Though the light above me is cold and my world empty, the sight of you in my mind's eye ignites my will to push forward. How long has it been since I last laid eyes on you, when we last shared our warmth? Sometimes I think it's been one thousand years since we've last been together. With every step to you our time apart grows longer. And with every night alone my heart grows colder.
The road to you is hard to see under the sunlight. But in the night, the stars and the Moon guide me. I've gotten accustomed to their light. I hope I do nothing to make them abandon me, like what I did to you.
Do you still hate me? I ask it aloud, expecting the stars to answer for me. I received no answer. So I walk to you, hoping that you could answer them for me.
But, I don't think you hate me now. After how far I've gone just to see you-- how could this fondness for you be a lie?
On this lonely road without you, the stars keep me company. But they don't tell me if you miss me-- if you hated me.
My journey brings up many questions. Are you hurt because I've been gone for so long? What will you say to me when we meet again? Nopony answers my question. As if they would answer me under the stars.
Still I walk to you, with the hope that you would know.
But the longer I go on without you, the more frightening my thoughts become.
Sometimes I think of you when you were angry. You were yelling at me, but I don't remember the words you said. Lights circled me, as if I were being questioned for some sort of crime. The lights around you grew brighter and brighter until I couldn't see.
Afterwards I find myself back in the town, searching for you in rage, and not out of the love I felt for you. It is difficult to force those thoughts out of my head as soon as they appear. They fester and never leave.
I can push them out of my head, sometimes, if I recall pleasant memories with you.
Do you remember our old home? It was so large that you and I would get lost in it. Each room was like another world to us. But in the largest room sat six balls of light: the Elements of Harmony. I remember how much you admired them-- but also I remember how those six lights circled you one day. Do you how painful it was to be smothered, surrounded by them? You stood and watched me suffer.
Stars upon me, I appear before countless ponies. I think they were expecting you. I was expecting to find you here, and yet you are nowhere to be found. They cry out and hide. My calm stride twists into a gallop so fast that you can only see afterimages of my mane as I run.
My longing for you, to simply be with you-- it was just a lie I told myself.
All of the questions I ask, I didn't ask the right one. Perhaps I should have asked: "Do I still hate you?"
I don't need to ask the stars or the ponies in this little town for an answer.
I look upon so many ponies and laugh at their pallid expressions. No matter how long I've been away, I still sense their hate towards me. Nothing's really changed, has it?
Yes, I still hate you. That is why I want to see you. To do what you've done to me. Just as I've fallen from the Moon to see you, so will you fall from the Sun when I see you, my sister.
No matter how many times I try to push this thought out of my head, all I know is that I want to see you and watch you collapse and suffer, like what you've done to me.
Krizak Comments!
And what better place to look for inspiration five-hundred prompts in than to the very beginning? Seeing the thought process of Nightmare Moon – seemingly recognizable as Luna, but denying all her positive emotions and mere lies – was very interesting, as was having this alternate perspective of the first two episodes. The different memories of the Elements of Harmony were especially intriguing.
Even if Sugarcube Corner was on fire, jumping out of the window was out of the question. Pinkie Pie and Cup Cake could survive a fall from two stories, but not Pumpkin or Pound Cake.
Pinkie Pie heard wood crackle from beyond the door.
She heard a laugh in her ears.
Lines of smoke trailed out from the bottom of the closed door, even with the blankets smothering the spaces in the doorway. She felt hot as the air grew thin. The two babies, Pumpkin Cake and Pound Cake, cried underneath their blankets.
Cup Cake eyed Pinkie Pie, worried. Ash stuck to her face.
"Wait, Pinkie," Cup Cake said, "let's just wait and hope that Mr. Cake comes back soon."
Pinkie Pie glanced at the window. Candlelight still lit the streets, and most ponies were still in bed. Even if Mr. Cake could find help at this hour, the pegasi with rainclouds and unicorns with telekinetic spells would arrive too late, Pinkie Pie feared. If they waited any longer...
Pinkie Pie stepped towards the door. Hooves tingling, like a warning. She still heard the laugh.
"Stop!" Cup Cake yelled, "You'll cause a back--"
The door opened quietly. Smoke rushed through the room, and for a moment the laughter disappeared. Poking her head through the doorway, Pinkie Pie noticed a red glow from the other end of the hallway. The fire raged at that end, but the stairs leading outside were also there.
Feeling dizzy, Pinkie Pie lowered her head. She smiled slightly. But the fiery laughter returned.
"Mrs. Cake," she said turning, "I think my Pinkie Sense--"
Cup Cake snorted. "There's a fire. Your 'Pinkie Sense' should have warned us about this!"
Pinkie Pie bit her lip, hearing the fire surge stronger. The heat-- and the laughter in her head grew unbearable. "I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to trust me. I can get out of here with one of the twins."
Mrs. Cake stared at Pinkie Pie and gestured to close the door. Pinkie Pie's jaw dropped. The fire's laughter surged-- and so did the heat inside the room.
"I won't let you." Cup Cake stared at the window. Nopony outside.
"Mrs. Cake, just trust me. I-- I can feel it. Please, trust me and my Pinkie Sense. My friends did, and if I learned anything from them..."
She stopped. Tears dribbled from Mrs. Cake's face, mixing with her sweat. She shook her head weakly. "I'll trust you.
"Catch my babies once you're outside."
Pinkie Pie smiled and closed the door behind her as she ran out.
The fire's laughter was deafening as its heat pushed Pinkie Pie away from the hallway. The fire was climbing up the stairs slowly. On purpose, almost.
Her hooves blistered in pain with every step. The fire wasn't even close to her, but already the air was thin and difficult to breathe in. But every step dampened the fire's laughter. Keeping her head low, Pinkie Pie dashed through the hallway.
The ground floor-- and most of the stairs-- were on fire. The light of the fire was enough to blind Pinkie Pie. She hesitated for a moment, but shook her head. She had to trust herself, her Pinkie Sense.
Her ears rang. She jumped on the smoldering rails. Sudden chill on her neck. Slammed her hind legs on a stair for balance, then leap down three more. A burst of energy. Ignore the pain-- all of it. A warm stomach and a blistering hoof.
Ignore the last command, stumble to the ground, feel weak, and hear nothing.
Pinkie Pie froze for a moment and watched the blinding flames play around her. She heard nothing-- not laughter, not crying. Nothing. She smiled. So she stood up, keeping her eyes away from the fires that circled her but did not leap at her. It became easier to breathe. Pinkie Pie laughed.
She just had to trust herself. Trust in her Pinkie Sense.
Out of Sugarcube Corner, Pinkie Pie collapsed. Unable to walk. Or laugh.
Without the fire, her vision darkened. Without fire, she grew cold.
Looking up, she watched pegasi pull out Mrs. Cake and her children from the higher stories. Unicorns wrapped telekinetic bubbles around them, letting them descend safely.
Pinkie Pie's jaw dropped to the ground. Mrs. Cake didn't trust her. Horrified, she looked at her hooves.
They were blackened by ash. Charred.
Darkness fell over her eyes, followed by laughter. Her own.
If only she had trusted Mrs. Cake…
Obs Ses:
Fire, as the perfect criminal, has always fascinated me. Unique to all the thousand things that can harm a human being, it's the only thing that can make us blame ourselves when we're burned by it.
Food for thought. Be careful the next time you're at your stove.
It’s probably because you were burnt out. How much do you weigh? If you’re barely past the weight restriction, you’re gonna pass out because one pint is a lot of blood for a small person. That’s why I can’t donate blood; I’ll need a transfusion after
I'm definitely not anywhere close to underweight ahaha! (127/128lb)
Oops. I should have mentioned that they only took 15cc of blood (For blood tests)? I don't remember the number but it wasn't much. (especially compared to a pint omg)
Oops, and when I donated plasma, they gave me my red blood cells back... (I'm surprised I didn't KO on that one... they took a lot of plasma.... o.o)
We are nothing-- nothing but tools, are we not? Think of it: tools degrade, tools can be replaced-- and in the end put aside once they're useless.
I know what you're thinking: "A tool is something that has no emotion, no thought."
Think back to my letters. Every singe one I've written, even the ones that have been written by your other tools-- or citizens of Ponyville.
Though I am a unique tool, I am a tool nonetheless. A device, if you're uncomfortable with that word. As a baby dragon, I possess claws that allow fine manipulation of writing quills. I have access to a fiery breath that allows my master, Twilight Sparkle, to send letters with ease.
And as a baby dragon, I am cleverly designed to feel unbridled greed or inexplicable love when appropriate. Age rapidly when needed and fight against the current of time when given the correct input. Feel guilt and loneliness when appropriate, even. And most of all, be used as a knight to quash an almighty knight.
That is how I was intended to be used, correct? It became the subject of many a letter I wrote for you, I know.
Yet, you can argue that these are the very things that make me... well, me. But that is nothing more than an illusion, is it not?
Because, in the end, we're nothing. Nothing but tools to you.
This is probably a flaw in my inner workings, but I've noticed that. This is why I've written this, even!
If you do not believe me, then that is fine; I am nothing but a tool, one without proper reasoning except when necessary. So to make my point, I turn to history.
Think back to the time you-- Twilight Sparkle discovered that she was the Element of Magic. Moments before they ran towards the Old Castle, the other Elements distrusted Twilight. But in an instant, like the very tools they were, disregarded that feeling and functioned to your end.
And that end, you ask? To make my master become a better manipulator of her tools. And to make her friends-- my fellow tools-- think that we actually had an impact as individual ponies and dragons.
Think of it now: we're just playthings, aren't we? You release unto us a spell that defies the laws of magic-- a spell that alters cutie marks. Compel us to fight against unspeakable evils, allow your friends-- tools-- to suffer, and then save the day while standing on our backs.
Use us as the tools we were designed to be. Because in the end, we've no choice. As tools we do nothing but bow and let you use us!
Even now I'm being used as a tool. As I write this letter, you are sure to read it, find the flaws of my machinations, and provide the adequate repairs to this defective tools. In a way, that is a genius failsafe; once I know that I am in disarray, I contact you, and you repair me like the princess you are.
I think of it funny, if I am allowed to say that. Well-maintained, I am simply out of the way-- a side character with no value, if you will. Just like a good tool. Should I malfunction, I unwind the bolts I have secured shut and claw at the delicate glass of my world. I think, I act. I live.
But what good is a tool that cannot do their job? It is of no use. And when I am fixed? You do what you always do.
Put me away and wait until I'm useful.
So I ask of you, Princess, fix me up. Make this broken tool of no value back into a functional tool of no worth until I'm needed to speak for-- or against you.
That is all I ask, as I am a tool for your amusement-- and I wish to keep you --the master tool-wielder-- entertained.
Obscure Comments
Spike gets contemplative, sheesh. I don't necessarily agree with his entire thesis but that's neither here nor there, since this was pretty good! This interpretation of Twilight as a manipulator is certainly an interesting characterization, and with a bit of finagling it could make a lot of sense. Good job!
Rule 2: Answer the questions you were tagged on and make 11 new ones
Rule 3: Tag 11 new people and link them to your post
Rule 4: Let them know they were tagged
Do you prefer fan art or fan fics?
Ugh. So this is a hard question because both of these arts take a certain skill, and I like both visuals and reading so... I like both. And no one better say one is better than the other because that's not true.
What is your favorite orchestral piece?
Does Pomp and Circumstance count? It makes me think of graduation so I cryz.
Do you like musicals?
I probably would if I watched any? ?
Because you should. Have you ever seen one? Les Miserables totally counts, by the way.
I feel like I should have watched that,...
Do you like butts?
ಠ/////ಠ (Was up all night looking at you know what)
Because if you do and we’re not already friends, we should be. Want to be friends?
HAH TOO LATE >:D
What’s the furthest (farthest?) that you’ve traveled?
Korea? Oregon?
What’s something that you like or used to like, that makes you ashamed to think about? Like, I used to really like Twilight. And Eragon.
I used to be ashamed of liking butts... Butt then I just embraced it.
What kind of eyebrows are attractive to you?
I like those straight eyebrows, but not like pencil line thin.
Electropop or orchestral music?
I guess orchestra music :D
Coffee or tea?
Tea. Because my heart isn't as dark and bitter as I thought xD
??
1. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR * THIS IS IMPORTANT GAIZE
2. What are 5 of your fandoms.
3. NAME 10 OTPS.
4. If you won the lottery, what would you do with it?
5. What colors do you like.
6. Do you like food? BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T THIS FRIENDSHIP IS OVER. (No don't leave D:) What are your favorites?
7. What do you think about 'life'
8. Have you ever wanted to be the opposite gender? Why?
9. LET'S HANG OUT THIS SUMMER? MAYBE?
10. Any life changing/inspiring stories? (Big or small or make one up)
11. What do you think about romantical relationships?
I’m so creative.
Tagging: VIVORONI (chocolate) SO YOU CAN DO IT AGAIN MUAHAHAH. Spork, Crackers, Cheese, Versulia, beefandbuttss, HawksAbove, JustOneBreathataTime, Paul, iforgotthelastperson
Twilight Sparkle was in darkness. Hooves grounded and sturdy, and horn glowing furiously. Sweat fell from her head and her eyes were narrowed ferociously.
That didn't feel like a memory Twilight Sparkle-- more like a floating image in her head that didn't want to go away.
That was all. No indication of spell cast, no reason why she cast the spell-- and not even the slightest bit of setting. Just Twilight Sparkle and the spell she was about to cast.
That was all.
She sighed and a hoof to her head. "I don't forget things like that," she said to herself, "it's too important to forget."
Closing her eyes, she tried to focus. Underneath her eyelids, the memory reappeared but remained as a static image, like a painting.
Twilight Sparkle experienced a memory like that once. While lulling an Ursa Minor to sleep, she recalled performing the same actions as the static memory. But even that was different; her memory with the Ursa Minor felt like a memory. She felt tension and worry when she recalled it. Ponyville appeared before and so did the ground beneath Twilight Sparkle. The spell she had to cast in the memory was clear and distinct-- a spell designed to manipulate the sound of wind into a lullaby. Even now she felt the force of the spell tap into her source of magic.
But not that memory. To Twilight Sparkle, it felt as if somepony had thrown her into a dark prison with nothing-- not even a floor. If she could at least remember the spell she used in the memory, she could simply trace the events in the memory based on the use of her spell.
Twilight Sparkle's eyes clamped tighter. Her calm expression twisted into a snarl. After a long while she opened her eyes and scowled. Twilight Sparkle looked to her horn. Casting a levitation spell on a nearby book, she saw her horn glow.
That memory could have been her lifting something heavy in the darkness, for all she knew. The simplest of spells could be amplified to great strengths like the one in that memory. Twilight Sparkle sighed and stopped her spell, causing the book to fall.
"Just what was I doing?" she asked.
She rubbed her head anxiously. The pressure made her head sting.
"Think, think, think, think! Something this important shouldn't have been forgotten!"
She closed her eyes again. That memory was unchanged-- a still image. That was all.
"There has to be a spell for this," she mumbled desperately, "just to trace it-- just to help me remember something important."
She cast a spell on a shelf of books. In an instant, Twilight Sparkle was surrounded in a sphere of books, their pages wide open and flipping rapidly. She studied the books, then pointed her horn at one. All the other books fell as one book floated closer to her.
Her hoof ran down the book. A wide smile grew on her face.
"Okay," she said while she held down a laugh, "just a simple tracing spell and all of this will be over. That's all."
Twilight Sparkle closed her eyes. That still memory appeared again. She cast the spell.
A force pulled at Twilight Sparkle's body. For a moment she felt her body arch lower and her horn flare violently. Her face twisted with anger, like in that memory.
But like the memory, she saw nothing. And just like that memory, her body was frozen in place.
A force threw her out of that memory. She rubbed her head and took the book she used.
"No, no, no!" she said quickly, "I can't have forgotten something like this. What if it's important-- like a spell to stop an evil pony? I need to remember more."
Twilight Sparkle slammed the book shut. Again she closed her eyes, recalled that still memory and cast the spell.
A force launched Twilight Sparkle into that bent position. Again she felt that reservoir of magic flare and ready to burst.
But again she saw nothing-- did nothing. That was all.
A force thrust Twilight Sparkle out of that memory. She roared, threw her eyelids down, and recalled that memory. She cast the memory spell.
For the third time, a force threw Twilight Sparkle into that frozen position surrounded by nothingness. And for the third time that memory was just an image to Twilight Sparkle.
Whenever Rarity approached the nest, the bird lashed out in fury. Farther from the bird, it still gave Rarity a furious stare, but occasionally looked down mournfully.
The nest had shattered. Twigs scattered the floor. Some of the sturdier twigs were split in two, the others misshapen and fragmented. But the bird continued to repair the nest in vain. Rarity watched as the bird scrambled to keep one twig straight, though it had snapped in the fall. And it still gave Rarity a glare when she tried to help.
"Applejack, darling, I think you should have gotten Fluttershy instead," Rarity said, "she's far better with animals than I. And she wouldn't worry about a bird attacking her precious sunhat."
Applejack shook her head. "Can she build a nest like you? I've seen you at Winter Wrap Up. Ain't nopony who van build a nest like you."
Rarity bit her lip, then pointed in the direction of Fluttershy's house. Applejack answered with a frank stare. Rarity pulled her sunhat over her eyes.
"You didn't say that there'd be a bird protecting her nest."
Rarity sighed and raised her hat. "Since you've already dragged me here, I might as well do what I can."
Applejack smiled.
Rarity took a step towards the nest, causing the bird to stare at her and open its claws. The bird's wings widened and its beak pointed at Rarity.
"Poor thing," Rarity said slowly, "it looks like you're trying to build a nest. Do you think I can help?"
The bird puffed its chest. It even seemed to lower its gaze before losing its balance on a bent twig.
She muttered, "I suppose not."
Rarity looked towards the apple trees above the bird. She nodded to herself and then turned to Applejack.
"I could build her a new nest. Do you mind if I take a couple of branches?" Rarity asked.
Applejack nodded and answered, "just the ones without too many leaves. Apples need 'em, too, you know."
Rarity smiled and turned back to the apple tree. Horn glowing, she pointed at several branches, then pulled her horn back. They snapped loudly, causing the bird to jump up and flap its wings. Rarity gently levitated the twigs to her"
"Don't you see?" Rarity said to the bird, "I want to help. I'll make you a new nest."
The bird gave her a look and perched on the remains of its old nest.
Carefully, Rarity bent the twigs into shape. Making the nest wide enough to give the bird room, but sturdy enough to make sure it wouldn't break if it fell. Heavy enough to make sure that a bucking wouldn't send the nest flying.
The bird watched curiously, taking a bound towards Rarity. She gestured the bird back, but it continued to approach Rarity.
"It’s not finished; it's missing something," she said as she inspected the nest.
The base of the nest felt strong. It still felt empty to Rarity. She raised the nest into the daylight and noticed small rays of light piercing the nest.
"You might get cold," she said to herself, "A piece of fabric could…"
Rarity eyed her sunhat, then back to the nest. She stared at the nest for a moment and sighed. The bird chirped anxiously.
"It might work. And I can always fix my hat later."
Rarity took off her sunhat and pulled a length of blue fabric lining the brim. With her magic, she slid the fabric through the holes of the nest and bound it with an elegant knot. She placed the nest on the ground.
"There," Rarity said, "do you like this nest?"
The bird twittered energetically. Rarity smiled and turned to Applejack. Applejack gave her a matter of fact smile.
Rarity blushed.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"Nothing," Applejack replied, "just knew you that you'd be of better use than Fluttershy when it came to makin' nests."
Rarity's blush deepened. She lowered her hat to cover her cheeks.
"Just fetch me a ladder so we can get this over with," she said quickly.
Krizak Comments!
It may sound odd, but what I liked most about this story was the bird. It was a great combination of typical bird behaviour and typical cooperative Ponyville critter behaviour. I loved Rarity negotiating with this bird, and eventually accepting Applejack's faith that she was the right pony for the job. Sacrificing her hat for the bird's nest hearkens back nicely to her generous gesture in the series premiere.
No matter how many times he said it, the library was still dark, and the world outside a bright red. With only lantern in his claws, Spike rushed through the halls. And heard the sound of claws scraping against a wooden floor grow louder.
At the end of the hallway Spike turned sharply. He found no stairs, but rather the same stretch of bookcases.
The stairs should have been there. Spike was old enough to clearly remember the layout of the library. The spines of the books quivered in the flickering light. They were old-- far too old to be used as library books-- but the titles of the books, embossed with a fading layer of gold leaf, could still be read.
"Growing Older-- and Acting Your Age," a cover read.
The book said only one sentence, repeated on hundreds of pages:
"Grow up and don't run away-- and act your age, like a dragon."
Heavy breaths sounded. Spike felt a warm breeze flow past him. Immediately he ran.
"Twilight! Where are you?" Spike called.
No response. The scraping noise grew louder.
The hallways zipped past Spike. Occasionally, he took glances at the bookcases to see if they changed. They didn't. The same set of books, described as books to help children while they aged, remained. They were useless to Spike, so why did he keep seeing them?
He glared at the books, eyeing another one of the covers. "Maturing with a Proper Disposition," it read. Spike growled.
The grating noise began to make Spike's ears ring. Spike turned his head.
He screamed.
Under the faint light of the lantern Spike saw a pair of scaly, gigantic legs of a purple color. A large body attached to an even longer pair of claws stretched before him, greedily reaching at Spike. From the red light of the windows, he saw a dragon's mouth open wide, too small to keep its teeth inside its jaws.
An overgrown, old dragon, Spike realized. Chasing after Spike as if it were his treasure.
"Twilight! Twilight!" Spike yelled, "help me!"
Spike ran. Swinging both arms, the lantern in one arm swung violently. When he pulled an arm in front of him, the lantern rose and hit Spike in the chest. He tumbled to the floor.
The purple dragon grew closer. Spike called for Twilight, but no answer. The dragon lifted Spike by the tail and brought him closer to his eyes. They were green, like Spike's. The frills on the side of his face-- even the crest on his head-- they all looked like Spike.
"A-Are you me?" Spike asked.
The dragon smiled.
"No! I don't want to look like that! O-Or be like that!"
Spike flailed, continuing to call for Twilight. He brought Spike closer, making him see their similarities-- and that the only difference was age.
"You have to help me, Twilight!" He looked at the dragon's menacing appearance, the claws and teeth sharpened with age. No longer kind. "I--I don't wanna grow up!"
The dragon blinked.
"That's crazy, Spike. You shouldn't be afraid," a voice answered, "and you shouldn't be running around in the library-- especially if you need my help!"
The dragon dropped Spike. Spike scrambled away from the dragon, who had been stopped by the voice. When he tried to run away, a wall appeared, blocking him.
Keeping him near the same bookcase full of advice books for a growing child. Even with the dragon immobilized, he couldn't run from that. Run from age.
Spike raised a claw at the books, but collapsed and began to cry. Closing his eyes, he let tears fall from his face.
"Twilight," he said softly, "I'm scared. I don't want to grow up."
He felt a warmth cover him. Eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms around the warmth.
"Why?" the voice-- Twilight-- asked, "you're still a baby in the eyes of dragons. And that'll take some time."
"But I'm gonna be like them one day. Chasing after things, being greedy," he said, "I'm scared of that. The bookcase-- all of it scares me."
"You shouldn't be," Twilight said after a pause.
Spike sniffled. He opened his eyes and saw that the red darkness of the other world had disappeared. The bookshelves once more were filled with different books. The stairs had returned to their rightful place as well.
And the old dragon disappeared, too old to stay.
Spike closed his eyes and buried his face in Twilight's coat.
"Spike?" Twilight asked.
He didn't reply.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked after a moment.
Spike nodded his head slightly.
"Do you feel any different? Like an older dragon?"
He shook his head.
"That means you're still the same for the time being. There's no need to be scared."
Spike tightened his grip on Twilight.
"'For the time being,'" Spike repeated. After a moment, he asked, "I can't run from it, can I?"
Twilight didn't answer. She just held Spike closer and reminded him he was still young.
Krizak Comments!
I'll confess, I didn't realize this was related to the Silent Ponyville series until it was pointed out to me. Once it was, however, I smacked myself in the head for not realizing the twisted yet familiar environment, the antagonist born of Spike's own fears, or the bizarre books lining the walls were hallmarks of those stories. Spike truly is lucky at simply being able to wake up from Silent Ponyville, though; some others have not been so lucky.
