The ones who don’t sleep at night
It's common knowledge that when Celestia lowers the sun to give way to her sister's pale dominion over the sky, as darkness spreads like oil, painting the streets black and drowning the palaces in obscurity, when the world closes its eyes and succumbs to the comforting sound of silence and the tranquility of darkness, everyone should be sleeping alongside the world.
Vinyl knows it too. In fact, she's been lying in bed for an hour now, hoping against hope to fall asleep at least today, but she knows she won't make it. In reality, she hasn't been able to do much for weeks, since she moved here in Ponyville she’s always tired, but still can't sleep.
For some time, she hasn't even found the motivation to make music anymore. You know how they say, "A song is never meant to just be played but to be heard," and when there's no one to listen, then why should she bother to write one?
Vinyl gets up from bed, giving a fleeting glance at the clock. It confirms that it's too late for anyone capable of sleeping. She navigates through the clutter stockpiled on the floor, making her way to her music library. Since she can't write much, she might as well enjoy the music of someone else, someone who made it.
She chooses a vinyl she's familiar with, Puccini’s original "Nessun Dorma”. Fitting.
Placed it on the record player, she starts it and sits in the modest, chilly living room near a dilapidated window, finding comfort in the sound that interrupts the annoying peace preventing her from escaping into the realm of dreams.
"Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!
Tu pure, oh Principessa
Nella tua fredda stanza
Guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore"
As she looks out the window and into the night’s sublimity, Vinyl thinks about the last time she left her house. It was a simple walk, a stroll with no destination, purpose or anyone to meet, but back then, that wasn't a problem.
The song naturally ends, returning the room to the noisy silence that keeps her awake. Vinyl returns to reality and, moved by this gentle memory, gets up. Without bothering to put the record back in its place, she steps out her front door.
Most unicorns can't enchant objects with magic, Vinyl knows that. She tried, but only those with a talent for magic can do it. Looking at the night, she can't help but think that Luna might succeed. Her beautiful and serene night somehow seems to change reality; houses look bigger, streets colder, the air denser.
Under the pale reflection of the sky, something catches Vinyl's attention, something that shouldn’t be there but high in the sky. A faint glow further ahead, coming from the library.
“How is it possible?” the insomniac asks to nobody. “Everyone should be sleeping”.
So Vinyl starts to scrutinize the nocturnal village more carefully and realizes that she's not alone in the middle of her insomniac night.
A bunch of lights, witnesses to a thousand other lives locked out of the realm of sleep, shine through the windows of some building, and seeing the black walls that divide them, in seeing all these people so close yet impossible to reach in the warmth of their homes, she has never felt so alone.
Twilight Sparkle loves to read.
Twilight Sparkle loves to read everything, from romance novels to university theses, from mysteries to philosophical treatises, from adventure novels to the city's periodic newspaper.
Twilight Sparkle loves to read, and she's read everything. There's no book in the library that she hasn't already devoured. So, she thought it's only fair for her to give something back to this relationship with literature instead of just taking.
Now, Twilight sits at the table with a pen and paper in front of her, but she's not so sure anymore.
After what seems like an eternity, she begins to despair and starts banging her head on the table.
"Why! Can't! I! Write! Anything!?"
Then, Twilight realizes something interesting: if before she was feeling disheartened, now she's feeling disheartened and in pain.
She decides to take a break and go to the window. After all, doesn't the night bring counsel?
While doing so, Twilight passes by dozens of neatly stacked book piles scattered on the floor; at the window, she gazes at the bright stars in the sky.
They are not a foreign sight to her; they are even imprinted on her flank.
In the familiarity and embrace of the night, she searches the stars for the words to write and give back a portion of what words of others have given her.
"There, there," Cup Cake says gently to the crying child in her arms as she rocks them lightly. "There's no need to make all this noise; Daddy is trying to sleep."
Since the twins were born, every minute of sleep has been a godsend.
Who would have thought that being parents would be more demanding than working in a bakery?
"You could use some sleep too, dear," she hears a sweet voice say behind her. “I'll take over; I managed to sleep a couple of hours. Go get some rest."
Cup Cake then turns and finds her husband at the living room's doorway.
"Oh honey, thank you," she replies, passing the baby to her husband. "But tomorrow, wake me up to prepare the pastries. Don't be a hero like yesterday when you let me sleep, and you had to do everything yourself.”
With that said, she leans in for a brief nuzzle with her husband and heads towards the bedroom to try to catch those few hours of sleep she's granted.
It's not so strange to see Carousel Boutique lit in the middle of the night, especially the lights in the studio.
Rarity has become a trusted guest of the night. She knows that inspiration is something so fleeting that once it arrives, you have to follow it.
She's convinced that the best ideas are denser, heavier than others. That's why she intercepts them when she's lying in bed at night.
From the outside, one can hear the faint whirr of the sewing machine, almost like a broken record stuck on the same note.
Rarity lifts her gaze from the sewing machine to get some new fabric, and in doing so, she briefly contemplates the sky outside the window.
From the outside, the Carousel Boutique's window seems like a beacon emitting light. From the inside, it seems like the outside sky is sucking it away, leaving only dots adorning the vast canvas of the night sky. Rarity decides to borrow a couple of stars to add to her own dress; she knows the night doesn't mind. In fact, it's quite pleased.
As for the fabric she must take from one of the neatly organized shelves sorted by color, she struggles to find the right one. In the end, she opts for a neutral black, for the night will cast its nuances on the dress, making it so beautiful and dark that, with the diamonds adorning it, it will seem like Rarity tore a piece of the very fabric that blankets the world during Princess Luna's domain.
"Applejack, you should go to bed," a faint but stern voice commands.
"Granny, I ain't goin' anywhere until you're feeling better," the orange mare next to her in the elderly mare's room replies.
For a few days now, Granny hasn't been able to do what she used to do. Helping with household chores and the harvest has become difficult, so Applejack offered not only to do the work in Granny Smith's place but also to watch over her until she's well again.
"I ain't sick, Applejack, I'm old," Granny Smith says softly, “It's something I can't recover from. How long do you want to stay here? I don't have much time left, but you need to help the others tomorrow. You need to sleep."
Granny Smith is right, as always, Applejack thinks.
Usually, she spends the night sleeping to prepare for a hard day of work. She rarely stays awake long enough to see all those stars outside the wooden window, which is now quite aged; the house is old too, slowly but surely deteriorating,
Granny Smith built it herself during an easier time with her bare hooves.
Many things need fixing now—the roof leaks when it rains, the window closes with difficulty, and the porch stairs have bent twice under Big Mac's weight.
But the house without those initial pieces, without what gave it life, wouldn't be the same. It would be a bit colder and emptier.
The young farmer then turns to her grandmother. "When Mom and Dad passed away," she begins, "you sacrificed hundreds of days to take care of us. Now, let me return the favor. I’m ready to sacrifice thousands of nights to spend one more with you.”
After this, a heavy silence falls inside the room for what seems like an eternity.
"You are a very good filly, Applejack."
"Well, I sure try, Granny... I sure try.”
Octavia can't sleep. Well, it's not incredible news; after all, the streets of Ponyville aren't very warm or comfortable to lie on.
Too bad the scholarship she earned by playing the violin doesn't cover housing, since her mother passed away, money has been quite tight.
Octavia looks at the violin case, the same instrument her mother taught her to play. Now she can't afford to make mistakes; she can do it, she must do it, and so she will, she passed the contest, it’s just a matter of time before she will play in front of a real audience. Therefore, the cold of the evening is gone; it's hard to feel cold when your heart burns within. She opens the case, takes the violin, rests it on her shoulder, closes her eyes, and starts to play.
In the darkness of her eyes, she finds her mother—not in heaven, not under the earth, but close to her, on a stage, in front of an audience that presents itself as the starry sky.
The beautiful mare starts to sing, just as she often did when mother and daughter were still together.
"Tramontate, stelle
Tramontate, stelle
All'alba vincerò
Vincerò
Vincerò"
And when she opens her eyes again, Octavia doesn't feel disheartened, for even from under a bridge, if you look in the right direction, you can see the stars.
Vinyl, distressed, heads towards her home, resigned to the impossibility of sleep when suddenly, among the bright stars, the illuminated windows of those who remain awake, and the stuttering neon lights, a melody so familiar yet so foreign reaches her and calls her.
Crushed by the weight of the night, she struggles toward the source of the tune and finds herself facing a young mare, about her age, as gray as her mood and with a mane as black as the surrounding darkness.
The strings of the violin she holds pull Vinyl closer until the musician opens her eyes and notices the unexpected listener. Continuing to play, she turns towards Vinyl, and their gazes meet.
Even in the darkness of the night, the pleading look in the unicorn's eyes, overflowing with loneliness, is easy to spot, and the gray mare notices it.
The violinist then moves a bit to make space near herself under the bridge.
Taking it as an invitation, Vinyl approaches the musician and, with tears in her eyes, whispers to her, "Please, help me get through this night."
Then the entire celestial dome descended upon her back, and the weight of the night pressed on her. She could only collapse to the ground. This burden also weighed down her eyelids, and cradled by the sweet melody played nearby, she closed them, finding in that music, for the first time in a long time, the key to access the realm of dreams and finally sleep.