Journey Through Nightmares and Dreams

Bon Bon felt like she had entered a nightmare. Her wife was lost to a panic attack and would have been screaming at her and Celerity if she hadn't started hyperventilating almost immediately. It seemed as though something had caused her to snap and lose control of her fear.

It was almost a relief when Lyra collapsed, short lived as it was. She was no longer panicky, an infectious state of mind, but the hollow smack of her head hitting the hardwood floor breathed fresh life to the terror in Bon Bon.

"I need a nurse in here!" She yelled at the door, then threw herself down next to Lyra and slipped a leg under her neck and pulled her wife's head up against her chest with her other hoof.

"Is she..." Celerity asked too quietly from the bed.

Bon Bon touched her nose to her wife's neck, feeling for her pulse and watching her chest rise and fall. She was still breathing, slower and more evenly than just second before and while her pulse felt erratic, it felt strong and was slowing.

"She's alive." Bon Bon almost laughed, manic and wild but she choked back the laughter and forced herself to calm. "But it sounded like she hit her head hard coming down."

She gently lifted Lyra's head and tried to see if she was bleeding, but couldn't. There was too much mane in the way and she was afraid to shift her more.

"Nurse!" Bon Bon cried out again. From without, she could barely hear anything. Was the door too thick for them to hear her? Was there no one out there to hear her?

Panic rose again as she looked between Lyra and the door. Could she leave her lying there? Should she? Lyra needed help. But... She clutched Lyra closer to her, torn by the conflicting needs to help Lyra and stay with her.

A rustle and thump announced Celerity getting out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Bon Bon snapped at her, "You can't be out of bed! You're-" She cut off the words that wanted to come out, snapping her teeth together with a dangerous sounding click. She settled for glaring at the older mare, seething rage threatening to overflow her better judgement.

If it hadn't been for you, Lyra... She quashed the thought. If it hadn't been for Celerity, Lyra might not have survived out of her filly-hood.

"I love her no less than you, Bon Bon," Celerity said gently, "and I'm scared too. I need to do what I can for her, not just lay in bed."

Bon Bon struggled to listen to her, to consider what she was saying and not just lash out. She shook her head, trying to shake her feelings of anger towards a mare who'd done nothing wrong. But they just wouldn't go away.

"I feel bad enough already. I didn't choose to come here, didn't want her to greet me like this. But because I am here and Lyra needs it, I will get her some help. You should stay with her." She jerked out the IV line and winced, rubbing at the spot of blood on her leg.

Bon Bon glared at her harder, but kept her mouth closed around the words that rested on the tip of her tongue.

"Remember also, Lyra is an adult. She chose to come here, knowing her own fears better than you or I ever could."

"She came because she loves you," Bon Bon growled, shocked at the venom in her own voice.

"She does," Celerity said gently, her ears drooping, and looked suddenly older. Gone was the vital old mare who'd yanked open the door and demanded of her doctor so strongly. In her place was a mare thrice the age of Bon Bon, and showing every year of it. "She probably did come only because it was me. You're not wrong about that."

Her anger evaporated. She had wanted to hurt Celerity, wanted her to feel the pain she was feeling. She'd gotten her wish, it seemed. She choked, her throat burning as she began to shake as she struggled for air around the wracking silent sobs that she held back still.

She was the parent that Lyra introduced her to on their first date, the parent whom Bon Bon had asked to bless their vows when Lyra had no others. Shame finally broke the wall holding her emotions in check and she sank lower, burying her muzzle in Lyra's mane and gritting her teeth to fight back the tears even as her breath came in ragged gasps.

She needed to be strong for Lyra.

A gentle touch startled her and she looked up at Celerity.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice breaking, "I didn't..." Except that she did. She meant every word of it. She leaned into the gentle touch and found her cheek resting on Celerity's chest, held gently in place by a hoof on her neck. She let herself go, let go of the need to fight back the tears and just let them come.

"That's it, Bon Bon," Celerity said. "It's okay to cry." She used a small spell to take a cloth from the sink and dabbed gently at Bon Bon's tears. "I know this has you scared. It scares me too. Just let it out, you can do that here. You're safe here." Her quiet prattle and the gentle touch of the cloth helped settle the fears and worries and made her feel actually safe.

"I'm sorry," Bon Bon said softly a little later, feeling better, almost cathartic, in the wake of her outburst and crying into Celerity's coat, now stained a darker blue for the tears shed into it.

"Pain of the heart makes us speak the truth," she replied, "no matter how onerous."

"But it-"

"Is the truth," Celerity said, cutting her off and finishing her statement. She laid the cloth lightly over Bon Bon's muzzle and smiled, letting her go. "If circumstances had been different, if my heart weren't so old."

"You did have a heart attack, then?"

"Small one."

Bon Bon stared hard at her.

"Honest truth," She lifted a hoof to cover an eye. "I'm fit as a fiddle. Well... An old, creaky one."

Bon Bon couldn't help it. She smiled.

Celerity smiled back and stepped away to open the door. She poked her head out briefly to look for a nearby nurse and then opened it all the way, letting out a small curse that Bon Bon didn't catch.

"Where are you going?" Bon Bon asked her, quieter and calmer. She checked Lyra's pulse and breathing again, reassured to find them still strong and growing steadier.

"To find a nurse. They should have some kind of calmative brew or something." Celerity looked back inside, "You stay with her now, and get calm. She's going to need you to be calm when she wakes up."

"I can do that," she promised, pulling Lyra's head gently against her chest.

"Good girl." She closed the door gently behind her. Through door she could hear Celerity raising Luna's own rage, demanding that one of the "lazy lay about" runners at the station just outside to go get a nurse or a doctor.

Lyra was a young filly again, everything huge and terrifying and sterile white. Sound echoed weirdly, distorted and too loud for her young ears. None of it made sense.

All around her there were nurse ponies and doctor ponies rushing back and forth. Doors yawned open to every side, sick ponies laying still or mostly still in beds. Doctors yelled at each other across the halls, nurses almost galloped back and forth, pushing carts and beds and carrying trays full of unknown items to and fro.

Everypony was too busy to bother with a single little filly who tried to stay out of their way, scared by the fear she heard in voices but too young to understand why they were afraid.

She wasn't there to bother anypony, she was only there to come to a specific room. It was the room she'd come by day after day to visit her mom and dad after they got so sick. Everypony told her that they would be alright, that it would be okay in the end. She was too young to recognize the worry in their eyes, the uncertainty of what they said.

Her older self did, and as she watched through younger eyes, she railed and screamed at herself to leave, to forget, to go home... just wait. Her younger self, of course, couldn't hear her. This was a memory, a nightmare, the core of her fear.

The long hallway came to an end, and she sat outside the door she always came to. Usually, it sat open and in her nightmares that's how it stayed. But in her memory, the door was closed. It had never been closed before. The summer breeze always swept from the room's single window into the hallway, carrying away the ever-present smell of antiseptic.

Today, there was just the cloying, sharp smell of antiseptic. It was too clean, to sharp. It put her on edge.

There was somepony inside, she could see the shadow shifting back and forth as somepony moved in front of the light and out of it. She couldn't open the door herself, she was too short to reach the handle, so she lay down and waited, pressing herself against the far wall, out of the way of the occasional nurse or doctor pushing a bed or a cart down the hallway.

Finally, the door started to open. She stood up.

Her older self, still watching, jabbering at the back of her mind, noiseless and unheeded, screamed at her to look away. But it was only a memory, she couldn't look away.

Beyond the nurse who stepped out, she saw the kindly doctor whom had lifted her to lay with her mom or dad when they were stronger. Why did he look so sad?

The nurse left the door open and wandered away, writing on a clipboard and not seeming to notice Lyra standing there.

Why weren't mom and dad looking at her? She was standing right there. Why was the window closed? They loved the smell of summer. Why were they so still? Even sick, they had been so lively. Why was the doctor covering their faces? They wouldn't be able to breathe.

Understanding came with a sudden shock. A void opened in her heart, threatening to consume all of her. A voice whispered out of nowhere, from the past or future... the memory started to break apart as the view of the room from her younger eyes clouded and turned watery.

Close the door.

"I can't, she whimpered. "I can't."

Close the door.

The memory popped like a bubble and another crashed over her, dragging her back into the past to confront another fear, another terrible day.

It was summer, a time of beauty and warmth. Birds sung beautifully in the trees all about and clouds drifted about on a strong breeze. It was the kind of day her parents would have taken her out to fly kites and eat ice cream and run and play and revel in the beauty of the summer sun.

Lyra sat alone between two fresh mounds of dirt. The memorial service was over and the well-wishers had left, leaving her to her grief. Her friends were with their parents, grieving for the loss of their friend's parents. They had one and all offered to have her come with them, but for Lyra the pain was too fresh, the loss too great, she just wanted to be left alone, and nopony argued against it, not that day.

How did a young filly deal with the loss of her parents? How did she accept the loss? How could she? The void in her heart remained, unchanged. It was the only thing that hadn't changed since her parents died.

Even her toys had been taken away to be burned. Memories of playing with her dolls, with the clothes and dresses that she and her mother had made together... mostly her mother. The small, cute little house her father had built for her to put her dolls in went too, as did most of her clothes and her parents clothes.

She didn't understand why, and the explanations, of flu and sickness, made no sense. Dolls couldn't get sick. Only ponies got sick. Her memories, it felt, had been taken from her.

She had been shuffled from her home and given to an orphanage for a time before the funeral. The matron was caring and understanding and many of the other colts and fillies there had also lost parents. Together they had shared a bond that would have made them brothers and sisters in loss.

They were something to latch onto, a new sort of family that she could have accepted. Then, a distant relative had sent word that they would care for her, and she had lost the bond she had shared ever so briefly with the other foals at the orphanage. Now nopony was there with her.

The gravestones were plainly carved with the names of her parents, obscured in the memory by wreaths and garlands of flowers. She mostly remembered them as mom and dad, anyway. But now they were gone. She didn't understand why.

She cried into the grass between the mounds of fresh dirt, crying out for her parents to come back until her voice turned hoarse and all she could do was embrace the emptiness inside. It was all she had left, it seemed.

One of her distant relatives, a cousin of two or three removes, eventually came up to her and led her away from the twin beds of fresh dirt.

Like the first, this memory too popped. Another came in with the whisper of wind and the quiet crackle of a distant fire. Tendrils of cold curled their way around her heart, surrounding the void she still carried within, her constant companion for the last several months.

A blizzard howled outside and her distant cousins played raucous indoor games downstairs with their parents while Lyra sat up in the room she shared with them, alone and forgotten. Tears stained the bedspread she had wrapped around her as she looked up into the blowing snow from her bedside perch.

Thoughts of happier times both warmed and teased young Lyra. Memories of games played with her parents, Hearth's Warming celebrations spent riding around on her parent's backs so she could see the wonder all around, warm nights spent snuggled in front of the hearth while a blizzard just like this one raged outside.

Nopony came to check on her that night. They'd just about forgotten about her while playing their games. She dashed away the tears angrily. That was fine with her. She didn't need anypony else, she decided.

Her adult self lamented the decision and railed at the grief fueled anger of a young filly. She would need other ponies. Without them, her life would be empty and meaningless. Just wait, she wanted to say, just hold out a little longer.

Of course, her younger self couldn't hear her. It was just a memory.

It too popped and left her hanging in the dark void, unable to act, unable to feel. Another memory came, warmer and bringing with it the promise of brighter days. The icy tendrils around the void weakened, but did not shatter.

It was spring, and it seemed that the skies cried as much as she did, filling the schoolyard with puddles of tears. But her tears, unlike that of the sky's, were private. Shed when nopony else was about. They were a weakness, and she didn't understand why she was still sad.

Because you need other ponies! her older self yelled in the back of her mind, unheard.

She stayed by herself as much as she could, so that others wouldn't see she still cried over the loss of her parents and the sudden change of life that had come with their loss.

Her new parents didn't understand her self-imposed isolation and tried to break her out of it, but never too forcefully. Whether they were scared of hurting a filly who'd lost her parents or whether they just didn't care enough to try harder or were too busy with their own foals, she didn't care.

It was just more proof to the young filly that she was better off on her own. If they'd cared, they would have tried harder.

Her adult self cursed her younger self's logic, railing against the remembered isolation, ashamed of her actions and intent. But she wasn't there, she was only watching. Reliving moments and days of her life in the past that had shaped who she would become.

She watched herself over the blurred fragments of distant memory. Days came and went, school started again, and she had to fight to keep her isolation, so that other ponies wouldn't see her cry. They would just bully her. They bullied other ponies for lesser reasons.

For almost a year since her parent's deaths, she had tried actively to stay alone, to keep her tears secret. She wanted her grief to herself, the memories of her parents and of her loss to be her own. They were the only constant in her life, it seemed, an island of stability that wouldn't change, and she didn’t want them taken away too.

Change is not always bad,  she whispered, unheard, to her younger self. Change can be wonderful.

A stronger fragment of a memory loomed in her mind, bringing her back to a very important day.

Rain clouds loomed overhead, having just in the last hour stopped their downpour to let the foals out to play in the mud and puddles it left behind.

Lyra wandered as far from the playground as she could go before the inevitable teacher came to bring her back. Long trial and error had found a place partially obscured by bushes where she could be alone. Most days, she brought a notebook, her only other companion, where she wrote almost daily, something her mother had taught her to do.

Today, though, it was too wet to risk letting her friend get ruined in a mud puddle.

"Hey there, little filly," said a voice from behind her. In her memory, influenced by time and fond recollection, that voice carried with it all the warmth of the summer sun and the gentleness of the spring breeze.

"Me?" her younger self whimpered, snuffling and scrubbing away the tears before turning around. She tried to control her voice, to make herself sound strong. The voice belonged to an older mare, of an age with... with her mother. Her brilliant blue coat and golden mane reminded her of the summer sky, vibrant and lovely.

"Of course you, sweetie." She looked around as if to search for other foals. "I don't see anypony else out here. Why are you crying out here all alone?"

"I'm not crying," she pouted, snuffling and looking away as she spoke the lie. "Just leave me alone."

"Ah, my mistake then. It must just be rain," The older mare said, ignoring her plea. She stomped a hoof in a nearby puddle.

Against the pain of loss and the anger she felt at being interrupted, she laughed.

"No filly like me could cry that much." The void trembled, and beyond the now fragile emptiness, she felt something, even in her memory.

"But you feel like you could, don't you?"

She hesitated, holding onto the emptiness, wanting to let it go finally, but afraid to step away from the familiar pain that had been her only companion, the only constant in a young life filled with upheaval.

"There's no reason not to, you know. Sometimes crying helps us let go of the things that hurt us the most." She held up a hoof, inviting young Lyra to come to her. "I'm Celerity, one of the new teachers here. You're Lyra, aren't you?"

The unexpected laughter, the simple offer, and the genuine warmth she heard in the older mare's voice shattered the void, letting free all of the grief and fear that a young filly had been holding in for nearly a year.

Celerity's image blurred as the tears came back, and she rushed to the offered embrace, wailing into her chest the muffled cries of a young filly overwhelmed by loss.

"That's a good filly," Celerity cooed, wrapping her foreleg over Lyra's back and holding her close. She was happy to stay there, embraced by what felt like the first kindness she had felt in a long time.

No... Not the first, her old self reminded her, unheard and unheeded still, but the first to break through your shell. She would later recall the other kindnesses offered and rejected by a Lyra lashing out at a world that had taken everything from her. It just felt that Celerity was the first to give something back, something that she had thought lost. Laughter.

Just to have someone to hold onto, a kind word and a companionable presence... It was all she needed to begin letting go.

Memory glided by, gentler this time and not rupturing like the others had, as another memory pushed itself to the fore of Lyra's mind.

"It's difficult, I know, Lyra," Celerity said gently, using her magic and a clean rag to clean away the latest of Lyra's tears, "but you need to learn to hold onto the best of your memories while letting go of the worst. It will help you control the fear and help you be happier."

It was night time, and Lyra was spending the weekend again at Celerity's simple home, away from the hustle and bustle of her distant relative's larger home.

She knew they cared about her now. She knew what to look for now that she wasn't holding onto the grief and anger at the world. They had grown tired of trying to reach her, only to be rebuffed when their energy was also needed to care for their foals. That someone else had reached her and was helping her seemed to make them happy.

"I'll try, Celerity." She took the rag from Celerity and snuffled into it before using her magic to drop it into a pile sitting in a basket. The pile seemed a testimony to the intensity of the session.

Around them also lay various and sundry of instruments. They had gone through them one by one, borrowed from the school's music department before the end of the week for this purpose.

"We'll try the lyre again."

"But..." she trailed off with a sigh. That had been one of the first instruments they had tried. It was, after all, the obvious choice.

"But?" Celerity lifted the instrument and settled it on the table next to them. She touched a hoof to a string to test it again. The note made Lyra's spine tingle and a thrill of something indefinable filled her. Something had changed.

"Never mind."

She closed her eyes again and pushed past the pain, easier now, to focus her thoughts on her parents, starting from the earliest ones, as she'd been taught, and moving through them slowly, savoring every moment of happiness and joy that they brought to her.

They gave her the strength to move on, to accept that the past had happened and was a part of her, and that she could let that past strengthen her or let it destroy her. The happy memories of warm sunny days with her parents joined with the newer memories of time with Celerity, learning to laugh again and find joy in the simple things again.

But the farther that she got, the harder it got to keep a hold of those memories. They turned more somber as her parents again fell sick, through the hospital visits and the brave faces that her parents put on, seeming to know that they would be leaving soon.

Now that she was older and had started to put the past behind her, it was easier to see that her parents had known, or at least suspected. They hadn't wanted their daughter to cry, and wouldn't have wanted her to live her life alone.

But in the memories, she was just a little filly, and the pain, fear and anguish there were still fresh to that younger self. When she travelled the memories, it was hard to separate the younger self from her present self.

"Remember the door," Celerity whispered. "You can change the memory. Close the door on that memory."

Celerity helped her, though. Her voice and the music she tried to play were all helping her to cope with the past. But there was one memory, the moment of realization, when her whole world had seemed to collapse into one terrifying reality,

The white door in the long hallway, the one holding back the terrible moment of realization, when her world was shattered. She could accept the reality now, but that one moment of realization still had power over her. She was beginning to accept that she might never escape its hold. Moments like that were like scars, deep wounds that would never completely heal, but would hurt less and less with time.

"Keep the door shut. Do not look inside," Celerity whispered to her and began to play the lyre, Lyra's own namesake. A wonderful thing happened then, as Celerity played the lyre by hoof instead of by magic. Something about the way the hoof touched the strings, about the suddenly lively and responsive touch. Something that would change Lyra forever.

The music gave her a focus, a bit of present reality in the memory, something that none of her shouting and pleading with herself had never done.

The soft, simple melody let her ground herself in the present and keep the door closed, as much as her memories wanted it to open. She was able to keep the memory perpetually frozen in the moment before the door swung open, just the right side of realization.

It was a kind of magic. The music was not magical, but nonetheless felt powerful and something that she knew, with the power of hindsight, would be the meaning behind her cutie mark and the reason she played the lyre whether for herself or for others. It was a way to help herself and others stay in the moment, to live the happy moments and forget, even if just momentarily, the past pains of life.

"Good girl," she heard, causing a tick in her concentration. The door cracked. The music did not falter, and she forced it closed again by renewing her concentration on the music, listening to the simple melody. "Keep concentrating. Stay in front of the door for a little longer."

She did, and while the music played, the door stayed closed. Triumph and elation filled her. She could still feel the pain of loss, but distant and unfocused. She missed her parents, terribly, but they wouldn't want her life to be nothing but tears. She could do this. For them, for herself.

Then the music stopped. For a moment, she remained grounded, still hearing the melody echo through her mind. But when the echoes vanished and the creaks of Celerity's house at night began to filter in, the door crashed open.

Once again, she confronted the sight that had plagued her nightmares for the long year since their deaths. But it felt a little less terrible, a little less all consuming. What was more important, was that she could control it. She wept for the possibility, for joy and for the new love she had found in the wonderful teacher who'd stepped into her life.

"Good girl," Celerity repeated again, drawing her close and letting her cry as much as she needed to. "Let it out. I'm here for you."

Close the door, Lyra, close the door.

I will.