The Price of Inbalance
Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle,
This is not Sunset Shimmer, but your human counterpart, or so I was told. I apologise for my lack of politeness and for sneaking her journal into the bathroom, but I need to get straight to the point.
First, don’t ever let Sunset know what I’m going to write to you. Once you reply to me, I’ll tear the page out of her journal.
Second, come up with an excuse so that Sunset will go back into your world, then close the portal for good. Do not even think about crossing through for it!
I have to explain the reason, don’t I? Knowing myself and how you’re supposed to be similar to me, I would be cautious and curious in your place too.
If you only knew how much I dread writing this down, but let’s get this over with.
On September 18th, 2013 (based on our calendar), around 10:30 AM, I suddenly got an extreme case of hyperesthesia during a school day. If this term is unfamiliar to you, it refers to a condition where one becomes excessively sensitive to sensory stimuli. In my case, it wasn’t limited to just one or a few senses, but every single one.
Please excuse me if I won’t go into details, as recalling those torturous two and a half days may cause me to panic—you may have already noticed my shaking handwriting. However, to emphasise the importance of my requests, I’ll briefly describe what I endured.
Every sound I heard was magnified to thunderous proportions. Even the faintest whisper sounded like an unintelligible scream, and the slightest noise I made with my mouth felt like my eardrums were on the verge of tearing apart. I kept my eyes tightly shut because, even then, the faint light passing through my eyelids felt like it was burning my retinas. Every scent overwhelmed me as if an entire bottle of perfume had been spilled into my nostrils. I could taste every molecule in the air on my tongue. My skin—
Sorry, I need to take a deep breath. The details are flooding back…
I felt utterly helpless, Twilight. I didn’t know what had happened to me or why. I couldn’t explain myself, and every attempt to assist me unintentionally made my condition worse by their touches or their noises. The hospital provided no relief as even clothes, blankets, and the mattress felt like rough sandpaper against my skin. Any temperature variation felt as extreme as being dumped into either molten lava or liquid nitrogen. Even in an empty room, the noise was unbearable—
Oh my goodness, I remember the clock! That damn clock and its ticking…
It’s strangely fascinating how I recall the moments between each tick being even more unbearable. The anticipation of the next piercing sound, the desperate hope that the clock’s batteries would miraculously die, only to be met with the ticking tsunami that shook my entire body. I clenched my teeth tightly, suppressing any urge to cry out. And the cycle repeated over and over again.
I’m already feeling like I would fall over from dizziness, but what I wrote to you was merely a fraction of what I experienced. Can you believe that? Can you imagine an intravenous needle feeling like a block of ice within your body? Can you fathom the sensation of every hair on your skin simultaneously tickling and piercing you? The gentlest breeze sent icy shudders through me as my sweat evaporated into the air. I could hear the whirling and swirling of the air within my respiratory system, resembling internal tornadoes.
Then, as abruptly as it arrived, the torment ceased, and I lived in constant fear that it would happen again. I tirelessly researched every avenue, including the most far-fetched pseudoscience I have heard of, all out of sheer desperation.
I sought silence, recoiled from any touch, consumed flavourless food and drinks, and even altered my hairstyle to prevent my hair from touching my skin. Any stronger sensation gave me a panic attack.
Approximately six months later, the hyperesthesia resurfaced, and in my despair, I took a cyanide pill, hoping that death would release me from this upcoming torture.
Oh, how I was wrong…
I felt a force around me, Twilight. It fought fiercely for my life, denying me the release I yearned for. This very force led me to find the Equestrian readings, and it was the same force that enveloped me when I turned into Midnight Sparkle. I don’t know yet how exactly the mirror portal works, but I assume that it doesn’t allow for the same two individuals to die at different times.
The poison coursed through my entire body; I felt it scorching its path and obliterating every cell within me. It was akin to being consumed by flames, my heart racing frantically with thunderous thumps as the pressure of the raging blood felt like an immense weight crushing my body.
It was like a never-ending torment, Twilight, and what made it all the more unbearable was that I remained keenly conscious throughout both ordeals. Even under general anaesthesia, or during periods when brain scans indicated sleep or a coma, I was aware. The only change was my physical immobility, akin to the state of sleep paralysis, unable to beg those who examined me during this state to stop touching me or opening my eyes, blinding me with their flashlights.
The doctors called my survival a miracle, but I call it a sadistic curse. I’m wondering how I managed to retain my sanity after that, or how I’m still able to recount these experiences to you. Albeit, I probably would have fainted by now if not for how important it is for you to receive and follow my instructions.
You have to know, Princess Twilight Sparkle, that the two instances of hyperesthesia coincided precisely with your presence in our world, and I don’t want to imagine how long Sunset’s human counterpart has been in that same state.