Time and Time and Time Again
What was the city to Raven Inkwell?
Canterlot was a place, perhaps an idea, but one that held little value. To her it was an arbitrary place: a name that one would scrawl on parchment to convey some frivolous, meaningless sense of identity. It bore a name but not a face. Canterlot did not cry, did not bleed, did not breathe: at least, not to Raven Inkwell.
But what was Raven Inkwell to the city?
Something insignificant, more than likely. A drop of dirty, dirty oil in an ocean of blood. A fly in a graveyard of millions and millions. No, Raven Inkwell would mean nothing to Canterlot, just as Canterlot would mean nothing to Raven Inkwell.
Just as the world would mean nothing to Raven Inkwell. Even if Raven Inkwell meant everything to the world. In truth, the world was merely a rusted and weathered playground for Raven to exist in, the dying grass beneath her hooves and the putrid stench of wind against her face.
And so, Raven would walk amongst the shadows and structures that made up the world around her, with a quill in her hoof and a scroll of flesh and parchment at the ready. And the flesh would be stained with her blood, and she would write flowery words which injected life into the corpse around her. Life that she herself could never feel.
Occasionally, something that almost felt like grief would wash over her, and she would cry. But even as jet black streams tore down her cheeks and gushed to the floor, even as her choked sobs and anguished screams ripped into the violent night, it would subside as quickly as it had come.
Then she would gather herself, adjust her glasses, and with a deep breath say some words which held no meaning: “Hello. My name is Raven Inkwell. How may I help you today?”
Twilight loved the way the evening sunlight would fracture through the palace’s stained-glass windows. She loved how they’d cast colors and shadows across the throneroom’s floor, drenching them in some oversaturated and beautiful light.
But today those rays would fall across her face in a subdued, apologetic manner: a stark contrast to their usual brilliant shades. It drew a pensive sigh from her as she stared up at the vibrant glass.
Depicted in the window was an image of herself, floating above effigies of her friends. She sat with a knowing smile on the face: as if the secrets of the universe were hers to tell, and a brightly-lit crown was perched atop her fluorescent mane.
It resembled her and it was nothing like her.
Twilight frowned as she gently pushed a hoof against its base. The glass was freezing to the touch and it sent a shiver down her spine: one that ran from the tip of her hoof to her extended wings, seizing each feather and bone in her body.
“Twilight!”
She turned to see a regal form trotting towards her, almost drifting across the crimson carpet. Celestia beamed with the force of a thousand dying suns, her warmth cascading over Twilight in their suffocating intensity.
“Princess Celestia!”
“Not for much longer, my faithful student,” came the reply.
Twilight’s ears drooped down, though they couldn’t stop the truth from reaching her. “I… I still don’t really get why you’re stepping down.”
The Soon-To-Be-Former-Princess smiled. “Oh, Twilight, we’ve had this conversation many times before.”
“But I still don’t get it!” Twilight stomped her hoof on the carpet, its surface muting the echo. “Equestria has prospered and flourished with your guidance! How could you leave it all behind now?”
Celestia sighed quietly. “Oh, Twilight. We’ve discussed this already. Equestria has moved beyond the need for us. I love Equestria, but I know what it needs. And what it needs is you.”
Twilight pursed her lips. “Why would it need me? I… I barely have any experience in leadership roles! I mean, I’ve done missions as the Princess of Friendship, but leading an entire nation is different!”
“And you’ll find success,” Celestia reassured. “Believe me, we never would have made this decision if we didn’t feel that you were ready.”
“But…” Twilight sighed, rubbing the base of her horn. “It just feels so sudden. What brought this on?”
A shadow seemed to cross Celestia’s face, as if the torches in the room simultaneously flickered. But in a second it dissipated, and the overwhelming warmth returned. “It was time,” she said simply, staring up at the stained-glass window approvingly. “Someday you’ll feel the same. Time is a fickle thing, and it eventually will grow bored of us.”
There was a quiet noise from within the castle that tugged on the end of Twilight’s ears. She glanced behind her to see a wavering form hidden in the shadows: glaring across the floor in disapproval.
When Luna met Twilight’s eyes she scowled, jerking her head out to the hallway and withdrawing from the room.
Celestia didn’t notice, her eyes still trained on the window. “You and your friends have made historical accomplishments. I have no doubt that you’ll do many more in your time as leader.”
“I… I hope so,” Twilight replied as she cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, Princess.”
“Of course. I shall speak with you in the morning,” Celestia answered with a bow of her head.
Twilight exited the room, sparing a glance back at her lifelong mentor. The evening sun cascaded over her, showering her in its rich golden light. But something felt off in the otherwise regal image. Something was missing from the sheen in her eyes.
It sent another shudder down Twilight’s spine, even as she opened the grand doors to enter the hall.
In contrast to the warmth of the throne room, the hallway was cool to the touch. Statues were interspaced between grand tapestries, depicting various moments from Equestrian history as a monument to all of its accomplishments.
Luna awaited her at the end, standing stock still with narrowed eyes aimed at Twilight. “Leave us,” she commanded.
The two guards at her sides stiffened and saluted in unison before withdrawing through the doorway.
“Luna, did you want to see me?” Twilight asked, trotting towards her.
“I know not what Celestia has told you of our… retirement,” Luna began, spitting out the last word. “But you surely must suspect there is more than she says.”
Twilight tilted her head at that. “I… I thought so? It just doesn’t make sense, especially to announce it so suddenly.”
There was a faint glow from Luna’s horn which cast the entire hall in a pale blue light. The Princess of the Night began pacing in front of Twilight, her back hunched over and wings ruffling in agitation.
“Your ruminations are not unfounded, I am afraid,” she hissed. “There is more here at play than she can say, and more at stake than I could possibly reveal.”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What? Luna, what’s going on?”
Luna grimaced and her horn glowed brighter. “You are inquisitive, Twilight Sparkle. Heed my warning, and all shall be clear soon.”
An icy cold feeling froze Twilight’s veins. She tried to walk towards Luna, but her movements were slow and sluggish, as if she were wading through mud. Her vision tunneled and vaced, perception becoming nothing but a notion to her. “Luna, can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” her voice wavered, thick with echo.
“Telling betrays the very nature of this threat,” Luna said as the grand doors swung open. “But make no mistake, this creature is one unlike anything you have ever seen. Come to me when you have met the mare who bears the name Raven Inkwell. Farewell until then.”
With that, Luna left: drifting through the carpet sea with her horn glowing like a lighthouse at sea. And when the doors swung shut, their bang echoing down the hall like thunderclaps as Twilight shivered in the hallway, gasping for every single breath.
But when the lighthouse disappeared, the storm went with it. Twilight stumbled down the hall, blinking and forcing air down her lungs. The memory of what had happened was already fleeting, as if it had been nothing but a dream. A hallucination.
But Luna’s words rang true in Twilight’s mind, and one name was stabbed like a sword through her skull: Raven Inkwell.
“Of course I know Raven Inkwell.”
Celestia’s regal smile as usual betrayed nothing. Twilight searched for any hint within her words, but her placid face and flowing mane were stone walls to her. She sat facing Twilight, teacup poised perfectly against a saucer, half-raised in her magic.
Twilight shuffled in her seat. “Um… who is she?”
“My personal assistant. And, soon to be yours as well,” Celestia answered.
“Assistant?” Twilight tilted her head at that. “But I already have Spike.”
“Raven is much more than an assistant, although that is one of her many titles. She is…” Something fell across Celestia’s face. Something tore at the corner of her lip and the teacup trembled. But it passed so quickly Twilight wasn’t certain it had really happened. “She is unique, and you will find her talents incredibly useful,” she answered.
“Have you summoned my presence?”
A voice called from behind Twilight, smooth and inky.
She turned to see that something had entered the room and was now poised behind her chair.
An immaculate white unicorn with thick, black glasses stood behind Twilight. A pencil was tucked behind her right ear, and a white collar with a red cravat protruding from beneath served to accentuate their look.
They were pristine and professional, in the most extreme definition.
“Ah, Raven, excellent,” Celestia beamed, coming around the table.
Raven’s eyes fell upon Twilight, and she didn’t know whether to be awestruck or afraid. Rarity had once said that every eye was a stained-glass window, and that one had to accentuate carefully with colors. But Raven’s eyes were not a window.
They were an ocean. And within that ocean, Twilight swore that something was lurking beneath the waters.
“Hi!” she blurted, realizing that Celestia awaited a response. “I’m Twilight!”
Raven bowed deeply. “It is an honor, Princess Twilight.”
“There’s no need for that,” Twilight muttered with a wave of her hoof. “Just Twilight is fine.”
“As you wish.” The words flowed seamlessly from her mouth, and Twilight could almost see them as they fell from Raven’s mouth.
“Raven Inkwell has been a tremendous asset to royal affairs,” Celestia continued, beaming at Twilight. “Her organizational skills have been unmatched by any other bureaucrat… well, perhaps except you.” Celestia tittered to herself at that. “But no matter. I know you trust Spike to be your assistant, but there are things Raven can accomplish that Spike can not, and it is important that you know of your options.”
Twilight glanced at Raven again. The unicorn stood still and unmoving, gazing across the room with a focused intensity.
“Perhaps you’ll best be sold if we demonstrated?”
At that, Raven blinked, turning to face Celestia. “Of course. My quill is yours, Princess.”
Celestia nodded her head. “Very well. Twilight, would you pass me that parchment?”
Twilight obliged, wondering what literary skills Raven could have to make her as indispensable as Celestia claimed.
Celestia spread the paper on the table and Raven halted in front of it. “Raven,” Celestia began. “I would like to compose an address to the Griffon Nation and its acting counsel.”
Raven bowed her head, taking the quill in her magic. “And its contents?”
“We would like to invite their ambassadors to the Summit occurring in two months in order to discuss the proposed economic agreement. We would be honored to hold their audience and eagerly await their reply.”
Raven nodded, but to Twilight’s surprise, she raised the quill not to the parchment but their foreleg.
Then, Raven slid the quill’s sharpened tip over their skin.
Twilight gasped. “W-what--”
Celestia raised a hoof, stopping Twilight’s complaints.
And so she watched as from the wound fell not blood, but ink: dark, rich, and vibrant. It fell in rapid, small drops, and Raven began to move her foreleg to coat the entire parchment. When each drop hit the parchment it stained. But the stains began to move, slithering up and down the parchment as if they were leeches.
The process took no more than a few minutes, but Twilight was entranced as before her very eyes, each clot became a letter and the letter became a part of a word. “What… how is this possible?”
Celestia skimmed the paper, reading its contents to herself. “Excellent. Thank you, Raven.”
“Of course.”
With that, Celesita turned back to Twilight. “Raven Inkwell’s family have served the royal family for generations. In fact I can remember her ancestors assisting me in my studies centuries ago. The spell is one that they have perfect, and it’s a secret closely guarded… though I’m sure you’ll pick Raven’s brain on it regardless.”
Twilight leaned closer to analyze the script. Each letter was perfect: it bore no imperfections nor errors, and the spacing, length, and detailing on every section was immaculate. Had she not known better, she would have claimed that the message was printed from a machine. “This… this is incredible! Even horn writing and printing spells have imperfections but this script is completely accurate to the traditional Equestrian standard of writing!”
If Raven registered the compliment, she didn’t show it. Twilight turned towards her and noticed that the cut on her foreleg had completely healed.
“Correct,” Celestia answered. “Raven is indispensable when creating formal messages. And I’m sure you can think of other applications for her unique talents as well.”
Twilight eagerly nodded but Luna’s warning suddenly echoed in her mind. She shot a nervous glance at Raven only to be met with Raven’s own eyes. “You are going to be replacing Princess Celestia soon.”
“Um… yes, I guess so,” Twilight stammered.
Raven bowed. “Then it will be my honor to serve you, Twilight.”
“I… thank you?”
Celestia laughed. “You two are already getting along well! I know you probably have experiments in mind, but I’m afraid I will need to requisition Raven for the next few hours to draft an address.”
Twilight nodded and Celestia gilded out of the room. Raven followed, but paused. She turned to stare at Twilight. “Et cum sit vobis, Twilight Sparkle.”
The floorboards creaked beneath Twilight’s hooves as she approached Starlight.
“Earth to sky. Dawn to dusk. Blood to ink,” she rasped.
“Oh, hello Twilight,” Starlight said without looking up from the book in her hooves. “How was your meeting?”
Twilight dragged her rear legs against the floor, mouth slightly ajar as pure black tears dripped down her cheeks. “What is beauty to a god? What is a second to eternity? What is the city to a galaxy?”
Starlight nodded. “That’s good to hear.”
“Does a worm have a care for the clouds in the sky?”
“Oh?” Starlight looked up. “What’s her name?”
Twilight’s eyes were black and lifeless as she choked out a reply. “And we are flung through time over and over and over again, like grains of sand into the ocean beyond.”
Starlight pursed her lips. “Raven Inkwell. The name sounds familiar.”
“Do we bleed like dripping faucets? Do we fall away from ourselves until there is nothing left but the letter of our name?” Twilight’s heart pounded as she staggered towards Starlight. But her friend was a million miles away. Her throat ran dry as she tried to speak. “Blood. Water. They drink it all in just the same. They, who create and destroy with their words, and paint a picture of a thousand deaths in every passing second.”
There was a bang from behind her, and she turned to see a deathly black ink pouring in through the cracks beneath the door.
And from behind it, she heard Raven’s voice.
“A concert of a thousand screams, for an audience of deaf ears.”
Twilight’s voice rose in panic as she tried to warn Starlight. “--but still they hold, they hold for what they could never see and never know. Why do they hold? What do they hold? When will they--”
“Do you hear it, do you hear it, do you hear it, the sound of a thousand fires as they forge a path into the future?” Raven hummed in approval. “The twilight of tomorrow bleeds away, nothing but paint on the wall of a broken god’s church.”
The ink began nipping at Twilight’s rear hooves as her horn cackled and sparked with a violent energy. “I can not. I can not. I will not, I will not, I will not. It rings into my head, a siren song that only the dead can answer…”
But as she spoke, her voice mutated until it was speaking in tandem with Raven’s.
“... A concert for a graveyard, noise that bends and burns until it is nothing and it is everything,” they said together. “And I too will become everywhere and nowhere, falLING LIKE DUST TO THE CRACKS IN BETWEEN. I AM THE STAIN THAT BLURS THE LINE BETWEEN WHAT WE ARE AND WHAT WE WERE.”
Twilight opened her mouth, the black tar falling into it and filling her lungs.
“WE ARE NOTHING AND WE ARE EVERYTHING. WE WILL NEVER BE MORE THAN WHEN WE--”
Die.
Twilight shot up in bed, gasping for air.
Shapes and shadows darted away as her vision returned to her. A place that was almost her castle bedroom formed around her, bits of furniture that were close but just as wrong. It was the type of scene that would only seem fitting…
“...in a dream,” Twilight whispered, dropping the blankets from her hooves.
“Correct,” came Luna’s voice. The alicorn emerged from the darkness, fragments of the night shattering beneath her with every hoofstep. “Though perhaps one more lucid than you are used to.”
Twilight hopped off her bed, following Luna through the hallowed halls of the dream realm. “I… I don’t understand.”
“You were considering a consultation, no? With one of your friends?” Luna prompted without breaking her stride. “You would not be the first.”
Twilight quickened her pace to follow Luna. “You… have you tried before?”
“Aye, and I was not the first to. For what little it did.” Luna spat out the last phrase as if it were poison.
“What?”
“This Raven,” Luna continued. “She is not a new threat. I daresay she has been embedded into our history. A perpetual leech I have yet to quash.”
Twilight flinched as Luna’s face wavered against the shadows, her horn glowing like a beacon. “But what is she?”
“Something beyond this world,” Luna seethed. “Something that was never meant to take the form of a pony.”
“What did you mean by I wasn’t the first?”
Luna growled, squeezing her eyes shut as her horn glowed brighter. “Obscurum, Twilight Sparkle.”
Twilight’s ear flicked reflexively. “Obscurum? That was what the old recordkeepers used to refer to the Windigos.”
“Aye,” Luna acknowledged. “That is where Raven was first born into this world.”
“What? But… that can’t be right, she’s not an alicorn!”
“She’s not a pony, merely shaped like one.” Luna paused, staring up at the ceiling. It screamed back at her, twisting and contorting violently.
Twilight balked. “W-What?! So Raven Inkwell is… eldritch?”
“She is an idea. A concept that ponies seek to define,” Luna said, her horn growing ever-brighter. “As far as I can tell, Raven Inkwell is language.”
Twilight froze, feeling a chill running down her spine. “But… but how?”
The dreamscape shook violently, and Luna paused to look upwards. “A question that remains to be answered,” she said through gritted teeth. “Twilight Sparkle, you have heard my warnings. I urge you to heed them, to destroy this abomination before it consumes us all.”
“I… I’ll try,” Twilight muttered, rubbing a foreleg. “But… there has to be another way.”
“Dozens of ponies have tried,” Luna insisted. “All have failed. I pray you will not join their ranks.”
Luna’s words hit Twilight with a cold wave of anguish. “How many?”
“Consult the legends,” Luna instructed. “And you will find a pattern.” With that, Luna reached out and put a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder.
It stung as if she had been shot with a crossbow bolt, and Twilight immediately moved her own hoof to the invisible wound. Her vision began to blur, and Luna’s voice became faint and distant.
“Our time is fleeting. Go then, Twilight Sparkle. Save the world once more.”
A descending echo of screams crashed upon her, and Twilight fell backwards into an endless spiral: shadows chasing and biting at her tail and wind rushing in her ear.
As a hint of a scream began to escape her lips, her eyes shot open and she fell into her bed, sweaty and horrified with her heart beating faster than Rainbow Dash could ever fly.
The first thing she saw as she shot up was the shadow of someone passing her room.
Twilight stared down into the brown sludge which filled her mug. She poked it with a hoof, half-expecting it to react viscerally to the movement. Instead it splashed against the sides of the mug pathetically.
She whined at it, slumping down farther in her seat.
“Coffee? In the library?” Twilight’s ear twitched and she gasped in shock as Starlight’s voice called out from behind her. “Last time Spike tried to do that you almost pitched him out the window!”
“Erm– yes,” Twilight said, clearing her throat. “Sometimes you have to make exceptions, Starlight. Today is one of those days.”
“Aw. Didn’t sleep well?” Starlight gently set a series of worn tomes on the table. “Woah, scratch that actually. You look awful!”
“Mmph. Thanks,” Twilight grunted, moving the books closer to her.
Starlight shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. What did you need all this legend stuff for anyways? Didn’t you pull like half of these ponies from the corners of time back into present day Equestria?”
“I did,” Twilight said carefully, visions of last night still dancing in her mind. “But I don’t think they can help.”
“Really? Must be a pretty big problem then,” Starlight remarked. “I’m sure we could solve it if we put our minds together!”
Twilight flinched. “No, no, it’s not like that. This is just a… research query I had. It’s nothing at all, and I don’t want to waste your time. Aren’t you and Trixie going to see that big show tonight anyways?”
“I don’t need that much time to prepare!” Starlight laughed.
“Didn’t you say they were serving bottomless maregeritas there?”
“... I might need that much time to prepare.”
Twilight just smiled, patiently waiting.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then,” Starlight said, turning to leave. “But hey, let me know what you find out!”
“Yeah, sure!” Twilight answered half-heartedly.
Starlight paused at the door. “Oh, hey, maybe you could get that new assistant of yours to help out?”
A cold wind blew through the library, trailing up Twilight’s spine before ramming itself into the base of her skull. “Wh– um. Maybe? I…” She hesitated. “Do you know anything about Raven?”
“Raven?” Starlight cocked her head. “I don’t know. She seems nice.”
“Nice. Right.” Twilight swallowed, trying to force the lump in her throat back down. “Uh, thanks. Enjoy your show.”
Starlight gave her one fleeting glance before finally departing.
Twilight didn’t move when the door closed. She didn’t move even when Starlight’s hoofsteps became nothing more than echoes of an echo. She didn’t move until a name reared from within the deep murky sea of her mind, howling and wailing like a banshee free from hell.
Raven.
“Raven.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. Twilight bit back the nausea building in her throat and opened the book in front of her.
Her thoughts swirled around her head like moths to a lamp. Twilight trotted down the hallway anxiously: each of her hoofsteps felt like bombshells falling against the royal purple carpet. Her body twitched of its own accord, strange sensations rapidly appearing and disappearing from limb to limb.
There was a pattern, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Throughout the ancient records, ranging from historic to present Equestria, Twilight found that darkness seemed to be a prevalent feature. Or, perhaps, something resembling darkness.
Dating all the way back to the windigos, something seemed to be there. And again in the birth of the Pony of Shadows, and again in the rise of Nightmare Moon.
Something was there.
Or… was it?
Twilight seethed, feeling the onset of a headache. “Is it a pattern, or a coincidence? Cause or correlation? Am I just finding something because I expect to find it? Stupid confirmation biases!”
“Princess?”
The voice made Twilight freeze. “Oh,” she said, her voice shaking. “Hello, Raven.”
Her hooves quickly began to move, but she could hear Raven’s following. “Princess, if I could have a word?”
“I’m… a bit busy,” Twilight said, staring straight ahead.
“Very well, but there are some things that we must discuss.”
Twilight forced her nausea back down her throat. “Oh?”
“There are logistical matters such as your preferred supplies of ink and parchment, for tasks where you may not desire my services, and I also require your preferences for room design, literature selections…”
“Literature?” Twilight perked up briefly before shaking it off. “I, um, I’ll get back to you on that.”
The hoofsteps continued to follow her down the hall. “Please, your majesty. This can wait but not forever.”
Twilight tried to ignore her heart pounding in her throat. “I’m very busy right now.”
“Well… fine.” A quiet sigh sent shivers down Twilight’s spine, and for a moment Raven’s voice lost its formality. “But may I ask you something?”
“I… of course.”
“Would you consider it your business to… help others?”
Twilight’s pace slowed. “Well… yes, yes of course. If anyone needs help then I’ll do my best to provide them.”
Raven was quiet for a second. “Can you help me then, Twilight Sparkle?”
She came to a halt, breath caught in her throat. Slowly, Twilight turned around. “Help you with–” Her voice froze when she found herself alone in the hallway. “...what?”
There was no reply, but somehow, Twilight could still hear her voice.
With a nervous breath, Twilight spun around and made for the door.
There was a pattern. She was certain now.
“Ah! Twilight!”
Twilight could barely hear Starswirl over the orchestral music that flooded the room. Her eyes locked onto its source: an aged record player sitting like an island amongst a sea of papers, scrolls, and books.
A sharp voice joined the instruments, climbing higher and higher before falling again. The vibrato made Twilight’s head hurt.
She took a breath to quell her mind, but a sharp hiss from a tea kettle only added to the din, drawing a sigh out of her instead.
Starswirl descended the staircase, several scrolls and books floating around him. “I do apologize for the disarray, I’m afraid you’ve caught me in between studies at the moment!”
Twilight forced a smile. “It’s… It’s no problem.”
“Mm. Not at the moment, no,” Starswirl chuckled as the scrolls and books neatly stacked themselves on the table besides him. “Now then. You had questions on the Pony of Shadows, yes?”
“And related encounters,” Twilight confirmed.
A tome nearby folate towards them. “Define related.”
Twilight shrank back. “W-Well, as I mentioned I thought I might have found a… pattern. Between evils of the past.”
“Oh? A theme?” Starswirl rubbed his beard. “Intriguing. And what is the pattern that you believe you have found?”
The record player scratched, the singer’s voice hiccuping awkwardly. “I… Darkness.” Twilight took a deep breath before continuing. “Or, some form of it. I don’t think it’s darkness but… Something else. Something alive.”
Starswirl blinked. “I… am afraid you’ve lost me,” he admitted.
“There’s something there,” Twilight said, a little too loudly. “I…” She gulped, seeing Starswirl raise an eyebrow. “Where did the wendigos come from?”
“We still don’t know,” Starswirl said. “They’ve been a part of this world since we came into it.”
“So there’s a possibility…” Twilight flinched a sudden migraine kicked at her brain. “So there’s a possibility that there was something before.”
When Starswirl didn’t answer, she continued.
“I mean… Most of our studies have based the Wendigos as the earliest form of a para-magical entity. But what if there was something before them? Or… some central mind that they extend from?”
Starswirl was quiet for a second. “It is a plausible theory,” he said cautiously. “But frankly without any evidence to prove it I’m unsure if it's an endeavor worth pursuing.”
Twilight swallowed, failing to dispel the lump in her throat. “But–”
“You wouldn’t be the first to propose such a theory,” Starswirl interjected. “However the evidence has been incredibly sparse, so sparse in fact that I can not, off the top of my head, remember any pieces of literature from an established source that discusses it.”
“I–” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Do you know Raven Inkwell?”
Twilight wasn’t sure where the question had come from.
When she opened her eyes, Starswirl had furrowed his brow in thought. “Raven Inkwell,” he said slowly. “That would be the aid to Celestia, no?”
Twilight nodded, holding her breath.
“Her family has served for generations,” Starswirl said, turning to fiddle with the record player. “I remember her distant relative from the time of the Pillars in fact… she also bore the name of Raven.”
“Did you ever find that… strange?”
Starswirl was still. Twilight studied his form carefully. He flinched slightly before turning around again. “No. Why would I have?”
Out of the corner of Twilight’s eye, wisps of darkness began to fill the room.
She bit down on her tongue and tried to smile. “N-No reason, I suppose.”
The air was filled with static before the record player began to rasp.
YOU ARE NOT YOU, I AM NOT ME. IT CRAWLS WITHIN AND GRASPS, TALONS LASHING OUT LIKE THE SONG OF A THOUSAND VOICES, IT CLIMBS AND TEARS UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR IT TO–
“Thank you for your help, Starswirl.”
“Of course, Twilight.”
Twilight reorganized the items on her desk for the thousandth time. She shifted her stack of papers from one side to the other, stacked the books in order of publication date, then shifted the entire desk two inches to the right.
She sighed, ruffling her feathers as she stood and began pacing back and forth. “Just breathe Twilight,” she muttered, knowing that it would solve nothing.
Mentally, Twilight ran through her security checklist. She had cast every single barrier, repellent, and shielding spell in her arcane arsenal: some of which she had just learned the other night.
This was as ready as she could feasibly be. But it didn’t feel like it was enough.
How could anything be enough?
Twilight tried not to muse on this thought.
A mental ping echoed in her brain: one of her early-warning spells had been triggered. Twilight looked down at her desk and took a deep breath, beginning to count in her head.
After five seconds, her second spell triggered. She could hear the hoofsteps in the hall rounding the corner.
Twilight tried to focus.
…the curtain falls upon the stage, a final act in the final scene of the final play. They speak for those that watch, and no one is there to hear. There never has been and there never will be.
The hoofsteps drew closer and closer, heading straight towards the door.
…They ask for they can not answer. Which and when and where and why and who, forever screaming into an empty room with a setting sun.
A hoof was placed on the door and the knob turned slowly. The grand oak door swung open and a voice began screaming into Twilight’s ear.
…OUR BLOOD FLOWS TOGETHER LIKE RAIN AGAINST THE RIVER. IT FALLS AND MELTS AND WRITHES WITHIN. THEY SCREAM AND IT IS SILENT, THEY WEEP AND IT IS FELT. TO LIVE AND BREATHE AND FLAIL UNTIL–
“Princess Sparkle?”
Twilight’s eyes shot open. A young unicorn in Royal Guard’s armor had poked his head through the door.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
“Urgh–” Twilight cleared her throat and forced a smile. “No, thank you Sergeant. I’m fine.”
The mare saluted, then pulled the door closed again. Twilight breathed out slowly, the room now completely silent.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
Slowly, quietly, and on her own time, Twilight began to rearm her spells.
And then: “Your majesty.”
Cold. Succinct. Formal.
In her ear.
From right beside her.
The door had not opened again.
“I–” All of Twilight’s carefully laid plans shattered into a million pieces. She hissed, trying to form any cohesive thought. “Yes. Hello, Raven.”
“Are you alright? Do you need assistance?” The voice pierced through her mind like an arrow, tinged with a hint of concern and emotion. Something that absolutely shouldn’t have been there.
“No,” she said, a little too sharply.
Raven looked taken aback for a second before returning to her stoic expression. Twilight felt a pang of guilt at that but pushed ahead nonetheless.
“Have a seat,” Twilight said, gesturing vaguely to the chair in front of her.
Raven obeyed, eyes blank and betraying nothing.
Twilight shuffled some papers around her desk, clearing her throat. “I wanted to ask you some… questions. About your, shall we say, condition.”
“As you wish.”
She squinted, the strain of keeping up multiple spells finally hitting her. “How long has your family served the Princesses?”
“For generations,” Raven replied, before the question had fully left Twilight's mouth. She failed to elaborate further.
“And… Your lineage has never done anything else?”
“Why would we, when ponykind has need of us?”
“What exactly does ponykind need you to do?”
“Whatever we are able to do.”
“And what is that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“I am a bat in the night.”
“I am a bat in the night.”
“I am a thorn in your skin.”
“I am a thorn in your skin.”
“I am that which remains when you doubt the rest away.”
“I am that which remains when you doubt the rest away.”
Something was wrong. Twilight tried to focus on her parchment, but her quill was rapidly scribbling without her controlling it. The spells filling her mind fought each other for control, but she couldn’t focus on any one in particular.
Words were still falling from her mouth.
“What did you do to Luna?”
“The sunlight falls against your skin and it melts and tears the flesh away.”
“And Celestia?”
“It hangs in the air and threatens to collapse.”
Twilight looked up at Raven. “What are you, really?”
“I am what hangs between the sun and the moon and the stars. I am the hell of which we do not speak.”
“I am the hell of which… we do not… speak.”
The quill fell to the table with a thud. Raven slowly looked up to meet Twilight’s head, and her mind screamed in pain as every defensive spell began to simultaneously fail.
“I AM THE SOUND OF A THOUSAND CICADAS BLEEDING IN THE SUMMER. I AM THE START OF THE END THAT ENDS THE END.”
“Please,” Raven whispered, thick black tears streaming down her cheeks. “Help me.”
She reached a hoof across the desk, towards Twilight’s own. Twilight watched it come, piercing through the haze of a dozen broken spells.
“Help me.”
Her hoof made contact and Twilight’s world went dark.
“Please help me.”
Twilight blinked, but she still couldn’t see. She heard Raven’s voice from somewhere nearby, but a thick curtain of darkness clung to her eyes.
“Oh, my child,” came a second voice, one that spoke in unfamiliar tones. “I am so sorry.”
“Please, archmage Smart Cookie. Please help me.”
“Yes, Ravnen. I will.”
The words echoed as if the room was a cavern.
“The Pillars will do everything they can,” came a different voice, one Twilight identified as Stygian’s.
It faded as quickly as it came.
“Starswirl, please…”
“Fear not, dear Raven. There is little of magic that I do not know. If there is a way, I will find it.”
“Princess Celestia. Can you help me? Princess Luna? Are you there?”
The voices drew closer and closer until they melded together, a mass growing from the fog. “Please,” it said as it grew Raven’s face. “Help me.”
As she began to cry, Twilight understood. “You… You need help.” Her face hardened as whispers kept swirling around her head.
Amidst the echoes and screams of every voice that had ever spoken, Twilight began to understand. The mystery began to unravel like a ball of twine in her hooves, and at its center was a pair of pleading, desperate eyes. Begging for freedom. Begging for this pain to end. “Okay. You need help.” Her horn began to glow, filling the room with light. “Let’s do this.”
“It would seem that I had… greatly misinterpreted the situation. I had originally assumed that this Raven Inkwell was a monstrosity bearing down upon us, a leftover relic from the beginnings of ponykind. But I was wrong. Raven Inkwell is not a monster, although a monstrous thing has befallen her. She’s been cursed, in a manner that has never been seen before.
“Part of that is because of the specific curse that’s befallen her. The best I can tell… Raven Inkwell has somehow been bound to language. Not a specific kind of language, but the very nature of language itself. I don’t know how this came to be exactly, or who was responsible, but the ramifications have been felt ever since.
“The Wendigos. Little is known about their origins, or why they only sought out the disharmony of the pony tribes in particular. But I have a theory now. Raven’s creation was never meant to be. We were never meant to put a name to the idea of language. Much less a face. But Raven is that. And The Wendigos are a part of that fallout.
“It’s complex, of course. And I’m hard-pressed for evidence. But the reason that there isn’t evidence might just be the fact that we can’t describe it. Our minds simply can’t understand what we see, and as such we can’t define or explain it. It’s why so many heroes in Equestria have become befallen by something, some evil, vile darkness. The Wendigos. The Pony of Shadows. Nightmare Moon even. Something is there, something blocking the way to our understanding.
“I swear that I will be the first. Nopony deserves to suffer as long as she has. Her blood has become words, her bones filled with voices. I am aware that dozens have tried before me. But none of them are me. If you are somehow reading this, then know that I have failed, but make no mistake: there is a way to end this. There has to be. Build off of my failures. Learn from my mistakes. And do not stop until you free her.
“Yours, Princess Twilight Sparkle.”
Twilight took a deep breath, worry filling her stomach like lead. Around her in a small circle was a series of sigils and icons: carved, written, conjured and displayed in a variety of manners and materials.
The study was filled with books and scrolls from nearly every era of Equestrian history, stacked high in front of boards containing a plethora of calculations. Everything that Twilight knew of magic was spread here. Every iota, every note and every word that could be applied was here.
And still, Twilight wondered if it was enough.
This was so far out of her depth. Far beyond anyone’s depth. There was no expert in the field for her to consult, no seasoned veteran to lend their guidance. Only bits and pieces from others who had long had their memories suppressed. Not even Celestia could offer advice here.
But…
What if Twilight was wrong?
Her pacing slowed at that. How was she so sure all of a sudden that this wasn’t part of the curse, or spell, or whatever this was?
“Princess?”
You will drown within the sea. You will sink until the depths consume all that you know.
Twilight shook her head. “Yes, hello Raven.”
Raven entered the room, her cold dead eyes glazing over the arsenal of knowledge Twilight had assembled. “Thank you for believing in me,” she whispered. “It’s been so long since someone has.”
When the earth begins to crack, it will seep into your skin.
“Of course.” Twilight’s horn lit up and she began shuffling papers and salts and potions around. “I’m always willing to help a pony in need.”
“Are you sure you can succeed by yourself?”
Twilight sighed. “I can’t convince anyone else that it is even real. They don’t think anything’s wrong. Even then, whatever this is could switch hosts and I don’t want to risk that.” Raven faltered for a second and Twilight offered her best smile. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
Raven nodded, her face betraying nothing.
Twilight continued her preparations, trying to expel the doubt from her mind.
You are a seed that will be crushed. You cannot hold the weight of the world before it kills you.
“Okay. Stand here please.”
Raven did as she was told and Twilight began to focus.
I will kill you.
Her heart skipped a beat as the whispers in the air grew louder.
Do you understand?
“What are you,” she whispered.
Do you understand?
“What are you?”
I will kill you.
“What–”
I WILL KILL YOU.
Twilight flinched as the whisper grew to a roar.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND? I WILL KILL YOU?
Through the haze, Twilight saw Raven cowering in the middle of the arcane circle.
“What are you?”
I AM THE WOLF THAT HUNTS THE FOX IN THE NIGHT. I AM THE STAR THE EXPLODES IN THE SUN.
“Please,” Raven choked. “Just leave me alone!” Tears of ink trailed down her cheeks and Twilight doubled her resolve.
“Leave,” she commanded.
YOU ARE A GRAIN OF SAND IN AN OCEAN. I WILL WASH YOU AWAY WITH THE TIDE.
“Leave.”
YOU WILL BE CRUSHED A LEAF BENEATH A ROCK. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED AND I WILL KILL YOU.
“LEAVE!”
The air crackled thick with magic, purple splashes falling into the wall. Sweat rained from Twilight’s brow as her head pounded. She scowled, clamping down on her tongue and calling upon every ounce of energy she had left.
Black thick blood began trailing from her ears.
“EARTH TO SKY,” they roared together. “DAWN TO DUSK. BLOOD TO INK.”
There was a violent flash of light.
What was the city to Twilight Sparkle?
It was a magical, special, unique place. One unlike anything she had ever seen in her life. It had brought her everything she ever wanted. The city would bow and bend before her will, pulsing with something arcane and magical. It was wonderful. Better than she could ever hope it to be.
As she stared up at the serene night sky, Twilight sighed, stirring her tea gently as she reclined in her balcony lounge. The stars twinkled high above, as if dancing in the grasp of the wind. It was truly a lovely night.
“...What is beauty to a god?”
Twilight’s ear flicked and she turned to the door. A frown tugged at the corner of her lips. “Did you say something?”
“No, Princess,” came the reply. “I didn’t.”
“...very well,” Twilight said, watching from the corner of her eye as a pony revealed itself from the shadows.
Raven Inkwell slipped into the moonlight, letting it wash over her in cold, dead waves.
As Twilight stared at her, something stirred within her. Something… dire, something that she couldn’t place.
A feeling that something was wrong.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” Twilight replied. “Yes, Raven, everything is fine.”
For a second, her assistant frowned. But her stoicness returned quickly and she bowed. Still, something seemed to shimmer in her deep, purple eyes…
…had they always been purple? She couldn’t remember.
Twilight studied Raven carefully. She swore that she caught a hint of inky blackness crawling in her eyes.
But it lingered for only a second before it was gone.