shouldn't try so hard to change your own mind." That was all she said, spoken in that pompous faux-bred accent she always slapped everypony with. The declaration was so certain—so obvious that Light had to shake his head, frowning as he opened his mouth to... ...shut it. He shut his mouth, and for the next few moments, he couldn't think of a reason to open it again. Rarity, curiously critical stare gleaming with something suitably inscrutable, only watched him for two or three of those silent moments before she quietly murmured once more to herself and turned away. He watched her go just as silently, eyes still intently trained on her as she sidled up to the pegasus who'd called her and began to run her hooves over the half-finished outfit, the air already filling with her busily amiable chatter. At the forefront of his mind, he was sure there must've been more to say. If he went over and interrupted her, he could shake her down for the really incisive stuff. Surely, he needed something more—something tangible to guide him. Rarity never left it at just one thing; she always had more to say. But then... he thought to himself about it. He found himself turning away, tearing his leery gaze from the mare whom he'd often tried to tap for answers over the years, who had typically bombarded him with schlock and fanciful drivel. She was a profoundly vain and shallow mare, he often told himself. That was the usual takeaway. Every once in a while, though, she took his requests seriously. Instead of closing her eyes, giggling and spouting off her delusional nonsense about high society and the way everypony should be acting, she'd look at him. Quietly, considerately, she'd take this... long look at him. It was a thorough examination of his every facet—of every angle she could possibly present from, and staring back at those rippling pools of sapphire blue, he found much more than the shallow surface she so often put forth. She had more depth than he often gave her credit for. And she had a great eye for detail. So it was that Light left the boutique with his head held high and his own curious gaze set towards the sky. Without speaking again to the mare he'd come to see, and without thinking very much of where he was going, his hooves carried him forward. Somewhere in his mind, perhaps pressed up against his wandering thoughts like a bent-out-of-shape shadow, the distinct feeling that he was wandering off course continued to nag at him. It carried itself along with him like a gnawing little parasite as he gradually made his way across town, his walk continuing almost completely unconsciously. It wasn't until the disconcerting sensation of cantering ponies brushing against his pack and pelt dwindled to nonexistence and the hum of wordless chatter dammed to a halt that his focus fell to Equus, and he found himself slowing. He turned his head and cast his gaze back with a blink, finding the familiar schoolhouse where he'd received his lackluster education a short while behind him. Before him, as he turned back, there were little more than endless trees and plains spread out on either side of the well-worn dirt trail that stretched to the horizon. Beyond the forest-edged trail, the path ended on a distant hill where the trees flowered in rosy red. A rustic brown building sat in stark contrast amidst them, and past it, several smaller structures nestled about a barn. Now, at least, he had an idea of where he was going. He set off. And until he set hoof in Sweet Apple Acres, he had all the time he needed to reorganize himself. As his hooves quickly picked up a familiar cadence he'd long since committed to memory on his many visits, the path and the dangerous woods beside him faded into casual disinterest. All that remained was the steady rhythm of his canter and the thoughts it stirred. Where else to begin but Twilight? He didn't hate her. He felt like he should, but he didn't, and he wasn't impressing anypony by pretending. Rarity was right—about a lot of things, like her ostensible comparison between him and the bookish... okay, whatever he was about to follow that word with was just going to be an insult to him. That just went to show that they were basically only distinguished by three letters, their birthplace, and their upbringing. There was a lot about her that set him off, but he was a persistently disgruntled pony. Everypony set him off in one way or another or ten. Twilight wasn't outstanding in that regard. So why did he keep convincing himself she was Nightmare Moon reincarnate? That was easy, he supposed. It was... it was easy to admit—he was afraid of second guessing himself. He knew why, too. Changing his mind so suddenly... it felt too much like... like the way it'd been. When nothing had been certain. When his mind hadn't been safe. When the ground could have turned black with oozing ink at any second because there'd been something in his head and his thoughts weren't his. The refreshing afternoon air and the warm sun on his back didn't help the shiver. Not the flash, either. Cold cyan eyes. The persistent fog. The overpowering white noise—the ringing in his ears. The cold. So cold. But it was okay. It was gone. He was safe now, and no matter how many times he closed his eyes and saw Hers, they'd never leap from his mind to attack him. He'd not be set upon with endless scorn and flaming breath, nor forced to bear witness to casual self-mutilation and burning static in the air. He'd found love, and that sheer fact of reciprocity was enough to quell the raging screams echoing through that ancient castle. The cold was lesser next to that wonderful warmth. It didn't bother him so much anymore. Neither did Twilight. She was a perfectly fine mare—startlingly similar to... well, to what he strived to be. She was definitely far more neurotic than he was—if there had still been voices in his head, they'd agree, too—but that was kind of charming, in a way. He felt... kindred with her around, if a little intellectually dwarfed. Frankly, he was a little honored she'd offer to teach him. Even then, it was kind of breathlessly incredulous that he was lugging around an entire book penned by such a frank genius. How rarified would he be—will he be to receive personal tutelage from the mare who'd been the closest disciple of Her Holy Highness? ...Personal epiphany and general tone of hope aside, thinking of Celestia as holy made him want to barf. Regardless of their differing stances on religion, he'd certainly be taking Twilight up on her invitation. He'd taken the book and booked it without talking to her about it, but when next he had a chance, he'd gladly accept any massive advantage that just so happened to fall right into his lap. He'd be an idiot not to. There was just no reason to pretend like it wasn't exactly what he wanted. He was entitled to the things he wanted. After all he'd endured, he deserved it. He was allowed to want good things. A rustling flurry of sudden activity sprung to life in his peripheral, and suddenly he was in danger. He'd gone too far. How dare he hold out naïve hope. He should've known better. She'd stamp that out. She'd take it away. She'd taught him better. She would make him do it again. The murky fog stretched out below him. It was only a few moments after he threw himself to the dirt in a full-body cower that he tentatively peeked an eye open to see what was actually happening, and as he did, the wave of relief that washed over him was second only to the shame that began to burn a hole through his face. It was a squirrel, brazenly scampering out from the edge of the Everfree with a nut in its paws. It sat a short distance away, perfectly harmless, nibbling on the prize it had somehow scrounged from the dead forest. If the animalistic gleam of vulnerability in its eyes didn't properly convince him, the small stature of its whitish-grey soul should have thoroughly assured him it was just a woodland creature. Light hurriedly pushed himself to a standing position, brushing his hoof across his saddlebag and down his barrel as he suppressed an embarrassed cough. Pursing his lips, he wiped a hoof across his muzzle as he busily searched the sky for flying onlookers. All seemed right. Just a routine ground inspection. Carry on, everypony. Feeling... dopey, he cast his attention back to the placid squirrel, imagining for a moment that it was some horrorterror in disguise just waiting for him to let his guard down. The thought, of course, was silly. He could see its average soul plain as day—no trickery whatsoever. It made him want to scoff as he turned to carry on. What was wrong with you, Light? You're supposed to be confident and grown up, not jumping at noises in the bushes like a little colt. For shame. ...But then he stopped, and his intent gaze flicked back to the squirrel sitting not ten hoof-lengths away. His focus landed on its own gaze, but it hadn't looked at him once since it'd burst from the brush. He'd not made much noise, he supposed, and he was rather brown. He must not have stood out as a threat, or... at all. It would've fled if it'd seen him. If it knew, it wouldn't have stayed. It didn't really seem to know he was there. His gaze fell, landing on its soul. Spinning gently and flashing in its below-average fashion, the muted luminescence still shone like a brilliant torch amidst the darkened shrubbery it crouched in. He'd always loved that about them. No matter the darkness, the soul would always keep its luster. Its... intoxicating luster. Maybe it was the country air, so far removed from civilization on both sides. Maybe it was his introspective state brought about by his great uncertainty of the preceding day. Maybe it was Her memory—that... thorn of creeping chill in the core of his being that thoughts of Her only seemed to exacerbate. There must've been a lot of reasons why, whatever he tried, his mind kept circling back to the same thought. It's just a squirrel. It only took a little repetition for his gaze to fall to his hooves, searching for a rock. It wasn't hard to find a stone clumped into the dirt on the side of the path—there were plenty, really, and he had his gracious pick of the lot. Good as his eyes were, it was even easier to pick one out from the crowd, and just the size he needed, too. He loved it when things took a turn for the easy. He'd often put a lot of effort into the vast magical potential of lighting his horn quietly, and it seemed as though his years as a troubled youth with nothing better to do than terrorize others was finally paying off as his system awoke with a mental prod and his horn began to glimmer. A dull, very quietly tinkling red haze flickered to life around the top of the half-buried rock, and gently, he wiggled it free. As it floated to an equilibrium next to his head, he slid a silent gaze back to the squirrel. It was sniffing the air. Light had already been holding his breath, but he had to stow a gasp as a sudden pang of fear tore through him at the prospect of losing his chance. It was all he could do to stay still, and not breathe. Don't move. After a moment, it went back to nibbling, hunching over its meagre prize and gnawing at it from all sides. He wouldn't waste time professing his relief. Light's gaze tracked back to the rock he'd chosen, hovering it closer and mentally hefting it. By his reckoning, it was about the same weight and size as an apple. Slowly, cautiously, his unblinking crimson eyes slid back to the squirrel. If there was anything he knew how to throw, it was apples. The animal's head perked up as the weighty object went sailing through the air with an uncanny whistle of displaced air, giving Light one last look into its beady eyes before the rock impacted the side of the small creature's skull with a quietly wet crack. The rock bounced into the undergrowth while the squirrel tottered around and crumpled to the grass. Light let out a resounding cheer as he bounced on his hooves, finally able to suck in an excited breath at his success, not wasting a second to trot briskly over to the unmoving fauna he'd just done a fair job of murdering. Well, murder was a strong term for a squirrel, however technically apt. If it had a family or loved ones, they'd likely forget it in a week. That thought and just a few more like it were why Light felt no reservation in riding the continuing surge of power thrumming in his core to reach out and lift the limp body by its limp leg. His eyes caught on a subtle drip of red falling from the broken skin of its head, though it only fueled the perverse giddiness dancing along his nerves. How exhilarating that'd been! He'd always wanted to do something like that, but as a foal, he'd always been too fidgety and unwieldy to stand still or throw straight. The animals he'd tried to kill many times in the past all got off scampering or fluttering away, much to his angst-fueled frustration. Now, to his absolute delight, he'd undergone more than enough trauma to stand still and aim like a true psychopath. The animal was his to marvel at—to peer forward with wide, unblinking eyes, and to shamelessly explore every dirty scrape and mussed bit of fur he could find as it gently turned in his grasp. Of course, its workaday appearance wasn't what he was interested in, nor were the shallow pants and fluttering heartbeat gradually slowing to a cold stop against the firm press of his mana. He had no interest in sadism. Because he wasn't a psychopath. He was just entitled to the things he wanted. And what he wanted was that little ball of grayish light that he could feel drifting so close. The squirrel was barely clinging to life—not that he was really paying much mind to its final moments—but there was no way he'd be able to stave off the dizzying anticipation that was currently running through his veins to let it be. The day may have been beautiful and the summer breeze refreshing, but those were both guesses as to the atmosphere, because Light could only see the deadened forest before him, and his soon-to-be-dead prey. It was not an aesthetic he was keen to deny. Right then, stuck in his own little world on the hardly-traveled path to his marefriend's farm, Light was free from the burden—the guilt of what he was doing. No memories of painful smiles and dead bunny rabbits. There was nothing except him and the squirrel. And he felt so alive, rife with joy and heart and besieged by the most wonderful sensations. He could feel the pulse of the souls within him, calling in feverish voices out to their kin with a two-step rhythm of sonorous harmony for what he desired. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was fading—a frenetic hammering of drums easing in and adding to the melody. The rustling of the trees was melding into a vast choir of tolling bells. He was the conductor to this grand music—the center of this jarring symphony. Every piece rang in an endless harmony in his ears, and in that isolated moment, he was sure he was the only one who would ever understand it. It was perfect. It was immaculate—complete and fulfilling for some inscrutable intrinsic place deep down inside him that he hadn't even known had been lacking for so much of his life. It made him better. It made him whole. But there was something wrong. There was a silent player in the theatre. It sat silent and odd amidst the whorling chords and tones that suffused him, but he could taste its refrain on the tip of his tongue. It was dying to join in—to fall into step with the band. It was lonely. How that tugged at its heartstrings. He smiled, and he felt the motion quirk at his lips. It only had to come closer. He only had to beckon. Bit by bit, tooth over heel, he beckoned for it. No matter how it began to hurt, and no matter how the scent of heat and wrath stung at his nose, he beckoned. Forth, ever forth, he beckoned. He needed it. It needed him. His veins burned. His head pulsed with frothing anguish. His skin was suffocating him. As the orchestra swelled to its apex, and as the writhing pain of an impossible pressure bore down on him, something caught the edge of his ear. His heart leapt into his throat, and the world around him seemed to ripple in a hesitant waver. Time slowed. Equus eroded to dust. In a single instant, he felt its presence snuff out. It was closer than it had ever been before, and he couldn't hear it. Then the cork popped. And all was right. The melody had found its accompaniment. And he couldn't believe he'd ever lived without it. Light's eyes fluttered open, leaving him to wince at the harsh greeting of the sun's unrepentant light, that solar mule. He lifted a hoof to shield them with a grimace, waving away the fading mist of ill-fitting purple that he probably should've bottled as he took a deep breath of... what felt like long forgotten fresh air. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe it had been too long to recall. Everything seemed that little bit fresher now. Now that he could feel the swing rhythm of three souls in his heart. His hoof fell to the ground as he blinked mistily over his shoulder, finding nothing but the pleasant country landscape. He was shocked for a moment at how... green it all seemed, but not enough to hold him off returning his gaze forward. Forward and down, and he frowned to himself. There laid the sprawled body of a dead squirrel, its head nearly curled under its crumpled body. If anypony wanted to strike him down for murder, now'd be a good time to do it while he was standing over the evidence. Not that it'd be there for long. Cruel as life was, some enterprising hunter from the Everfree would swipe the easy meat in a matter of moments once he was gone. The ignorant squirrel never should've been there in the first place—it was like asking to have its soul tugged out and made off with. How could he be judged for carrying out the due course of nature? Still staring down at the tiny corpse, wondering if there'd be unforeseen karmic repercussions in his future, his hoof wandered up to press at his chest. It was just an idle habit that he decided to indulge in, and faintly, he could feel his heartbeat, but if he focused... Three points of warmth. Three instruments in the grand song. Two of them were so much smaller, but it was still so much warmer. So warm. Light was warmer than he had been in a long time. He felt... wonderful. Exuberant. Like life was bright and really worth experiencing. Everything was so beautiful. He raised his attention from the dead animal, turning to the path as he made to leave the carcass behind. The shiver of the undergrowth behind him may or may not have been his imagination, but he was already more intent on other things. Better things. The things that mattered to him. That he could feel... so much more strongly. His hooves were carrying him forward and faster than he might've ever gone down the road to the Apples' farm. The urge—the need in his trembling jaw to see her was just growing worse. More painful. Like he'd been carved out and his heart was beating sickly fluid all over the ground. He couldn't stand it. He had to see Applejack. He had to... love her. Let her know. Have her let him know. It wasn't right without her. Nothing was right without her. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A gently scrunched brown muzzle cautiously poked in through the top of a half-opened stable door, followed closely by two curious crimson eyes as their owner cast a glance from the left side of the room to the right. Finding nothing but the regular homely decorations and green painted walls over wooden molding—smiling photographs included—Light pushed the bottom of the door open and took a step in. Keeping his eyes on the opposite end of the room where the stairs rung the wall, he closed the door with a nudge from his hindleg, raising his chin and calling out as he did. "Applejack? Granny Smith?" It wasn't a big surprise that there was nopony in the sitting room, but it was a little odd he hadn't seen any Apples on the way to the house. The whole extended family had been in town for the Summer Sun Celebration, he knew, but they must've all gone home by now. Otherwise, he'd have been accosted by friendly greetings seven times over on the walk up from the orchard. Neverending welcomes to a transient y'all. He wasn't a big fan of... all the Apples—all... five thousand of them, or so it felt like. The concept of extended families always kind of disturbed him, was all. He was supposed to like all those strangers just because they were all bound by blood or something? Not even in the so-called cool way he used to be obsessed with, just by genetics. He was glad they weren't his extended family. Not... yet, anyway. As a whole, they were disturbingly adherent to the stereotype of country livin' ponies, complete with the accents, mannerisms, and bluster that he barely tolerated coming from his marefriend. They all tended to be too loud, too boisterous, and upsettingly ignorant of their cloying folksiness. Though... as his call for attention echoed through the lonely house, and a knock on the ceiling above him rapidly grew into a pattering of smallish hoofsteps over his head, he couldn't fight a small smile. He liked the Apples that he was close with. On them, it was charming. He didn't have to idle by the door for long before the clambering from upstairs grew loud enough to wince at, though before he could properly brace, a yellow-on-red bolt shot from the stairs unseen to crash onto the bend. As Light did his best to regain his bearings from the house shaking, the yellow filly who he could swear was so much bigger than he remembered turned from where she'd leapt halfway down the stairs, setting wide auburn eyes on him as the reddish soul behind the fur of her chest visibly jumped. "Light!" He'd been in this scenario enough times to know; as soon as Apple Bloom caught sight of him, he was already holding his hooves up and out. For a brief moment, the motion was a bit funny; for most of his life, his first thought had always been wasted hoping she just wouldn't hug him. Now, he was smiling. He heaved a grunt of exertion as the filly flew into his open arms, wobbling back on his hocks and holding his breath for dear life as her hooves wrapped tight around his neck. As her delighted giggle played around his ears, he surreptitiously snaked his hoof into the stifling junction of their stomachs to scratch at the latch of his saddlebag, allowing him a marginally easier breath as his bag fell to the floor with a muffled thump. With his breathing slightly less labored, his contented smile returned in full force as he held her a little higher and huffed a breath down her back. "Hi, Bloom," he murmured, drawing a dreamy hum from the filly in his arms. Her grip tightened, as did his in response. "I missed you, too." He really had; he wasn't being facetious. Watching the foal grow from that wide-eyed little lemming into the remarkably conscious filly she was today had been... one of the greatest joys of his life. That he'd not remembered her on the day of the Summer Sun Celebration was... painful—how it hurt in hindsight. The foggy memory was like a burn in his throat. Somepony so important to him... and he hadn't known. Terrifying. His ever-worsening mental state over the years had warned him off visiting the farm very often for fear of... pretty much everything here, but he'd been especially grief-stricken over the thought of acting wrong around Apple Bloom. If he'd done something wrong, and she'd been there to see—to react... She wasn't ever supposed to be sad, and he didn't think he could handle it if he was the cause. She was supposed to be... bouncy. Happy. Excited. She was warm, soft, and so cuddly—aside from choking him, she gave the best hugs—and she was probably the only good filly on the planet. She wasn't gross, she was smart and worldly enough to not present herself as constantly inane, and she was so sweet! Speaking of which, his heart tangibly soared as she laughed behind his ear again, and though he was content to sit there in the entryway just snuggling her... forever, he let his grip go slack when she began to tug away. His hooves stayed on her back as she pushed herself up from his chest, allowing him a sugar-inducing look into her laughing gaze. "Aw, Light, it's only been a few days since I saw you!" She tilted her head with a quirked eyebrow, bouncing her bow with a shake and a smile. "Y'all couldn't've forgotten, could ya?" He was only glad he'd been distracted by the warm feelings of love for the filly whom he'd practically adopted as a sister, because his fugue helped to hide the rush of regret that washed over him at the inflammatory remark. She was too serendipitous for her own good, stabbing right at the heart of his insecurity like that. He hid it well, though—he was well practiced—and managed a mostly even grin back at the innocently staring filly. "No, Bloom, I just meant..." He chewed on the next words for a moment as he ushered her off his lap, letting her settle onto the floor as he stood with a deep breath. He let it out in time with the sag of his shoulders, relaxing as he fixed her with a warm smile. "...I haven't been... around all that much, lately." Apple Bloom, the sweet child, took his response with a roll of her eyes, scoffing in that well-meaning—yet disastrously snarky—way that she did. "Ugh. Y'don't gotta tell me." Her gaze focused back onto him as she fell onto her haunches, twitching her obvious grin into a bad frown. "I swear, I could count on four hooves the times I've seen you in the past year!" Now it was Light's turn to roll his eyes—all the more so as she held her hooves up for emphasis. "Apple Bloom, just because I've been... busy, doesn't mean I stopped dropping by to visit your sister every other week." He stepped up to the filly, gesticulating over the petulant foal with his own unfelt frown. "Not to mention I came around on yours, your sister's, your brother's, and your grandmare's birthdays!" He pointed one hoof up—just because he needed three to stand. "That's four times right there!" The filly under his mock glare adopted one of her own, jumping to her hooves and doing her best to stare defiantly up into his eyes. "Yeah, well—" She simmered with... what he hoped was fake frustration for a moment, stamping her hoof into the floor with a pout as she found her runaway sentence. "That doesn't change that you ain't been around as much as y'used to be!" It was growing increasingly difficult not to break the tension and burst out laughing, especially staring at her twitchy little face and that cute little bow in her bouncy mane, so he appeased the urge by turning away with a huff, quirking the end of his frown into a grin where she couldn't see. "Yeah, well..." He trailed off on an obvious silence, firming his shoulders and raising his chin haughtily to give off his best upset impression, which he hoped was translating well from behind him. He kept an ear perked, listening to the filly shuffle in place for a few moments before she stepped forward, then again, then began to circle around him. It was then that he struck. He planted his butt down, pivoting with an arm stretched out and catching the filly unawares and off her guard, heaving the smaller pony up to his chest with a growl and hugging her close as she let out a surprised yelp that rose with an inhale into a giggle as he pressed her back into his stomach. "—I'm here now, you little pest!" He yelled into her mane, grinning wildly as he blew a raspberry into her hair and her laughter redoubled. Amidst her cries for him to stop and to cut it out, he wholeheartedly continued to shake her like a little sack, nuzzling the back of her head and blowing hot air into it for what felt like an hour. An hour he wished wouldn't end. It was just so easy to indulge the impulse to let himself love the filly—to show that he loved her like family. The warmth made it so easy. Eventually, though—very shortly, actually—his arms got tired, and he slowed down to just hug the filly. She wasn't all that big, but she still weighed as much as a boulder, and he wasn't all that fit in the first place. Breathing deeply of her familiarly... er rustic, scent, he shifted his muzzle up and out of her very messy mane to rest his chin onto her half-undone bow. "Hey, Bloom?" he murmured, to which the filly shifted her head back against his stomach and chirped curiously. He shifted his arms around her midriff, chewing on his tongue for a moment as her hooves squeezed his arms. "Is... Granny around?" The filly wasn't silent for a moment before she answered cheerily, bouncing in his lap. "Yeah, she's in her chair!" He flicked a glance to the right, towards the saloon doors on the adjacent wall that separated the sitting room from... the other sitting room. He'd figured, but it was only polite to ask given she hadn't responded earlier. He felt the filly shift again, so he did his best to match her gaze, finding an incredulous question within their shining depths. "Y'all didn't come around jes' t'see Granny, did'ya?" He hemmed for a moment of thought, raising his chin up from the filly's head as he cast a glance sideways, hoping she wouldn't see how he couldn't quite keep his mouth from wiggling in quiet uncertainty. "Er- um, no, I didn't. I did come to see Applejack, I was just..." He coughed, firming his grip around the filly with a resolute nod. "...wanting to ask Granny something, is all." He'd been going back and forth on this on the walk to the farm, and he really hadn't wanted to make it a certainty, but then it'd just kind of... slipped out, so he supposed it was too late to back out, now. His gaze drifted back to the door. The... possibly impending doom. He choked down a swallow, holding Apple Bloom tighter to her quiet protest. It was definitely too late to run away. > Chapter 65 - Acceptance > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- For as much as Light loved the fuzzy warmth of holding his pseudo little sister, listening to her idle chatter about her school life and her latest attempts to get her cutie mark, his mind inevitably wandered from the filly's danger-laden exploits, inexplicably thrilling though they were. Neither could his eyes stop drifting towards the door he knew Granny was behind. Though he did make a note to talk to his marefriend about keeping a closer eye on the little pony, because he never should've heard the words 'I tried' and 'scuba diving' coming out of a ten year-old's mouth. It didn't take long to convince himself to stop stalling—curse the warmth and his new, energized attitude—so he shortly extracted the filly from his arms and made her promise to go finish her schoolwork. Just because schooling in Ponyville wasn't good didn't mean she shouldn't try to apply herself. If there was anything he wasn't going to let the one child on Equus he cared about do, it was ignore her education. He watched her gallop up the stairs at a definitely unsafe speed with more melancholy than was probably deserved, but he was going to excuse himself for that on account of the incoming ballistic impact into his life. He'd not been able to help the sigh, either, or the lackluster energy with which he ventured towards... the door. At the moment, he was still standing in front of the metaphorical chalk line that separated him from the blast zone. It was definitely a warzone in his head, so it was probably warranted to see the door to such—but the metaphor was a bit overstated, however funny. Not to mention it was a saloon door and he'd stopped rather close to it, so he could actually see Granny Smith's hooves in his peripheral. A chalk line, indeed. What was the point in stopping at all? Light sighed again, hanging his head for a moment before he straightened and forced a placid mask over his miserable expression. With another deep breath, he took a step forward and pushed the doors apart. His eyes focused to the right on instinct, but he knew the room well enough that he wasn't all that interested in the décor or the immaculate shrine to Princess Celestia he'd once mocked and been subsequently made a fool in front of. It was just as well maintained as ever, and like always, there was a fresh apple in the bowl. Slightly delayed, his gaze focused to the left, where the target of his interest was sitting in a plush rocking chair against a wall absolutely inundated with family portraits, Beside her was a short table holding aloft a lovingly-bound photobook and a white mug with something steaming in it. In her wrinkly—yet unbelievably strong—hooves she held an unfolded newspaper, and at his entrance her auburn eyes rose from its pages and focused on him out of her sagging expanse of a face. Her paper lowered to her lap as her wrinkles parted in a pearly grin, and as it did every time he'd seen her since he was nine, his imagination leapt to cover her age with the die-hard image of a cocky mare in her forties. Because for as few times as it had shown through his life, Granny Smith did not carry herself as though she were a hundred and fifty-three. However she looked, however she sounded, and however she acted like the perfect archetype of a kindly grandmare, she could fool just about anypony into thinking she was in the prime of her life. She was both the oldest mare he knew and the only one to do a hoofstand. That was only one of the reasons why he was currently standing on what felt like pins and needles. The other was behind the baggy shawl draped over her shoulders, which, on the day he'd seen it for the first time, had only reinforced all of his fears. He'd seen old ponies' souls, and he'd seen the souls of ponies when they were close to death. They were typically graying, shrinking, and literally coming apart at the seams; the ephemeral strings that comprised the soul would actually unravel and begin to fade the closer they were to their natural death. At times throughout his life, he'd found it to be one of the coolest things he'd ever seen; at others, he'd considered it to be nauseatingly terrifying. Granny Smith's was still as vibrantly golden as when he'd first seen it, and larger than any he'd ever seen. If he was terrified of anything, he was terrified of her. "Well, lookie that! Izzat Light Flow trottin' on in through my door?" the old mare wheezed out with a laugh, rocking back in her chair as she folded the newspaper in her lap in half. Her eyes, ever youthful, gleamed with humor. "I heard all that ruckus in the other room an' I figured Apple Bloom was gettin' herself attacked by a Timberwolf!" He laughed along with her, however uneasily, gradually inching his way forward as the mare unfolded her paper and focused back onto it. "Glad t'see it was jes' some 'lil sprout," she murmured with a humorous preoccupation, flipping a page over as she settled back into a lethargic rhythm of rocking. It was more or less Granny's thing to make flippant remarks about him—he'd absolutely earned it—so he just nodded along as he'd long since learned to do. "Um... yeah, it's just me, Granny." He halted his forward shuffle and sat himself down, content with the distance he'd closed. "I... did call out for you when I came in, though." He adopted an abashed expression when Granny Smith huffed, not bothering to look up at him or turn her page for emphasis. "Was that what that hollerin' was? Figured it was jes' some punk or vandal or somethin'." He took the oblique insult with little more than a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh as he sagged. "...And that punk called for you by name?" he muttered monotonously, keeping his eyes low and lidded with routine. She was just giving him the runaround, he knew. Did it every time he saw her. It was like tradition, or a rite. At his response that wasn't meant to be a joke, Granny Smith barked out a piercing cackle, rocking forward in her chair and crinkling her newspaper down as she lowered it to flash him a rather wolfish grin. "Y'all know there ain't a whippersnapper in Ponyville that don't know Granny Smith." Finally—and it was odd how he'd been waiting for it—she turned the page, and Granny's tone became humorous again. "Couldn't count the times we got whole crowds up here tryin' to 'curry mah favor' an' nonsense like that." He blew out a long-suffering chortle. She made it sound like she was some kind of mob boss or something. ...Maybe she was. That actually made a startling amount of sense. With the thought of the elderly mare in a black suit surrounded by armed security, Light straightened, his expression flipping into wary tenacity. "Um, Granny?" He waited for her to respond with a hum, continuing as his gaze fell to his hooves. "I wanted to... ask you—or tell you something, I guess." He swallowed. Whoof, this was hard. "Something... important." Sitting in front of Granny for pretty much any reason was... an extremely difficult position for him. It wasn't hard like sitting in a crowd of ponies or talking to a stranger was, it was... most like a great deal of pressure. Worry. It wasn't actually fear, no matter how much hyperbole he slung, it was just nerve-wracking. He'd been intimidated by the mare since he was a foal, and for good reason. She was a business mogul—not even retired or anything, and she'd helped found Ponyville. She was still far more physically able than he was, she commanded respect in basically every town that sold apples, and she'd proven on multiple occasions that she was smarter than him. Most importantly of all, she was the grandmare of the mare he loved. He'd grown up under her watchful eye. Out of all the ponies who inexplicably tried to mother him, Granny Smith was most analogous to the chastising type who disciplined him when he did something bad. She was the one who most commanded his respect. ...Aside from the overbearing disciplinarian who had actually killed him. That one had been a bit more severe. For Granny Smith, though, he held many feelings of appreciation. She'd been a constant source of positivity and wisdom in his life, and though that came with disapproval and actual discipline, he was grateful for it, because it had helped keep him from... going bad, he supposed. For a long time, he'd resented her. With all that had happened... all that he'd gone through... how he'd changed... ...He wanted to thank her. He wanted her approval. He wanted... he wanted... Whatever whim was carrying him, it carried him further until his eyes were open and off the floor, and he met Granny Smith's undivided attention. Her paper was down; her chair had stopped rocking. Her soul was gleaming with slow, steady patience. She was giving him his moment to speak. Maybe she'd heard the plea in his voice. He hadn't looked her right in the eye for more than a second too many times over his life. Not after the first time, anyway. Not since he'd challenged her authority and been put in his place. He'd been wrong, back then. She was deserving of respect. And he wanted her to respect him. "Applejack and I started dating." Out it came. Without even thinking, without even blinking, the words slipped off his tongue. He didn't regret it. He hadn't meant to say it so matter-of-factly, but that was how it came out, and hearing it, he couldn't imagine any other way. This was the definite way—the only way. If he wanted Granny Smith to accept him—and he did—then frank honesty was the only method to prove himself. He could feel it in his bones; if he wanted to be part of this family, he had to speak his mind. Even if he didn't regret it, it was still hard. Forcing himself to stand up straight and tall, quelling every instinct to fidget and scuffle, would've taken a lot of fortitude without the blistering leer of Granny Smith boring into him. It was unsafe of him, really, to sit so close to the furnace. No wonder he was sweating. He kept eye contact, though, considering it a strong focal point not to look away. She may have been old and frail-looking, but he'd long since learned to read her facial language under all those bags, and her jaw was clenched. Her expression's recession was growing so much less so, it was as though her eyes were popping out. That gaze—that weathered, knowing gaze—read history and experience in its every glimmering facet. Her stature meant nothing; it was clear for all to see, if only they looked, that the mare was indomitable. There wasn't an ounce of give in those eyes, and as she straightened minutely in her plush chair, he could swear the saggy flaps of her hanging skin were tensed. There was rippling muscle underneath those wrinkles. How that massive soul of hers pulsed... it was like an earthquake, full of vitality and strength that had lasted for more than a century. He'd hardly ever seen it affected. For as long as he'd tried, it was almost impossible to accurately read. It was simply too dauntless, and that was barely even an exaggeration. Every second he spent before her, trapped in the peaceful silence of the house and farm she'd built, the more he felt small. Like a child. Like he'd said something stupid. Like he should bow and apologize. Something chipped off the back of his brain, and a niggling sense of resemblance he hadn't realized had been in contention shriveled into resolution. A question that hadn't ever been on his mind that needed answering. Nightmare Moon reminded him of Granny Smith. Bitter, satisfying resolution. If she hadn't taken that exact moment to snort back a chuckle, Light would've thrown up in his mouth. As it was, when her withering gaze finally tore away from his with a shake of her head, rocking back and lifting her newspaper to reveal her quilt-covered hindlegs, he already had to swallow a glob of chunky acid down. He tried not to make a face—he felt himself fail—as Granny Smith turned to throw her paper onto the table aside her, turning back to him with a sliver of a bright grin and a twinkle of laughter in her eye. If his eyes weren't mistaken, her soul even seemed to glow with a dimly orange satisfaction. "Betcha don't know, 'lil sprout—" She rocked back, grinning wider and raising a hoof to wag at him as she continued with a disquietingly smug tone. "—y'all jes' won Macintosh twenty bits." There hadn't been many times recently where he'd been able to use the phrase, but just then, Light did a double take. "Buh- huh?" He could feasibly be forgiven for his overdramatic reaction given the mare before him throwing her head back and cackling at him, especially given... everything that'd been running through his head! She and Big Macintosh had bet on him. No, that was stupid! There was no way that was the case! Why had that been the first explanation that'd come to mind? He was such an idiot. Or was he? Maybe it made sense, after all. Did anything else make sense? He could swear he'd just had another possible reason on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't find it all of a sudden. No, that didn't make any sense; betting was the only half-decent explanation. Why had he tried to change his own mind? Wait, nevermind, that was a stupid question. The real question he should've been asking was why he was wasting time grilling himself and not Granny Smith. His face felt hot. Was there blood coming out of his ears? Maybe it was just steam or something. He was very, very aware of his tongue between his teeth. He let it go, folding it against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head to shoo away the murmuring gadflies buzzing around his ears. "Wait- are you- what do you- I'm- I'm confused, Granny!" he finally managed to yell as soon as he was able to see straight again, taking a step forward—then back to offset an onset of dizziness. He let out a puff of hot air, pursing his lips to stop them from gaping as Granny, sitting with her hooves crossed and watching with a self-satisfied smile, threw her hooves up with an amused scoff. "Now, ain't nothing t'get hot 'n bothered over, youngin'—" Light started at the phrase, going just a teensy bit rigid as Granny Smith wheezed out another witchy laugh with a disarming shrug. "—it's jes' a day we've all been waitin' for, s'all." Light sputtered indignantly, blinking a few too many times too quickly and forcing him to sit back down as the dizziness returned in full force. Granny, meanwhile, was concerned with telling a story to the ceiling, laying her hooves over her lap contentedly as she spoke towards it. "See, all'a us knew you an' Applejack were comin' up on the horizon, so a year or two back, Mac 'n I put a 'lil money on when." Light reeled back from the tangible impact of the elderly mare's airy recollection, barely registering yet more dialogue flitting past the ringing in his twitching ears. "Mac said anytime durin' the year you turned eighteen, 'n I said anytime after y'all lost that dirty shack an' had to come move on in here." Was that the floor? No, his face just felt cold. He was still sitting up, he was pretty sure. Yep. He could turn his head, and yep, Granny Smith was still sitting over there and smiling smarmily at him. Weird how all his confidence and poise kind of leapt out of the window as soon as all of his preconceived fears had been dashed to pieces. Hey, there was a window over at the other end of the room, wasn't there? He'd been staring at it a moment ago. He glanced over, and there it was. It was open, too. There was fresh daylight and birdsong on the other side. ... ...No, he couldn't just jump out of a window every time he had a problem. He had to... confront this. Be a stallion. He couldn't just... he didn't want to freak out. He wanted to own up and act... like a grown up. He had to act... worthy. He bit his lip, forcing his jaw to straighten and not to wobble as he did his best to tweak the kink out of his back. He made himself stand marginally straighter with a mostly even frown, and he was able to keep his eyes and ears from twitching every half-second as he turned back to Granny Smith, still... grinning. As their eyes met, though, some of the humor in her expression bled away, and she sat a little straighter, too. He heard her clear her throat a little as he forced his body to take just one step forward, and from there, the second didn't seem too bad, and the third basically invited the fourth. Suddenly, he was standing just in front of her, and he honestly had to marvel a little at how easy the journey had been. There was still a ringing bell somewhere in his ears, he definitely had no control whatsoever over his breathing, and he hadn't completely quelled the twitching, but none of that had stopped him. He'd gotten up. He... had to look down a little as he spoke, a warbling note of wariness in his voice. "Did you... I mean... do you..." His decision to look down was mollified as he tried to take just a little peek up to the mare's face, and suddenly, his face was growing warmer. "...do you really mean it, that you'd... I mean, if I lost my house, you'd..?" Oh, great. Now he was crying. He covered a sniffle with a cough as he quickly jerked his head away, rubbing the solitary tear that'd trailed down his cheek away with a hoof, but that damned Granny Smith had probably seen, already. This was the worst. Now all he felt strong enough to do was sit in front of her like an idiot, trying not to let the first tear bring twenty more. He couldn't... help it that her stupid one-off comment had meant so freaking much to him! It hadn't even sounded heartfelt, and—watch, any second now she was probably going to brush it off, but the thought... imagining that the faux-parental figure whom he'd known for half his life would open her home if worst came to worst was... ...It really didn't help that, much as he successfully ignored it, he didn't have much money, a job, or any marketable skills. He strutted around like his life was on the rise and everything was dandy, but the underlying existential fear of being evicted from what he maintained was his dream home may have been worse than... most of the other things he was afraid of. He had love, sure, but he also wanted a home. Picturing that home with all the ponies he loved—and Big Macintosh—was... it was... "Hey, now." The thought he desperately wished he was confident enough to vocalize was cut off by a quiet call from the elderly mare, and he happily took the chance to bring his gaze back to her. There was... just the slightest glimmer of... affection in those receded auburn eyes, and to him, looking past her outstretched hooves to the little smile on her face, he might've been able to fool himself into thinking it was... well... probably not. She was offering him a hug, though, and for a long... long few moments where it was not rescinded, he wanted to take it. So badly did he wish to take her up on it, no matter how much she smelled like dust and outdated perfume. It was a yearning need for comfort that he knew it was okay to indulge, but... He'd already snorted his excess snot away, forced the tears down, and he was sitting just a little taller. He didn't need the hug. So he extended his own hoof, instead. Her gaze focused down onto it, narrowing slightly before returning to him, and her jaw firmed a small bit. One of her outstretched hooves fell, and he shuffled forward to allow her take his in a firm hold. His hoof immediately began to ache from the pressure of her ironclad grip, but for all that he stood for, he did his best to reciprocate. Ever so slightly, he was sure she might've nodded to him. "Listen here, Light," she murmured, slow and tenuous, but not unkindly. Her hoof gently shook his—that might've been his, actually—as she nodded once more, unmoving in her deep gaze. "'S been a tough time with you as'a late, an' I ain't blind enough not to see how you been treatin' Applejack, an' how she's been hurtin'." He didn't have anything to say to that. He felt like... he should've apologized, said something about how it wasn't his fault, but... He didn't. He didn't say anything. He didn't let go of her hoof. He didn't look away. He squeezed tighter. And for the few, quiet moments that Granny Smith scrutinized him, seemingly intent on crushing every bone in his hoof, he was sure she found his answer, all the same. Because she smiled. In a calmly silent motion, like storm clouds parting, her frown crept up into a grin. "I've seen her the past few days, too, 'an it's been like night an' day." Her tone lifted; from its terse line of clear severity, it tilted back into warmth and familial affection with a whisper of a laugh. "I ain't seen that filly so upbeat since the day she came home from the rodeo with her first bright 'n shiny trophy." She shook her head, letting out a deep breath tinged with reminiscence as she closed her eyes for what felt like the first time since they'd begun their staring contest. "Lookin' at her, you'd think she'd won some biggol prize." He was glad the jab went unspoken. It probably would've ruined the moment. She was silent for a moment, and so Light dared a whisper. "Like I'm some big prize, right?" Now he was smiling, chuckling along with the mare as she let out a wheezing cackle. Her grin was wider as she nodded, trailing off into chuckles. "Wouldn't go 'round spoutin' off like that, but nah—" Her gaze and her grip firmed, though she still smiled to him. "—my 'lil runaway could do more'n a mite worse." His own smile faltered at that, and a question filed itself away into the back of his mind for later. For now, though, Granny commanded all the attention he could muster, as she shook his hoof again and leaned a bit closer. "I seen you, too, 'an that colt that walked on in through my door ain't the same one I been worried over." A bashful sense of tepid mortification crept over his shoulders to tickle at his neck, and the urge to sink back and cover his face was nearly overpowering for a moment, but for that moment, he allowed himself to take the compliment. The shame washed over him and washed away after a few seconds as Granny Smith went on. "You're lighter on yer' hooves, youngin', an' I can see it in yer' eyes. Y'got somethin' worth fightin' for, now." At that, her smile grew knowing. "Ain'tcha?" He huffed out a breath of a laugh, finally letting his eyes close for a moment of reprieve. The weight of a hoof in his. Her heartbeat. The security of her grip. Her laugh. Her eyes. Those precious freckles. That teasing tone. That slurring accent. The love in her voice. His eyes drifted open, scattering the wispy threads of beloved recollection with a sigh. "Yes," he murmured, raising his gaze once more to Granny Smith, finding so much familiar there. "I do." There had always been warmth there, but just then, a glimmer of wetness grew alongside it. "Then I ain't gotta tell you twice." The deeply felt tone of... love grew clipped as she went on, pulling his hoof closer and forcing him to shuffle forward until it was against her chest, and he could hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat. "You been apart'a this family since the day you barged in an' called me a hundred years old." Heavens save him, the tears were returning. Making him cry by crying wasn't fair! The ones in Granny's eyes were content to sit and glimmer, but their example did sweet buck all to stop any from rolling down his cheeks. With their sudden assault, he was fighting his own vision as he spoke through a choked up wad of snot. "I... I can't believe you still... remember that," he managed, somehow with an abashed chuckle. He hung his head to wipe his free hoof across his eyes, trying to cover the sound of him sniffling with more flimsy laughter. Granny was laughing, too, at least, and when there was a sudden tug at his hoof, he could hear it on the top of his head. He'd denied it earlier, but this time, he gladly threw his arms around her and returned the hug, keeping his horn as nestled into her blanket as was possible. His head was really just in her lap, but it was loving enough, and he could feel her voice, still so strong and steady reverberate through his hooves. "Sugarbean, I ain't forgotten a damn thing since I was born, y'hear?" He choked out another laugh through the tears, though he couldn't stop thinking about how much he hated hearing Granny Smith swear. It felt... wrong, like an extra-severe violation of linguistics, or something. He didn't need to hear his Grandmare cursing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Was the air in the orchard always so fresh? Light took another deep breath, opening his eyes and freely letting them feast upon the sight of the afternoon sun beginning to set over the endless rows of animated green. No complimentary dots of red in the corner he was looking out on from his vantage on a little hill, but that just meant he was getting closer. With the sun setting, he was running out of time, too, so he hurriedly set his hooves to trotting. He was getting kind of tired of walking, what with the trip out from his house, to the farm, and now out to the orchard, but he supposed he could use the exercise. That didn't mean he wasn't hoping he would find Applejack or Big Macintosh soon, though. He hated that ache. His latest trek through trees as far as the eye could see began with as little fanfare as it deserved, with Light making a beeline for the general direction of southwest as he'd heard from Granny. Supposedly, the Apple siblings were somewhere out here inspecting trees for rot and whatnot, but directions in an orchard of this size were always expectantly terrible. Turn left at the thousandth tree, and it's three miles down on your right. The time alone was welcome for thinking in the wake of the emotional wringer he'd been put through, at least. He'd not really counted on revealing his and Applejack's relationship on the walk to the farm, though it'd been a little on his mind. It'd grown... more prevalent when he'd gone in, but still, even when he'd spoken to Apple Bloom, it'd been nothing but a surprise that he'd decided so quickly. Just being there had made him really want to get Granny's blessing, he supposed. It felt nicer to be recognized and accepted, especially at... the level he'd been. Even there, alone in the orchard, thinking about the emotionally charged moment made something sticky and hot well up in his throat. It took a strong swallow to force it down, and a gentle mental prodding to get his hooves moving at the same pace as before. The closer he'd become to the Apples, the more they'd all felt like family, and those feelings for Granny had only grown stronger after his... well, it was obvious. The point was, in all the dinners and holidays he'd been invited to, it'd always been clear that Granny planned for him to be there. Maybe it hadn't needed to be said, but it was still wonderful to hear that she considered him family, too. ...Oh, speaking of family. A flash of red that wasn't an apple—but it was an Apple—caught his eye from his left, and as he stopped, the color resolved itself into a pony in-between trees. He was gone in a moment, but Light was already following after the stallion, and it didn't take long to catch up. "Mac! Hey!" he called out to the idling stallion as he stepped through the trees, who turned to face him as he approached. As always, perspective quickly shifted with each step, until they were just a few hoof-lengths away from each other and... separated by a head. He was content just to look at the massive colt's chest—his brownish soul was so solemn and mesmerizing—but to actually look him in those docile green eyes of his, Light had to crane his neck back. It was always an interesting experience in demoralization whenever the two of them spoke, which... wasn't all that often. Sure, they were around each other a fair bit, but since they'd first been introduced, it seemed like Macintosh grew quieter every day. Light appreciated that, but he'd never been more of a converser than a conversee, so unless either of them were feeling particularly bold, their interactions typically boiled down to awkward silence. Today, as Macintosh stared down at him the way most ponies did to ants, it didn't seem like it'd be very different. "Howdy." He actually adored Macintosh's voice—so surly and paradoxically gentle—but that tended to be as much as he heard from the giant. As Light gave him his best half-genuine smile, Mac just kind of... stared. It was almost like looking into a mirror. ...Though his mirrors had spoken more to him in the past. "Um," he began, shuffling his hooves against each other and casting a glance to the right. No Applejack to save him the awkwardness, unfortunately. He returned his gaze to Macintosh, still staring, and raised a hoof to wave it forward. "—you can... keep working, if you want. I'll just..." He pursed his lips, glancing again to the side. "I do have something to tell you, so I guess I'll follow behind." He trailed off, licking his lips before popping them together as he bounced energetically on his hooves. Well, not energetically, but he didn't think he was anxious enough yet to ascribe the adjective. Either way, he was... oh, antsy! He was definitely antsy. Macintosh blinked down at him, soul spinning with blistering placidity. Eventually, he nodded, shaking those enviable, orangish bangs of his. "Alrighty, then." He turned, then—Light felt a little stonewalled—and began a trot forward without looking back. Light stared after him for a moment, wondering if he should glare, but quickly settled on the high road to follow the stallion. He did so with a forced spring in his step, because if he didn't hustle, Mac would naturally outpace him. Light fell into sort of exhausting step behind the stallion, then decided that was no good for a conversation and sped up to keep at his side. They continued that way for a little while, Macintosh not really stopping as he kept his eyes high on the branches of the trees. Sometimes, they circled them. In silence. Suffocating silence. Conversation was a nice thought. After... Tartarus below, it felt like an hour before they stopped at the base of a particularly Mac-sized tree, and Light had finally decided to throw out all the circuitous garbage he'd been considering as a route to get to the topic he wanted. It was hard to transition into, but Mac really wasn't the small talk kind of pony. It was best to just jump right into it. "So, Granny wanted me to tell you she owes you twenty bits," he spoke with as much casual bravado as he could muster, hoping that the shared activity of looking up at a tree would be enough to make it sound normal. It helped not to look at him, at least, and the tree was actually remarkably receptive! What a nice change! ...Macintosh wasn't saying anything. Maybe just a little peek..? Light did his best to scrutinize the stallion out of the corner of his eye, but his periphery was actually pretty bad at this range, so he let his head tilt a little bit down... Oh, Mac was staring at the tree, too. His eyes were a little unusually wide, but otherwise, he seemed- Light jerked his eyes back to the tree, swallowing past the noise of his heart beginning to pound in his ears. He'd never seen Big Macintosh's soul spin that fast. It was... jarring. Frightening. Heavens help him this might've been the most danger he'd ever been in. Forget Nightmare Moon and literally plummeting to his death; Macintosh could twist him into the shape of a pretzel with his bare hooves. Faintly, quietly, he heard what sounded... not like an incensed whisper. "...Eyup." That gifted him... a little more confidence to... look just a little bit at Macintosh, though his blurry shape was still staring at the tree. Bravely, foolishly, Light tugged his tongue out from where it was cowering. "Um..?" That was good enough, right? It was another little while that they stood there, certainly past the time Mac should've finished his inspection of the tree, which meant... neither of them really knew what to do. It was a nice feeling of solidarity, at least, however terrifying. They were about on equal hoofing when it came to social skills. That probably meant they would just stand there for the rest of their lives, but at least Light would have a life! Eventually—though Light let it lie for a good long while—he found wherever his courage had run away and managed to tear his eyes from the tree to look at Macintosh. He looked... as placid as ever, but the whorling of his normally subdued soul was enough warning that Light felt it prudent to take a step away before speaking. "...Macintosh?" he tried, keeping the note of genuine concern most prevalent in his tone as he broached the silence. The stolid stallion still didn't react, so Light took it a step further. "Are you... alright?" After a few moments where Light really thought it hadn't worked, Big Macintosh showed his first sign of life in a quiet sniff. Thankfully, it took him until after Light coaxed his heart down from his throat to speak, unpredictably even-toned as ever. "I don't have to give you the talk 'bout not hurtin' her feelings, right?" He spoke without shifting his gaze down from the tree, or without really moving his jaw much at all, so Light felt no shame in the small start he gave. "Er- um- no! I would- I would never hurt her!" he stammered out, shaking his head a moment later as something occurred to him, and his tone grew bashful. "...On purpose, anyway." That was probably true, since at this point, Applejack just didn't take offense at his varied insults. ...He didn't deserve her, did he? At his oratory stumble—but before his mood plummeted—Macintosh nodded. "Then I'm okay." Finally, the stallion dropped his gaze from the tree and turned, trotting past him and—ow! A massive, massively weighty hoof clapped to the dead center of his withers, blowing all of the air out of Light in one knee-bending impact. He wheezed, tasting something burning rising up his throat as Big Macintosh passed him, while Light only barely managed to keep on his wobbling hooves as the larger colt spoke again. "Applejack's back the way you came," he offered as he walked off through the trees... and as Light strained to stand straight. Had that broken his spine? He felt like it might've. His shoulders, at least. He wanted to toss Macintosh a farewell as he ambled off on his way, back to looking up at the trees for oddities, but it was only a few moments after he was out of sight that his system shook the impact off and he was able to inhale a deep lungful of air. Coughing, choking, Light pounded a hoof to his side as he blinked tears away, shivering at the numbness that was beginning to spread over his back. That was all barely even hyperbole. Had Mac held back at all? Could he have hit him harder? The thought made his stomach twist. He couldn't help picturing a gory spray of viscera painting the air from his spattered torso, with Big Macintosh's hardened hoof acting as the brush. All that separated him from that fate was... a 'talk.' Good incentive for not hurting his marefriend. Great incentive, death was. Really put things in perspective. Soon enough, Light managed to quell the sputtering shakes of his impacted lungs, though it was far after he could've gone after Mac for... erm... Was there any actual reason to go after Macintosh? He'd told him where Applejack was, after all, so unless he just wanted to hit him up for another chat, then there wasn't much point. He thought about it for a moment. A moment later, an entire dedicated moment seemed a little generous. Light turned, stepping forward and shaking off the tingling as he began a lumbering canter back the way he'd come. If Macintosh's curt tone wasn't a misdirection, then he was guessing he just had to go the one way. He quickly passed... where he thought he'd first caught up with Mac—trees were not good waypoints—and continued on his way, passing trees and trees and... trees. Much as he loved to monitor his surroundings for chewing material, there just wasn't much in the orchard. He could think, at least, and to escape how his back panged with every step, he thought that to be a good idea. Macintosh. He sure was quiet. He was quiet in everything he did, though he was sure... the larger-than-life stallion must've had a lot to say about his and Applejack's getting-together, but he just hadn't. He never really did. Quiet was his go-to forte, and—actually, despite what he'd thought in the past, his soul did show his emotions. Back there, he'd been... conflicted. Upset? Probably not. Uncertain? That seemed more likely. For all the work Nightmare Moon had put into ruining his image—it hadn't been all that great in the first place—Light probably didn't look like the best fit for Applejack. ...Probably wasn't the best fit, either. Applejack probably needed some... hunky farmer pony, who could... farm and stuff. She needed a coltfriend who could help run the family business and take care of trees, not some... jerkish wimp like... like... Light pursed his lips, letting his eyes drift up to the orange afternoon sky above. Those panning canopies beneath it, seemingly bent on drowning out the dissonance in his head with the rustling of the orchard... as much as he tolerat- er- loved the nature his marefriend had devoted herself to... they almost seemed mocking. They knew he wasn't a farmer. He wasn't Macintosh. He wasn't tall enough to touch their tops. A sigh drifted up and out of his mouth, washing over his lip as his head hung forward and bobbed with his gait. He stayed like that for a few steps, though, of course, he knew he had to keep his eyes up to walk. It was only right, as his mother had always told him. Keep his eyes up. And then his mouth fell gently open, and he slowed to a gradual stop. There she was. In the dusk-dappled clearing past the wall of trees he'd emerged from, she stood in its center like a gleaming beam of light. With her shimmering blonde ponytail curled over her shoulder, back turned to him with her usual cowpoke hat tilted up with her head, she even seemed somehow modest. Like a left-alone statue in the woods, covered in moss and ivy yet immaculately sculpted in the mold of some foreign, forgotten deity just... waiting for him to stumble in and discover her. But she wasn't a statue. She was alive—breathing, and her soul... so dazzling. Beautiful. Innocuous. Her fur was pristine and groomed, and to him, just the profile of her back was captivating. He'd spent too long staring, or perhaps he'd let his breath go when he'd meant to hold it. She turned, barely at first, then a little more until her shining emerald eyes were on him, and he just... He didn't care. About anything. Nothing but her. His hooves carried him forward without a thought, but he joined their march gladly as the cold shroud of disparity that had held him began to wither, washed out by a growing blossom of warmth in his pinching cheeks. He felt he had to smile to alleviate the pressure, and then he was laughing, just softly. She turned, and her smile was warm. "Now, that better not be you slinkin' outta the trees back there, Light." she called out to him as he approached, but it was teasing. Light-hearted. When she went on, and her eyes narrowed, the white freckles peppered over her cheeks popped out in elated greeting. "Can't y'all see I'm workin', here?" Her voice. The familiarity in her tone that he felt in his own heart. No longer did his smile alleviate the warmth; now, he could feel it like frantic need in his hooves, carrying him just a half-step faster. "Really?" He let his tone rise with a humming chuckle from teasing to gloating—taunting. "Looked more like tree watching than working." She laughed at that, and he found he had to, too. The expression of smug dismissal on her face was just too much. If he hadn't been a few steps away, he was sure he would've leapt at her—kissed her—throttled her—anything. They were close enough to touch, then, and Light could recognize the scent of mussed fur and apple shampoo in the air. All he could see... those eyes. Inviting him. Daring him to. Oh, he dared. He stepped in, and the harsh grin she wore eased into breathy anticipation. As her eyes fluttered shut, so did his. He heard the throaty warble of her chuckle rub fuzzily through his cheek as they brushed together. He tasted her breath. He felt her lips. And everything was right. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They hardly spoke. They both knew there was nothing to say. She led him through the trees by a hoof, glancing back with coy chuckles and a sly grin every time he spoke out through the noise of their hoofsteps. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about where they were going, only that she was going with him. The ground slanted gradually up as they went, and as they went, he could hardly force himself to breathe. All of his attention, all of his mind, everything he was, was focused on her. The trees broke; they came out onto a hill. Trees and countryside beyond them spread out before their eyes. They settled against the lonely tree at its top, backs pressed to bark and their sides blurring together. When his hooves snaked under her arms to cradle around her back, and her head snuggled into the cleft of his neck with a breathy huff, he found himself taken back to a dream he'd had. Her satisfied breath washed over his neck in a murmuring sigh. He held her closer, and she squeezed back. He shifted down; his eye caught hers. Shining emerald green, and so full of love. He began to weep, and as he wept, and as he used his every breath to tell her of all the ways he was so desperately in love with her, she held him. Tightly, devotedly, she held him. And she kissed his tears away. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- His walk home was less of a trot and more like a stumble. He felt dizzy—light on his hooves and unpredictable. He swayed in a daze with every step down the road away from the farm, but he didn't care. Nopony was around to see. He wouldn't have cared even if there were. His body was warm, his heart was full, and he'd been fully sated on the memory of every short moment he'd spent with the love of his life. Never, in all his life, had Light felt so... contented in his every desire. She hadn't changed her mind. Oh, she still loved him. And how he loved her. He let out his... what felt like his thousandth dreamy sigh with another stumble forward, still trying to keep his eyes open and his mind from drifting to daydreaming of their wonderful, reciprocal embrace. With the sky rapidly darkening by the minute—the moon peeking over the horizon—if he dozed off too badly, he'd end up falling on his face and breaking his nose or something. If he did, he'd never be able to smell her scent. And that'd be terrible. Though it wasn't quite dark enough for him to miss the familiar, crumpled shape at the side of the road. He slowed to a halt, blinking dazedly down at the unmoving form of the dead squirrel in the grass aside the path. For a moment, his mouth almost drifted open in a short chortle, but he thought better of it, shaking his head as he turned to continue down the road. ...But then he stopped, and his lidded gaze drifted back to the corpse he'd left carelessly left behind. For a few moments, his stare remained. And then his horn lit, and the latch of his saddlebag clicked open. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In a shaded room only barely lit by the dazzling flash of city lights through the open window, two pairs of lips quietly parted with a glistening trail of saliva, leaving one to pant with unmet need. The grey mare pulled back from the other, taking the time to quell her uneven breaths as purple eyes met glowing red—a deeply scintillating sight in the darkened bedroom, but she still eased back, running the hoof she wasn't using to hold her lover back along her neck. With the immaculately combed locks of her mane off her shoulder and out of the way, she leaned forward with a sigh, muffling her next breath into the white fur of her partner's neck. So comforting. "Are you... absolutely sure about taking this assignment, love?" she whispered, shuffling her hooves further up the white mare's back and making her shiver gently in her arms. The sensation made the grey mare smile, breathing deeply of that familiar scent of smoke and polish as she raised her muzzle to murmur into the muss of blue mane under her ear. "It's just such a long way to move... and with so little notice?" Her shoulders shifted as the mare in her arms shrugged gently, and a sigh loosed from her lips. Of course, they'd had this one sided discussion already, so why was she bothering asking? Whoever these ponies were, they needed immediate protection, and her partner's organization was very adamant that she be the one to provide it. Still, she pulled away, meeting those red eyes sparkling over that small frown and narrowing her own eyes in curious concern. "You could just say no, couldn't you?" At that, those red eyes averted from hers, and her partner's muzzle tilted quietly down. Uncertain. So she pressed forward, rubbing a hoof up and over her lover's shoulder as she did her best to catch her eye. "You're important enough to them that they allow you your passion and your patents, and you've provided them so much... gadgetry that they don't mind the two of us, so why couldn't you just-" Red eyes rose to hers with a pained slant, and she cut herself off of a breath. She'd been on the verge of shouting. She forced herself to take a breath. In, and out. Then, she let herself slide away from her partner, trailing their hooves together until their frogs touched in an intimate grasp. "I'm sorry, I just-" She took a another breath, firming her wavering tone with an unsteady smile. "It's a lot to leave behind." Her partner nodded, then again a moment later as a sheepish grin rose on her face. Gradually, light began to trickle up from the horn atop her head, casting the room in soft shadows and her face in a glowing spotlight. Above her head, mana began to whirl in indeterminable little patterns, shifting and changing and shrinking until trails of energy began to slough off little by little to leave a sparkling line of written words in shining blue. I wouldn't ask you to come with me For a moment, the grey mare felt her heart plummet. Then she smiled. The sparkling loops of manifest mana sputtered and crumbled away as the grey mare let her head rock forward to knock into the white mare's with a soft laugh. Startled red peered forward at twinkling purple, cut off as the grey mare shifted forward to capture her partner's lips in a kiss. As they drifted away, her words whispered out between their brushing mouths. "You don't need to ask, Vinyl." > Chapter 66 - Undead Methodology > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Life is a truly precious thing. Given the irreplicable nature of individuality, there is no action graver than to consider taking it, and if not for good reason, then may it only be for necessity. There is nothing—absolutely nothing—on Equus that may begin to amount to the sum of even a single creature's life; such is its value. Yet life is so much more than that which animates us; it represents that which drives us. Our lives are our pasts, our futures, and all that we have come to hold dear in the limited time we may persist. It is one of the few noble pursuits worthy of killing for, and for the lives we have yet to live, there are some who would do anything to beckon it closer—to cling steadfast to that which we all must eventually lose. What could be more desired than that which we love? And is there anything more beloved than life itself? As it drifts away, the desire to pull it back into one's grasp is overwhelming. It seems unfair. A cruel, jaded trick. How could all that we are be snuffed out so suddenly? All that we have lived through, all that we fought for, just for it to amount to an eternity of silence? Is it so wrong to wish for more? To covet another day? Is it not Equine to desire survival? Is it not natural to claw and scrape at barren soil for a miraculous sprout? That is Necromancy. The purest pursuit of survival—of life itself. - Light Flow's Compendium, Chapter 3: From Death Unto Life. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Light flung his front door open with a shortly smothered flicker of hazy red, spilling scant moonlight into the room as he giddily pranced into his dark house from out of... well, the outside dark. It occurred to him a moment later that his entrance would've been far more dramatic if the sun hadn't set already, but the lacking light just meant his eyes didn't need to adjust! Best to get out of the sight of the moon, anyway. Seeing it hanging up there in the sky gave him the heebie-jeebies. He didn't turn to close the door, instead kicking a hindleg out to catch its edge and sloppily slam it into place as he quickly moved along in a canter towards his kitchen. He was far too fixated on bending to the whim of his macabre fixations to care much about manners at the moment. The room could wait for its routine inspection. He stopped short of the counters in the room's corner, scanning over them with a glance before he shook his head and stooped to wrench one of the cabinets open with a thoughtless tug of mana. He kept his system awake, letting his gleaming crimson gaze rove across the inscrutably shaded shelves from top to bottom until it caught on a vague shape in the dark, and a curled smile crossed his face as he willed the awaiting energy to advance. It took a bit of wiggling to free the pan out from under its twins, but it didn't take more than a few moments before it was floating out to level with his head as he straightened. He shimmied to the side, closing the cabinet with a thought and opening the one to its side with the next. Another moment of searching later, he stood again with a matching plastic cover held aloft on the very same red cloud—though his head was beginning to pound. He murmured to himself with barely restrained excitement as he turned, shutting the cabinet with another lazy kick of his leg before he began a trot to the murky shadow of his desk across the room. Thanks to the guiding light of his horn casting flickering shadows across his path, he slowed to a stop well before he found the chair with his knee, able to pull it out with a hoof and plop himself down with uncharacteristic ease. His smile fell for a moment as he took in the mess his desk was, busying himself as soon as he lowered the pan and its cover to one side with gathering the books, pencils, pens, erasers, scraps of paper... etcetera... He was sure he'd regret dumping it all into the box with Her armor later, but for the moment, it was nice to lower the overfull container to the floor and rest his hooves atop the clean, clear desk. It was like a blank canvas just waiting for a splash of color, or a cleared patch of dirt ready for seeding! Endless possibility! Aside from the back edge. That still looked like a battleground left behind by two warring libraries. He snaked a tickly trail of mana down the fur of his stomach to fiddle with his saddlebag's latch, letting loose a deep sigh of relief as the intermittently constraining pack was freed from its grip on him. The newfound lack of stress on his back let him straighten, pulling himself up and scraping his chair forward half a hoof-length to tower over the surface of his desk as he lifted his bag in a haze of mana to settle atop it. And then... he let himself slump, shutting his eyes and letting his head rock back to just... rest. Ugh. Urgh. Blurgh. Blaaaah... What a strenuous day. He'd started out all get up and go without a care in the world aside his unfounded worries about Applejack and his underlying fear about the formerly tyrannical Goddess coming into power, but still, how would he have expected all that crap to bury him? From the anti-Luna rally to his and Twilight's shaky reconciliation—and her offer? What a headache. He was going to take it, obviously—he didn't even need to think twice about it—but it still marked a pretty major change in his life. Who knew how much time he'd end up devoting to his new pursuit of arcane knowledge, or how much he'd have to spend with Twilight? Scary thought. He could tolerate her... fine, and all, but it'd been just yesterday that he'd been cozy in the hate camp for her. Now that he was alone, he was honestly considering just recommitting to the status quo and never giving her an answer. Or maybe a really rude one, instead. ...He wouldn't, but the thought was tempting. He'd have to have that talk with Spike, too, and that thought made him want to slink and shrink into his seat until he was too small to ever have to deal with any of that. That was just... going to be exhausting. That'd all only been the start of the day. Between Rarity's advice, the talk with Granny, seeing Applejack again... A new wave of heady fatigue washed over him as the memories stood and raised their hooves one-by-one, bringing him to throw one of his own over his aching eyes with a groan. Too much recall rollcall. He loved his marefriend and his faux-family, of course, but it... it was just like there were two ponies inside of him, and one of them never wanted to part from all the ponies he loved, and the other never wanted to bother with ever seeing them again. It was a constant tug of war between the two, and they never shut up! So much energy and effort... At least... he was home now. His hoof slid down his face, dragging one of his eyes open and trailing down his chin before it finally fell to his seat. He forced his head up with a bob, shivering as he smothered a mouthy yawn. Blinking into the darkness to peer lazily down at the contents of his desk, the corner of his mouth quirked up in half a tired smile. He'd let the social part of him reign for a day. He'd gone out, had his epiphany, and made out with his marefriend. He'd been good. Upstanding, in a way. Now it was time to let the weird, solitary part have its fun. He lit his horn, trembling at the rousing jolt of mana he urged to course through him as he scooched his bag over a little to make room for the pan sliding over. He straightened the dish with a satisfied hum, setting the lid behind it with a cautious squint before he turned to focus onto his bag again. A wiggly grin threatened to break his detached countenance as the bag's left side latch was glossed over in humming red before his eyes, beginning to playfully pull and jerk at it—but stopping just shy of actually undoing it. Oh, it was tantalizing, but so foreboding. The latch was all that separated him from a very fun evening, yet it also protected him from a road anypony else would've blanched at. It was a grim thing, indeed. Very grim. But so was he, and it was important to remember that. He wasn't insane or immoral, he was just grim. He just liked macabre things—and it was his destiny, not to mention. There were tons of other ponies who were into the exact same things that he was, and unlike them, he wasn't pursuing this out of some perverse enjoyment. Though, as the subtle line of a seam itched against his mind and the latch finally clicked open, he had to admit to himself that he'd be lying if he ever claimed he didn't derive an immense amount of fascination out of looking at and playing with dead things. Barring any emotional connection, he surely loved dead things. He shifted the pan over with his hoof, keeping his head low and his wide eyes up with starry wonder as the flap flipped over and his mana cautiously crept down the bag's inner lining. He shuddered with sudden discomfort as the ghost of something cold flashed across his senses, followed closely by the itchy brush of scratchy fur. He shook the feeling off, keeping his eyes up and biting his lip with a swallow as he pushed his mana to solidify. Weight registered and began to rise, though he forced the ascent to stop for a moment before his prize was revealed to just... breathe. Take a breath. Compose himself. He wasn't doing this because he was a freak—though he undeniably was—he was doing this to advance the pursuit of his special talent. He was doing this because this was what was meant for him—this was all for him. This was what was going to fulfill him. His life had meaning because of this. He wasn't a psychopath, and he wasn't a monster. He was an academic. He was a Necromancer. And like a true Necromancer, when the dangling corpse of a squirrel rose before him, he smiled. For the first instant, he was overwhelmed with the desire to admire it, but all too quickly, a drip of glistening red beaded on its tousled ear and fell from the upside-down animal's limp head. He muffled a curse into his suddenly stinging lip, pushing the pan brazenly forward to catch the next drip with a jerk of his mana, breathing out a relieved sigh at the sound of blood plinking against metal. He let the animal rest without too much unabashed ogling, but only because he found it prudent to take hold of his bag and lower it to the floor. He'd made his peace with getting it bloody at the time, but it'd be far harder to clean stains out of his desk. Whichever was more likely to be discovered, blood on wood was much more obvious. With his bag out of the way, his desk was clear save for the pan, and his focus was free save for the corpse. Now he could look at it. And look at it he did. He didn't bother counting the seconds or the minutes as they rolled by, spent in utter silence in the completely dark room just... staring at the dead squirrel. He must've committed its appearance to memory a thousand times over, yet he still kept finding reasons to explore it again and again. Its little mouth was gaped open from how he'd dropped it, though unfortunately, it'd already lost so much blood that the puddle it was making wasn't quite poetically spreading out between its jaws. If its eye had been open, it'd be doused in the liquid by now, which was a very interesting mental picture. It was kind of interesting; he didn't think he'd ever seen a squirrel so straight before. It'd been curled up and rigid when he'd found it, but the time in his bag must've jostled it enough that ramrod was the position rigor mortis had chosen for it. If it was on its feet, he could imagine it sniffing the air or poised at the sound of danger. Though a lot of its fur was covered in its own blood, so it was a twisted image either way. It was beginning to look a bit sickly under its fur, too, but that was just normal corpse behavior. With none of its organs working, blood had to go somewhere, so whatever hadn't leaked out through its head had pooled at the sack of bones' bottom. Its side, in this case, since that'd been how it'd been laying. If he stared at it for a couple hours longer, he'd see a purple squirrel. Funny thought. Speaking of funny thoughts, the thought crossed his mind to cut off its tail, and for a moment, he looked over his shoulder towards his kitchen for a knife. The only thing that stopped him was the fact he wouldn't have anywhere to put it, and he'd not be able to display it like a Griffon hunting trophy because... he wasn't a Griffon. It would've been really cool, though. He could've started some kind of collection... His marefriend would disapprove. Actually, she'd have been seven different shades of disapproving if she'd known so little as his murder of the poor creature on his way to visit her, so he should probably nip that kind of thinking in the bud. He'd keep his love life and his work life separate. Eventually, his mind did drift to other topics, like what he was going to actually do with it. That track continued with a bit of tepid silence before it hit a junction and suddenly roared to life along with his smile. He had an idea. A while ago, actually, but it was there, regardless. He pushed out from his desk, rubbing a hoof across the back of his neck as he tweaked the aching joint with a grimace before he turned and stood up. A few moments later, the desk was illuminated by a flash of mana as he sat down again, soundly slapping a fresh, fancy notebook to the open side of the pan. He huffed out a satisfied breath as he scooted his chair back in, scanning over the side of the desk to float a set-aside pencil over as the book rose and turned onto its first page, dimly illuminated by muted, flickering red. If he was going to do this, then why not do it right? He'd make it real research. Instead of poking and prodding at the carcass like a filthy scavenger or a mad scientist, he'd detail his methodology and his process like a productive mad scientist! It wasn't quite the same as note-taking, but more like a field journal! And like any good field journal cataloguing a new discovery, he'd need illustration. He lifted the notebook closer, hunching down to it with his pencil at the ready as he scooted an inch to the right to get a nice, even profile of the squirrel. He'd stared at it long enough that the pose should come easily enough, but for the angle... he'd need another minute of objectification. He lowered himself, bracing his hooves and pressing his chin onto the table's surface to squint at the squirrel's front, then after a moment, he poked a hoof forward to tilt the pan a little. Another flick, another moment spent staring. Light worked his jaw in lazy circles to keep his mind active over the minutes as he gradually absorbed as many of the squirrel's facets as he felt he could. He wasn't exactly building a diorama, here, but keeping the relative physiology of the creature in mind would do his picture good. That was what an artist did, he was pretty sure. It was about capturing a moment, and to consummately capture a moment in as much detail as was necessary, he had to take in as much detail as possible. He had to become one with the scene; such a venture demanded nothing less than his complete and utter focus. For as much as it took, and for as long as it took. Although, halfway into the pan's third go-around, he remembered that he'd only meant to do it once, and so he straightened with a pop of his lips, recentering the cookware with a gentle prod and a murmur. Satisfied with its place, he flicked a glance over to his floating notebook, lifting the pencil from its crinkled page. His muzzle scrunched in distaste. Shattered heavens above, that looked awful. Absently doodling while staring aimlessly had worked out great last time, but this time, it seemed as though trying to keep all the angles in mind all at once had just... warped his perspective. The squirrel didn't look consummate, it looked impressionist. About-to-be-fired impressionist. He shook his head, flipping the pencil around and beginning to rub the eraser across his mangled art with a sigh. Leaning onto a hoof, he watched the picture disappear line by line with a melancholic feeling of wasted time in the back of his mind, eventually flipping his pencil again and sweeping a hoof out to shoo the shavings away. He'd try again. Art didn't always come out right, he was fairly sure. He was new to it, but failure felt like part of the process. He'd just have to trust in the process, however much the process hurt. Turning back to the squirrel again, he let his notebook float a bit closer—just in his peripheral. He'd take a more proactive approach, this time. From the squirrel to the page, he'd try a more shackled tracing. Time passed, and as it passed, Light continued to draw. He kept his word to himself, keeping his eyes furiously focused on the page when they weren't scrutinizing every inch of the squirrel from the angle he'd chosen. He'd decided on just the one perspective for this drawing rather than trying to keep them all in mind. He was sure that must've been his problem. Too much at once. He should've thought smaller. Except... as his second attempt scratched in its last tuft on the squirrel's curled tail, it still looked... off. What was even worse was that this time, he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. All the squirrel's extremities were consummate, and he'd nailed the pose, but its proportions just... weren't. They weren't right. It was better, though, and he didn't think it was outright worth erasing, so he compromised by tearing the page out and placing it to the side. On the second—sorry—the first page, he began again, splitting his wandering attention three ways this time. One perspective helped the pose to form more accurately, while keeping the forming drawing in sight helped to keep everything squirrel-shaped. With the added help of his failure, occasionally flicking a glance down and letting a curve glide just a smidge longer, he was eventually left with... something decent. A moderately shaded, intelligently detailed picture of a straightened squirrel corpse from a diagonal angle. Its hindlegs no longer looked disconcertingly thick, its fur was darker where he was sure there'd be shadows if there'd been any light, and—hey, this time, he'd managed to capture the frailty of its open jaw! He turned away, raising his notebook to his face and blowing the eraser dust onto the floor. He brushed a hoof over it once, twice, then straightened the page with a little tweak of mana, and there it was. All done, and it looked so professional as a header! As he laid the pencil down to the desk and allowed himself a proud smile, reveling in the stoked warmth in his chest—perhaps his souls were dancing—something occurred to him. Staring down at the finished product, something stood out as missing, and he was sure it wasn't better drawn paws. He bit his cheek in a sudden moment of discontent, sucking on the inside of his mouth as he tilted his head one way, then the other, then over to the squirrel for comparison. Had he... no, was it... or maybe...? It clicked, and Light let his cheek pop out with a silent exclamation. Bending forward again, his pencil raised and followed his line of sight to the page, where it gently traced up the squirrel's splayed form until the dulled point nestled securely onto the top of its head. And then he began to fill in the bloodstain. Just a dark splotch on the cranium... a little extra ruffle here to simulate the torn scalp... draw the cloud around its head... fill it in... ixnay the foalish cloud metaphor... and... He leaned back out, placing his pencil down and allowing himself a satisfied breath for the actual final product. Looking at it then, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten something so important as the cause of death. Or... what would've been the cause of death had he not yanked its existence out. He only wished he had colored pencils to make it pop out more on the white page, but it was still all well and sorrowfully poignant. How tragic. A dead squirrel. He'd better hold a funeral. It was a job well done, and for how much effort he'd put in, he wanted to slump back in his chair—maybe lay his head on his chest for a nap—but then, he'd not even really begun, had he? He still had to do his actual research. What a doofus he was, expending so much time on something so trivial just because it made him marginally happy. That wasn't how he lived his life. Thinking of it, though, how much time had he spent drawing? Looking over his shoulder, it was—okay, he didn't really need to look to know it was still pitch black outside given it was pitch black inside, but it only really felt dark now that his horn wasn't lit. Couple that with falling into a creative trance as he'd drawn, and it'd hardly felt like any time at all was passing. His head kinda hurt from channeling, but nothing really ached, and he could still prod his mana to life just about as easily as when he was topped up, so it couldn't have been that long. He'd be sleepier if it'd been hours. That made him feel a little better. It helped him to straighten a little. He couldn't bow out and shunt his work aside now, when he'd hardly devoted any time at all. He had plenty of energy left; he was just fine to move on and start the initial research! Autopsy? He was thinking he'd have to be a little more medically inclined to call it an autopsy. He'd go with research. And of course, his research wouldn't write itself, so he soundly put a stop to his time-wasting and scooted his chair a little closer to the desk. Raising his pencil, he cleared his throat, shuffling the pan and the notebook over a little so everything was a bit more centered. He rolled his shoulders, smacking his lips to wash away the taste of inactivity as he deftly lowered his pencil to the page under the drawing. He pushed forward—then stopped short, readjusting his aim for font size. No point in wasting page space. Subject A: Common Squirrel Initial examination and argumentation prior to further experimentation. Cause of death: Blunt force trauma to the parietal bone followed by removal of soul. He paused. Did squirrel skulls have a parietal bone section? ...The better question was whether it mattered, and Light was suddenly sure it didn't. Rigor: present Livor: lateral, partial, discolored Time of death: noonish Damage: external, spiritual, likely internal hemorrhage Age: unknown Sex: Light paused again, pursing his lips. He gave the squirrel a sidelong glance. Then he continued writing. Sex: I'm not checking Length: straight Weight: squirrel Eyes: black, emotionless, squirrel Fur: scratchy, brown Body Heat: dead Decomposition: initial The subject appears to be in good health aside from its sudden death, only appearing to possess limited malnutrition as expected for an animal of its demeanor in the Everfree forest. The initial damage to its head caused by the projectile stone impacting it above and parallel to its right eye was enough to cause severe sensory confusion and possible concussion, a state of shock and full-body paralysis, and would have likely led to its eventual death by blood loss. It is uncertain without a full examination of its internals, but the sudden ejection of its soul, henceforth referred to as Subject B, is likely to have caused an immediate cessation of its vital processes. It is as yet unknown whether its unique cause of death has impacted the decomposition process, or whether the decomposition process itself will affect the subject's resurrection. Hypothesis: as has been previously theorized and as is supported by the subject's expiration upon removal of Subject B, reintroduction of Subject B into a compatible container will cause Subject A to reanimate and undergo continued existence for as long as Subject B remains unviolated. Without proper philosophical examination of the boundary between the soul and the individual, the reanimated subject will henceforth be referred to as Subject C for ease of comprehension. It is not yet known whether Subject C will experience sensory input, whether sensory input of any kind may apply to a reanimated being, henceforth referred to as a Zombie Undeath, or whether a state of Undeath may parallel a true state of living. There is no telling whether Subject C will be the same being as Subject A, whether the removal of Subject B has any impact upon it, or whether Subject C will show awareness of its expiration. These questions may not be answerable following experimentation. Initial thoughts conclude with the beginning statement of intent by the researcher, Light Flow. The current course of events will be expulsion of Subject B, reintroduction of Subject B into Subject A, and subsequent monitoring of Subject C. Afterwards, Subject C will be made to expire, Subject B will be reacquired, and Subject A will be stored for further study. Study of Subject C recorded on page two ~> Light dropped his pencil with a clatter as he rose from the page, biting his lip to muffle his second yawn as he stretched his hooves up above his head. He waited for the satisfying... click, blowing out a fatigued groan as he settled back into his seat and blinked lethargically down at the scribbled-over page. Whoof. He liked writing, and all, but he hadn't expected to get so tired so soon. He really couldn't just ignore that he'd had a whole day before this, no matter how nostalgic it was to write faux-medical documents like he'd done as a bored little colt. Not that he even felt as good at it as he'd been back then. It... okay, it looked consummate and mechanically obtuse like he'd learned from the slapdash medical documents that Ponyville General Hospital made publicly available, but he couldn't help the feeling it read as amateurish. Looking at the thickly penned syntax neatly pressed together on the page before him just made him feel... ...unfitting. He felt dumb. Dumb and sleepy and kind of hungry like he usually wasn't. Bleh. He leaned forward, shifting a glance to the other side of the room where his bedroom door tantalizingly called for him in that motionless way it did. It wouldn't be so bad to pick this up in the morning, would it? What was he trying to prove by doing this all at once? Really, he'd perform much better on a full night's sleep. His gaze returned to the squirrel's corpse, where he could imagine the pleading in its closed, otherwise glassy eye. Surely, it must've wanted to resurrect, right? Closing his eyes and focusing... he couldn't feel anything from the pulse of its soul, but he was sure that was because it was just a dumb animal. If it'd had the capacity, it would've asked him to bring it back to life. How... presumptuous of the squirrel. Didn't it realize what it was—theoretically—asking him? He was supposed to defy nature and the due course on so little as its say so? He'd go that far for an animal? Not to mention this'd be his first time resurrecting something. This was what he wanted to cash that card in on? And... if he did, then... he'd be one soul down. The thought was immediately sobering, and in such a violently full-body wave that he could taste the acrid lash of bile crashing against the back of his tongue at the tail end of his shiver. ...He was committed, alright? It was just... it was frightening to imagine putting himself in that position again. Honestly, he'd assume the memories to be more forthcoming considering he'd only just come into possession of three at once, but the difference between two and three was so stark in his mind that he genuinely couldn't imagine what the cold had been like before. The cold of two souls. He'd been used to it, but now he knew better. He'd felt... better. How could he live like that again? Even for a moment? An hour at most? It was inconceivable. He'd be giving up... just... ...it'd feel wrong. What he felt now... he didn't think he could go back. He'd barely spent three minutes deliberating, but when he finally tore his gaze from the squirrel's unmoving corpse—the sight of it burnt into the backs of his eyes like a looming specter—he felt as though he had the bags and wear to match an hour. At that point, his choice seemed obvious, if even just for his physical wellbeing. No experimentation tonight. No hard choice. Sleep. Light puffed out a weighty sigh as he braced his hooves on the table's edge and pushed his chair out, sidling off and falling on all fours to the floor. He took what pleasure he could in the weighty clop of his hooves on wood before he turned to give the squirrel-laden pan a last, forlorn glance, shaking his head and making his way to the bedroom a moment later. His mind wasn't on the short trip, nor was it on the automatic reflex of pushing his door open. With his eyes tracing the floor between every hoofstep in and out of sight, he could barely raise a glance for long enough to properly rear his hooves onto the bed to pull himself up. By the time his head hit the pillow, his eyes had long since been closed in silent reverie, just... thinking. Trying to commit it to memory. His souls. His warmth, the way it was then. Not before, not yesterday, and not as he'd once been. Just him. The present moment. What was his. Himself. The core of his being—what he was crowding with lives not his own, yet that planted seed of vigor was so comforting that he just couldn't muster the guilt to repent for it. His rational mind knew he should've, but inside, deep down his throat and bundled in his chest, his mind held no sway. There was no weight to logic there, in his most sanctified retreat. Within, there was no weight. No thought, nor volume, nor sound. There was only the warmth, and how it suffused him. How it fueled him—filled and fulfilled him with sustenance and passion; it gave him the strength and perspective to see life for how it truly was, battering away the clutches of monotonous apathy. He could see it, and he could feel it; every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with lapping waves of appreciation for all that he had. For all that was there. All that he was. The effusive ocean of purely metaphorical being within—like an upside-down sky just out of sight, yet at the fringe edge of his awareness. He was never very far from himself, and in himself, he had stolen away those whom he had desired. Like pockets of air at his recesses, they were always clear to see. They were always felt. There was nowhere to hide. There was no impulse to hide. There was only him and what he possessed. They made his being boil, and as he reached for them, he grew warmer with every fathom closer. There was no pressure, nor was there depth to the metaphor; no matter how far he dove within, he would never move from where he was. There was no direction, and there was no space. He was simply within, and as he was within, he was without. And within him, he found three points of shining heat, nestled together like pearls of pure, luminescent light. The largest, the steely grey, stuck out like an unfitting anomaly between the others. Where the others were calm, settled against the bed of his being as though they had simply resigned, the grey was restless. Ill-fitting. Its spin was not stilted, nor was it slowed with apathy. It was frenetic, even then. It was disturbed. He drew closer, and he could feel its sadness radiating off of it. The misery. The barely-constrained homesickness. Such pain, yet just out of view. It stung at him like the ruthless press of a knife, yet even that was paltry in comparison. The agony it had weathered, in life and in death, was more than he might ever be cursed enough to witness in his time. It was like a thorn stuck into a gash on his sense of self, and it spewed its essence as a flowing wound. Loss. Of its home, and of its life. Of everything it had known and yet more until there was nothing left. How could he possess all of this within and feel none of it? How had he ignored it until now? He was sorry. He was so sorry. He moved on, yet there was so little more. The darker of the smaller two, so deeply grey that it bordered on black, had long since lost itself. The rhythm of his existence had become its own, and within the abstract sea of himself, he could hardly differentiate it from the current. It did not speak to him, but neither did it have nothing to say. What he could feel was dull, barely enough to register. There was only a long-faded sense of fear. He held no interest for it. The gift had been given with ill intent, and dwelling would only exacerbate the betrayal. The last, the grey that had revealed itself so brightly as to seem white, was not like the second. This one was vibrant enough to truly feel its wakeful tremors in his core, and what he could feel was... overwhelmingly turbulent. Looking upon it, it seemed just as calm as its sibling, yet within... within... the more he focused within... the closer he drew... He could. There was so much beneath. Its warmth ran so deep—so hot—so alive. Such intense recollection. He felt like he could become lost in it. And suddenly, he was. Turbulence. Disquietude. Dissonance and frantic fear. The world was spinning. He couldn't find his way out. It hurt. Something hurt, but he was so overpoweringly dizzy—he couldn't tell where the hurt was coming from. The warmth... the warmth... too hot... it burned. He was on fire. His every nerve was burning. The taste of deeply rich iron overwhelmed him, and in that moment, he knew nothing but. He was sick. He was going to be sick. He'd already been. He was covered in sick, burning his skin like poison. There was something else. A memory. Weight in his paws. The grass underfoot. The beckoning forest. A woody taste. Movement. Movement to his side. Instincts kicked in and he swept his eyes to the danger. A massively imposing figure, four-legged, brown-furred, with crimson eyes full of deadly intent and predation. It was crouched in the dirt and so close to him that he could smell its wrong scent of nothingness under death and fading decay. The blazing red light like a burning pyre on its head was enough to fill him with fear he'd spend the rest of his life running from, and how he wished to run and leave those maliciously grinning jaws behind in his wake. But then the pain was back. His head. He was bleeding. He was upside-down. He was spinning. He couldn't breathe. His being hurt. It was fading away. It was leaving him. He'd never felt anything like it. He was being torn in two. He couldn't feel his body. He could feel everything but himself. Nothing was right. Everything was wrong. Pull. He couldn't. Grasp. It hurt. Tug. And then it didn't. Out. He jerked up, whipping his head forward and forcing his suddenly present voice to tear up his throat in an agonized scream. The noise pounded into his cottony-feeling ears, and he instinctively... pressed them back? He caught a fresh breath full of... what? The taste of musty air..? Before his wide-open eyes, wherever he jerked a blurry glance to, there were... walls? When he tried to raise his... paw? No—no, he had hooves, but when he raised one to his head, bearing his teeth in a seethe as he expected a hot flash of pain, there was... nothing. Nothing hurt. He wasn't in pain. He was... no, that was wrong... not... him... he was... Light Flow. He was Light Flow, and he was... a unicorn. But he hadn't been. Light levered himself off his forelimbs, sitting upright and ignoring how his back groaned in protest as he began to sort through whatever in Taratrus' unholy name that had been. His glassy crimson gaze roamed once more across his room, finding his door closed to one side and a still darkened window to the other. Everything... was fine. For how loudly he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his room was as silent and dark as it'd been when he'd gone to bed. And then, the suddenly apparent memory of his laying down and drifting off was at once a soothing balm to what... he supposed was just a dream. That's all it was. A bad dream conjured from his waking misdeeds had visited him in the fringe of slumber. How comforting. And yet, as he gathered his cramping back legs under him to sit properly, brushing his matted tail aside with a hoof before raising it to smother a yawn, something... felt off. The nagging sense of unmet urgency took a moment to sift through, leading his limb up to rub sleepily at one eye and dragging it down his groggy face all the way down to scratch at his chest before it hit him, and his hoof stalled where it laid above his lethargic heart. It took everything he had to keep his mouth pressed firmly shut, deliberately pressing a heavy swallow against the back of his throat. He considered himself very well versed in managing his panic reflex, and so the throaty gag came just in time to dam a wave of acid thrown up by an involuntary heave from the bottom of his stomach. He felt the quelled shudder like a bump under his frog as it reversed direction, scraping down his esophagus until it landed in the pit of his stomach and began to smolder like a burnt-out coal. That was the only warm part of him. The acid reflux sitting, unsettled, in his gut. Because in his chest, beneath the hoof he held there for dear life for so little as some backwards hope that it would magically resolve itself, there was only cold. Two souls. There was the realization, and if that hadn't been enough to just stop what remained of his fractured heart like the merciless twist of a poisoned dagger, the following thought, first on its tail, was enough to restart it with a unsettled, juddering inhale. It hadn't been a dream. His hoof sank from his chest with a jerk and slammed to the floor, used in a moment of pure maxed-out adrenaline as a pivot to push himself up and around—except the sudden overflow of sheer desperation that flashed across every one of his senses at once was by no means enough to make Light Flow anywhere near sure-hooved. As surely as he was frightened, he was clumsy, and as he scrabbled on three hooves to throw his entire body in a turn, his anchoring hoof slipped. As had his hoof, Light crashed into the floor chin-first with his hindlegs flying up behind him—granted, to his credit, facing opposite to where he'd started. From there—though it took a moment for his brain to catch up—his back somehow bent in, bringing all the weight of his dangling haunches down on his already aching shoulders. Ouch. Through the clenched line of his jaw, Light breathed out a tired sigh, oddly content for a moment to rest on his chin and chest with his lower body bent above him like the letter C, though the wash of zen in the midst of his current storm only lasted for as long as it took for his stomach to fall to the floor with a wince-inducing whump. His legs spread straight out around him, he blinked dazedly into the shadows under his bed, finding... light spilling out across the floor from the other side. It took a moment to register through the muted shock of his acrobatic acts, but as soon as it did, he sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes went wide with realization. He was right. His first panicked theory that had leapt through his mind too quickly to process had been right, and as he forced his throbbing legs to get over themselves and support him, he'd already mentally prepared for confirmation by the time he curled a hoof around his bedpost to propel himself across its width and past the other side to see... ...a greyish soul, a little bit larger than the size of a cherry, gently bobbing in the air above the floor beside his bed. For the first moment, Light wanted to scream—perhaps in joy, or maybe it was unbridled horror, though the urge passed with a single breath out, and it seemed as though he'd missed his chance. Then came the urge to just... leap forward and retake the wayward existence that had wandered from its rightfully misappropriated home. He almost did. With its ever-shifting light casting a low, refracting light into the oppressive dark—the only point of light in the room—what he could only describe as the beginning cravings of an unsated addiction within him were nearly agitating enough to sway his unsteady hoof to just move. It was the cold that compelled him—that screamed for satiation—but it was Light that abjectly hesitated. And it was Light that took a deep breath in, held it, then let it out as he took a quiet step forward. He approached the lonely soul on its own in so little as two more steps, only deigning to stare in conflicted pity down at it for a moment before he stooped to lower a hoof towards it. As his hoof crept in, a sudden rush of desire swept through him, and if it had been any other day... he just might've lost control. But when he closed his eyes, barely an inch away from touching what he so needed, the overpoweringly fond memory of warm fur on his under an orange sunset flashed before him, and the urge... didn't seem so bad. When he opened his eyes, straightening once more on three legs, his stolen soul of a squirrel floated above his outstretched hoof before him. Detached, alone, and so innocent. Watching how its core danced and swirled with its still-magnificent streams of light, even for just a squirrel, Light couldn't help but sigh. It genuinely hurt him to be so close, and to not just take it. Even as he stood there with it literally within his grasp, he couldn't believe he had the willpower to continuously abstain. He felt twitchy. Squirmy. Like his skin was loose and unfitting, and beneath the writhing, itching insects filling his veins, his heart was beginning to freeze and blacken. No lifeblood beyond pus and sludge. He could swear its beat was slower, and that what was pulsing through his veins was somehow less. This was what it was like to have two souls. Like everything was grey and... he wasn't... right. Incomplete. Inordinate. Sluggish. Broken. Something occurred to him, though a smile did not rise on his face, nor was the feeling much like satisfaction. All the same, at least he was clear-headed. He turned, keeping his hoof steady in his amble toward the bedroom door with his newly lost treasure held close enough to his chest that he felt his fur warm with every staggered step. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, swinging it back to knock quietly against the wall as he stalled in the doorway to stare into the dark. Standing there in the in-between, with his path only barely lit by the kaleidoscopic iridescence of his lost soul, a stray resemblance crossed his stilled mind. A bit of dramatic prose to lift his wandering spirit. He was like a wanderer in the void standing at the edge of the abyss. As he took his first step towards that which should never be found, he had no idea whether his hoof would find the floor or if he'd careen to his doom. But it did, as did the next. He made his way to his destiny in the dark. Unimpeded. He ferried his escaped soul across the way to his desk with a silent frown on his face, feeling it grow deeper as he drew up to his workstation and the barest edge of metal glinted in the pale light cast over it. In the back of his mind, a resemblance stuck to his passing thoughts like a clinging mote, though he quickly shook it off. His approach slowed, nearly growing cautious as he stepped up to his askew chair from where he'd forgotten to push it in, sweeping his lidded gaze from the perpendicular plastic lid to the perfectly straightened pan sitting front-and-center in the middle of his workstation. Sat within, just as he'd last left it, was the still and stiff body of a squirrel in a small, sticky puddle of dark blood. The squirrel that he'd seen through the eyes of. He pulled his chair out to better sit on with a quiet flicker of mana, jerking his seat forward twice to bring him closer to the edge of his barely-lit desk, where he finally lowered his hoof to let the demure ball of light gently float off above his notebook. Some... insatiably greedy part of him bemoaned the loss as the soul regained a new equilibrium without him, but as he sat back to watch the condensed existence bob in the air for a moment, the incredulous nature of the situation was enough to bring a small smile to his face. Though the expression died in its infancy as he turned to face his victim. There was really no point in mincing words: after the experience he'd had, he couldn't deny the furry little corpse that lay within his pastry pan was only there because of him. He'd killed it. He'd robbed it of its life. And then he'd dared to take more. Not even its memories were safe from him. However he wished it, nothing welled from his chest besides a dull throb of apathy, so Light let his head hang forward to rest on an outstretched hoof with a sigh. How cruel he was, unable even to pity the sorry creature whom he'd thoroughly exploited. He could count himself lucky, at least, that he was continuing to learn more about Necromancy. In a way, it was actually kind of enraging to think that he'd made such a pivotal discovery not a week after he'd vowed to begin his exploration in earnest, when he'd spent the eight years prior doing absolutely nothing. It was mostly heartening, though, and if he was only able to feel more than a blip of that emotion, he'd be well and truly ecstatic to make such a genuinely captivating discovery. He'd not been robbed of his analytical sense, though, so he could appreciate his new... ability? Yes, his new ability was fascinating enough to warrant its own entire chapter in his notebook, and whenever he got around to testing it further, he'd surely pen it. At expository length. On one hoof, he didn't want to jump to outrageous conclusions yet, but on the other, he knew logically that what he'd experienced had been far too vivid and consummate to fly as a dream. He didn't have dreams like that, where he walked in another's... paws? He surely didn't have dreams about being other species. Not to mention the dream's memory wasn't fading; he could still clearly remember how he'd felt, what he'd been thinking, and even... the pain. Oh, he surely remembered how it'd felt to have his skull cracked open. Like a scrambled sensation of fire spreading across his face as the burning air pressed in. His free hoof very consciously rose to hover over a suddenly sore spot under the mats of his mane, while he fought the urge to seethe at a pain that wasn't even really there. Hopefully, that particular ghost would fade soon. He vaguely remembered the plotlines of some of his more interesting dreams over the years—and he'd never forget his midnight meetings with Her—but it wasn't like him to hold onto minutia like that. And... it just didn't feel like a dream. It hadn't felt at all like he'd even fallen asleep. From his recollection, he'd laid down, delved into his inner self, and then been shocked out. He had no way of telling—he'd broken all the clocks during his possession—but it'd only felt like half an hour or so. It was certainly still night. He hadn't fallen asleep, and it hadn't been a dream. He'd... connected with the squirrel's soul. He'd become the squirrel. That thought, even with just two souls, was enough to spark an ember of scintillation within the cold dregs of his heart, and it helped him to rediscover his weary, wayward smile as he raised his head from his hoof. Peering down once more at the squirrel's rigid body, his expression edged so far as to seem like a grin as he laid his hoof down and leaned over the pan's edge. "You really saw me as... a predator, huh?" he murmured into the quiet, lidding his eyes with scrutiny as they wandered idly from the squirrel's tail to its tip, stopping at its limp head and fully closing them to just remember. Its thoughts, translated so poorly into what he could understand. Its priorities. Its own blurry recollection. From its eyes, he'd looked so dangerous. Powerful. Like a sharp-toothed threat stalking through the undergrowth, sure-hooved and self-assured in his every action. On the prowl for his unassuming prey. Seeing himself like that... it made him feel so strong. Confident. Fearsome. If only his younger self had experienced this, he'd probably never have strayed from that whole villain schtick. Maybe it wasn't too late. He rose from the squirrel with a deep breath, finding some satisfaction in catching a whiff of the foggy scent of iron as he straightened. It was almost assuredly best that he'd not discovered he could do this until now. Who knew what depths of depravity he'd have delved chasing after other creatures' memories without the discipline he'd earned through all his extended suffering? He'd probably be an actual murderer by now. ...No, that was not something he should imagine fondly. Heavens, he had to get this thing over with and get that soul back in him before he devolved to aggrandizing a life of crime. He wasn't a foal anymore. Light turned, keeping his posture straight and his head away from the tantalizing scent of blood as he focused back onto the erstwhile soul above his notebook. He stared for a moment, quirking a quiet chuckle out of the corner of his mouth as he willed his system to awaken, lighting his horn with a surge of mana that... huh. He shook his head, keeping his suddenly tired eyes open with a flutter and a shaky breath in as a faded red light buzzed and flickered over the lonely corpse of the squirrel, before finally sputtering out and blooming to life anew. A deep sense of wear washed over him as he dropped his heavy head onto a hoof, blowing out a tired breath in time with an interesting pinch from somewhere within him while his horn remained defiantly lit. That should not have been so hard. He'd managed, all in all, but wow—was that the way he confirmed whether possessing souls somehow enhanced his magical ability? It'd been a theory on his mind that he'd been terrified of testing—it'd throw even more kindling on that possessive fire—and he really couldn't say whether it was even correct—could just be mana exhaustion—but if it was, then it was majorly disruptive. He just hoped he had the strength left to do this. He rose from his hoof, gnawing on his lip as he turned again to the soul and his notebook, eyeing one, then the other, before settling on the floating ball of light and reaching out with a tendril of mana to make contact. He went rigid—breathing in the flavor of acidic electricity—as his hold coalesced, making a concerted effort to not melt in the full-body pleasure of that delicious contact of warmth. It was a removed tactile sensation, though, which he could confidently say was the sole reason he kept his focus steady enough to float the soul over to his right as his notebook lit with light and floated into the air after it. He kept the soul where it was, flipping the cover of the book over and glancing across the desk to find the pencil before he raised his attention to skim through the pages until blank white greeted him. ...Then something occurred to him, and though it cost a little more energy than he felt was probably necessary, he turned a page back to glance from the decent picture of the squirrel down to his neatish scrawl. He eyed the pencil rising into the air, murmuring to himself for a moment before he pushed it forward. Sex: I'm not checking Male He had qualms with how he'd found out, but at least he hadn't had to check firsthoof. He flipped to the first blank page, hovering the book and his utensil a little closer as he turned his attention back to the awaiting soul. The... missing part of him that it was suddenly very hard to stare at knowing what he was about to do, gleaming with its off-white light not quite smothered by a film of buzzy red. Shifting... shining... swirling... He sucked in a breath, forcing the dreamy stars of desire out with a blink as he straightened. Nope. No. He was not taking it back right now. It was out, he hadn't had to take it out, so he was going to capitalize. Time for research. He firmed his jaw, clearing his throat as his gaze fell again to land on the prone corpse. He glanced back to the soul, then to the squirrel as it floated gently forward, keeping his expression even and stoic as the two approached contact, though as it crept on, the wrathful need inside of him furiously railed against its cage. He didn't want to relinquish it. He wanted it to go back in him, not the stupid squirrel. He needed it way more than it did; what was it even going to do with something so precious? Run around? Eat nuts? It didn't deserve such a wonderful gift. He did. It was his. It should've been going to him. In the exact moment just before the soul made contact with its former owner, Light nearly gave in to his screaming urges of greed. In the back of his mind, he could so clearly see the world where he pulled away and reclaimed the soul for nopony but himself. He'd lie back, breathe out a sigh, and bask in the blissful warmth. Everything would be better. He'd have the capacity for true joy again, and though he'd stall in his research on Necromancy, it wouldn't be forever. He'd just wait for a better time, and in the meantime, he could enjoy his life for once. He'd love his marefriend, tolerate his friends, and forget all about that stabbing cold. It may have been the single thought he'd had in the meantime that compelled him to push forward. He wasn't doing this for the squirrel. This was still for him. The soul and the squirrel were his. He wasn't losing anything. He was only gaining. With only the slightest bit of resistance, the soul made contact with the squirrel's unmoving side, pushing past its fur and sinking through its form as the phantom sense of grip in the backs of his eyes peeled away with every inch inward. He watched with wide, unblinking eyes, barely able to spare thought for breathing besides the spectacle of the corpse's side blurring into nonexistence behind the still-visible soul stuck halfway into its body. Even as the soul sunk into the squirrel—pushed through by a twinkling sheen of red on one side—he could still see the orb inside of it. Of course, he was always able to do that, but with such an unnatural contrast struck in the in-between, it really looked as though there must've been some big hole in the corpse. Until the soul slipped a bit further in, and he was reminded that he needed to cross his eyes a bit to distinguish the soul from the fur it was under. It'd used to give him a headache seeing through other creatures, but he'd acclimated throughout his life. It was massively jarring to see the phenomenon introduced, though. It wasn't until there was a little less than a quarter of the soul left that something occurred to him, and he bit back a curse with a heavy swallow as three thoughts collided at once in his head. He looked to the pan's lid at his side, then his notebook, then back to the squirrel as the last few wisps of grey embers trailed from the soul's retreating tail and smothered in the air as it sunk fully in. A heady rush of focus hit him as he kept his eyes squarely on the soul beginning to tremble within the still squirrel, grasping around to his side with a newly freed trail of mana to pick the lid up and haphazardly flip it onto the pan as he raised his pencil to where he could see it in his peripheral. He cast his gaze down for a moment as he reared forward to press the lid shut with a click, scratching out a title on the page and raising his eyes just in time to see the light of the corpse-laden soul begin to brighten. He had a strange sense of foreboding all of a sudden. At first, it was almost unnoticeable, perhaps just a lumen or two brighter. Then it began to shine, and at seeming response, something within him twinged. The twinge became an itch, and the itch became a burn under his suddenly shaking hoof clasped to the fur over his heart. The burn, beginning to smolder and smell like brimstone in his nose, rose from his chest to his throat, then to his eyes as Light grit his teeth, only managing to stay upright by virtue of his hoof falling from his chest to support him as he kept his eyes on the corpse—no, the squirrel as a single claw on its unmoving paw twitched. It hurt like a searing brand, and the hurt was rising from where it had stalled behind his eyes—blurring with the growing light of the soul—to his head, where it was beginning to pound as though he had a fever. He couldn't comprehend what was happening, all the less so with how his whole body was starting to feel like he'd been dunked in a boiling pot. Was this in response to... what would this even be in response to?! How could putting a soul in something else have an effect on him?! Was it just because it'd been in him? Because he was the one who'd put it in? Just because he was nearby?! Everything was getting fuzzy. He'd dropped his notebook to the desk, and at some point, he'd thrown his pencil aside with a far-off clatter. He could barely keep his head up or his eyes open, but he still wanted to watch. This was his first resurrection. He wouldn't be denied his life's fulfillment. Every breath was a massive effort—an agonized pant—and for every second that passed with his head burning like a torch had been taken to his mane and his eyes stinging in the now-overpowering corona of light that was a previously dim soul, he rapidly oscillated from uncertain states of being sure that he'd pass out or just die. In the midst of his fever, he was taken back in rending throbs of pain to a million scattered points of familiarity. Brown bark, the hard floor under him, and poison burning his system from the inside out. A shapeless blob of light that revealed itself as the moon, lacking a shadow for the first time in recorded history, and there was something warm running from his nose. A tepid argument. The laughing of foals. A muggy atmosphere choking him. The setting sun. A foggy canyon. The corpse of a green pegasus. The growl of wood scraping together. His nerves erupting into fire. Closing his eyes. Stepping forward. The deafening rush of wind battering his flailing body. A hot flash of pain, and it all swept away. And it all swept away. Light jerked his head up with a deep inhale that filled his lungs from their bottoms to their tops, searching out his surroundings in a panic that was so immediately familiar that—heavens above he'd passed out again. His head shook on its own as the world reasserted itself, revealing the chair under him, the desk before him, the dark around him, and his senses free of pain. It only took a few moments after he was assured of his physical wellness to quell his frantic heart, but that was probably just because of his recent familiarity with the situation. He wasn't fond of that sentence. For all the places he cast his eyes to, it seemed truly contrived that he'd looked seemingly everywhere except the pan, as he realized the moment he laid eyes upon it and its occupant. The moment he did—the very instant he saw the squirrel—something... shifted in his head, and the still-prone side of the animal shivered. Under its fur, the freshly dimmed light of its soul began to twinkle. His hoof flew to his head as the whole body of the squirrel seemed to clench in what he was suddenly sure was a first breath, and the uncertain presence in the shallow waters of his mind intensified from what he could only describe as the internal feeling of a tug. His lip drew back in resultant confusion, while his eyes remained fixated on the animal as its paw stretched out and scraped against the pan's bottom as the rest of its body began to shake and heave. Its soul, still in motion from his first glance, was already beginning to gradually restart its continuous motion, spinning and pulsing as its innards whorled in a frenzy of modulation. At the instant that it blinked its eye open and focused on him, and he could read the pure, animalistic agony within that deadened black gaze as its soul spun at once into a hue of painful red, three thoughts came to him. One: that he'd done nothing to heal the squirrel and that it had been undergoing rigor and livor for hours. Two: that looking at the squirrel made the weird feeling in his head solidify. Three: that it was alive and he'd made it so. He had a lot more thoughts after that, but the following moments gave him little time to explore them all. A second passed of the squirrel's beady eye staring him down, though it only took a second before its body curled out amidst the numerous squeamish sounds of snapping muscles as a shrill screech mutedly emanated from within the closed pan, which thankfully seemed to shock his stilled brain from its inaction. "Crap—my notes!" he cursed out loud as he tore his gaze from the former corpse's lively spectacle and its suddenly frantically spinning soul, lighting his horn with as much insistence as he could to lift the book from under his sluggish hooves. He bent his head away from the rising notebook, actively casting the light of his horn about his desk in a search for the pencil he'd lost as he continued to murmur fitfully to himself—all the while feeling his panic at being unprepared grow as the scratching noise of frantic activity escalated from within the pan in front of him. He was letting himself down. He was an idiot. He was blowing his first resurrection. Pencil. Where? Pencil? The pan shifted away with a thump, and Light bit a much more severe curse into his lip as he threw his attention from his desk to the faux cage. The squirrel was standing, crouched at the back corner of the pan with its beady eyes fixed on nothing at all and its grossly discolored sides flush with too-rapid breaths. For all that he had seen of terrified animals, this one's recently gifted soul was in the highest caliber of frenetic, and so muddled. That answered a lot of questions, and he needed to record the answers. "It must've fallen on the freaking floor," he growled at the squirrel, seeming stuck in perpetual life-or-undeath panic, before he raised his focus to the mess at the back of his desk. He physically reached forward, jostling the pan a bit closer and hopefully freaking the squirrel out as he placed his notebook down and ran through a few rapid mental paces. Gritting his teeth and bracing for the drain, he wished himself good luck as he pushed mana through his system to bead as a speck of glowing red light from the tip of his horn. It felt nice to properly cast the Spark spell, even though it was the second spell usually taught to foals and therefore very basic. Either way, the floating wisp gently wafted forward at his mental insistence, casting its decently illuminative light over the cowering animal in the pan and to the wall, sticking there and continuing to shine as he searched out the surface below it. There. A pencil. He smothered the flowing stream of energy within him and the light it was powering, bringing the more familiar internal path of Levitation to bear with a victorious smile. He grasped the pencil from where it was stuck in the junction of two books pressed spine-to-spine in the next instant, leaning back into his chair with the utensil in tow as he raised his notebook once again. He didn't waste any time, letting his pencil bring the steady stream of thoughts in his backlog to life on the page. Subject C: Reanimation Obsv. 1.: Following Subject B's sudden egress from my body, I followed through with its reintroduction to Subject A in my first recorded attempt at creating a reanimated being, heretofore globally termed Subject C. There was an initial amount of resistance* between Subject B and Subject A, likely due to the soul's partially physical existence. *This confirms that souls do not only physically interact with a Necromancer, but introduces the question whether said interaction is facilitated by perception. Further argumentation and testing required. Obsv. 1. Cont.: In the process of reintroduction, the soul remained wholly visible throughout, and did not result in any transitory reaction from Subject A. Following total assimilation, Subject A remained unresponsive up until an unknown sensation* began to well from inside of me and Subject B began to brighten, following which Subject A visibly twitched, though it is as yet unknown whether this was an initial sign of its transformation into Subject C. Both phenomena continued to escalate until I lost consciousness for an unknown period of time, causing the proceeding events to go unobserved. *Said sensation began innocuously inside my chest, but grew hot and painful as it rose to my head. From my experience thus far, everything involving Necromancy causes great pain, as does everything else in my life. He was a fairly speedy writer, but as it was, by the time a new scrabbling noise rose to prominence before him, he had to write a few lines without looking as he diverted his attention to the squirrel. He forced a throaty hum up through a thick, cottony wad as he found the squirrel had finally moved from its terrified position to the side of the pan, pressing its head uselessly against the lid and scratching fitfully at the seam that held it into place. He glanced down at his scrawl as he finished the last sentence of his first observation, scowling at the messy hornwriting before he looked up to watch the squirrel retreat from the pan's left side to scurry to the right. Watching it move, it was clear to see that it was hobbling in an odd, scampering limp, and that the left side of its body in motion was far slower than the right. Even its good side was clumsy and slow, though. As his lingering eyes identified, it left a blotchy red smear on the part of the lid where it had pressed its face. "You know there's no escape, right?" he murmured with his lidded eyes still on the bloodstain, casting them to the side until the increasingly tumultuous quaver in his head calmed at the sight of the squirrel trying its new trick on the other side of the pan. For a moment, he almost expected it to turn and look at him. It didn't, of course, and the anticipatory sense of action in his head grew restless once more as the squirrel ceased its foolish attempts and hunched into itself, staring blankly at the wall as it trembled and made its aggravating keening noises. He watched it for another quiet moment before he shook his head with a scoff, turning back to the page and erasing the last lines of chicken scratch so he could rewrite them. Obsv. 2.: Upon my awakening, it remained unclear whether Subject B's reintroduction into Subject A had caused the creation of Subject C. Upon visual contact, however, the formerly deceased subject took a breath and began to move, signifying the reanimation process had been successful. As yet, its behavior shows no signs of abnormalities for a squirrel in its situation, though that means very little. Further questions about the existence and recollection of an Undead must wait for a sapient subject. Obsv. 3: Following resurrection, Subject C continued to breathe with regularity, though it is unknown whether this is due to habit or an actual vital process. Confirmation will be recorded following the deprivation of air in the subject's container. Additionally, its movements have been noticeably beleaguered, most predominantly relating to the left side of its body. As that was the side it was left to undergo livor, it is likely that its internal structures have been affected to the point of sluggishness. Obsv. 3. Cont.: There should be a great many deficiencies within the subject's body, such that movement should be impossible, yet it has remained animated. This lends credence to the theory that Undead are able to persist despite their body's physical state, though it raises questions about the limiting threshold of damage, and whether Undead are able to process pain. He raised his attention for a moment, finding Subject C—the squirrel, he meant, to have moved to the middle of the container to futilely press its paws up against the lid. His gaze stilled on its heaving sides, likely a sign of hyperventilation. It'd been breathing that since he'd resurrected it. It wouldn't be long now. He didn't bother to smile or anything so deranged, only humming to himself thoughtfully before dropping his attention back to his notes. It was just a waiting game until it did something interesting. Obsv. 4.: Subject B has regained all the typical characteristics of any living creature's soul without any seeming anomalies. As has been observed previously, souls do not drastically alter their benign behavior following forced removal from their natural place, and this fact seems to hold true upon reintroduction, though it has regained emotional tells at the least. Although my experience earlier in the night raises questions about the soul's existence, the current information available is not sufficient enough to make any further educated guesses. Obsv. 5.: Alongside the resurrection of Subject C, the formerly painful sensation that had accompanied the following moments of Subject B's reintroduction quelled to a benign presence* within my head. The feeling has not abated, however, and has, in fact, continued to vary in intensity based on as-yet unconfirmed stimuli. It has been empirically observed to coalesce into a physical feeling of attraction based on my personal perception of Subject C, appearing to grow unsettled if unobserved. *The presence is unlike either Nightmare Moon or the voice that came after Her, existing both within and without my mind. It is most like the feeling of being watched has evolved into a direct sense of an outlying presence, growing more prevalent if visual contact is achieved. Obsv. 5. Cont.: Though proof has yet to be established, Necromancy is a highly subjective school, and so my current prevailing theory is that my resurrection of the subject has established some kind of connection between us. It is unknown whether Subject C feels this connection or whether this merely signifies that I am the progenitor of its current existence, and so this theory may have to wait until the resurrection of a subject which can speak. At the current moment, it seems undeniable that this creature owes its life to me, and by that token, without me, it may no longer have the means to live. This lends credence to the possibility that, were I to expire, anything I resurrect would expire as well. What a curious notion. If he didn't feel so emotionally deadened, it'd probably make him feel dreadful. He raised a creased expression to the squirrel, wondering for a moment if... ...huh. His conflicted expression melded into mild shock as he came to witness the squirrel standing once more upright, but instead of pressing against the lid for escape, it now had a paw raised to its head as it clawed at the newly glistening spot of red there. It had discovered the blow he'd inflicted to incapacitate it. Light pursed his lips, flipping his pencil around to knock the eraser against his jaw as the poor, undead animal continued to push its nails against the opening in its head. He pushed the pencil up against his lip as his jaw drifted slightly open, chewing on the pink end in morbid fascination as the gruesome spectacle before him further devolved to a rather frantic scratching, as though it were being spurred on. "You... probably shouldn't do that," he advised the squirrel from out of the corner of his mouth, but in a seeming bid to defy him, the squirrel hunched further into itself as its self-clawing grew jagged. Violent. Before, its motions had been cautious, in a way, but now it seemed urgent. It raked its claws over its own increasingly gummy flesh again and again as its pitiful, muffled cries grew louder and more deeply distressed. Light only watched, feeling so detached from its plight even as it jerked back with a squeal as tatters of fur and frayed flesh floated to the ground amidst a spray of revitalized blood painting the pan's floor. It was chiefly interesting. He watched the squirrel writhe around the pan for another moment as a new spring of blood thoroughly ruined its fur and his cookware, before he finally let the end of his pencil out of his mouth and spun it around to its lead. Obsv. 6.: It is highly likely at this point that Subject C can feel pain, if even a facsimile. It was witnessed clawing at its mostly closed head injury in a seeming fit of animalistic madness, undeterred but undeniably disturbed by its state, as it continued until the removal of a not-unsubstantial portion of its flesh and the full reopening of its wound. Judging by its subsequent motions of agony, there is little doubt it has not lost the ability to feel pain at the least. Obsv. 6. Cont.: It was additionally observed exhibiting signs of fear, shock, and panic, all of which beg the question of whether these emotions are genuine or simple habit. Its capacity for pain, at least, suggests the theory that the soul may retain these memories in such vivid quality that they are able to be substituted on behalf of the brain and the nervous system, as those processes are in an unknown state following Subject A's limited decomposition. Barring a grave philosophical turn, it is unknown how these theories may- Light happened to glance up in a half-interested stupor between pencil strokes, though he was shocked enough to trail off a sentence entirely as his pencil slowed to a halt and his focus gradually dimmed to his subject. It had stopped moving, laying on its side where he'd last seen it in a fresh puddle of its blood. Its soul was... stilled. Beginning to darken. A genuine pang of concern stabbed through him as, in his first thought, one of his most interesting hypotheses may have just been disproven. If the squirrel died from something so paltry as blood loss, then what did that mean for the all-encompassing existence of the soul? What about his unkillable undead? As he stared in mortified disbelief, though, his zeroed-in focus caught a subtle twitch from the former corpse, bringing a solid wave of comforting relief washing over him. He raised himself to grasp at the pan's edges with his hooves, shuffling it closer and staring more deliberately at the squirrel to see what it was doing. It was still, but not as still as he'd initially thought: its chest was still rising and falling, but kind of... erratically, and its paws were twitching and grasping at nothing by its sides. With every half-awake motion, its deadened eyes fluttered with obvious weakness, the poor thing. He worked his jaw in thought for a moment before he nodded to himself, and gently shook the pan in his grasp. Once, and the squirrel went still once more, then he did it again to roll it over onto its back. It didn't move from there, continuing to lay where it'd been jostled. Beneath its ruffled, bloodstained fur, the halted motion of its previously frenetic soul was by and large the second most interesting thing happening, as the longer he stared, the dimmer its light grew. It was almost... blackening. He'd never seen such a color. Was that because it was undead, or was it just a foreign emotion? If so, then which? Maybe it was despair. It'd run out of air, after all. A smile wormed its way over his face as he straightened, pulling the pan closer once more to tower over it and watch, with bated breath, what would become of the creature. He didn't know what was going on inside his undead squirrel, but if its heart was beating all this time, then without the precious air it needed to oxygenate the blood he also couldn't confirm was rushing through its veins, would it stop? Undead could feel pain, but could they die? Not be killed—that wasn't what he was asking—he wanted to know if they could expire. Would it lose its soul? The seconds ticked by, turning to minutes slipping down the drain as he sat and stared, and the squirrel sat and squirmed. He wanted to say it was disconcerting to watch it wheeze for breath it couldn't have and squeak out the pitiful noises of its lungs bubbling with acid, but he'd be lying. It was so enthralling. This was an undead, and every moment that it clawed at the metal through its own blood pooled around it was another moment that should've been impossible. This was the natural limit nature placed on the living: the vital processes that made all things possible. The brain allowed for thought, and the heart, among other things, supplied the brain its precious blood, and that blood was only ripe because the lungs supplied the body with air. Without air, the body would fail. But Necromancy made the impossible possible. And after counting the seconds of five minutes, his smile grew wider. Because the squirrel was still gaping and gasping for air, kicking its flimsy little legs out in pitiful desperation. And its soot blackened soul hadn't budged an inch. Light let himself fall back onto his hocks, throwing his hooves up and letting out a resounding sigh of satisfaction as he crossed them behind his head. Oh, how wonderful! The squirrel hadn't suffocated or undergone serious brain damage after the time it really should've, which meant it probably couldn't die! Not from air deprivation, anyway, which was dire enough to have some radical implications! He leaned off his celebratory stance, leaning once more into the desk to push the pan back to where it'd been so he could make room for his notebook. Speaking of it, he turned to where he'd left it beside the pan to lift it and his pencil, casting a last cursory glance to the perpetually choking squirrel before he returned to writing. It was alive, but it hadn't moved in all the time he'd been staring, so it was probably okay to ignore it for a minute. He had all the time in the world. Obsv. 7.: Subject B was observed dimming in luminosity and color as Subject C ran out of air, fading from a bright grey to a dark shade of black. Otherwise, it has displayed a drastic reduction in vibrance and motion, and although the lines of light which comprise its makeup continue to shift, it is largely incomparable to the average. Additionally, rather than the typical hueing* which emotional states present as, Subject B's blackening has completely replaced its former color; the lines themselves have taken on this new appearance. *It is possible that this change in color is as benign as all emotional states are, and that this dim shade of black only appears so stark due to its nature. However, I have never witnessed any other soul adapt this behavior, and I would further question which emotion black would represent. The most forthcoming answer seems to be despair, or perhaps a breakdown of its sense of self. Obsv. 7. Cont.: It would be hasty to presume that either change in state undergone by Subject B was caused by reanimation, though it remains a possibility. In actuality, the relative unknowns present within the situation completely obscure any possibilities under a veil of equal opportunity; there is simply no method currently available to truly discern the cause amidst the situation's whole. If this happening does harken a fundamental difference in principles based on resurrection, however, then my inquisitive mind gleefully boggles at the possibilities in spite of the added element of complexity in this research. A more vigorous array of testing is in order to uncover this mystery's root cause. Obsv. 8.: I am now certain the nature of Undead causes them to strongly resist death. Subject C has been confined to a space in which no fresh air may be recycled, and after some time in captivity, it was no longer able to breathe. The subject was observed in visible agony, unable to support itself or move beyond the bare minimum; this lends credence to the theory that Undead can, in fact, feel pain. As it stands, the subject was left in a situation which should ordinarily have caused it to expire, yet even after a period of more than five minutes, its soul remained and it continued to live. Obsv. 8. Cont.: As I write this, I can hardly contain the radical mixture of blending excitement and disappointment that suffuses me at this discovery. Air is a wholly basic need for mammals, and the prolonged lack of such should rightly cause the failure of several of the body's functions, yet the subject lives on. This points to the possibility that one or more—or all of the body's functions are unnecessary for an undead, as air deprivation should cause a great many unobserved deficiencies. It is, of course, undeniable that the subject is not able to properly function in this state, and it is saddening that its pain is real enough to cause shock, but that is a minor caveat at best. Pain may be overcome. Death may not. But now it can be.