Dreamflow

Chapters

The First
The Second
The Third
The Fourth
The Fifth
The Sixth
The Seventh
The Awoken
The Dreamers

The First

A foreword:

Normally I don't do these, but I feel for this particular story, a little bit of introduction is necessary.

This story was written with experimental narration in mind.

As the story jumps back and forth between day and night, the difference between them is accentuated out through narrative styles. The dream sequences are bereft of dialogue, and the day sequences are full of nothing but conversation, keeping a minimalist view on action. This has been done intentionally to create a dichotomy between day and night. Hopefully, with any luck, the intended effect will be passed on to you, the reader.

So, without further ado, please enjoy, and thank you very much for giving this a chance.

And remember, dreams always get easier to understand as they go along.

The First

Through a fading pane of frosted glass, her leg focused into view, and just for a fleeting moment Applejack forgot where she was. Rocking her weight onto a hoof made the ground crunch underneath, the frost giving way and letting her sink into a bed of old, withered leaves.

And then she remembered.

She stood in the middle of a clearing – a circle of glass and concrete – bordered by a twisted black fence, an endless roll of black silk unfurling above her.

But Applejack gave it a thought, and the floor turned back to soil, the fence returned to being old, gnarled trees, and the skies filled themselves with thunderous, billowing clouds. It was just as it had always been, and it was never any different.

Yes, this was familiar. Comfortable, now. Recognizable and memorable. She had come through the door, and that’s how she got there. She had remembered as she left the door, but not going through, almost as if the memory started only the moment she had arrived.

But it wasn’t true; she could remember what she had for lunch and she did remember those little talks through the night with Apple Bloom, but in the great puzzle she had to put together, she could not find the pieces in between.

With a sudden spark of realisation, she saw that she was now holding her leg out in front of her, keeping it raised at an angle toward the ground, hoof turned up for an unknown purpose. There at the end of it was a little rabbit, emerging from the fog and staring up at her in fear and reverence for the only other living creature in the clearing.

All around Applejack, the world buzzed with an odd delusion.

The forest had never acted like this before. It was sinister, yes. Nefarious, maybe. Even skirting along the lines of evil. But never had it been unsettling in the way that it was now. There was a disquieting uncanniness that ran and weaved through the trees, a soft whisper of low, murmuring tones that made Applejack’s mind twitch. Between the branches, the shadows played their games, never letting themselves be seen.

All around her, it felt like the world around her was correcting itself. Adjusting. Figuring out how to exist as time went on. And in the middle of it was Applejack and a rabbit.

Applejack lowered her hoof and thrust it closer toward the little lapine, which straightened up in alarm. The seeds that she was carrying were meager offerings to the critter.

The rabbit sniffed, ears twitching. It looked around nervously, eyes darting, avoiding the shadows, but just like Applejack, it had no place else to be.

It felt that way.

And suddenly it was true.

They were stuck in the middle of the glen – nowhere to go, and no tree to squeeze past. The darkness on the other side was a drop of colour in a sea that stretched on to infinity.

Applejack dropped the seeds in shock. It had always been this way, but why was it only now frightening her?

No, of course it wasn’t frightening her. That’s right. She was calm. Calm, like a serene blue ocean upon which not a single ripple echoed out.

Applejack nodded.

The seeds that had fallen into the dirt shivered and shook as they buried themselves, and in what seemed like an instant, the mounds of soil where they lay pushed apart, and from beneath the dirt did two tendrils erupt, bursting towards the sky.

Two plants curled up toward the sunny, cloudless sky as buds erupted from their tips, unfurling large, bushy tops that brought about the sudden noise of cicadas buzzing amongst the fields.

Applejack marvelled at them for a while. They were flowers, but they looked exactly like trees. Tiny little dots of red appeared in their miniscule boughs, and as she brought her face closer to take a look, she could see the mere specks of birds flying away from the nests they had made within the comfort of the branches.

But the world called to her again, and she pulled away, watching the horizon unfold.

The wide-open plains were amazing in their span and girth, stretching in an eternal breadth and calling soft whispers as the grass rustled under a sudden breeze. The sun beat down hard, and far off in the distance was a certain twinkling of something that was just out of reach.

The sand ran around her legs. The hot, stiff zephyrs provided no solace for her parched throat and dry skin. But in the middle of the empty pit there lay the two flowers, little gems of hope that bloomed despite the conditions.

Applejack smiled at them and nodded, satisfied for no reason, an unknown job well done.

She turned slightly. The rabbit sat, holding its tiny paws in front of its face, with haunches raised – it was ready to bolt, to run, to flee.

But his grand escape was halted in place merely by the spectacle of the flowers, as both Applejack and the rabbit sat, enraptured by the sight.

The pony made no effort to move. She did not want to risk frightening the innocent creature, which stood and watched, and looked upon the flowers.

Breathlessly, wordlessly, they watched, the two in unison, the leaves shivering in the warmth of the blazing sun. And Applejack reached out with a tentative fervor, but gently, so as not to frighten the rabbit, and touched the closest of the plants.

It lay, pretty in her hoof, gentle and free, light and free. A sense of relief washed over her as she plucked it, almost as if it renewed her with hope and joy. Almost as if it filled her with a sense of understanding and completion.

The stem of the plant did not end at a root; it trailed into a string that continued to lay buried underground. A few more quizzical yanks and more of the bright red line revealed itself, the ground parting as the string was unearthed.

It seemed to lead to the base of the other flower, which still remained, planted, at the foot of the rabbit some distance away.

Applejack stared. She watched. She smiled. She motioned for the rabbit to take the flower in its own paws, to grasp firmly and pull.

The rabbit watched back, bouncing from side to side as it gave due consideration. With an overly sensitive regard to its surroundings, it reached out and grasped the stem of the flower conscientiously.

And everything went white.

“I’ve had dreams before, you know. Bad ones, even. But these are somethin’ else entirely.”

“Aw, I’m super sad to hear that, but you know what’d make you feel better? Do you know what would make you feel super on top of the world? A great bi-”

“Not today, sugar.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yeah. Not today.”

A moment passed.

A pony blinked.

Another bounced in place, smiling and throwing her encouragement up into the air.

Applejack smiled.

“Thanks, Pinkie,” she said.

“No worries! It’s my pleasure! After all, it’s the least I could do for a super-duper friend! So... what’s on your mind?”

“Just these dreams.”

“What about them? Are they creepy or spooky or...?”

“They’re... uh... different.”

“Different?”

“Different.”

A few seconds went by.

“Different,” Applejack reconfirmed.

“And you’ve been having them since...?”

“Nightmare Night.”

“L-last year’s?”

“No, Pinkie! This year! I told ya I’d been having ‘em every night! D’ya think I’d have gone through over three hundred of these and only spoken up now?”

“So... this year’s Nightmare Night?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s three dreams!”

“Yes, Pinkie. One dream a night for three nights is equal t’ three dreams. Well done.”

“Well, you don’t have to get snippy...”

One pony lowered her head while the other one feigned sadness.

“I’m sorry.”

“Aw, I forgive you! This is really bothering you, isn’t it? I can tell!”

“Oh well, what gave ya that idea?”

“Well, because you walked up to me, remember? And you said, ‘Pinkie, I’m bothered by something. Can we talk?’ and I was like, ‘sure! Whatcha wanna talk about?’ and you said-”

“Pinkie, I weren’t really askin’!”

“Oh, I know. But I wasn’t really answering, either, so I guess it works out!”

An orange hoof gently placed itself on a forehead.

“Youuuuu were saying?” Pinkie bubbled.

“I don’t... understand them.”

“But nopony understands their dreams! I know I don’t. It’s just a bunch of mixed up messy images, and you usually can’t see things too clearly, anyway!”

“Well, that’s the thing, Pinkie. I could see ‘em. I saw ‘em real clear. That’s the upsettin’ part.”

“But... but why would that be upsetting? That sounds really fun! I’d love to see my dreams! I’d love to be able to remember them! I feel like each dream is like a wonnnnnderous adventure! Sorta like a gift... from your brain! It’s your mind telling you a bedtime story! But you’re already asleep, so I guess it doesn’t really ma-”

“It’s how I dreamed, Pinkie.”

“I... How you dreamed?”

“Y’know how... how when you have a dream, things move... faster? I don’t really know how t’ explain it. It’s like... scenes change. Things change. It jumps around, an’, an’ before you know it, you’re awake again.”

“I know exactly what you mean! I can only remember small pieces, and it kinda feels like somepony threw their holiday photos at you without explaining, and you’re trying to figure out what happened!”

“I... I guess so. And... and d’ya know how... when you dream, ya sort of don’t feel like you’re in control?”

“I sometimes feel like I’m looking at myself! It’s like watching a movie... about me! But it’s not really me because... it’s not me, because I’m me, and I’m watching myself...”

“Uh... Pinkie.”

“... so is it me or is it not me in the dream? I... I don’t know, Applejack!”

“P-pinkie...”

“Yes?”

“Pinkie, I really need your help.”

“I know!”

“I need you to focus. Please.”

A bird chirped in the distance.

“Well, have you asked the others for help yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because Twilight doesn’t believe that dreams are anything but dreams, Rarity would tell me I’m just reactin’ t’ a bit of bad cheese, Rainbow would try to help for about two minutes before giving up and saying it’ll go away on its own, and Fluttershy would ask me t’ ask anyone else except for her, please not her, she’s scared.”

“W-well... that’s... true!”

“What’s the matter, Pinkie?”

“You’re gonna ask me to be serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Do I have to?”

“Probably.”

“I... I just don’t want to be serious, Applejack!”

“Please, Pinkie. You’re the... the only one I have right now. And I know you can be serious. You’re a lot smarter than y’show, and I know that. I just really need your help with this.”

The pink pony sighed heavily.

“Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll... be serious. For you.”

“I... I really appreciate it, Pinkie.”

“But.”

“But?”

“Not all the time.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose.”

“You do remember the last time I was serious for an extended period of time, don’t you?”

“No, I do-”

“I was in the hospital for four days!”

Applejack glared.

Pinkie giggled.

“Sorry. Last joke. I promise. I think.”

“Pinkie...”

“Alright! Alright! So, what about these dreams?”

“Right. That’s th’ thing. I know I’m me in the dreams. When things change, I can see them changin’. I can feel things happenin’ and movin’ around me. I can feel the breeze and the sun. I can do things. I can make choices. It feels like real life, but it can’t possibly be real.”

“So that’s what you mean by ‘clear’?”

“Yeah. It’s like... I can tell what’s goin’ on. But when I wake up afterwards, and all the images just... fade. The feelings are gone. So it’s like lookin’ back at a dream, but one I was... taking part in. Am I makin’ any sort of sense?”

“Sure you are!”

“I am?”

“They’re called lucid dreams!”

“Lucid?”

“Mmm hmm! They’re just a kind of dream which feels more real than others! It’s a kind of dream where you know you’re dreaming!”

“But I don’t know that I’m dreaming, not while I’m actually having the dream!”

“Or... do you?”

“Pinkie...”

“No, really! I’m being... serriiiouuusss.”

“It’s hard to tell with you.”

“Thank you!”

“What do you mean, Pinkie?”

“What I mean is... you say you don’t know that you’re dreaming while you’re having the dream, right? Then here’s a little question for you! How do you know you don’t know?”

“Well, because...”

Applejack’s hoof was left hovering in mid-air.

“Well, I’ll be. I suppose you’re right. I never did question it th’ other way ‘round.”

“They’re harmless, Applejack! Lucid dreams are harmless! They aren’t anything else but your mind working overtime while you sleep. If I remember, it’s just something about different bits of your brain being more awake than the others, so it sort of knows that you’re dreaming, and you can experience things a bit more clearly. That’s all!”

“Are... are you making that up?”

“No! Applejack! I am not!”

“It... it just sounds like something you’d say!”

“Oh now! That’s just... just...”

“Well I... I don’t mean nothin’ by it! But where’d you get all this from, anyway?”

Pinkie huffed.

“Well. You remember Twilight’s birthday, I’m sure. When I was putting on the whole Madame Pinkie thing? With the fortune telling?”

“Yeah... that ended... strangely.”

“I was reading a lot of books about the subject. You know, to get into character! And one of the books I read happened to be about dreams and dream interpretation!”

“Dream interpretation? What’s that involve?”

“Well, it’s just about figuring out signs and symbols. Patterns. Things like that!”

“Do... d’ya think I’d need that?”

“Well, Applejack, m’girl, I hate to sound like Rarity...”

Applejack leaned in closer.

“... so I’m going to say this in my own voice. But I think it might really just be a dream. If it’s a lucid dream, as I think it is, all you have to do is just know you’re dreaming while you’re dreaming. You have to... find a way to tell yourself that you are.”

“How in th’ hay am I supposed t’ do that?”

“Well, let’s figure it out, shall we?”

Pinkie clapped her hooves together in glee.

Author's Note

As usual, I couldn't have done this without my band of usual editor suspects and story bouncers:
- Crack Javelin
- HerpyDerpy

And also thanks very much to
- Cynewulf
- Martian
for the feedback.

The Second

The gentle waves licked her hoof, like Winona did in the morning sometimes. Ebbing up around her leg, the water crawled, creeping, clinging to wet skin and forcing its way ever higher.

Applejack drew her hoof out of the bucket. A door slid over the top of the receptacle as she did so, preventing her leg from re-entering.

But that was fine. She had no need to step back into the bucket, now that she was where she had to be – a beautiful beach that trailed onto a pinpoint on either side; a line of chalk drawn down an everlasting blackboard; a patch of blue and a patch of white divided by a flurry of seafoam.

She thought about it for a moment, and then knew what it was she had to do, guided by fate and pushed along by the unwritten words of reality.

Turning, stepping toward the sea, the gentle waves threatened to engulf her. Onward she walked, further and further, toward the horizon and off onto the surface of a mirror. She stood in a pool that reflected the sky, and stood in a sky that reflected the ocean. And as her hooves carried her, she left the waves behind, left the sands behind, and danced in the middle of an ocean impossibly still.

But never did the pony sink for more than an inch into the black, inky depths.

Applejack stopped.

There was a memory. A small fleck of paint in the middle of a pure white wall. It stood out, no matter how tiny it was, it stood out.

Applejack scratched at it.

But this was no time to linger. This world had different measures, and before she could peek into the memory, it was covered up with a wash of knowledge, of faith, of comfort, of security.

There was what she had to do and what she did.

For the moment, there was no difference between them.

She continued walking, the world emptying around her now. All sounds were the echoes of the original sound once cast, and its being was nothing more than a reminder of what was. It played no part but to bounce off the sky and the water and the darkness beyond.

And she walked with specific purpose, she walked as the ambience drained, and she walked until she stopped again.

Applejack couldn’t help but feel that there was something else. Something missing.

It was a different feeling this time around – one that itched at the back of her head. It burned, it called. It screamed and twisted. It begged to be paid heedance. It asked for attention – a memory pleading to be remembered.

Applejack took the memory.

Hit yourself.

It said-

Hit yourself.

Hit yourself?

Memory and command collided. No longer was the fragment of the past just a fragment. It was instruction. It made sense. It said to do things, and told Applejack what she must do.

But she resisted. Resisted because she was in a world which wanted her to be a part of itself. Resisted because she was in an ocean that wouldn’t let her sink. Resisted because she was in a sky that allowed her to fly.

And that world kept its children safe.

It was her mind fighting to move in two directions at once. It was the burning desire to fight against what the world was telling her.

Hit yourself.

Don’t hit yourself.

What a decision it was, when the luxury of a choice comes only once, and once only.

Applejack held up her hoof. Stared at it. Already she felt that by doing this, she was changing the universe. Already by this she felt that something magnificent was going to happen.

The echoes in the distance tried to scream, but it could only make one single sound.

The ocean wanted to drown her, but it could not suffocate what wasn’t born to breathe.

Applejack pulled back her leg.

And with the flagrance befitting self harm, hurtled it into her face.

She screamed. She screamed torture and murder and pain. She screamed insanity as the colour stripped off the world and twirled, dancing like the petals of a flower in a summer’s breeze. She screamed as she saw a whiteness, upon which the framework of reality was left, cleansed from hue.

And then in a moment, just as the moment was there, the moment was gone.

Applejack stood, calmly, in the middle of the ocean, the black sky and the black sea expanding around her in all directions. All was well. She wasn’t screaming. She had no reason to. The hoof that she had swung had passed through her body, moving into her head and out the other side.

And for the first time, in her dreams, Applejack opened her eyes.

She gasped.

She looked around.

She looked under her hooves, to check if there was anything there.

She looked over her body, to check if anything was lost.

She jumped in place to find that the world would not let her sink.

And with acute clarity did she know – finally know – that she was dreaming.

She let out a soft, unburdened laugh, which joined the echo and was swallowed up. She had been successful. She had listened to her friend, and it had been successful.

She was now awake in sleep. Aware in dreaming.

She stepped lightly; the water under-hoof felt cool but not wet.

And the path was forged, because she now knew both sides of the world, and she knew she was to continue walking for a while until she reached what she was supposed to reach.

She ran, quickly. Rushing along.

And suddenly there she was, already standing next to a boat. Or perhaps the boat had been there this entire time – it was hard to tell.

But the boat was there – a little row boat made out of fine malus wood, two oars accompanying it made out of branches that had not yet been stripped of its leaves. It rose and sank mechanically, pushing and pulling itself out of the ink. Yet, not a single ripple did it cause as it sat in the waters.

Behind the edge of the boat, the moon peeked out at Applejack.

It was much clearer than its reflection in the sky.

Applejack clambered in, grabbing hold of the oars, and as soon as she did, the boat moved along, coursing through a merry path down the ocean, rocking as it went, leaping over the waves.

The boat threatened to tip over many a time in the storm, but Applejack found it pointless to hold on. She wouldn’t fall out because she wasn’t meant to. The raging, biting winds and the rains that beat down did nothing to impede the boat’s progress, nor did it sting her eyes or choke her breath. She was where she was meant to be.

It was the roar of thunder that made her jump slightly, but that was all it could ever make her do.

The waves reached up impossibly high, but as turbulent as it was, Applejack lay, curled up against the cold, in the middle of a little row boat made of malus, free and peaceful, free and serene. A gentle hoof remained on the oar, and not even her hat was in any threat of being knocked off.

One final wave and it was peaceful as it had always been, and Applejack knew to stand and look over the edge.

A mesh of fine red string lay, sitting in the black. Back and forth it crossed in a pattern, a single thread crawling up the side of the boat and into Applejack’s hoof.

She pulled, and the net was retrieved.

It fell lifeless to the bottom of the boat, not a catch nor a sliver of scale to be found within its vermillion mesh.

The way forward was clear.

And for the eighty-third time that day, Applejack cast the net out towards the depths of the ocean.

It had been hours in an instant, and she was feeling the exhaustion set in.

Hard to breathe but still breathing.

Sweaty but not sweating.

It was the phantom results of phantom labour, and it seemed nothing less than appropriate.

For a moment, Applejack considered what she was doing. She considered trying something else, but yet, she was swept up in the business of what was, and that left her casting the net for the first time for the hundredth time.

The silhouette of the moon, crescent in shape, and glowing white of colour, slithered its way across the ocean surface, though not a sound it made, breaking free of its bond in the sky.

While the moon watched down from above, its mirror splashed and jumped and cavorted in the depths, dancing its peaceful pirouette for an audience of one.

Applejack tugged on the string and the net flew towards it.

It landed, and the two married – the net around the fish, and the fish within the net.

But the fish protested. It cried and wailed and thrashed and fought, and pulled with all its might to free itself from the oppression of the apple farmer, and it yanked and tugged, and surged and surged and surged.

Applejack wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She held tightly the string of the net, and as the moon struggled to free itself, the boat tipped.

It rotated perfectly, along its bough, and along its frame, and when Applejack was finally allowed to let go, the boat had tipped sideways, with the pony still seated calmly in the center, and around it went, diving under the water, slipping into the world beneath.

It was dark there. Dark and cold. Dark and cold and empty.

And as the upturned boat sank, over Applejack’s head, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow at how the dream had to end.

“Hey, Applejack!”

“Hey, Pinkie.”

“What’s wrong? You look like you could use a big old h-”

“Pinkie!”

“Not today either, huh?”

“Not today.”

She settled into a bench.

“So, how’d last night go? How’d it go? Tell me! Oooh, tell me!”

“It went... different.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I... I did it.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Yeah, really! I did it! I did the thing, and I sorta... realised I was in a dream. I knew I was dreamin’ after that, and everythin’ felt different!”

“... Really?”

“Pinkie, if you ask me ‘really’ one more time...”

“No! I mean... but that was really quick!”

“What do ya’ mean? Didn’t you tell me yesterday that this would be a cakewalk?”

“Uh huh!”

“And didn’t you say somethin’ about how easy it was gonna be and how I’d definitely be able to do it t’night?”

“Yeppers!”

“So why are ya so surprised?”

“Well, I didn’t mean all those things!”

“Pinkie!”

“No! I mean, I meant it, but it was more like a ‘hey! I’m gonna encourage you by saying all these nice things’ way, not a ‘this is actually easy’ way! So that when you didn’t really quite get it, I’d be able to say some nice words!”

“Pinkie...”

“I’m... sorry?”

“Well, it don’t matter. I was able to do it anyway, so...”

“Aww, but I prepared a whole nice speech about how you didn’t make it!”

“That... that’s really nice, Pinkie, but...”

“Can I say it anyway?”

“Pinkie...”

“Pleeeease?”

Applejack stared.

“Oh, Applejack! I’m so super-duper super sorry that you didn’t make it! But don’t you worry, because tonight’s another night! And you’re gonna make it, yessiree! All you gotta do is keep going for it, and no dream will be left unawakened!”

“I... alright.”

“How was it?”

“Pinkie.”

“Is it serious time?”

“Yes. Just for a while, alright?”

“Alright. Serious Pinkie, coming up!”

“Do you have to wear that helmet?”

“Yes! Serious Pinkie always wears a helmet!”

“Alright. Fine. So anyway, as I was sayin’...”

“Which method did you use?”

“Oh... uh... the one where you hit yerself in the face.”

“Why that one?”

“Well, I didn’t reckon I’d see symbols all the time. I mean, clocks... candles... stuff like that. It all depends on th’ dream, right?”

“Yep!”

“So I decided to try doin’ it with the thing on... on myself method.”

“I tried the symbol method myself, once. Took me two weeks! You know what my symbol was?”

“What’s that?”

“Cupcakes, of course!”

“Well... why didn’t I guess that?”

“Because you’re silly! But so, you can’t taste things in dreams, right? So I decided, since I always dream about cupcakes anyway, I’d just have to remember that cupcakes have flavour! So when I ran into a cupcake in my dream...”

“... and ya bit into one, you’d know you were dreaming if it didn’t taste of nothin’.”

“Yep! That was my trigger!”

“Well, I decided to do the pain thing. Seemed the most simple. My dreams are pretty random. I followed the instructions in the book and started repeatin’ in my mind that when you hit yourself, it actually connects. So when I was in th’ dream...”

“What was the dream, by the way?”

“Oh, I was... well. It's complicated. But I guess that’s why you had me do this, huh?”

A book fell upon the table.

“Yep! Did you get it all down?”

"Everythin' that I could remember. Just jotted it all down. It's a bit sketchy, but I think you'll get th' idea."

A few minutes passed as two ponies read.

"A beach, huh?"

“Yeah. But it not really. I mean... it was all black, y'see. Sky was black. Everythin’ was black, but I sorta... knew it was a beach?”

“Well, things in dreams don’t always look the way they do in real life. You just know that things are things because that’s what your brain is telling you! It’s like, when I give you a super hot fudge sundae, it could be coffee ice cream, or peanut butter ice cream! You’ll just have to take my word when I tell you what’s what, 'cuz everything’s brown and covered with delicious, molten ho-”

“That sure sounds good. I could go for one a’ those about now.”

“So, when did you... you know?”

“It was when I was walkin' on th' ocean. Suddenly I just remembered t' do it.”

“Ooo, that’s the hard part. I read it’s easier to look for triggers rather than do them yourself, because if you’re dreaming, your brain doesn’t want you to know.”

“Well, that’s what it felt like! It was really weird, like... like I wanted to look left and right at the same time.”

“But you managed to, right?”

“Yeah, my hoof went right through my head. It was the darndest thing, I tell ya. And then in a second... it’s like the whole world blew up. I felt myself yellin’ at something, but at th’ same time I wasn’t.”

“You were screaming but you weren’t?”

“Yeah. It felt like I were screamin’, but there was no sound... nothin’. But then after that, everythin’ changed.”

“You were aware!”

“I was. I really was. But that’s the funny thing.”

“What?”

“I still... felt like I had t’ do things. You know what I mean? I still knew what I shoulda known. I still felt like I was meant t’ do this an’ that, and nothin’ I wanted to do differently would be done.”

“Like what?”

“Well... alright, let’s see here...”

A hoof ran down the page of midnight scribbles.

"Well, take the boat, for example. I just knew t' get in it. I knew to walk to it. Didn't even occur t' me that walking on top of the ocean was anythin' weird."

"That sounds about right to me!"

“And then... the storm? One second I’m just sittin’ there, and the next second it was a huge ragin’ storm of waves and wind and everything.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get used to that. Time still acts weird in dreams, no matter what you do. You can’t control time!”

“I was gettin’ splashed, but I didn’t get wet, and that... that was kinda weird, honestly. It just felt wrong.”

“Dreams’ll do that to ya, Apple-Jay. Imagine how I feel not being able to taste anything in my dreams!”

“That sounds like pure torture, Pinkie.”

“Oh, it was! Anything else interesting happen?"

"Yeah. More of th' same."

"Do tell!"

“Well... when I was sittin’ there in the storm, I knew that... I knew I wouldn’t fall. I had this feelin’ that I wasn't supposed to fall out, so I just... sort of sat there calmly. I didn’t bother bein’ scared because I knew there weren’t nothin’ to be scared of.”

“Hmmmm...”

“And... that’s the thing about it. I knew that that’s what I was supposed t’ do. It was like... even if I wanted to scream or cry or hold on to th’ boat, I don’t think I could have. I was just doin’ what I was supposed to be doin’.”

“Hmmmmmmmmm...”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah! Hmmmmmm! It’s like, a thinking sound.”

“You’re... thinking?”

“Yes, Applejack! I think! Sometimes! When it helps! And this ought to help! Keep going; I’m trying to put something together!”

“What?”

“A metaphor!”

“O- okay, then. So, later durin' the fishin' bits, there’s another weird time-jump thing, because I only really threw that net out once, but my brain was sayin’ I’d already been doing it for hours and hours, and I’d done it hundreds of times.”

“Yes, that’s normal too. Your mind tries to fast forward the boring bits. It’s actually kinda useful that way! But in order to make things make sense, it fast forwards you as well. It’s only because you were awake in the dream that you even noticed, believe me!”

“Oh, I believe ya. That makes perfect sense.”

“Yes! You need to tell Twilight that!”

“Tell her... what?”

“That I make sense! She doesn’t believe me!”

“Alright, I will, Pinkie. I promise. But anyway, the moon turns into a fish. And that's it.”

“That's it?”

"Yeah, I guess..."

"You didn't write down how the dream ended, Applejack!"

"Well. I didn't... it wasn't really nice, y'see, and..."

"I'm sorry, Applejack! You're gonna have to tell me!"

Applejack sighed.

“I drowned.”

“You drowned?”

“Well, yeah. I guess. That’s what my brain said. The net made the boat flip over, and it sank on my head. So I drowned.”

“What... what was it like?”

“Kinda warm. Wasn’t as bad as I thou- Wait. Pinkie. You know I didn’t actually drown, right?”

“Yeah, too bad.”

“What? Are ya sayin’ th-”

“Alright, so, this is what’s going on!”

Pinkie bubbled happily.

Applejack sighed.

“Alright, go on, Pinkie. What have you... thought of?”

“It’s like... a play. Think of it like a play. On stage! For Hearth’s Warming, or... some other play! I can’t think of any other plays!”

“It’s like a play. I got it. How is it like a play?”

“Imagine... imagine that if you were pretending to be a character, right? Acting? But whenever you pretended, you actually became that character.”

“Yeah, alright, go on?”

“And when you did, you’d have no idea that you were an actor, right? You’d have no idea that the lights on stage were lights and the backgrounds kept moving about! So it’s like that. And things keep changing, like... maybe a light would turn off, and it would be nighttime, or a scene change would happen, and the background would be changed!”

“Keep goin’...”

“And the character would be in his world, so everything would be normal! That was... let’s call that night one!”

“Night one, I’m a character who forgot she was an actor. Check.”

“Right! So night two, which was last night, you suddenly became... aware! So right then, you’d know you were an actor. But you’d also know that you were a character, so you’d be... both! At the same time!”

“Right.”

“Buuuuuut, you’d just be aware. And you’d still be acting. So you’d have to do what the character does, according to the script! You have no choice; you’re just doing what the director wants you to do!”

“So... I don’t have a choice. Is that what you’re sayin’? That’s why I can’t move around and do my own thing?”

“Because you’re following a script!”

“A script. Huh.”

“And since you’re the actor, you’d then be able to see the lights turn off and the backgrounds get moved around. And it’d be really weird for you, because your character sees it as if everything was normal, but the actor is just seeing all the things being pushed around on stage! So... it gets confusing.”

“You’re gettin’ confusing, sugar.”

“No, I’m not. It’s really simple.”

“I guess I see what you mean. So... what then? What’s the next step?”

“Well, what’s the problem?”

“What... what do you mean?”

“I still don’t see what the problem is, Applejack. You’re just having a bunch of weird dreams. Is this really something that you need to fix?”

Applejack paused.

“I... I don’t know, Pinkie.”

“I do!”

“You do?”

“Yeah! Just don’t worry about them, because dreams are just dreams, and they can’t hurt you!”

“Pinkie?”

“Yeah, Applejack?”

“Pinkie.”

“Applejack?”

“Pinkie?”

“Applejack, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

“I didn’t tell you... everything.”

“Applejack?”

“When... when I wake up. I don’t remember anything about the dreams. Well, I do, but they fade. But I’m writin’ them down, now. So...”

Pinkie just blinked. She looked worried. Miserable.

“I... I wake up cryin’, Pinkie.”

“Crying?”

“Yeah. Like... uncontrollable. Sobbing. Screamin’ for my family. First night, after I woke up in the mornin’, Big Mac reckoned I’d got hurt. Came rushin’ in. Yellin’ like I ain’t never heard him yell before.”

“Crying...”

“Like a baby. Like... somethin’ deep inside had been cut away. I feel emotions, too. Fear. Sadness. Hate. I ain’t sure what I’m cryin’ about, but... the room spins, and sometimes it feels like I’m still in a dream. But I know I ain’t because I can feel the tears on my face and... and I’m scared, Pinkie. I don’t know what’s causin’ it. I don’t know what’s happenin’. But I’m... I’m just scared.”

“Why didn’t you... tell... tell me this before?”

“Because I didn’t want ya to think I was crazy. Seems crazy, don’t it? Cryin’ at a dream? I ain’t a little filly no more. Ain’t somethin’ to be done. But I still... It feels so real, Pinkie. So much that I wake up and I’m already cryin’, and I can’t stop it.”

“Applejack...”

“So that’s why...”

“Listen. This is your next step.”

“Pinkie?”

“No, listen. This is no time to be playing around.”

“Pinkie?”

“Keep writing the journal. Got it? Please. It’s important. When you sleep tonight, do what you did, but remember to do it earlier. And anything you can remember. Details about strange things or familiar things. Things that stand out. Remember them. Write them down. You need to start looking for signs and symbols. You need to start to remember things that you keep seeing.”

“Pinkie... thank you. Thank you so much for understandin’ me an-”

“Applejack, if I had known it was this serious....”

A breath shivered over a trembling lip.

“Now, listen. That’s the first thing you have to do, alright?”

“And the second?”

“We’re going to teach you how to ignore the script.”

The Third

The room spun, the colours ripped, and everything fell back within the lines. It was over in a second, but in that second the universe collapsed and rebuilt itself.

Applejack lowered her hoof from her cheek, blinking.

She was back. And she was awake.

There was no time to lose.

A mantra, she chanted to herself in her head, five little words.

This is just a dream.

The phrase repeated itself over and over, Applejack observing her surroundings with an awareness that grew with each word that flew through her wisp-filled mind.

An implanted mental command suddenly twitched to life, and the dream commanded her to move forward. She found herself standing before a wall of twigs that rose up in front of her, built up haphazardly like an impromptu barricade.

The cascading wall stretched up above her head, surrounding her in an uneven loop of wood and fiber. She was a star, caught within a halo of branches. A bug, caught within the ligneous rim of a whittled cup.

She kept thinking of the words. More and more. Viciously, fervently. With conviction.

Each word she conjured ebbed in her brain like a pulsing shockwave exploding outward, and each time she completed a phrase, the haze cleared, receding back into the cracks between the walls of the dream.

But still she clambered. Still she climbed. Still she pulled herself up, scrabbling over wood and debris, until she was on the very edge of the edifice, and she was looking over the edge.

There was no end to it. There was her, the world, and the infinity of up and down.

Faster and faster did the chants pour out, like a jungle rhythm, like a tattoo of beats that flew silently through the air. More and more. Stronger and Stronger.

She did not want to do what she had to.

Applejack stepped to the end of the platform, a rush of depth swarming her senses as she peered into the void beneath.

She did not want to do this.

She leaned forward.

She did not!

The anger and concentration criss-crossed her forehead. She was in her dream, and she controlled it. It was a consideration made by the virtue of understanding alone.

It was just a dream.

The ground shuddered.

It was just a dream.

Something broke.

It was just a dream.

Applejack stood still.

...And stood.

Applejack gasped, the last few strings were cut from her head and thoughts, and for the first time she opened her eyes and looked around with a clarity of vision. White shapes pressed against white blobs. She knew they were there now, but she knew not what they were.

She also knew she wouldn’t know until she was ready to be told.

Everything remained out of focus until seen.

Over shuddering breath and dry tongue, Applejack peeled her leg back from the edge, moving it slowly, afraid that she might upset her balance and tumble off anyway. But something deep down told her that she wouldn't fall, that she couldn't fall anywhere even if she leaned over, not unless she wanted to.

And with that – a sudden calm, a settling of the heart, the lowering of emotions.

There was a sense of security in that power of knowledge. And it seemed that the more one knew, the more strength one had in this strange realm where everything was of the mind, from the mind and for the mind.

The mind reigned.

The twigs below, she noted, snapped. Cracked. They made all the noises appropriate if one were to step on a bunch of twigs, but they remained unbroken and unmoving.

Applejack reached into the swirling depths of her mind and retrieved a memory.

Dream logic. Different to regular logic, and certainly different to Pinkie logic, as they had discussed yesterday.

Dream logic worked this way. Things were separate. Elements were individual. It was all slightly less than Gestalt. The whole was remarkably nothing more than a shadowy simile of the sum of its parts, stuck together with shoddy, unreliable glue.

Applejack turned around. She was standing on the edge of a giant nest. It was a huge piece of work. It must have been made out of millions of twigs.

But that thought was interrupted by another one coming in the other direction.

No.

It was made out of a regular amount of twigs. And the twigs were humongous. She was the one who was small.

Oh yes.

Yes indeed it was, and Applejack found that she had no choice but to nod along, for both interpretations of the facts were very much true, and both realities forced themselves upon the same concept.

It was dream logic.

But in this strange new world, she finally found her freedom. She closed her eyes and listened to the dream. She thought about what it had to say and what it was telling her.

Like a painter carried away by his brush, the dream formed shape in its entirety, finally revealing its form to the one who willed it so, the blobs of white taking form.

Reaching up to the skies in the way a magnificent curtain of beads hangs down, a hundred and one thin, white, spindly trees clawed their way up the walls and into the cracks above.

It was a forest standing alone. The ground was somewhere below, but it wasn’t to be seen. It was inconsequential. The dream had no meaning for it, no reason for it, and the dream had not bothered to make one.

The nest she stood in lay neatly in the crook of a branch that belonged to one of these many trees. It wasn’t the only one.

Upon dozens of pearly, wretched crooks hung a dozen other nests, all of which dotted the landscape like ornaments of a fiery brown.

And, as the dream had insisted, Applejack was rather small indeed.

The image had just finished painting itself in her head, and when she opened her eyes once more, the sight as it was described to her panned out clearly like a vista, cold scratching bark against a pallid blue backdrop. The warm bursts of tan was the only comfort this world had, and the nests seemed like the only safe place to be amongst the deadwood.

Applejack finished her tour, and moved.

Moving was strange, here. Moving was considerably more difficult.

It is very rare that one moves just by telling themselves that they wish to be there while they slid slowly in place. But that was how it worked.

Walking was just a courtesy to normality. It was just something she did to make sure there was something right.

She moved to the center of the nest, testing her freedom.

There was no breeze; there was no smell. The colours of the world faded when she wasn’t looking directly at something, and so around the edges of her sight did it feel like a miasma of grey trying to sneak in and swallow everything up, but never moving past the fringe.

The sound of twigs breaking underhoof became monotone until the point where she reached the middle of the nest, and the sounds changed.

She lifted her leg, and dropped it.

Her hoof knocked on the ground.

Stranger and stranger was it, that she stepped aside and knelt down.

With a wave of a hoof, the twigs cast themselves away, and visual image finally caught up with audio input.

On the floor of the nest lay a door. It was a large wooden one of carved oak and gnarly face, but no other adornments did it bear. A worn, troubled frame completed it, and there was a strange sense of odd familiarity about the entryway.

Applejack knew – no, she felt – she had to open it.

That was strange.

It was strange that she was feeling strange.

It was strange that she could feel.

It must have come with her newfound freedom. But like a toad in a pit, she didn’t know what she was in until she got out. Applejack found herself suddenly experiencing things that were both new and comfortably familiar at the same time, and she finally could look behind her and find that the hole that she was in was actually a well.

And she drew upon the waters of emotion, thoughtfulness and spirit, and for the first time while she was here, she had something else influencing her decisions other than pure thought alone.

Confusion came and went in a second, giving way to a comfortable surprise. She could feel herself smiling, something she didn’t remember doing before, and she felt happy within that smile.

The smile felt happy within her.

A freshness washed over, as she drew in a breath – a pointless act that only served to pamper her newly born soul.

She looked down at the door again. There was something very familiar about this door. There was something odd about it. It was there, but it wasn’t meant to be. In the world that was built around her, she had no memory of a door. She had no imprint of it.

But there it was. There it existed, in the dream, a fragment apart.

Her mind itched. The dream wanted to move on. The dream asked nicely. It wouldn’t ask nicely again.

But Applejack’s eyes trailed down to the door.

Quickly, frantically now, she ran a hoof over its humble frame. She knew she didn’t have much time left until the dream called, and she had to take advantage of this opportunity. The door did not have a handle, a knob, or any means by which to open it. It remained, a platform in an ocean of twigs, stuck and underwhelming.

Applejack blinked.

She was there, on the edge of the nest once again. Standing at its lip, looking down into the abyss. The solitary pony shook her head, bringing a hoof up to her face. Being conscious of all the strangeness of this new world came with a side effect – it hummed with a upsetting timbre. Jumping around like that... being forced from scene to scene was slightly jarring if nothing else, and she wasted precious seconds catching up.

But the dream pushed on. It would anyway. Applejack found herself unable to resist.

It had begun.

And as she stood, from behind her, there rose a magnificent flurry of feathers and down, an explosion of soft, gentle tuftlings that rained upon the world, a giant, yellow sun of wings that unfurled all around.

She turned.

The beast bobbed.

The bird unwrapped from within itself, a humongous beast, bright citrine hues extending every which way as it rose like a hungry beast clawing desperately toward the skies, blackened, charred beak crying a wordless call to the heavens.

The other nests that patronized the landscape too found themselves bursting with yellow as each gained a bird of their own, causing a storm of feathers to rain down from above.

It rained with discarded garb, and Applejack found herself marvelling at the sight that bloomed, a chill touching her spine and causing her to shiver.

It moved back and forth, shuddering, its pinprick eyes glowing red behind tiny tufts of white. It exhaled a breath of heavy air as it lowered its wings – all its brothers doing the same – and ended up as a statue, a cone with a head, a malformed beak and a visage that suddenly made Applejack’s heart jump.

It was unlike any bird that she had ever seen.

Above Applejack, it towered, monolithically still, looking off into the distance at a wisp of a memory.

A red string, or a collar, or something of the sort, trailed from its neck to the ground in front of Applejack. It ended, curled up like a snake at her hooves, waiting to strike.

Applejack reached down, the string shimmering against the wood.

She reached out and gently picked it up with tightly clenched teeth.

There was a flash, and everything changed.

Applejack gasped, dropping the string almost instantly, and all at once, the bird began to return to its normal form.

Bulging eyes the size of grapefruits started to reduce in swelling. Its open beak, screeching at the skies, began to close. And its horrendous black tongue, spotty and bulbous, started to retract within itself.

It was like a jack-in-the-box being wound back up. The change occurred in the instant Applejack had touched that string, but she was only privy to the creature reverting back to normal.

The bird accused her, swivelling its pulsating eyes down to stare at Applejack in a silent fury.

But again, again, she reached down and drew the string back up into her mouth. It was what she was supposed to do.

But this time, she kept her eyes shut. She knew the changes were made. She knew what had happened would happen again and she did not want to see it. The string held tightly in her teeth was the only thing left connecting her to this silent, maniacal world.

Clamping down ever tighter, she prised her eye open. Slowly – a crack – and through a slit of light she saw it. Even though she knew it was happening, even though she knew what she had seen, the terrible visage of that horrible beast crying out in pain was still something that made her feel like her stomach was crushing in on itself.

There the bird was again, silent and oppressive. Curling its neck back at an unfathomable angle, it shrieked noiselessly in pain. A tendril tongue flapped around like a flag in a gale storm, and its eyes, which now looked and rippled like two water-balloons filled with ichor, looked on in accusation as a thousand bursting veins centered their focus onto Applejack.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to let go.

The bird turned its head once again, its beak looming over her like a thick black spike.

With the last of its gasping breaths it shuddered a final shudder, both eyes swivelling forward to give Applejack its final condemnation.

And once again, darkness reigned.

“Applejack, you look...”

“Pinkie, they’re gettin’ worse.”

“What happened to you?”

“They’re gettin’ worse.”

“Applejack! What happened?”

The farmpony shook, like a dog left out in the rain.

“You’re shivering, Applejack. You’re... you’re cold.”

“I couldn’t... I couldn’t sleep last night. Big Mac had t’ come get me again. He said I was sittin’ upright in my bed, eyes dried out... wasn’t breathin’ too good. Said I was just repeatin’ their names over an’ over, like I was in some kinda trance or somethin’. Bloom was woken up, too. They both sat by me for a half hour while I just... I don’t even know, Pinkie. I was sittin’ there and just breathin’ funny.”

“Applejack, this... this isn’t funny anymore.”

“Funny thing, comin’ from you...”

“I’m serious, here!”

“Heh.”

“Applejack!”

“No... no I’m sorry. I just find it real ironic, that’s all.”

“You asked me to be serious, didn’t you? Well now I’m serious, and I’m really scared, Applejack!”

“I... I am too, sugar.”

“Listen...”

“Maybe we should get some help... this seems... outta my hooves now. I don’t know if doin’ all this is actually helpin’ or just makin’ the situation worse. And I really ain’t sure I can go on like this night after night. Maybe we should call Twilight, an-”

“No.”

“N-no?”

“No!”

“Pinkie?”

“Listen, Applejack. You could tell a hundred ponies. But then what? Drink this.”

A mug of hot chocolate spun into place in front of Applejack.

“Well, thank... thank you, Pinkie, but what do you mean by-”

“What I mean is, in the end the problems lie in your dreams, right? What you said last time? It’s pretty true! What are Fluttershy or Rainbow Dash gonna do? What about Rarity? Twilight’d probably push you to go see Princess Celestia about it or hook you up to a weird machine or something, but in the end you’re still gonna have to face your dreams! I mean, what, are you just not gonna sleep?”

“Well, that sounds like a go-”

“No!”

“Whoa there... okay, Pinkie. I was just kiddin’! I ain’t never seen you so... focused before. You’re scarin’ me a little.”

“Well, that’s what happens when my friends are unhappy.”

“Well yeah, but don’t you always say all you have to do is cheer them up and...”

“That doesn’t always work, Applejack.”

“This hot chocolate’s sure doin’ some good, though.”

“Family recipe.”

“Well... thank ye very kindly, then.”

“No problem.”

“Pinkie.”

“All... all I’m saying is that you have to fight it yourself. You’ve already done this much, and... well... I think you can do more.”

“I just...”

“I’ll help you, Applejack! I’m here for you!”

Eyes met.

A smile appeared.

Applejack nodded slightly.

“Alright, Pinkie. Thank you. It’s just.... It’s just gettin’ difficult, that’s all. I want ‘em to stop, of course, but... I feel like there’s a great big tiger in my head, and I’m walking closer to it, not further away, y’know?”

“I can’t say that I understand, but... I’ll be here. Always here. And if you really need to, we’ll go talk to Twilight Sparkle and Princess Celestia and everypony else, but at least we can try to stop the crying.”

“Stop it how?”

“Well... we figure out what you’re scared of!”

“Alright... but how?”

“What did you dream last night? Did it work?”

“It did, actually. And it worked out better’n I’d’ve expected.”

“Oooh! So you were able to take control? Awareness! Awareness!”

“Yes, I suddenly felt like I was back to my regular self again!”

“Awareness!”

“Pinkie, stop saying ‘awareness’.”

“Awww.”

“It felt a bit weird, though, y’know? I sort of was... able to see things different. I felt like I do in real life. Like I do right now, even. But yet, things were still kinda all over th’ place. I’m sorry, I guess I ain’t doin’ a good job explainin’ it.”

“No, it’s fine! I can understand. Go on!”

“Well, it was like... oh! Yeah, that’s right! I felt emotions again. I had feelings again. And that was really, really weird.”

“Oh yeah! I remember when I had that when I was doing my dream thingie as well! It is really weird! But that’s part of awareness! Awareness! Awareness!”

“Yeah... Did you get that thing where you felt something but you didn’t really... do the things that are sorta like... the stuff you do when you feel somethin’?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like... well, I was scared in the dream. I remember that much. I had this fear of somethin’ I saw. And... I ain’t never had feelings in my dreams before...”

“When you can think, you can feel!”

“Yeah. I guess that’s it, huh? With my new... Oh, go on. You wanna say it.”

“Awareness!”

“... Comes all these emotions too, huh?”

“Yep!”

“And I was scared, but I didn’t do anythin’ about it. Like, if you were scared in real life, what would y’ do?”

“Well, I used to get scared all the time when I was just a little bitty filly! I’d hide under my bed and hug my pet rocks, and everything would be better! Also my sister would come in and tell me that it was silly to be afraid of earthworms, but Applejack!”

“What?”

“Earthworms are really scary.”

“Yeah... But the point is, you did somethin’ about it. Right? You hid under a bed. You maybe cried about it.”

“Oh yeah, I cried. I cried at all the earthworms.”

“And you... well, reacted, I guess. But I didn’t. I just stood there, looking at the horrible... thing... and...”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah... thanks. I am. It’s just... even thinking about it now... it’s terrifyin’. But I just stood there. Being scared. Not actin’ on it.”

“Yeah, that happens. See, actions in a dream? They’re unnecessary. Your body isn’t real. Only what you think and what you feel are real. So... even though you feel and think things, you can only act as the dream says you can.”

“I don’t think I really understand the rules, Pinkie.”

“That’s alright. No one else really does either. It’s just something that happens. It’s a different world in there, Applejack!”

“But... I smiled. I remember smiling.”

“And what happened?”

“And I felt... good. I felt happy when I smiled.”

“That’s odd. That shouldn’t have happened. At least, I don’t think so, but I’m no expert! If you had any cupcake related questions, though, I am an expert on those, so...”

“Maybe later, Pinkie. So... that happened.”

“So do you think that this thing you saw was what made you wake up crying?”

“No. Because it’s... different.”

Applejack’s eyes wandered.

Suddenly, she slapped her dream journal and spun it around.

“Look. Look here. It’s all different. I started to remember the first dream too, although only just th’ small bits and stuff.”

Pinkie’s eyes scanned the latest entry.

“A bird?”

“Yes. I saw a bird. Only it weren’t no bird I ever did see before. It was like a huge... monster thing. A pillar covered with rottin’ feathers. It was horrible. It was like... someone had gone and torn up a bunch of other birds and stuck parts together. It had the shape of a bird, but it weren’t no bird. Closest I could say it looked like a... mangled-up owl.”

“That sounds... awful.”

“And the thing was, I did feel fear lookin’ at it. Almost as if I was supposed to hate it. Supposed to be scared of it. But I weren’t sad. When I wake up, it’s sadness. I feel like somethin’s been ripped away from my chest. Like a big part of me is missin’. But the bird... only made me feel angry and scared. Not sad. I weren’t cryin’ out of fear.”

“And what about the other dreams?”

“Well, I didn’t feel nothin’ in the other dreams, so I can’t tell you, but a storm’s pretty scary. And in th’ first dream... from what I can remember now, there’s some... there was some kind’a critter. And I don’t know if I was supposed to be afraid of it or not. But I still woke up scared.”

“Look... there’s animals in all three dreams.”

“Well... yeah. Critters. But I am a farmer. Wouldn’t I be dreamin’ of things like that?”

“No more or less than any other pony who knows what animals are! But... what happened in the first dream, right at the end?”

“I don’t know. Everythin’ went white. I think... somethin’ happened to me.”

“The second dream?”

“I drowned.”

“And last night?”

“... I got eaten, I think.”

“What?”

“Well... it was funny. The bird... monster thing. It had a collar, right? And there was this... this line I could pick up. And I knew I had to. It was the dream sayin’ it. So I picked it up and it just looks... oh, Celestia, it looked like it was gettin’ choked. But I knew I had t’ choke it.”

“And you...”

“I did. I kept holdin’ onto that string and chokin’ it. And suddenly it looks at me and... it just comes for me and it goes dark.”

“That’s terribly grim, Applejack.”

“It’s only a dream, right?”

“Thankfully.”

“Yeah... so... could that be what’s makin’ me sad?”

“It might be... but it seems like there’s not enough, you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“Well... let’s say it this way. It doesn’t seem like there’s enough just in getting hurt or... you know... in a dream to make you wake up that sad. It’s like if you ordered a super-duper special sundae here at Sugar Cube Corner, and you started cheering and whooping around. It’s nice, but it isn’t that nice.”

“That’s true. I wouldn’t really dance around. I’d be happy, but that’s about it, right?”

“Right! And if somepony were to be whooping and cheering, maybe there’s something else. All we can see is that she’s been served a sundae, but maybe there was an engagement band hidden in the ice cream!”

“So, you’re sayin’ that all I can see so far is the sundae, but not the reason behind the sundae.”

“Yep! What’s the reason that you’re getting hurt? What’s the reason for all these animals? I think that’s what you gotta try to figure out next.”

“Huh. Well. There was somethin’ else that was odd.”

“Shoot.”

“Are... things... Do things not belong in dreams?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in the dream last night, as I was exploring it and trying to understand it, I saw something that... felt like it weren’t supposed to be there.”

“But... I don’t think that happens. I mean, dreams are all made up by your mind, right? So whatever’s in your mind... you dream. How could there be something that’s not meant to be there if you dream it up?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“What was it?”

“A door.”

“A... door?”

“Yes. It was at the bottom of this big nest that I was in. Um... it was the floor, basically.”

“Did you try to open it?”

“Yeah, ‘course I tried. Didn’t work. Didn’t have nothin’ to open it with. But I felt weird about it. As if it was not supposed to be there. And... when I thought about opening it, the dream started to push back in th’ other direction. Sayin’, ‘hey, let’s do somethin’ else, alright?’”

“Huh... that’s weird.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah! That isn’t in any of the texts! Maybe I missed something, but...”

“No, I don’t think you would’ve, Pinkie. You’re very... thorough.”

“Aww, thanks!”

“So it’s not normal, then?”

“No, but it sounds suspicious. I’d... I’d be on the lookout for the door again!”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, what are we doing tonight?”

“I guess I’m gonna see where the emotions lead... gonna try t’ uncover things a bit. Poke around. Look for things that feel weird.”

“Alright. We’ll talk a bit more about that in a while. But until then?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you could use one of those super-duper special sundaes!”

The Fourth

She didn’t even have to wait this time. Her hoof fell, almost on cue, to the rolling sounds of thunder in the distance. Almost immediately she snapped back into place, the colours slotting back into the lines and everything shifting back to how it was meant to.

She could feel now, she could think, and she had, as Pinkie put it so many times, awareness.

There was no time to lose.

She shut her eyes.

She was in a house – a regular house in what might have been Ponyville. It was a lovely little cottage, just the kind that she might picture if one had to ask her to think of a regular homestead, but this one was adorned with things that ought to have been in a much higher class of residence.

There was a manticore head over the fireplace and lavish banners that hung in purples and golds. But there was also a simple rug over the wooden floor and very modest furniture.

It was a home bought by a laypony but decorated by the bourgeoisie.

Applejack’s eyes flew open and that was exactly what she saw.

She found herself standing right in front of the main door of the house, facing it. Expecting something. The dream told her that she was to open it at the ringing of the bell.

Applejack took a step back.

Not just yet.

It was only a few minutes into the dream, in whatever passing of time that dreams employed, and thus far there had been no fluctuations in her heart – it was lacking the impact of emotion that the previous dreams had.

But it would be quite naive to think that all her problems were solved and this was a nice proper dream, one bereft of torment.

Oh no. The torment would come. But she was starkly ready for it. She was prepared.

She felt her rear nudge against something solid that pressed cold against her flank.

And there it was. She had been expecting it for some time now. And it was a good a time as any to make an appearance.

It came a lot earlier this time around, but perhaps it was only because she knew what she was looking for. It was the kind of thing, she realised, that was like an object sitting in one’s peripheral vision – always in sight, but not truly seen it unless attention was paid.

The door stood by itself in the middle of the room, a walnut slab of wood nestled in a frame of polished oak. It was very prim and proper this time around, much unlike the wilder, more feral nature it took in the previous dream.

It was a little smaller as well, and its demeanor was more befitting the decor of the room. But it was unmistakably what she was looking for. It exhumed feelings of oddness, and Applejack had that strange idea that it did not belong.

This was, of course, on top of the very fact that there was a single door in a frame that had escaped the clutches of a wall and had rooted itself to the middle of an open space, where it stood on the carpet, next to the couch.

Applejack circled it, inspecting it. Like its predecessor, it had no means by which to be opened. It almost looked as if someone had boarded up an archway, but it radiated a beckoning warmth.

She turned away, regarding the rest of the room. It was as it was painted in her mind, and nothing else was out of sorts. There were other entrances in the room to pitch-black wells of nothingness.

But outside...

There was an outside.

Applejack found herself standing by a window, staring into the town. She could see it all, even from her limited scope. She knew about the buildings that lay scattered, running staggered down a single, wide road. It was a street of cottages all squashed together in a row, sitting and waiting for the odd traveller to come by.

The road trailed until it hit a pure wall of white, where it, and everything around, was cut off abruptly.

Applejack also knew that she wasn’t supposed to leave the house. Her role was here.

So why then, were all the other houses even there?

But for the moment she had a decision to make, and only one thing that she could inspect at a time. The dream would always remain. But the door... the door had to have her priority.

With a hoof firm of conviction, she pushed against one side of the cold, flat surface.

And then her brain started buzzing.

There it was, like a siren calling out, like a fanfare announcing an arrival. The dream had started. It started in order to call her away. It started in order to tell her not to touch the door.

The clock had begun to tick.

And all of a sudden, Applejack found herself without the luxury that she once had.

Very soon, the dream would encroach. It would push and nudge and suggestions would be thrown. There would reach a time when suggestions turned to orders, and the dream would ultimately come to an inevitable close.

As Applejack learned, even control extended only so far in the one direction. Slight deviations were possible, but still she found herself bound to the rules of the world she was in.

And time was running short.

She wanted to gasp in shock, but the act was meaningless here. She found it fit to focus her attention on more pressing matters and rushed up to the same window that looked upon the rest of the town.

At the end of the street, a splash of black against a canvas of white, stood a figure. Tall in stature, strong of girth – it was clearly a being that bespoke authority and power, but it was nothing more than a hole cut out from the rest of the world.

The silhouette stood, regarding the dreamscape that lay itself out before it.

It was hard to understand what she was seeing, but the dream’s inherent knowledge let her know that what she was looking at was not only alive, but a pony as well. But nothing about its physical demeanor would have allowed anyone to guess that.

No matter how it moved, or no matter how it was viewed, all that could be seen was its dimensionless, flat edges, and more times than not, the overlapping of shapes folded it into an incomprehensible mess.

But the dream had assured her. This was a pony.

And it had begun to move.

Applejack threw her hooves against the window, the glass shuddering silently. With no latch or grooves, the window wouldn’t open. The walls were solid, and the portals in the back to the empty depths gave no opportunity to leave.

Applejack’s eyes moved to the door.

Would it be that obvious?

Once again, it was about the rules of logic applying itself differently. She knew what her role was – she had a door to open at the ringing of the bell. That meant that she could open the door. Had to.

She’d assumed that the door would only open then.

But...

A hoof was placed, softly, on the handle.

It swung open.

The shadow had made its way down the street now. Stopping at every door, pausing at every junction. It jumped from place to place, like a phantom, its movements never really matching up with what it seemed like it was supposed to do.

But it never passed a house by, and Applejack knew it would be only a matter of time before it finally reached the house that she had just escaped from.

The houses. There must have been a reason why the shadow was interacting with them. There must have been a purpose behind its odd behaviour. Applejack drew her gaze across each of the doors that the shadow stopped in front of. And with time running out, she made a decision.

She rushed, cantering up the street, zooming up to the houses that the shadow loitered at.

There was one point where she had to pass it by.

Applejack felt that singular, focused wave of fear sweep past her once again, the moment she stopped next to the shadow. The form, devoid of soul and identity, looked down at her.

It was only a head taller, and not much larger, but it turned, for just a moment, regarding Applejack and giving her the same concern as a god to a stone, and in that, it became the frightful maw of a beast.

But Applejack couldn’t move, couldn't look away. There was morbid attraction to it, like a pony staring into the eyes of death or at the birth of all things. It was an unfathomable calling of the unknown, and Applejack was trapped within it.

The shadow didn’t change its form, but Applejack thought that she could see a thousand beasts all rushing toward her at once, followed by the beckoning of a thousand doves.

But it turned away.

It turned away and broke the chains. It had lost interest, or had finished studying Applejack, or whatever it had been doing, and had released her hence from its influence. It moved on to the doors. The houses. It kept going with its staggering jumps, leaving Applejack wrestling with the aftermath.

Discomfort and fear and a nervous energy kept her at bay for the briefest of seconds before she rushed to the first house along the line.

It was a house like any other.

It was a house like all others.

Like a grotesque set of conjoined children randomly connected together in a chain, the houses overlapped, corners sticking into walls and entire facades merging save for a shift along an axis.

But each and every house, if set apart, was the same old brick house with the plain brown face, the two windows, and the door. Long, thin cords hung from the walls, red lines of rope that were attached to a bell from within.

One would pull it if one wanted to engage with the pony within.

Behind each window darkness lay. It was not for sight that the houses were made.

Applejack turned to the shadow, already two houses ahead. She observed as it moved up to the door and rang a bell that wasn’t there. She watched as the shadow dipped its head and stepped back. She looked as it moved on.

Applejack pushed her own head toward the door, thrusting it forward.

Like someone turning up the volume on a stereo, the noises came. It was only until she had her head pressed against the door completely did she hear it fully – the sound came from everywhere, surrounding her like a bubble.

Voices.

But not quite.

What she heard were murmurs. They certainly weren’t in any conceivable language. In fact, it was doubtful that it was any sort of meaningful communication at all. When the words are removed, all that’s left is the sentiment, and the sentiment came through clearly – they were the whispers behind closed doors, realized through this strange metaphor.

Applejack turned, and, in a jump, she was at the second door, catching up.

She pressed her head to this one as well, and here, there were screams. Muffled, yet clear. Robust, yet echoing layers into itself. It was a lonely scream made out of many voices that sang a single note, shrilling and warbling and contorting as it went along in an unabated deluge.

Applejack turned her head away, and the scream in her head faded into quiet.

The shadow, as she saw, was nearly at her door. She had only time for one more herself.

She jumped, and the third door was within earshot.

This one heralded forth the slamming of wood against wood, as the door she stood behind slammed shut. Of course, it was never truly open in the first place, nor did any associative action lend itself to the idea that the sound should be taking place.

But the door sounded tightly shut, a single, prominent time, and it fell upon the ears of Applejack. And when she moved her head away and toward the door in succession, it triggered once more, and each time hence.

There was no time to meditate upon what it meant.

The world fell upon her and buried her for just a moment.

She felt the town cave in, pressing against her skin, engulfing her body.

She felt the overbearing need to close her eyes, and the dream willed them shut. True darkness fell across her sight, and in the instant that it came, it left just as quickly. She was back in the place that she was assigned to.

Her home.

And she was ready to open the door.

The shadow passed by the window. Applejack wondered if, looking in, she too would see only a black canvas. She wondered if she only made sense when she was standing here in the room. She questioned if she was merely a tool of the grand idea, a cog in the great machine.

A flower in a garden, stifling itself against the breeze.

The bell rung.

The red cord was pulled.

The door opened.

And Applejack once again felt that overbearing pressure, as her heart paced and her mind floundered in acid.

Her face remained stoic as she grimaced inside, her heart gritting itself against tightened lungs.

And she stared into the depths of the shadowy figure, that starless space, that faceless void.

She looked up and it looked down.

Applejack turned to the vase she held balanced in an upturned hoof.

It was a gorgeous thing. Crafted with a specific precision that Applejack was not all that accustomed to; it looked paper-thin, yet held all the hallmarks of fine Canterlot design upon its lithe frame.

Swirls of daytime varnish were painted over a midnight clay in a dance of the universe where the two forces of light and dark clashed and collided. Speckled stardust and tenebrous clouds wrapped over the image, bringing the galaxy to life with twinkling brights and sullied spots of the nether.

Before she knew it, before she even had the chance to change her mind, her leg was stretched out behind her, the vase planted firmly on the edge of her hoof. In panic, she searched frantically for to stop the act, but the act was written, and all acts had to be carried out.

The vase had already been thrown, on a course straight toward the shadow, when Applejack put her hooves up in a gesture that came far too late. But the porcelain urn disappeared as soon as it hit the face of the creature, and it was of no more importance, as if she had merely dropped a rock down a deep, dark hole.

But for the act, and for the act alone, did she feel terribly about it.

She wanted to bow. She wanted to scrape her Stetson against the floor in frank apology, showing her remorse for what she had done.

But the dream held her fast in chains, and she could do nothing but feel the shadow approach, floating through the door and reaching ever closer to where she stood.

The shadow leaned down, and soon, all vision of the room bled out, pushed away from the edges as the void spread across her field.

The last thing she heard was the heartbeat in her ears, pounding out a reverberation that cried to the stars.

The last thing she saw was the fluttering of the wings of birds, a shining beacon of light, and the emptiness of all things that ate all else.

The last thing she felt was a great sorrow, caused by the death of a thousand suns over.

And then, once again, darkness took her away.

“I’m gettin’ tired of dyin’.”

“Well, that’s something you don’t hear every day!”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t normal circumstances, is it?”

“Peach or Strawberry?”

“Beg yer pardon?”

“Smoothie.”

“Oh. Uh... either one, I s’ppose. I can’t decide right about now.”

“Apple crumble?”

“Pinkie, d’ya know how many apple-related products I eat? I go out to avoid ‘em. Granny has a... uh... limited range in her kitchen skills, if ya know what I mean.”

“Oh, but that can’t be true! I’ve been to your big backyard grill parties before! Delicious roasted corn, and yams and...”

“Big Mac.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Um... tell ya what, just get me somethin’ interestin’, alright? That ain’t fruit-related. That’d do me jus’ fine.”

“Pineapple mango, comin’ up!”

“No, Pinkie, I said...”

“Yeeeeees?”

“Nevermind.”

“So, how’d it go?

“Same old. I’m gettin’ mighty sick’a wakin’ up my family at night.”

“Because of the death and stuff, right?”

“Yep.”

“Dying’s no fun!”

“Understatement of th’ year, Pinkie.”

“Here you go!”

A huge glass of fluffy yellow juice deposited itself on the table.

“Thanks, Pinkie. So... I don’t think I’m makin’ much progress.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Things just didn’t work the way we figured. I thought I was supposed t’ be able t’ break out of the script or somethin’, but I just kept gettin’ dragged back by the dream. I tried to check stuff out, y’know? The door. It was there again. I’m sure it’s been there before, too. Each time I see it I remember bits of it in other dreams and stuff. But when I touched it, the dream started ringin’ alarms and moved on without me.”

“Well... I don’t mean this in a bad way, but that sounds like you just didn’t have enough control. Are you sure you were lucid?”

“Definitely. I could think and reason and all that stuff. It felt even more real than the last time, Pinkie, almost like I was actually awake. And I did have control, too. I could go where I wanted. I could do what I wanted. It was really only when I started touchin’ the door when... the dream stopped listenin’ to me, I guess. But even then, I could still do my own thing... for the most part, at least.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it was as if I was still runnin’ the script. I kept gettin’ these feelings in my head that I had to be here or do that or go there and do things. And when it came that I was supposed to do somethin’ specific, there I’d be. No matter where I was before, I’d just be... where I was supposed t’ be, and I’d be doin’ it. I didn’t have no choice in the matter.”

“And that would suggest that you had no control!”

“But... during the parts where I didn’t have no... instructions? I was free to walk around and look at things, and poke things and all that. I could go anywhere that was created, and I could interact with stuff.”

“Well. That’s... that’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Either you can control it or not. I mean, it’s your brain, in the end. The dream’s still made from the same brain that’s experiencing it. If you don’t like things, you can change things. You shouldn’t be both in control and not in control at the same time. If you flip a coin, it either lands heads or tails. It can’t be both at the same time.”

“What if it lands on its edge, Pinkie?”

“Now, that’s just silly, Applejack. Coins don’t do that. Do they?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do they?”

“N-no, Pinkie. They don’t.”

“Applejack, do coins land on their edge?”

“Pinkie! No! No they don’t! Why are you gettin’ so worked up about that?”

“The idea’s blowing my mind, Applejack!”

“I was just kiddin’! Calm down, now! Serious time! Serious time!”

“Oh! Right! Serious time! Serious Pinkie. Got my Serious Hat on.”

Pinkie put a sailor cap on her head.

“Serious Hat.”

“T-that’s nice, Pinkie. But you were sayin’ this thing ain’t right?”

“It doesn’t seem right. As I said, you can’t be both in control and not in control of your own dream at the same time. So this is really odd.”

“W- well, then...”

“It’s another big mystery!”

“It sure is. And that weren’t the only thing. I wasn’t able t’ figure out the source of all them bad feelings, neither.”

“Aww, you didn’t? But... was it the same this time around as the other nights?”

“Yep. Exactly the same, Pinkie. Terror and sadness. One after the other. I’m not sure if... I’m s’pposed to be afraid or if my brain’s tellin’ me there’s something I should be scared of or...”

“Hm... let’s not worry about the fear bits for now, Applejack.”

“Alright, if you think that’s best.”

“I think it’s more important to focus on the thing that’s getting you up. What about the sadness? What did you feel?”

“Same deal. Sudden sweep. All in the last few seconds of the dream. I’m beginnin’ t’ think that... it’s just sad because of how... thick it is, y’know?”

“Thick?”

“Well, that ain’t th’ word. But...”

“Hey! Applejack!”

“Whut?”

“Try a metaphor!”

“A... metaphor.”

“Yep! I love ‘em!”

“I know you do, Pinkie.”

“And it makes things easier to understand!”

“Not always, Pinkie.”

“Go on, try!”

“Well, no. I mean, I’ll just describe it as it is, a-”

“Please!”

“I jus-”

“Oh, go on, then! Come on, Applejack!”

“Alright! Sheesh! Pinkie! You have your hat on and everything!”

“Yes, but I’m deadly serious about this.”

“Alright. Now... what was I talkin’ about again?”

“The sadness.”

“The sadness. Right. Well it was... hoo, boy. What do I even...”

“It’s easy!”

“Oh, right. I got it! Yeah. I got somethin’. It was like... takin’ a swig of lime cordial.”

“I get it!”

“You do?”

“Nope!”

“Pinkie...”

“Explain thy metaphor, Lady Applejack!”

“Well, you know what cordial is, right? Concentrated juice stuff?”

“Of course I do, silly. I’m a baker!”

“So normally, if you wanna have a good old lime drink or... or whutever, you’d mix the cordial with some water, or soda, or what have you, right?”

“Yep!”

“And it goes down smooth, right?”

“Right!”

“But the sadness... it was like... it was like drinking the cordial straight from th’ bottle.”

“Meaning...?”

“Meaning, Pinkie, that it was concentrated and thick and...”

“...annnnnnd?”

“And I... why do I even need t’ explain this? Ain’t the point of the metaphor to do the explainin’ for me? If I have t’ explain it afterward, why didn’t I just skip it in th’ first place?”

“Wait a minute!”

“What?”

“Wait! No! I mean... keep going! There’s a reason!”

“What reason? This is... this is real silly, Pinkie! I ain’t one for makin’ no metaphors! I tell things straight, and you know that!”

“There’s always a reason.”

Pinkie smiled.

“Is there now?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thinking laterally helps.”

“With what, Pinkie? That was just a long road t’ travel just to get here, and we arrived in the same place anyway! I could’a saved a lot of time if I just told ya straight, right?”

“Mmm hmm!”

Applejack frowned.

“Pinkie, now you’re just gratin’ my radishes.”

“It’ll come!”

“What will? All I did was just talk about cordial an’ drinkin’ it from the bottle and... how is this relevant? How does this help? And the metaphor ain’t even really that good, neither! I mean, what pony in their right mind would drink cordial straight? Somepony’d have to be forcin’ that stuff down your throat, and...”

“Mmm hmm!”

“And....”

Pinkie giggled.

“... Pinkie, what... what if... but... no, this ain’t really possible, is it? It’s such a weird idea...”

“What’s your idea?”

“Okay, you can stop that now. I already know you got it back then.”

“Oh, but it was really great fun watching you figure it out! But yes. I think so too. Maybe the sadness... isn’t yours.”

“How could it not be mine?”

“I don’t know! But look at the facts. Funny things are happening in your dreams. Things that you can and can’t control at the same time. What if you’re trying to dream normally, but... but something’s pushing into your head? What if your mind is being invaded?”

“B-by what...?”

“By mind invaders!”

“Pinkie!”

“Sorry! I don’t know! But... the fear... maybe that’s your subconscious telling you that there’s a weird foreign entity in your dreams!”

“Where... where did you learn the word ‘entity’, Pinkie?”

“I dunno. Where did you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Maybe that thing is trying to push the sadness on you, and your brain’s warning you with fear! ‘Keep away!’ And all that!”

“I... I don’t know, Pinkie. That’s mighty scary.”

“Well, if something’s trying to push its way into your mind, then... it’ll leave clues, I think! It’ll leave connections. You have to think, Applejack. You said earlier the door was there again.”

“Yeah! It were there again, for sure! I couldn’t open it again. And touchin’ it...”

“It started the dream, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe... maybe what’s behind the door... is what it’s trying to stop you from getting at?”

“You’re saying that... in my dreams, Pinkie, I’m dreaming of a big un-openable door that I’m not supposed t’ open, and when I try, a big nightmareish dream demon... thing comes and stops me?”

“Maybe.”

“Pinkie, I don’t think I wanna go back to sleep tonight.”

“Applejack, come on. Cheer up. Please.”

“You can’t just say that, Pinkie! Do you know what you’re sayin’ to me? Do you even know how... scary this is?”

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t mean to take it for granted.”

“I... no... I didn’t mean t’ shout. I’m just... this just... ain’t cool, Pinkie.”

“Understatement of the year?”

“Heh... yeah.”

“I’m here for you, A.J.”

A pink hoof slid across a table, draping gently over an orange one.

“Alright, Pinkie. Alright.”

“Are you alright to go on?”

“Yes. I’ll be fine.”

“Were there any other things that kept popping up in all the dreams? Think hard.”

“No... I don’t think I remember...”

“Anything, Applejack. Things. Items. Sounds. Smells.”

“I thought smells don’t really exist in dreams.”

“They don’t. Not really. If the dream needs you to taste or smell something specific, then yeah, you’ll get the idea of having tasted or smelt it, but you never actually experience them. So... did you get the idea of smelling or tasting anything?”

“Not that I recall.”

“How about images? Things that stick out? Designs? Colours? Symbols? Repeated items? Fr-”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“I’m... I think... I think I remember something. I don’t... remember if I remember, if that makes any sense, but... hold on...”

Pages flipped as a diary was read.

“Red.”

“Red?”

“Everything is really dull in there, isn’t it? Blacks, whites... browns... dark stuff, or bright stuff, but... very washed out. Like when Big Mac does the laundry. Everythin’ ends up pale.”

“Yep! That’s how it is!”

“But there was always something that stuck out for me. Something super clear.”

“Red?”

“Red. There’s a red... thing... in all the dreams. I... I remember now. I can remember! Pinkie! I remember! This is really, really weird!”

“It’s weird that you’re remembering?”

“Yeah! It’s... it’s almost like, the more I think about it the clearer it gets across all the dreams...”

“Hm. Well... normally, lucid dreams are easier to remember than regular ones. Do you think... whatever it is is also making you forget?”

“I don’t... I don’t know, Pinkie. I don’t even really wanna think that there’s something there, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. But... well. Um... tell me about the red things?”

“Well, In the first dream... it was... it was a root? I think. A flower. Yeah, that’s right! When I pulled it up, there was this really shiny red root that connected to another flower. And... and th’ second dream had... a red net. The net I caught the moon with. Look, I wrote it down, even. Red net.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Pinkie spied the jottings on the journal.

“Keep going, Applejack.”

“Third dream... well... the red leash that killed the bird, and last night...”

“What? What was it?”

“A red doorbell cord. But...”

“But what?”

“That’s the funny thing about this last dream, Pinkie. Somethin’ that still don’t make sense. I could only see that red doorbell from the outside. But I don’t think I was meant to go outside. Dreams only make what they’re supposed to make, right?”

“That’s right.”

“The dream... made other things. Things that weren’t part of the instructions. Why would it do that?”

“Are you sure you weren’t supposed to be part of it?”

“I’m pretty sure. All I was supposed to do was stay indoors the entire time and answer the door when the bell rang. Nothin’ I did or had to do involved the outside. But... the whole town was made. I went explorin’. Saw a lot of stuff that I couldn’t have seen from inside the house. And...”

“Yeah?”

“The house wasn’t even made fully. The back rooms had no form, either. It’s like... as if... I was supposed to be outside, but... I wasn’t. Like my role was switched or somethin’.”

“Wait, Applejack! I don’t even know what happened, yet! Tell me the story!”

“Oh yeah, alright. Sorry!”

“No problem!”

“Well, so, it was me in a house, right? And... I was supposed to wait for... oh.”

“W-what?”

“You know that mind invader thing?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I think it was... there.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“I... I guess I should’a told you earlier, huh.”

“You guess?”

“There was this... shadow pony... in my dreams. He was the one who was supposed to ring the doorbell. That was the whole dream, really. I was t’ answer this door... this thing was on the other side. It made me... when I looked at it, I felt sick. Like I wanted to run, but I didn’t. As usual.”

“Go... go on?”

“It was like... a cut-out. Like someone had cut him out of th’ world. But when it moved, the shape moved along. It was really just like lookin’ at a silhouette and nothin’ much else. No features... no form. Just a shadow. And...”

“And...?”

“I had this really weird feelin’ looking at it. It weren’t like... normal. Oh! Wait!”

“What?”

“I just remembered! The fear, Pinkie! I got real scared when I looked at it. But also... also a bit of the sadness. So... so maybe you were right! Maybe... but... oh, it’s all so confusin’!”

“Alright. Alright...”

Pinkie frantically rubbed her brow.

“Oh, what do I do, Pinkie?”

“Tomorrow. We’ll go see her tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“There’s one pony who can help, Applejack. I’ll make arrangements, and we’ll go see her tomorrow, alright?”

“Twilight?”

“No. Well, it’s... Princess Luna.”

“Princess Luna?”

“Yeah. Scootaloo told me about something that happened to her once! Apparently the princess knows about dreams and things; she helped Scootaloo get over her ownnightmares, or something!”

“I...I don’t know, Pinkie. I ain’t got nothin’ against her and all, but... she’s... y’know...?”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. But maybe this is... maybe this is a good thing?”

“I don’t really... you know. She ain’t easy to approach. I ran into her on Nightmare Night, you know? Was kinda awkward.”

“But we ought to go see her. If she can help a little filly like Scootaloo, I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you!”

“Alright... but... but let’s give this one last try, alright? I... I really don’t think I should be botherin’ her. You know. She’s a princess and all, and...”

“I get you! Alright. We’ll give it one more go. But tell me all about the dream! From start to end! I think I know what you ought to try to do next.”

“What?”

“Well... if there’s a weird thing walking around in your dreams, and it might be the source of these bad feelings...”

“Yeah?”

“Time to figure out what it is!”

The Fifth

Applejack looked down. It was the first thing she did, coming out of her pre-awareness stupor. She still felt a bit disoriented, but this time it was because of the large gown that she had on, something that she felt a bit uncomfortable to have dreamt of.

She had no idea what would have possessed her to have worn this horrendous beast, but yet, there it was, a frilly white thing with embroidered lace and the poofy chest thing whose name escaped her for the moment.

This was the kind of thing that Rarity might have made. It looked rather old-fashioned, as if it were meant for a party that took place more than a hundred years ago. Even the odd sensibilities of Canterlot had left these stylings behind, with the layers and the ruffles and the upturned collars of mute blues and blacks.

And there Applejack stood, snug within the folds of one of these dresses.

She closed her eyes and let the dream speak to her.

She was in a hall. A grand hall. Marbled floors of squared patterns lined the entire room, the end of which held a great staircase. A huge chandelier hung overhead, raining down a constant shower of gold and silver dust that sparkled in the reflection of the candlelit sconces that lined the curtained walls.

Stained, crumpled velvet adorned arches that positioned themselves under a balcony overhead and the stone pillars that held the room up were not intrusive in the slightest.

The light was locked into a dim glow, rather than the splendid brightness that the scene would otherwise suggest. Everything was blanketed in a dull grey gloom, tinged orange around the fray, and although it gave the impression of a warm, fire-lit evening, cozy and safe, it felt anything but.

Applejack opened her eyes again and stepped forward, her hoof clattering on the marble tiles.

All at once, the noise filled her ears – voices indistinct, words unreal. The clatter and clamour of ten dozen ponies invaded her mind, as the room suddenly filled itself with a hundred party-goers, all dressed in clothing that closely resembled Applejack’s own.

The noise of glasses tinkling and plates being emptied overlayed the voices, along with shuffling, dancing, and the vague impression of music being played. Something with a violin, definitely.

But the guests, they did not dance. They did not eat or drink or move. They stood there, still, mannequins dressed up in their gowns and suits and feathers and ties. Each one of them wore a mask bordered in red, something that covered their entire face, each decorated differently, but all bearing the same make – smooth platters that did not have a single hole through which to look or breathe or talk.

Applejack had the impression that they were, despite their nature, alive.

They had appeared in the instant Applejack had taken that one single step forward.

Being thrust into the middle of a ball, Applejack would have felt shock if this world would have allowed her to be. But instead, she resigned to be disquieted while reeling from the scene.

She pulled her leg back, returning it to where she had started from, and the noise died off. The crowd disappeared.

And once again, Applejack was cast alone.

She turned back, and behind her was the only door to the room. The door. But this time she wouldn’t go near it. This time she wouldn’t touch it. She would take the time to explore, as much as the dream would allow her.

She stepped to the right, looking for a way around. But that one single step brought back the noise; the crowd; the clamor. The party started, and all the living dolls of wax positioned themselves in place.

Like a mouse to its hole, she retreated, casting away the figures.

For the third time she left the safety of the silent zone, plying left this time, hoping to find a difference in the pattern, but to no avail – a single step in any direction threw her back into the midst of the crowd.

And for the third time she stepped back gingerly, avoiding the scene.

But this time there was something different.

This time, the scene didn’t let her go that easily.

When she banished all the dolls, one remained.

She was sure that she hadn’t – no, she definitely hadn’t – touched the door. But a ringing in her head told her that she had played one too many games, and now they were going to proceed whether she liked it or not.

The single guest stood, perched at the far end of the room, silent and unmoving, yet watching her slowly. Behind a flood of waxy greys it stood, a billowing dress extending out from behind her neck, covering nearly her entire form. The cloth moved like smog in a jar – trapped in a single spot but always moving fluidly around the form. It was grandiose in its elaborate nature, pinpricks of black dancing from between the folds.

An ornate mask adorned where her face might have been. Like all the other guests, the holeless mask had a thick red border, but within those borders an endless universe lay trapped. Painted stars held their course in the heavens, twinkling and pulsing against a midnight background. The mask came alive in Applejack’s eyes as the scene panned slowly across the skies.

The only exposed skin on the entire pony were small sections where the dress and mask did not touch, and within that, just like her mane, lay infinity.

It was clearly the same creature from the last dream, this time all dressed up and ready for a ball.

Applejack suddenly felt very conscious of the fact that there were only two ponies in the entire room, and felt the oppressive need to populate the area as was intended.

She stepped forward, towards the main hall.

The cacophony gave her comfort. There were no words she recognized; it was an imitation of speech performed by pale phantoms who could only mimic without understanding. But it fell over the more familiar sounds of an odd laugh and the tinkling of glasses and plates, and altogether it produced a noise that gave her a sense of familiarity.

The monochromatic ghosts that filled the hall still refused to move, however, and Applejack herself felt the suggestion that she too, was to find a place and plant herself solidly in a single spot.

She looked back at the door.

No. That would always be there.

But it was the figure – the one that stood on the other side of the room from her – which she had to approach. It was the monster in pony skin, the beast that hid in dreams.

The monster took a step toward the crowd, and like filings suddenly rushing toward a magnet, the guests in close proximity drew toward her, coming to life and acting as they were intended. They bowed and cavorted and mingled and danced. They ate and drank and chatted and laughed. They did all this at the same time but not at all.

Fading wisps of each pony performed all their actions a dozen times over as one image disappeared into the aether only to be replaced by another almost instantly. It was a party accelerated. It was a party which was just as fake as the words flying through the air. It was meant to mimic, but not be.

And through this all, the monster in the dress kept walking, her hooves steadily pushing through the crowd. As she left the guests’ sides, they returned to their frozen positions. Only the ones around the monster were necessary.

But Applejack could break the script.

Not to be condemned in ice, Applejack danced past the crowd herself, darting around unresponsive dolls and faceless statues.

She stopped, though, surrounded by the sea, a thought playing on her mind. A wonder.

She reached up, slowly, her hoof sneaking around her face.

And she felt it.

Wrapped neatly around her head was a mask of her own. It didn’t bar vision, and if she hadn’t reached up, she would never have known it was there. But she too, like everyone else in the room, had a mask.

Nothing held it fast. At least, nothing was telling her that it was. And in that, Applejack suddenly felt the pressure to not be bound by such a horrendous thing. To be one of them was a frightful idea, to be one of the cast of statues. She would be as a music box ballerina – only able to dance when someone opened the lid.

She pulled it away.

And everyone stared.

In shock, in fear, in sudden slight, she jammed the mask back onto her face, and all at once, every guest in the room turned back to their appointed positions.

But the monster had not noticed.

The monster continued its winding way, traversing the sea of blank faces. It only stopped for mere moments at a time, giving each guest a soft regard. It watched them as if to observe rather than to participate, but carried on its track.

The noises continued as the figure approached.

But were these guests... the same as Applejack?

Did they come from the same stock?

There was an idea now. A curiosity that she had to resolve. She stepped to the side and didn’t have to go too far to reach the nearest guest of the ball.

This gentlestallion was dressed in a fine tuxedo, all black and white and formal. His tailcoat hung low, swaying in a perpetual wind, and he had a carnation attached to the lapel of his front chest pocket. It was the kind of pocket that had a lapel.

His red-lined masked encapsulated nothing more than a pair of links drawn on a canvas of white – two hoops intertwined.

Perhaps it was just to see what would happen.

Perhaps it was just to see if she could, but she reached up slowly and grasped the mask by the edges.

With the hesitation that only came due to a mix of fear and apprehension, she drew the mask toward herself, the edges of his face revealing themselves minutely as it went.

Out of the corner of her mind she knew it. She didn’t have to look, but a chill ran deep in her heart when all the guests in the room started to stare once more. Even the ones who were inspirited – the ones currently affected by the monster – all performed their due actions while observing the offender.

Curious. It was curious.

With perhaps a bit more force than necessary, Applejack shoved the mask back onto the face of the guest before things could be disrupted further. He was not the one whose face ought to be seen. He was not the one who had something to hide.

But he proved a point and served a purpose, and that purpose was up.

Applejack swung now, to the side, facing the monster, a burning fire of determination fueling her thoughts. She stepped closer to it, pushing guests out of the way. Like dominos, they fell, clattering to the ground as no more than life-sized figurines.

The more she stepped toward the monster, the more her heart filled with the same fear, the same apprehension.

Yes, the monster said. Be wary of me. Fear me. For I am here to do no good.

But she pressed ever onward.

Both of them, walking through a crowd, coming to meet in the center.

The dreamer stared upward, stared into the mask of night. At her approach, the monster stopped as well. Perhaps confused. Perhaps anticipating.

Applejack felt a buzz in her brain. She heard the commands to perform. To dance. To swing along like all the others. But she fought it. She fought it because she had one last thing to do, and that did not involve being a pawn of the world she stood in.

She stared up at the form unmoving. The mask. What was hidden behind the mask was key. That was what was important. The one creature in this room that was different from all the others had something to hide.

Applejack would be remiss if she hadn’t at least tried.

Her heart felt tight – more so than ever before. Perhaps it was only due to the knowledge that she would eventually wake up that gave her the foolish courage she needed to press on regardless.

Perhaps it was her desire for the truth.

Perhaps it was the need to end the nightmares.

She swung back and let fly her hoof straight at the face of the monster.

In an instant, its mask swirled into stardust. She willed it so. She willed it away, and so away it flew, like a tornado turning in the midnight breeze. It flickered and flashed, the mask itself turning into a starry night as it spun away and scattered into oblivion.

The shadow reared up.

Two magnificent wings, removed from the world, spread out as the creature stood on its hind legs, its front half reeling wildly in some untold silent emotion.

Upon her head was a horn. It was clearer now, as her head raised up and pointed to the heavens.

But her face, that was the thing that struck terror into Applejack’s soul, and even all her foolhardy stubbornness could not prevent her from wanting to run away in fear.

It was the unidentifiable, the unknowable.

Her head, like the mask, was a smooth, featureless bubble. No eyes or ears had she, nor even a protuberance common amongst anyone who had a face. It perched unnaturally upon stocky shoulders, a grey collar of mist rising up to obscure it.

But in the seconds that passed, as the dress she wore curled up to wrap around her stump of a head like a bandage, it was clear to see.

Upon the abyss was etched out a single sliver of yellow. A single crescent line that ran from top to bottom. A cutout in a cutout.

And Applejack saw the moon.

“Pinkie!”

“Applejack? C-come in! Can I g-”

“No! No time! Pinkie!”

“Yes, Applejack! You’re here! I’m here! We’re all here! ... It’s seven thirty!”

“I’m sorry! I know it’s early, but...”

“Oh no, that’s fine! I was going to wake up soon, anyway. But why so early?”

“I came as soon as I could! Pinkie, have you told anyone yet about wantin’ to meet with them?”

“No. Not yet, Applejack. Who do you mean by ‘anyone’?”

“I mean Princess Luna, Pinkie. Did you tell her yet that we were intendin’ to meet her?”

“Nopesies...”

“Oh, thank... thank goodness. O... okay. Alright. I think I could use... use a drink now.”

“Applejack? Just calm down, alright? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“We can’t tell her, Pinkie.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is her. The monster! It’s Princess Luna! She’s the one been doin’ this t’ me! She’s the one been-”

“Yeah... alright. You just sit right there, and I’ll get you a lovely cold glass of milk!”

“Yeah... yeah. Thanks, Pinkie. Thanks for... all this.”

“No, just... I just wanna make sure you’re fine. Okay. First thing’s first. How are you sure it’s her?”

“It’s her, Pinkie. It’s always been her. From th’ start. It’s all so clear now! I saw somethin’ that... that’s definitely her! And everything’s connectin’, and-”

“Alright. Take me through the dream. Let’s do this slowly, this time.”

Applejack explained.

Pinkie listened.

“And when I saw that face I just knew, Pinkie. It was like as if a curtain had been lifted. I just knew it was her. And then she stepped on me, and I woke up. Same thing. Sadness. Mac was already there. He’s gettin’ real concerned now. He’s tellin’ me to go see Princess Celestia. I can’t keep givin’ excuses no more, Pinkie. Just this mornin’ I was calling all of your names, too. Yours. Twilight’s. Rainbow’s... everyone. It’s gettin’... real bad. But now I can’t... I can’t go see Princess Luna about it, because it’s her.”

Pinkie sighed.

“Pinkie?”

“Yeah, I kinda figured. Last night, after you left? I was looking through all the notes and... I kinda saw a connection between all the previous dreams. It all seemed like... everything was pointing to the moon or something. And then I thought... what if it was her? I didn’t write to inform her because of this, really. I guess last night’s dream sort of confirmed it, huh.”

“What kind... what kind of connections?”

“Well, when I was but a young Pieling, my granny Pie used to tell me stories about the rabbit in the moon. You know? Like the rabbit from your first nightmare.”

“Yeah, I heard’a that legend as well.”

“And I was thinking, you described the bird in the third dream as a weird owl monster, right? And owls... the moon... you know. It’s a bit of a jump but... maybe.”

“Maybe...”

“And of course, the fish was a reflection of the moon itself, so that one was a lot more clear than the others, huh.”

“Just like last night, Pinkie. She’s trompin’ around in my dreams, no doubt.”

“So... what now?”

“I... don’t know, Pinkie.”

“What about going to see Princess Celestia instead?”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s a very good idea, Pinkie.”

“Yeah... me neither.”

“Somethin’ about it makes me feel like it’s a bit too early to do that.”

“Well, it’s probably not a nice thing to go around accusing the Princess’ sister without proof...”

“But what’s missin’?”

“I think we need a motive.”

“A motive?”

“Well... yeah. I mean, There’s all the things that point to her, but all the things that point away, too. There’s gotta be one reason that makes everything sort of... fit together, you know? And we don’t know what that is yet.”

“Well, she’s got this power to walk into other ponies’ dreams, right? So it’s clearly her.”

“But she does it to help. Like with Scootaloo! So what’s all this about?”

“Maybe she’s tryin’ t’ help me? Maybe... fightin’ off somethin’ else in my head?”

“It seems to me that if she noticed something like that, she’d tell you directly. Why would she keep it to herself and work this way?”

“So... what are we sayin’? That she ain’t tryin’ to hurt me but she’s also tryin’ to hurt me at the same time?”

“Well, you see... I don’t know if she’s trying to hurt you. As far as I know, she isn’t a meanie stinky poo-poo pants anymore. Ever since we blasted the evil outta her...”

“Well, she was a bit cold and aloof up there on the hill that night. I don’t think she’s evil no more, but... still...”

“Wait. The hill?”

“Yeah, on Nightmare Night. You know, when I went to see her durin’ the party.”

“Wait, I didn’t know this. Fluttershy told me you sort of just bumped into her.”

“No, no. I... I went to see her. I left for a moment to find her...”

“Wait, wasn’t that night the same night your nightmares started?”

“I... oh... oh boy.”

“Applejack!”

“W...what?”

“What does this mean?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! Uh... whoa there... okay. This seems... like it ain’t a coincidence.”

“Applejack! What happened out there? What did you do? You insulted her, didn’t you! You said something wrong and she’s... she’s taking her evil nightmare revenge!”

“Whoa there, Pinkie. I thought you said you weren’t sure she was evil no more just a moment ago.”

“That was before I learnt that you really upset her!”

“Wh- hold on now! I didn’t do no such thing, Pinkie!”

“Did you step on her new trainers?”

“I... she wasn’t wearin’... no, Pinkie! Of course I didn’t!”

“Okay, so... what did happen out there? Tell me the full story! Now!”

“I didn’t do nothin’! At least I think I didn’t. I really don’t know! Look, it was durin’ th’ party, right? And all of us were there. I think you invited half the town or somethin’.”

“No, Applejack. I invited the entire town.”

“O-oh. Right then. Well. See, it was after Princess Luna came and did her scare thing and bothered all the children an’ what have you. But I noticed she didn’t stick around. That seemed mighty peculiar, so I looked out the window, and I notice she was walkin’ up to the hill behind the shop. You know the one, with the tree?”

Pinkie nodded.

“So I grabbed a muffin from the table, right? And I put it in a little basket and I cart it up to her.”

“Was it a rude muffin?”

“Cranberry, I think...”

“Applejack! Do-don’t you know that Princesses hate cranberry?”

“No they don’t!”

“Alright... they... they don’t. But...”

“Pinkie, are you gonna listen or not?”

“I’m listening! Sorry! I’m just really nervous!”

“Don’t be annoyin’! Anyway. I bring the muffin up to the hill, right? And well, she’s just sittin’ there. Ain’t doin’ much. Just sittin’ by herself and lookin’ at the stars, I think. Or maybe the castle. I weren’t too sure. I didn’t really pay it any mind back then.”

“Was there anypony else around?”

“Nope. Just me and her. In fact, I don’t think she even heard me comin’, because when I came up that hill, she got mighty shocked. I cleared my throat all polite-like and put the basket down, and she swung around all of a sudden, like seein’ another pony up there was the last thing she would’a expected.”

“That couldn’t have been it... could it?”

“I don’t know... well, in any case, I tell her... I asked her if she wanted to come join th’ party. I said we had plenty of space and loads of food, and she might enjoy herself...”

“Do you think you were being too forward? Maybe she got insulted that you tried to get her to mingle with... common folk!”

“Well... I tried to be polite, you know? I was thinkin’, maybe she could be one of th’ gang. I didn’t mean t’ say she was just a common pony. I mean, even Princess Celestia likes to hang out once in a while, right? I was just offerin’ Princess Luna the same consideration, that’s all. Maybe she just took it the wrong way.”

“How did she respond?”

“Well she sorta gave one of those haughty laughs, you know – the kind she always does. And she told me just the one thing. ‘My place ain’t with you.’ And then she turned away and looked at the stars again.”

“That... that doesn’t sound like her!”

“I’m paraphrasin’, Pinkie!”

“Oh... right! Of course! And um... what happened next?”

“Well, all I says was that she could come down any time, and that we’d be mighty glad to have her. So I turn and walk away, and I guess she never came.”

“Nope... I didn’t see her at the party. But that does explain something else.”

“What?”

“During the clean-up after the party, I found a muffin with one bite taken out of it in a basket on top of the hill. I thought maybe Derpy had an accident again, but...”

“She didn’t even take the muffin with her, huh.”

“I’m sorry, Applejack. I guess she didn’t.”

“Well... and then that very night, I get my first weird dream. It weren’t nothin’ back then and for the next couple’a days. I don’t even remember them. I didn’t wake up cryin’ or nothin’, I just remember them bein’... odd. And then the fourth night is when all of this started, and... that’s when I came to see you.”

“That’s really suspicious, Applejack.”

“I think I said this enough times, Pinkie, but everything’s suspicious, ain’t it? It’s just the problem that it ain’t swingin’ far enough in either direction.”

Two ponies sat in silence.

For a long while, they thought.

For a long while, they stuck pieces together.

“Applejack?”

“Yeah, Pinkie?”

“Something’s still bothering me about all of this.”

“What?”

“The rules.”

“Yep. It’s like everything is backwards.”

“Backwards, huh.”

“Yep.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know yet. But it just feels... backwards.”

More silence ensued.

“Like last night’s dream, Applejack.”

“What about it?”

“The dresses. The whole dream itself.”

“What about them?”

“Can you describe a few more dresses for me?”

“Like, from th’ party? Well the-”

“No, I mean... in general. Make up a dress for me. Describe for me a beautiful dress... one that would look great in the party.”

“Uh... oh. Well... I mean... um...”

“Yes?”

“Purple.”

“‘Purple’?”

“And... um... pleats.”

“Purple pleats?”

“Ye...yeah.”

“You don’t even know what a pleat is, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“See, that’s my point! You’re awful at making up dresses!”

“Why... thank you, Pinkie. I think.”

“No! I mean... it just isn’t your thing! So out of all the dreams you could be dreaming of, why did you dream of a fancy party with fancy clothes and fancy masks? How could you even dream of it? You can’t dream of things you can’t normally think up of in real life!”

“You know, you have a point there, Pinkie. I did sorta feel off in the dreams somehow. It’s like... there’s only me and Princess Luna who would be able to break the script, right? And that’s ‘cause we’re the only two real ponies in the whole thing, right?”

“Yes, that seems correct.”

“But... I did a test last night. When I pulled the mask off’a one of the other guests... they reacted to him just like they did to me when I pulled off my own.”

“So what are you saying?”

“It felt like I was just... one of the crowd.”

“Huh.”

“And not just in this dream too... remember the night before? When I was telling you about the town and how I felt like I was meant to be only in that one house? But the rest of the dream was ‘made’?”

“Yeah... so you’re saying that your dreams are... catering to Princess Luna?”

“It almost seems like that, Pinkie. But I’m sure there’s something I’m overlookin’ here. Like, why am I in th’ smaller position? Why ain’t the dreams about me? If Princess Luna were tryin’ t’ punish me, I’d still be... front and center, wouldn’t I?”

“You would!”

“And there’s how the dream started this time. Remember how we used to think it was about the door? Well this time I didn’t touch the door. Not at all. And the dream still started. So I think... I think it weren’t anythin’ to do with the door in the end.”

“Huh.”

“That door... everytime I look at it though... I get this strange sense of calm and peace. Weird thing. It’s like... there’s somethin’ very familiar about that door. Like I know that door. But I could never push it open. And... I don’t know, Pinkie. I’m very sure that door’s got somethin’ to do with all this. If I figure out how to get it open...”

“Huh.”

“Pinkie?”

“Huh?”

“Have you been listenin’?”

“Yuh!”

“Uh...”

“I mean, yes! Sorry! I have been. But I was just thinking of something. About what you said.”

“Willin’ t’ take whatever I can get at this point, Pinkie.”

“Well, you can’t go see Princess Luna in real life because she might be doing this to you on purpose, right? So she’ll just deny it if she were. And you can’t go see Princess Celestia because we don’t have enough proof...”

“Yep.”

“But that’s only in real life.”

“What are you gettin’ at, Pinkie?”

“All this while you’ve just been running around in your dreams and trying to figure it all out... but... have you tried to communicate with Princess Luna... in your dreams, that is?”

“Communicate with her in my dreams?”

“Yeah! I mean... so far this could be anything at this point, right? We just have a couple of theories... why not try to talk to her in your dream itself? Scootaloo said she had no problems doing that, so... why haven’t you just tried asking directly? That way, if it isn’t Princess Luna, or whatever, we’ll find out! Or... you know, a bunch of other logical things!”

“W-well... I must admit I hadn’t really thought’a that. I mean... I can’t talk in my dreams, you know?”

“You can’t?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I mention this before? I can’t talk. I try to sometimes, but nothin’ comes out.”

“See, this is what I meant earlier by ‘backwards’! It’s more backwards stuff! You should be the only pony to be able to say what you want! I mean, it’s your dream!”

“Wait... wait a minute.”

“What?”

Applejack sat upright, eyes widening.

She looked through the journal, pages flying frantically.

“What you just said, Pinkie...”

“W...what?”

“It... well... if this is what’s going on, then it fits, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“You were right too!”

“About what?”

“About... everythin’! I do have to go back to the start. I do have to look at all of this backwards!”

“Applejaaaaack! Tell me what’s going oooooonnnn!”

“I figured it out, Pinkie! At least, I think I did. Oh no. Oh no...”

“What, what’s wrong?”

“Oh... Pinkie. If this is right...”

An odd look fell upon Applejack’s face.

“I’m... well, I’m just glad that we didn’t do anythin’ stupid.”

“Do what?”

Applejack stared at the wall.

“We were wrong... about a lot of things. I... I have to fix this. I gotta do somethin’ about it. I can’t just leave it like this...”

“You aren’t making any sense, Applejack! Talk to me! Look at me!”

“I have to communicate with her, Pinkie. I have to communicate! You have’ta teach me somethin’ about... making things! Can I make things in dreams?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“Wh-what? Why?”

“Because you’re not telling me your thing!”

Applejack blinked.

“Oh! Well, why didn’t y’just ask?”

“Applejaaaaccccckk!”

“Listen... this might sound weird, but... this is th’ way I figure it. And if it happens t’ be the case, all I’ll need is t’ show her something tonight...”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m goin’ back in. Because if I’m right?”

“W-what?”

“Then it’s all gonna be over real soon, Pinkie.”

The Sixth

It was a box she woke up in, a white cubic box of six bare faces. From where she stood it was impossible to tell how large the box was, simply because it lacked all sorts of shade or edges of any kind, and it would have been similar to standing in a field of infinite whiteness had it not been for three things.

The first was the opening in front of her – a sort of oblong window that looked out into a corridor of sorts.

The second was the door – the door that, as Applejack had expected, stood behind her at the start of the dream.

The third was that the dream said it was a box, and that meant it was a box.

Applejack scrabbled to the window, staring out of it. Beyond the barren desert of where she stood, a lavish hallway lay beyond. A magnificent carpet of foreign design and impossible length covered the entire floor from end to end. Stars and swirls and angry patterns were woven into it at random, and although the dream forced it to be muted in colour and dry of hue, one could certainly still appreciate the threadwork.

The walls curved to one side, making the corridor feel warped. But the carpet, like everything else, followed suit along its crooked path, and eventually there came a point where one could not see beyond the bend.

But that was quite alright. The walls themselves were beautifully crafted, like in an old mansion, with floral designs chiseled right into the frame, and lamps lining the entire length of the walk. And they weren’t for nothing, too – each set of lamps lit up a fantastic painting, their frames placed equidistant from each other on either side of the corridor. They went on and on, and Applejack could count at least a dozen before they disappeared around a curving corner.

From her perspective, Applejack grasped that she was situated at one end of the hall.

And she knew what would be coming down the other end.

Applejack turned around. There was something she was here to do. There was something she was here to accomplish. At least, it was something she needed to check.

Applejack placed a hoof on the door. The door with no knob, no handle and no frame.

And she moved her hoof sideways.

All at once, the wooden door shuddered aside, revealing a crack through which bright yellows and greens and reds poured out.

Along with that came the feeling of comfort. It was the feeling of belonging. It was the smell of the freshly-mowed grass and the noise of the apple fields. It was the love of her family and the care of her friends. It was all things familiar.

But Applejack moved the door back, and the light died, returning the room to its old self.

It was all she needed.

And now it was time to work.

She leapt out of the window, escaping her white prison, and turned around.

What awaited her sight was a framed painting in luxurious oils, quite possibly one of the best works she had ever seen. Once again, the muted colours didn’t detract from the overall experience, but it did lend itself to the obviousness of the bright red lamps that bordered this particularly special painting.

And as for the painting itself, nothing would have made more sense to her, at this point, than what she saw.

There were many alternatives, many possibilities as to what scene it could have shown, but...

All she had to do was look at it backwards, and it made sense.

Applejack wanted to smile. She felt like smiling.

She also wanted to slouch her shoulders with their heavy weight. Suddenly, a new sort of sadness came, one that walked with the burden of the truth.

Happiness and sadness.

Together.

It was a strange feeling.

It was melancholy, or pity, or acceptance.

It was, perhaps, all three together.

Obvious now, was the white room. She had been waiting inside the painting. Waiting for a guest who could never arrive. Maybe it was what the reverse side of a painting looked like. Maybe it was a world inside a canvas. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the obvious.

She stared at the painting as it was lit up by two lights that cast their crimson hue on the frame.

A barn rose, in the background. A dull, red one, with planks that needed fixing. It was surrounded by apple trees of all sorts and meadows that stretched off into the background. But what was possibly most prominent was Applejack herself.

She sat at a table with her family in the middle of the painting, enjoying a picnic or a late-night supper of some sort while the stars danced their way above her in swirls and candy-patterns.

All looked to be having a great time.

Applejack felt both her happiness and sadness rise simultaneously.

She turned, wordlessly, looking down the long hallway.

Already the dream had begun, and there the shadow was once again, making her way across the carpet.

Applejack stepped forward, steeling herself. She walked up to the shadow, sneaking glances at the other portraits on the wall.

Ponies both recognizable and not were their subjects, all depicted in acts of... well. It was hard to put a label on it.

Some were fillies playing catch. Some pictured a bunch of ponies at a market, just talking and going about their day.

There was even one on the right as Applejack trotted down, a grand picture of Princess Celestia and her student, Twilight Sparkle, as she mentored and watched her reading a book in a grand library.

There were all these pictures and more, and the shadow – Princess Luna – was giving each her undue attention as she made her way down the corridor.

At each junction she stopped, stared, or at least, it seemed that way, at each painting before passing judgement, and in quiet resignation, stepped onward.

As she moved on, the lamps beside each painting flickered out, their lights extinguishing and the lamps disappearing, and the paintings themselves shrivelled in the darkness, like old leaves at the end of an Autumn night.

But as Applejack approached, slowly and cautiously, the same thing happened as it did before.

The shadow of Luna paused in her activities to regard Applejack as an abhorrence, finally moving on after deciding that she was not worth any time.

And as Applejack stared into the depths of the shadow, that familiar wave of fear came as it did all those times before.

But this time, she could handle the feelings without shying away.

It wasn’t because she expected it.

No, she had a much more powerful weapon.

This time, she understood it.

And that made her both overjoyed and despondent.

She jumped around, waving her hooves in front of the shadow, but it appeared her chance to grab its attention was now over. After the initial inspection, the shadow had no cause or motivation to give Applejack any more regard.

Directly interacting with it had always caused the dream to end, because what was Applejack if not the final purpose?

So there had to be another way.

Another way to communicate.

The day before, she had talked, discussed and colluded with Pinkie in so many ways. They had both reasoned through this so many times, and certain understandings had been come to.

Pinkie had told her to leave. To get out. To run. It was for the best, she figured.

But no.

It was Pinkie’s first idea that Applejack decided to stick to. Communication. In the end, it was what this was all about. In the end, it was all that Applejack could do.

But Princess Luna... she was in no condition to communicate, was she?

No. It was up to Applejack, master of her domain, to do the things that were necessary. And without that final step... well. Even going up to talk to her in Canterlot was mighty useless indeed.

And perhaps it was a bout of irony, but the start was where it began and the start was the best place for her to finish it.

She hoped this would work.

She really did.

The little farmer in the cowboy hat made her way back to her painting, as the lights turned off one by one. The shadow was getting close now, as it was in dreams.

But Applejack had time enough to do what she needed to.

She closed her eyes.

And thought.

And when she opened her eyes again, there was suddenly a canvas that lay crumpled on the floor like a tattered rag. It was the best she could do – after all, her imagination wasn’t the best, as Pinkie had said.

It wasn’t a lie. And it didn’t have to be. The picture on the rag was that of a crudely painted hill, something that looked like a child might have done if he had a few minutes of free time and some extra paint. It was set against the backdrop of a night sky, and a rather dark blue blob on top of the hill sat there, musing into the night. Next to her, rough, broad strokes of a basket sat next to a comically oversized muffin.

It would do.

Four nails appeared in Applejack’s hoof, and as she held the scribbly painting up over her family snapshot, the nails flew into place in each corner, as if attracted by magnets, holding the picture firmly against the frame.

She would have sighed if she were allowed to. She would have said sorry. Perhaps ask for forgiveness for what she did. What she had to do.

But as Applejack clambered back into her frame, back to the white box with a window and a door, she could do nothing else but wait, and hope, and dream of better days to come.

Both for her and for everyone else.

“I’m sorry, Pinkie, but I didn’t do it.”

“You what?”

“I didn’t leave. I could’a, but I didn’t.”

“Wait, but the door... the door opened, right? Please tell me we were right at least about that!”

“We were right about everythin’, Pinkie. It’s th’ only thing that really was mine, and when I thought about that... well. That made it a barn door, right?”

“So how’d you get it open?”

“Well, see. Barn doors slide open. I’d been pushin’ it all this while. Once I just had th’ thought in my head t’ slide it, it went as slick as butter. It was all about havin’ the thought in my head while I was touchin’ it!”

“Wow, that’s... that’s all it was?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s... like... dream rules or somethin’.”

“Dream rules...”

“Yeah, Pinkie. Dreammmm rulllesss.”

“So you got the door open.”

“Yep.”

“What was behind it?”

“What we both thought.”

“And you didn’t go through?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? Are you crazy?”

“Nope.”

“Why didn’t you leave, Applejack?”

“Because it solves my problem.”

“Well, yeah but isn’t that th-”

“Not every problem.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I could run, sure, but this won’t stop, and it’ll just happen again with th’ next poor pony. I intend to end all this. Thing is, we can’t just go up there and tell the Princesses, because...”

“Because?”

“Because not everyone’s awake yet, Pinkie.”

“Well, if you put it that way! Of course you made the right choice!”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Aww, how could I not? You’re just like me, Applejack! You just want to see everypony sm-”

“No... I... I really ain’t all like that.”

“Oh, but you are.”

“I do apples. Apples are my thing. Not smiles.”

“Oh, but you are.”

“... Yeah, I am! I just said apples-”

“Oh, but you are.”

“Pinkie.”

“Wanna milkshake?”

“Yes please.”

“Comin’ right up! So, what’s your big plan, then? What did you do? I mean, since you didn’t leave and all.”

“I left her a message. Dream was about... well. I was standin’ in a painting, right? And it was just this huge hallway of paintings. Just like you see in, I dunno. Castles or somethin’. Or old manors in ghost stories. Just nothin’ but paintings. And I was inside mine, which was just this white box thing?”

“Yeah? Strawberry okay for you today?”

“Sure, Pinkie, thanks a bunch. And the door’s in that white box, but I leave the box and it’s actually the other side of the paintin’, right?”

“What... you were standing behind... inside the behind of a painting?”

“I guess that’s what it was, really. But guess what was on the painting?”

“What?”

“Picture of me and my family.”

“Eew, Applejack! That’s creepy!”

“Well, I suppose it is, but... it’s me and Big McIntosh and Granny Smith and Bloom all eatin’ supper under a night sky. It was really nicely painted, too. I kinda want it now. It’d look great over th’ fireplace.”

“Eeew, Applejack!”

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that! Anyway. It makes sense, right? And all the other paintings, it was also scenes of bonding and togetherness and stuff like that. There was even one of Princess Celestia and Twilight. Go figure.”

“Wow, she’s... really in a bad place, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. I think so. That’s why I wanna help. So she was walkin’ down the corridor and lookin’ at each paintin’ and then she’d just pass ‘em by and they’d sorta just crumple up and stuff.”

“That’s terribly sad, Applejack.”

“So... well. I made a new painting.”

“You made one?”

“Yep. I couldn’t change the ones already there, right? But I could make my own and hang it up. So I made one.”

“I bet it looked really ni-”

“It looked awful, Pinkie. Heh. I bet Sweetie Belle could’a done a better job. In fact, I bet anyone could.”

“Hah!”

“Oh, and I conjured up some nails to stick it in, and get this. They sorta flew to the corners and stuck the painting up, but they weren’t actually hammered into the painting. They were just lying there up against the frame like as if I just threw them on the floor.”

“Dream rules!”

“Darn right they are! I could get used to it, honestly. Things just do what they gotta do without havin’ t’ do it. It’s pretty weird. I’m beginnin’ t’ figure it out.”

“You know, I’m still pretty surprised that you managed to do all this in what... six days?”

“Yeah... maybe I’m a natural.”

“Well, if you ever decide not to be a farmer anymore...”

“Don’t think it’ll come t’ that, Pinkie.”

Applejack smiled.

“So, what was the painting about?”

“The scene on the hill. You know. That night.”

“That night, why that night?”

“Because muffin.”

“I... are you sure that’s the best reason...”

“No, because... there’s one last thing to do with her, right?”

“Right...”

“And remember how we were talking way earlier, like I think it was the second day or somethin’, but we were discussing methods on how to get awareness in dreams, right?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And you told me that there’s a few ways to do it, but I decided to hit myself in the face because-”

“Because you like hitting yourself in the face!”

“No. Because I couldn’t rely on chance. I couldn’t wait for a muffin. And as it turns out... it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

“Yeah...”

“But I need to help someone else wake up, and... I can’t make them hit themselves in the face, or make them remember something before sleeping, right?”

“Right!”

“Just so happens I know the exact time when someone had a muffin.”

“Oh, yeah! That’s... that’s actually a great idea!”

“Thank ya kindly.”

“So you stuck in an idea!”

“That’s right, I did.”

“And you’re hoping...”

“Tonight.”

“But what if it isn’t tonight?”

“Then I’m gonna keep tryin’ and tryin’, until either it stops or I get through. I have a feeling it’ll work, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because that painting was the last thing she saw before I woke up. And this morning... I woke up sadder than... all the other days combined.”

“What? Applejack that’s...”

“No, I’m fine. Honestly, I am. I can forgive this now. Now that I know. But that’s proof, you see? It really was about that night. And seeing it reminded her of it. I bet that memory’s wedged in there now like a wheel in the mud.”

“Oh! Hey!”

“What?”

“You made a metaphor!”

“... Right, Pinkie. I think that’s more of an analogy though. But yeah, even if I have’ta do this all over again, I’ll do it until I get to that point.”

“Just tell me one thing, Applejack.”

“Yeah?”

“No matter what happens... you’ll be alright?”

“I’ve made up my mind, Pinkie.”

“You know, Princess Celestia probably wouldn’t like it done this way.”

“I know. But it’s the best way. Besides, I feel responsible, somewhat. And... I’ve made up my mind.”

“You know, some ponies might just say you’re being really stubborn about it.”

“Well, everypony’s gotta have a weakness, don’t they?”

“Even Princess Luna?”

Applejack nodded determinedly.

“Even Princess Luna.”

The Seventh

The moonless night sky rippled and shimmered, like the reflection of a pond.

Applejack found herself staring upward at it for quite a long time, not really doing anything save for musing about the adventure that brought her here.

It was the end of a long, tormented road – one paved with sharp rocks and gravel. Walking over it wasn’t pleasant, but at the end was a peaceful Summer’s day.

A day could be shared. And that was the important thing. If there were merely a prize at the end, just for Applejack, then it wasn’t something worth traversing.

But it was a day.

A whole, bright new day – with a new sun and new rays that would warm up everyone’s hearts.

It was worth it.

On this night, she found herself outside Sugar Cube Corner, a party raging inside. Silhouettes and nondescript blobs passed by the curtained windows, and it was just as Applejack remembered it on that night one and a half weeks ago.

The sounds of a party came through the walls of the building, and it was the only house that was lit up with the solid lights of a brewing festival.

Applejack was already outside.

The main door of Sugar Cube Corner was the only thing that looked a bit different. It was quite clear what it was.

But now was not the time.

On her back was a basket. And inside that basket was an oversized muffin.

Cranberry.

Warm, welcoming, inviting.

The stars flashed in the sky, and suddenly, stretching out in front of her was a path that wound its way past white paper trees and landscape bushes, leading toward a point in town that was cut away from everything else.

This was the last thing she had to do.

The noise of the party faded as she moved toward the hill. Each step made the voices and laughter fade and brought rise to the sound of crickets chirping in the dusk.

And soon, there was nothing left.

A figure lay on the hill, a shadow that looked up toward the skies, giving the stars her full attention.

It was to this figure that Applejack made her way, her heart clenching tighter with each passing step.

The view was perfect in its splendour. If it had been anywhere else, the word ‘dreamlike’ might have been a fitting description. But here it was.

Perfect.

Each star was pricked out of the world itself, each beam of light shining so brightly and passionately that their twinkling dance would have dazzled anyone who stopped to watch.

Not a single cloud in the sky was there to mar their existence, and it felt warm, as if she were snuggled up in bed under a blanket on a cold, rainy night.

This was how it was supposed to feel.

Applejack dropped the basket, the little fiber-woven container settling itself next to the shadow.

And then she stepped back.

The rest of the night would play itself out. She had left in real life, but this night... this night she decided to stay, seating herself on the other side of the muffin, watching the stars.

Why not?

An Applejack that wasn’t there left the scene, and the shadow turned its head to watch her leave.

And that was exactly when, as the real Applejack expected, the fear would come. And it did. It hit her squarely in the chest and made her stomach curl, but still she sat, forcing herself to look at the sky.

It calmed her, eventually.

The shadow took her time, and so did Applejack.

It felt like another few minutes had passed before a black pool of a hoof made its way across to the basket, shuffling around with it and pulling out the cranberry muffin.

Like rubies, the tiny specks of fruit shone bright red and, against the blacks and whites of the baked treat itself, marvelled as some sort of decorative object. Rarity would have loved it, Applejack thought. But here it was, nothing more than a device used to further the night’s plot.

It was at that point that Applejack would have felt the sadness. It was the right time. But she also knew that tonight, it wasn’t to come.

Because one might leave it to fate, or to the machinations of others, but a trigger was still a trigger, and one trained in the signs...

And how could she not be?

The shadow held the muffin up to her face, and closer and closer it moved.

Applejack couldn’t do much more than watch it go slowly. But she stood up anyway, because the end was here.

And she had to get ready to go.

All of a sudden, the muffin disappeared from the shadow’s grasp, and reappeared back in the basket, a single bite taken out of it. The shadow itself was moving, shaking, shuddering unnaturally as lines of static broke the clear image of its frame.

The depths clouded. It was as if someone had let loose a stream of smoke inside the form, and a thick, grey smog was filling it up like a balloon. The smoke swirled, coalescing, almost alive in its movements, as it inspected the form it was in.

And all of a sudden, it happened.

The smoke expanded, throwing itself in all directions, fighting form, and thrusting itself against a being suddenly made real. It pushed itself against the darkness, driving it out, and like petals falling from a flower, an explosion of dark, volumeless shards scattered off the figure that was left standing there, the onyx pieces fading before they hit the ground.

Princess Luna, in her full form, stood up suddenly, blinking, looking around with wide eyes, before she settled upon Applejack, staring at her with a gaping mouth.

Applejack smiled.

She could now. She felt the locks come undone. She felt the world lift restrictions.

She could do a lot more.

She bowed, giving the princess her due respect, pulling off her hat in the process.

The Princess was still shocked, stunned, perhaps. And who could blame her? But with Applejack’s final job complete, it was time to leave.

She walked briskly, heading for the door, ready to throw it open and return to the other side. But she stopped, halfway down the hill, turning over her shoulder.

At least... at least she could make one last promise.

“Princess?” Applejack called to her, the princess’ shocked face still very much apparent as she failed to offer a reply. “I have to go now. I don’t belong here. But I promise you, you won’t have to be alone for much longer.”

And then Applejack finally went home, a smile on her face.

The Awoken

“To tell you the truth,” Princess Celestia said, slowly, choosing every word carefully, “I was about to summon you tomorrow if you hadn’t already come up here yourself.”

“Yes, Princess,” Applejack replied. “I believe we do... owe you and Princess Luna a bit of an explanation, perhaps.”

“And she’s here, because...?”

“Pinkie’s the one who’s been helpin’ me through all this, Princess. From the start, she’s stuck by me and helped me figure this out.”

“Of course.” Princess Celestia smiled, a warm, generous, loving smile. It was a smile that was, above all other things, true in its intent, and was filled with strength of heart. “Thank you for helping Applejack through this entire ordeal. It has been... taxing, I am sure.”

“No problem!” Pinkie bubbled, bouncing on the floors, her hooves clattering on the marbled tiles of the grand hall. It was the room in which Princess Celestia received all her guests, and its familiar stone pillars and ornate dual staircases gave a comfort of intimacy to Applejack and Pinkie Pie.

“But perhaps we should not tarry here in the halls,” Princess Celestia suggested, moving past them and motioning for the two to follow. “We have things to talk about.”

Her guests moved in tow, stepping in rhythm beside the Princess. She led them down one of the many hallways, passing guards and doors and windows, and it was not until she was deep into the boughs of the castle that she began to speak.

“I heard about it from Princess Luna last night. What you did. And what... she did. First of all, I must extend my apologies for what she had put you through.”

“Princess. Please. Don’t say another word of that. In fact, I’m th’ one who maybe... I guess there’d’ve been better ways I mighta done it, but...”

“No. I believe what you did was... the wisest thing. The most honest thing. Perhaps not the smartest, but... there is a thin line between smart and wise, sometimes. And in this case, I feel that you made the right choice.”

Pinkie breathed a sigh of relief.

Princess Celestia eyed her strangely.

“Thank you for your blessings, Princess.” Applejack bowed, offering her apologies in any case. “I’m not sure... if... if’n... um...”

“Please, Applejack. Don’t stand on ceremony. We’ve known each other in quite a... personal way for many years now. Please feel free to speak openly. That goes the same for you as well, Pinkie.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I was just about to burst! Applejack told me that I tend to be excitable and talk so much and bounce off the walls and she told me that maybe I should behave myself and-”

“Well, maybe a little.” Princess Celestia chuckled. “Please speak your mind, but remember we have pressing matters to discuss. Hm?”

“Of course, Princess! I can keep it down! I had loads of practice over the last week! Applejack made me... be serious.”

“Well, if I could kindly ask you to indulge me for one more day...”

“Definitely, Princess!”

Pinkie whipped out a chef’s hat, fitting it snugly upon her head.

“Ah...?” Princess Celestia raised an eyebrow.

“It’s... her serious hat, Princess. Don’t mind her. Please,” Applejack explained. “But... as I was going to say, I wasn’t sure how much of the story Princess Luna told you. Or in fact if... our stories are the same. Does she remember everythin’ from the start?”

“I’m afraid she does, Applejack. If there’s one thing about her... well. She’s been dreamwalking for many, many centuries now. It’s not something she’s unfamiliar with. When she awoke... she remembered it all.”

A somber look came across the Princess’ face. One that bore the markings of guilt, but yet, hope and strength. It was the look of sorrow that came from a place deep within – sorrow for many things, and the ones who were hurt along the way.

“I am... very sorry, Applejack. I truly am,” Celestia continued, her voice lowering in volume as she controlled her emotions. “Even firebreathers must respect the flame.”

“What do you mean, Princess?”

“Well... just because she walks dreams, and controls them, and helps the ones who have nightmares themselves... does not mean she isn’t also a victim of them, nor does it mean she has immunity from its... undesirable effects.

“Anypony... may still be burnt by a fire, if left unfettered to control,” Celestia explained.

“I never did blame her, Princess. Not once. At least, not once I figured out what was going on.”

“You have a kind soul, Applejack,” Celestia mentioned, as she led them further down winding passages and halls.

They stopped in a tranquil part of the castle that overlooked the gardens – a small balcony where they could have some peace from the patrolling guards and other prying ears.

Celestia herself had a faraway look to her as she gazed over the gardens, deep in thought.

“It was Nightmare Night, as you have probably already determined,” Celestia continued speaking, although this time, she gave her attention to the trees and plants, as if they were her captive audience.

In return, Applejack nodded and nothing more.

“I suppose the irony is that you had inadvertently caused the sequence of events to begin. Although, it wasn’t through any maliciousness of heart. Both Luna and I recognize this, and I would like to allay any fears that you might have had. We are not angry, nor upset. Most assuredly, you were nothing more than the unfortunate victim of unfortunate circumstances.”

Again, Applejack nodded. The princess was being candid, of course, and her directness could also be forgiven.

“The nightmares started that very night. At first, they were nothing big. Nothing to worry about. By the third day, my dear sister had started to wake up crying. Screaming. Yelling names long forgotten. Always she said it was just a bad dream, but each night it continued, and she would wave it away as nothing, claiming to not require any help.

“Of course, I suspected what it was. This isn’t the first time this happened. But Luna... she is a guarded pony. A prideful one, trying to make up for the mistakes of her past. She didn’t mean to do it, Applejack, you must understand, although it was her denial that let it go on for so long.”

“Yes, Princess. Of course I understand.”

“I understand too, Princess!” Pinkie cut in, jovially, like a child just happy to be involved.

“Such kind ponies, you two are.” Princess Celestia chuckled, a brief respite from the dour nature of the conversation. But that was over in a moment, and Celestia relaunched her explanation.

“When she dreams, she opens her mind. Because of her unique ability to traverse the dreams of others, she also has the ability to... draw others to her, as well. Normally, this is controlled tightly. But emotions... weaken barriers.”

“So... we were right then, Princess. All this while...”

“Yes, my child. For the past two weeks, you have been stuck inside the nightmares of my sister, as she wished for better days and kinder times. She had unwittingly drawn you in, probably due to the incident on the hill. She must have... found you to be a great sorrow.

“And that is the story. I will be happy to answer any questions you have right now, Applejack, before we continue on with the next step.”

“The next step, Princess?”

“Please. Ask your questions first,” Celestia suggested.

“W-well. What... what did I do? Why did she... pick me? Why was I chosen for this?”

“I should have expected that you would start with the most difficult question of all.” Celestia smiled. “In order to understand this, you have to understand Princess Luna. A princess she might be, but... all of us have our faults. Weaknesses. Even myself. And for the past few years, ever since she was rescued by you and your friends, she has been... struggling to fit in.

“Having a day dedicated to your misdeeds is something that does not fall lightly on a soul. And even though Luna tries, yearly, the day reminds Luna of what she is, what she was, and what she believes she will never be.”

“We... we oughta change that, Princess,” Applejack muttered.

“And perhaps we shall. We will see. Perhaps I should have not given her the chance to experience life as it was during her leave of absence, both bad and good.”

“Why does she go around the place each year, then?” Pinkie pointed out. “Why not just stay at home?”

“I suppose it’s a complicated thing, the heart of a pony. She feels the need to prove something to herself. She feels the need to see how things have changed. Nightmare Night is also an excuse for her to go down and visit, something she is rather not comfortable with in general, because of her beliefs that she is unacceptable in the eyes of others.”

“Is... is that what she thinks of herself?” Applejack asked.

“Yes. It is... unfortunate, is it not? And all the day does is reinforce her views on how ponies act around her. While it is true that there are still some who remain fearful of her and the legends that she has left behind... she has not yet given herself a chance to learn how the minds of most have changed.”

“But that’s... that’s rather silly, ain’t it? If you don’t mind me sayin’, Princess. I mean... all she’d have to do is come down anytime and look for herself.”

“Ah yes, but as I said, the heart of a pony is a complicated thing. She is frightened of what she might find. Nightmare Night is something she can blame for the visit. But otherwise, she is wrapped up in terror, Applejack, terror for what she might learn. For if she learns the truth, and it is something that she cannot handle...”

Celestia shook her head, keeping up strength for both sisters combined.

“Fear... huh?”

“Yes, Applejack. Fear and sadness. I believe you have felt as much yourself. I know you haven’t mentioned it yet, probably because you’re a polite little thing, but I already know that Luna has been casting those emotions onto you as well. What you felt during the dream was a mere portion of what Luna herself feels, and the dreams themselves...

“They represent her unconscious beliefs, Applejack. They each tell a story of her need to connect with someone else. Her deepest wishes to be... loved again, and how she believes that any time she connects with another... it ends in ruin.”

Applejack’s mouth had run dry. It was hard to speak again, but for a different reason. The truth sometimes was hard to take. But before she could get to that thought, Celestia interrupted her and said exactly what was on Applejack’s mind.

“Do not question your actions, Applejack. You did what you had to. You did more than anyone else could. But to answer your question as to why she chose you? It is because you showed her a kindness. You were the only one to give her hope, and hope is a strong feeling. You became a beacon to her. A representation of hope. And suddenly, her thoughts shaped itself around what you were to her – the possibility of a new friendship.

“But she buried it under her own vicious mentality, and so it lingered, and it expressed itself in the only way it knew how – in dreams.”

They had been skirting the truth. They had been guessing around the border. But even so, to hear the full story from the princess herself... Applejack’s mind wandered, trying to latch onto something – anything – to help make it even a little bit better.

“Princess?” Applejack asked.

“Yes?”

“I... I was gonna mention’ the emotions thing. I really was. I wasn’t tryin’ t’ keep it secret or nothi-”

“Of course you were.” Celestia chuckled again. “Worry not, Applejack.”

Once again, the balcony fell silent, nothing but the wind to generate the ambient noise that was meant to be calming but didn’t really do the job.

Princess Celestia kept on looking out toward the distance, wrapped in her own thoughts, as the other two stood there, uncomfortable with the silence.

It was only two minutes, but it felt like far longer, and Applejack was more than thankful that the princess finally turned and spoke to her directly.

“Do you have anything else you wish to ask?” Princess Celestia gestured with a tone of abrupt seriousness.

“No, Princess, I think... I think we’re good.” Applejack looked out of the corner of her eye to Pinkie to confirm this. Pinkie gave a small shrug and a blank stare in return.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Then, permit me a question of my own.”

“Of course, Princess.”

“Why did you choose to do what you did?”

“What do you mean, Princess?”

“At the very end. Once you realised the door led back to your own dreams... back home, why didn’t you take it? You could have. Luna told me you opened it on the penultimate night, but yet, you chose to stay in order to wake her up. Why?”

“I... I don’t know, Princess. I didn’t even know that I could do anythin’. In fact, I’m still pretty surprised I managed to get this far. To do all that I wanted t’ do...”

“There’s nothing surprising about that.”

“N-no, Princess?”

“No, of course not. Dreams are the manifestation of inner wishes and desires and beliefs, are they not? They are the truths of the soul. The honesty of the heart. I wouldn’t put it past the element of honesty to be able to traverse the realm of truth with much more ease than others.”

“Oh... I see, Princess...” Applejack shuffled in her spot. She didn’t rather enjoy the spotlight like this.

“But, please. Answer me. Why did you choose to stay?”

“I really can’t... I mean, I don’t really have a reason, Princess. I guess I just wanted to help. It’s the same reason why I went up to visit her on the hill on Nightmare Night. I just felt... like she needed a friend. I mean, everyone needs friends, right? And... well. Pinkie here... she’s been stickin’ by me all through this problem. Always been there by my side, ready t’ talk it out or... or just give me somethin’ t’ drink.

“I figured maybe Princess Luna could’a used someone like that herself. I just didn’t wanna up and abandon her. I could’ve saved myself, but... then what about Princess Luna?”

“What about her, indeed?”

“Maybe... maybe she just needs someone t’ talk to. I mean... I guess... I don’t want t’... y’know. She’s a princess and all, and I’m just a lowly farmer, so it’d be kinda...”

“That’s always been the problem.” The edges of Princess Celestia’s mouth turning upwards in a kind repose. “Part of it, anyway. No one thinks that she might just want someone to talk to. Everyone puts themselves beneath her, and that is the last thing she wants. Especially after how she acted before you saved her.”

“But is it... y’know, appropriate?”

“When is it ever not appropriate to want a friend, Applejack?”

“Well... maybe I should... I mean... I’m really sorry that I didn’t do anything before, but I never thought...”

“No, really. No one was to know. But remember I mentioned that this happened before?”

“Yes, of course, Princess.”

“This is, of course, the first time that someone has ever made it so far but stayed behind. Other kind, honest souls found a way out, but did not hesitate to take their own doors. You are the first to wake Luna up. And this has two very... very big implications.”

“Yes, Princess.”

“The first is that Luna now knows, for the first time, the extent of what she has done to you and to all those other ponies that this occurred to. She is... beside herself in grief.

“But the second thing is that Luna also knows the lengths that a pony would go through to help her. But maybe she hasn’t realised this yet.”

“I... I understand, Princess.”

“So we are left with what we have to do next. I wanted to find out why you did this so I could understand what will happen, and I am satisfied with the answer.”

“I... don’t understand, Princess.”

“That is fine. It is not important.” Celestia looked Applejack straight in the eye. “As I understand, you came to Canterlot to talk to Princess Luna herself, have you not?”

“Yes, Princess,” Applejack replied.

“We brought her something...” Pinkie added, smiling nervously and pointing to the saddlebags on her back.

“She does not want to talk to you,” Celestia declared.

“O-oh,” Applejack muttered.

“But all the more reason why you should go see her.”

“B-beg your pardon?”

“She feels that she has offended you and that you would only... show her harshness. I am telling you this now only so that you understand that she will be unresponsive when you meet her. She will be uncomfortable. She might not even find the words to speak. There is a turmoil in her heart, and I believe you must finish what you have started.”

“But... but what can I do, Princess? I thought... I thought I’d just come up here to have a talk. I wasn’t expectin’ all this!”

“All you have to do, Applejack,” Celestia said as she nodded somberly, stepping aside and motioning to a set of large doors that lay down the hall opposite to the balcony, “is speak to her as you were going to from the start and hope that the truth breaks through.”

-*-*-

The huge doors swung open slowly, and Applejack stepped in.

She swallowed.

She almost wished this was a dream again, but there was no mistaking the nervousness on her face – her slanted eyebrows and gently quivering lower lip – as she stepped toward the large bed that graced the side of the room.

Everything else about the room was pleasantly serene. The warm noon sun poured through the open window, casting light upon the meager quarters. It seemed that Luna herself was not one for much extravagance, and only a single fancy carpet reposed in front of the fireplace, which had not shown signs of being used in a long while.

No portraits hung off the walls, nor were there any pictures save for one single photo of Princess Celestia that found itself on the bedside nightstand.

It was a lonely room, a sad room. Even with the clarity of day, the demons that haunted the space were ever so clearly seen.

Or maybe it was just that Applejack knew what to look for.

Applejack stepped to the middle of the room; there was a familiar mane that defied all laws, a stardusted swirl of night that flew in dead air, a sweeping blue segment of the night given form.

Princess Luna stood outside the entryway that led to her own, smaller balcony, where she stood and watched the small town of Ponyville, her mane wafting in the silence of the room.

Applejack took one final breath, and gently lowered a small basket to the ground.

“Princess?”

Luna’s head turned suddenly, jerking around, her cloud-like mane swirling as she went. Her wide eyes and flattened-down ears bespoke of her astonishment at the sight of who it was. There may have been a million thoughts or more, but none of these would her mind focus on, and to that end she remained, gaping, unable to say a single word.

“Princess. Don’t worry. Please. I’m not here t’ talk or... well... I guess I’m here to talk. I mean...”

Applejack couldn’t help it. Her first line, and she messed it up. It was all so... regular. But wasn’t that what it was supposed to be? Before she knew it, she was looking up toward the ceiling, laughing at the silliness of it all.

It was a few soft chuckles, followed by a soft sigh of resignation, and finally, a smile.

A smile directed at the Princess, who stood shuffling her hooves at the other end of the room, like Apple Bloom did when you caught her doing something rather silly indeed.

Suddenly it became a lot easier.

“Princess, sorry! Sorry. Listen’, I ain’t here for none of what happened. It’s all over if y’ask me.” Applejack nodded her head to the side to accentuate. “We don’t need t’ worry. ‘Specially not you.

“And I know, it’s... kinda awkward, and a little bit weird, so y’ don’t have t’ say nothin’. Just know that what happened? I know it weren’t your fault. I know it weren’t nothin’ you were doin’ on purpose, so... Bad things happen sometimes, and in the end, that’s all it is, and that’s all it ever need t’ be.

“You don’t even have’ta be sorry about nothin’!” Applejack stamped her hoof, that grin still on her face. “I mean, if you wanna talk about it, we can do that too, but only if you want to, you know? But I’d much rather just get on with things.

“So I tell you what, you really oughta come down and visit once in a while. It ain’t no trouble, I promise ya. In fact, all’a us would love to see ya, that’s for sure! You know, just for a social visit, or just t’ say hi. And I know. It’ll be a bit difficult at first but... hey, I tell you what, you can always come and see me anytime you want, alright? We’ll take things slow. And I know how hard it can be!

“But... I don’t think things are as bad as you think they are, Princess. I don’t think there’s anything to be worried about. So... well. I guess as they say, my door’s always open.”

Applejack nodded, finishing her little speech. Through it all, the princess had been silent, her eyes roaming, her chest quaking slightly. She still had nothing to say, but it didn’t bother Applejack at all.

“So, we got you a gift, too. Just to say 'no hard feelings'. I also realise what I did must’a been quite a bit of a shock to you as well. So here’s t’ say I’m sorry! And all I wanted t’ do was help, anyway. So... hopin’ you’ll forgive me.”

She pushed the present toward the princess, who took a step back instinctively, as if being approached by a fearsome beast.

“Well, so long, Princess.” Applejack beamed, heading back towards the door. “I’m glad we had this chance to meet. And please... I hope you’ll consider what I said. It’d be really grand t’ have a chat.”

The door slammed shut.

Princess Luna swallowed.

“I...” she finally said, holding her hoof out to the door. But it was a few moments too late.

She lowered her hoof again, slowly, sadly, as she blinked heavily. She felt her eyes grow heavy with moisture once again, even though she didn’t really understand why.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, to herself and to the wind.

Finally leaving the safety of the balcony, she pulled herself to the small basket that lay on the floor, trudging her way to the lid.

She nudged it open, and with a burst of magic, a small vase lifted into the air from within its nest.

It was a simple thing, made crudely out of red clay. It was uneven along its circumference, and it hadn’t been glazed. It looked hoof-made and even came complete with a little gift of a flower.

No – it was definitely so.

Etched into its side were two comically unsophisticated drawings. If it weren’t for the telltale hat and wispy mane, she might not even have recognized them as the simple portrayals of herself and Applejack.

But it was the word underneath the two faces. The chicken-scratch that that one single pony had put into the side of the vase, the innocent word drawn without the need for elaboration or extravagance. It was the meaning of the word that made her unable to keep the tears in any longer, and that which caused her to hold the vase to her chest, as if cradling a small child.

And as she closed her eyes and bowed her head, her heart pounding against the gift, she realised that one thing was so far out of her reach, but yet, there it was, in her hooves.

As simple as one pony giving it to another.

And it didn’t have to be anything more than that.

‘Friends’, the word read, etched in under the faces of Luna and Applejack.

The Dreamers

She could get used to this.

She really could. Now, this was what it was all about. This was what it was meant to be. Flying freely, making what she wanted, expressions of thoughts and minds and emotions – she was finally back in her own head, and the unrestricted boundaries of life were at her whim and fancy.

She should have done this before, really.

Applejack picked up a stone, chucking it toward the lake that spanned across a thousand miles ahead of her.

The stone skipped. All one thousand miles, until it disappeared into the horizon and vanished from view.

Applejack sat herself down on the cool, refreshing grass, each blade like a mellow breeze that ruffled against her skin like icy silk.

She lay back, closing her eyes, letting the odd sensations take her.

But there was a movement to her left, something that she felt, something that caused her to pry her eye open.

There was a dark hoof that stood beside her, one that led upward to a soft, white dress, something meager and humble.

“Hello, Applejack,” Princess Luna said.

Applejack rolled up, planting herself on her haunches as she gave the princess a full look.

She had left her crown at home, along with her other adornments. No necklace, no spats. Just Princess Luna, in a soft white dress and a braid.

Applejack quirked an eyebrow.

“I am trying something different,” Luna explained. “Does... does it look alright?”

“Looks fine t’ me,” Applejack said, lying down again.

“May... may we talk?” Luna asked, still shuffling nervously.

“‘Course we can!” Applejack responded, smacking the grass next to her. “Have a seat!”

The princess lowered herself, slowly, daintily, onto the grass, sitting up and staring out across the lake.

For a while, neither party said a word.

“Thank you for the gift,” Luna blurted out, suddenly.

“Hey, ain’t a thing,” Applejack replied, patient as ever. “I’m sorry I ain’t a better artist. Could’a done you a better job, I reckon.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s... the most meaningful thing I have received in a long time.”

“Oh, come on, you’re just bein’ nice now.” Applejack grinned. “Remember that painting of the hill I did? Proof enough that I can’t even think of something nice.”

“Yes... I remember the painting,” Luna said, carefully. “It was... rather...”

“Go on, Princess, you can say it.”

“It was... It could have been...”

“It was plumb awful, Princess.” Applejack laughed.

Luna smiled guiltily. A small weakness, of the good sort.

The edge of Applejack’s mouth curled up as well as she noticed Luna’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.

The surface of the lake shimmered like glass.

And the two ponies watched it for a while.

“You know,” Luna said, hesitantly. “You... you have done very well for one who has never... traversed dreams before.”

“Yeah? Princess Celestia said it was something about honesty and all that.”

“Indeed so. But... there are many things that you have yet to be able to do. Even in the dreams of others. To have come this far already, with no previous training, however, is nothing short of... astounding.”

“Well. Thank ye kindly, Princess.”

“If... if you would like...”

“Yeah, Princess?”

“I could teach you... more. If you would be interested.”

Applejack sat up, looking at Luna, who shied away almost instinctively. “Well... that’s an interesting proposal.”

“I... I could show you how to do what I can. And teach you how to help others in their dreams as well. Of course, you wouldn’t have to do it as a d-duty, but... you would be one of the rare few able to help others in their dreams if they so require. Just as you have... helped... helped me.”

The Princess found herself busy looking at a blade of grass as she said this, but a hoof gently fell upon her shoulder, and she looked back to see the glowing face of Applejack looking toward her.

Applejack remembered. There was a portrait in one of the dreams, a portrait of Luna’s sister and one of Applejack’s friends. Perhaps this was a desire of the princess of the night as well, and perhaps, this would be a good place to start.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have to, if you did not want to!” Luna denied herself furiously. “It was just a silly idea, I mean...”

“I’d love ta.” Applejack nodded. “I wouldn’t at all mind being your student. Although Pinkie ain’t ever gonna let me hear the end of this.”

“Oh, would that be...”

“It’s a joke, Princess. We’ll find a way to shut her up. So... yeah, sign me up! I guess I’m now officially the student of Princess Luna!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Wonderful!” Luna exclaimed with a happiness that was due for a long time coming. “But we must do it properly, as my sister always asks of her own pupil, we must no longer hang ourselves up on formality! Please. Call me ‘Luna’ from now on.”

“I think I can do that, Luna.” Applejack smiled.

As they spoke, a thin red line – a shining ribbon – coursed out from behind Applejack, swirling through the air and curling, like a snake playing on the wind, around Luna’s hoof. It orbited her leg for a few more revolutions before fading away and disappearing into the noise of the dream.

“Luna? I’ve been meanin’ t’ ask.” Applejack asked, watching as the last few specks of the ribbon sparkled away.

“Of course, my pupil. Anything!” Luna fought to keep the childlike grin off her face, trying to be professional.

“What’s with the red ribbon? I saw a lot of red things in the other dreams. I was wonderin’...”

“Oh, so you can see them too? That is quite remarkable, indeed. Those lines are the threads of fate, in whatever form they choose to take. They exist as phantoms in the dreams of another, and indicate the desire of a connection between two souls. When a link is made, it signifies the moment when... well.”

Applejack looked up, eyes connecting with the princess’, as both of them bloomed with an understanding smile.

Both stood, and looked out over the lake, taking the time to enjoy the rare gift of friendship.

But this was a start. This was a beginning.

It was the first step in a new adventure, and there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

And as Luna explained and rattled on about dreams and rules and the introduction to what was a brand new chapter in their lives, two ponies slept calmly.

Two ponies slept sound.

For the first time in uncountable days, two ponies, cities apart, joined by their hearts, slept joyously with smiles on their faces.

For what awaited them in the morning were no tears of sadness nor cries of pain.

And what they would awake to was nothing less than the warmth of a bright new Summer’s day.

The End