Things don’t just happen for any particular reason. I learned that one the hard way. Everyone has a place in this world, and a destiny. Funny, I never really believed in destiny until about a month ago. My name is Pagereous Graphite Turner, Page Turner for short. This is an account of my recent adventures in an Equestria I barely even recognize anymore, with new friends and new enemies. I don’t know who will read this, but if anypony- no, ANYONE does, heed my words, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” What does that mean exactly? Read on and you’ll find out.
Now where to begin… Right, at the beginning (and you call yourself a writer PT). Our story begins, when I awoke to total darkness…
Where… where am I?
What is this place?
Why is it so dark?
What’s going on?
All these thoughts and more raced through my head as I woke up in that dark, musty, confined space. I was surrounded by cold stone surfaces from every angle. There was barely enough room for me to breathe, much less move. I cast a simple light spell from my horn to get a fix on where I was. It seems to be a large stone box of some sort, I say to myself in my head, still trying to get my bearings, when it finally hit me,
Oh dear sweet Celestia…
It’s a sarcophagus…
My sarcophagus!
I had to get out of there, and fast. I charged up my horn with as much mana as I could muster, and in a surge of red light, I blast the lid off the sarcophagus. It didn’t go up very far, and when I thought it was just going to come crashing back down, it slid off to the right with a grinding noise and landed on the floor with a loud thud.
I climbed groggily out of my stone prison, all four legs feeling as if they’re made of lead, to be greeted by even more darkness. I ignited my horn to hopefully get a better sense of where I was.
I stood in a large stone room, its walls filled with immaculate carvings of the Princesses, ponies, griffins, diamond dogs, and a tall, robed figure wielding a scythe. While the carvings were impressive, they also confirmed that I was still wearing my glasses, because without them, I’m blind as a bat. Thankfully they were still intact from whatever I’d been through to make everypony think I was dead, although the left lens had a large crack in it.
I turned my attention back to the room and noticed that on the opposite side from me were five stone sarcophagi not unlike my own. On the opposite side of my stone prison were four additional sarcophagi, all ten lining the walls of the great stone room. It’s a crypt, I deduced, one that has not been visited in awhile.
I could tell this place was abandoned, and possibly ransacked. Roots and vines grew through cracks in the walls and ceiling, almost all of the carvings of the Princesses had been defaced in some way. A fine layer of dust covered everything, and all of the sarcophagi, except mine, had been opened in some way. In fact, a pegasus skeleton had been dragged out of its home and was sprawled out on the floor next to it.
I suppressed a shudder and took a look at my own sarcophagus again. Despite the fine layer of dust that coated everything, it was completely untouched. It was as if whoever, or whatever, ransacked this place completely ignored my stone tomb. Well, that’s enough sightseeing.
I took one last look around and fed more energy into my horn, causing the aura to grow and bathe the room in cinnamon-red light. I noticed a stone staircase leading upwards, hopefully outside. I ascend ten, maybe fifteen, hooves and came to a giant stone slab that must had been a door.
I tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Even with my telekinesis, the door remained shut. However I did notice something odd on the door, a phrase. It was hastily carved into it, probably with somepony’s knife. Although it was faded, I could still make out what it said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand”. As soon as the words left my lips, both the door and the words began to glow with the same red light as my horn’s aura. Then, the crypt began to shake. At first I thought the whole place was going to come down on my head, but the door slowly slid to the right, letting in what I was sure was daylight. I shielded my eyes as the bright light came blasting in, at least until they adjusted to the new level of light.
I trotted out to an old graveyard, but I then notice it’s not just any graveyard, it was the Ponyville Cemetery. It rested on a hill just above its namesake town; but it was not the one I remember. There were vines growing on the tombstones and crypts, many of the taller tombstones had long since fallen over and many of the crypts had collapsed in on themselves. The grass was overgrown, so much so that I doubt nothing short of a super-sized lawn mower could cut it. The elegant wrought-iron gate had been torn off its hinges long ago and each door of the gate lay bent and rusted to either side of where it was bolted into the stone wall.
It didn’t seem right at the time. I’d lived in Ponyville before, and I knew the pony who worked the cemetery. Tombstone III, who was also known as “The Living Tombstone” by pretty much everypony in town. He never would’ve let this place go to ruin. His family had founded and run that cemetery for almost three generations. Like his father and grandfather before him, Tombstone III cared for that place like a mother cared for her child. He always felt that ‘to give the dead proper respect, their resting place must be clean and well-groomed’ (he told me that one once).
For some odd reason, I kept thinking about why I woke up in crypt, and what made everypony think I was dead. I could have ticked off one of my enemies, but the problem was I didn’t have any; I mean, why would I? I was a writer for a literary magazine, in CANTERLOT for Celestia’s sake. Even now I can’t even think of any reason any pony would hate me for that. But that still left a rather omnipresent question that would float around in my mind for quite a long time:
Who or what would want me dead?
I thought perhaps I could’ve contracted some kind of unknown disease that puts ponies in deathlike comas, but quickly dismissed that idea as the memory of some kind of explosion came to mind. Explosion, I asked myself, what exploded, and more importantly, why do I remember it so vividly? I tried to think back to when I saw that explosion. I remembered sitting at my usual table outside my favorite café one morning in Canterlot, just a block from my place, sipping a latte, Prance roast, two sugars, no cream, when there was a bright flash of light, and then the whole place exploded in a grand display of fire and destruction. After that, I couldn’t remember much, except feeling like my blood was on fire (in all honesty, it probably was).
I tried, and failed, many times to bring up more of the memory, but ultimately I gave up and decided to head towards Ponyville. Maybe there I could get some answers.
I got to where the gate used to be and expected to see the town, but all I saw was the edge of a lake and a bunch of trees blocking my way, trees that didn’t used to be there. The Everfree Forest seemed much closer to Ponyville than I remembered, and was probably where the extra trees came from. As for the lake, I didn’t think much of it, in fact I barely noticed it. I just wanted to get to civilization as soon as possible. I was tired, hungry, achy, dusty, had probably suffered magical exhaustion, if my throbbing headache was anything to judge by, and (after a quick sniff) I smelled like I’d been sleeping in a mausoleum full of rotting corpses for the better part of a few years (which, even though I didn’t know it at time, was unfortunately true). So with all haste, I head towards the small farming town I had once called home in my earlier years.
As I headed towards Ponyville, I mulled over memories of growing up in that place. You didn’t think I grew up in Canterlot, did you? Like I said before, I had spent my foalhood there, a little out-of-the-way farming community where everypony knew everypony and you didn’t have to lock your doors at night. I remembered going to school, seeing the young teacher, Ms. Cheerilee, and saw how she enthusiastically taught our class, it was her special talent after all. I remembered the day we started studying insects, and she took us to White Tail woods to capture and study butterflies and caterpillars (we let them go afterwards). I remembered Sweet Apple Acres, where I would normally pass by on my way to my secret place in White Tail Woods. Mr. Apple or his wife would always give me an apple every time I would run into them. I remembered that filly Rarity that would turn many of her unfortunate schoolmates, and other young fillies and colts, into temporary mannequins for her outfits (of which I was one of them when I asked her to make me a Nightmare Night costume). I remembered when Pinkie Pie first came to town and made it her personal mission to know everypony in Ponyville, including me.
Memories of me growing up, of being with my family. When I moved to Canterlot for my new job with the literary magazine, “Word on the Street”, my mother cried for hours, and I’ll admit, I shed a couple of tears as well. My father gave me a hearty pat on the back and tried not to cry. My little sister was reluctant, but eventually gave me a hug. I guess I’ll be quite a shock to them, I thought to myself, they probably think I’m dead. Who knows, maybe Pinkie will throw me a Welcome-Back-From-The-Dead Part-. My train of thought was instantly shattered as my left fore-hoof plunked down in something wet and cold. I yelp as I leap backwards and finally take a good look at my surroundings.
Stretching out before me was a massive lake, with the road leading right into it. A fairly large river ran out from the lake to my right towards the Northeast, headed right for that large mountain just before Froggy Bottom Bog (thankfully I paid attention that day in geography class). Off towards the East was the Everfree Forest, and it seemed I was right; it WAS closer, closer than it should have been. My attention quickly went back to the lake. As far I knew, that lake shouldn’t have been there, in fact, it was where Ponyville should’ve been.
I racked my brain until it managed to pump out a few possibilities: Maybe I went down the wrong road? Maybe I inhaled some kind of mold spores from that crypt and now I was hallucinating? Maybe that wasn’t the Ponyville Cemetery after all?
I quickly dismissed those ideas and tried to calm my panic riddled mind. Okay Page, I tell myself, calm down, start with what you know: One- you woke up in crypt with no idea how you got there and only the vaguest memory of an explosion. Two- you somehow miraculously survived that explosion and being entombed within a stone sarcophagus that was probably sealed shut for who knows how long. Three- you’re exactly where Ponyville, your foalhood home, should be, only it isn’t here and instead there’s a huge lake. With thoughts of Ponyville and the lake aside, I needed food, shelter, and answers. I needed a bath too, judging by my reflection I saw in the lake water.
My tawny tan coat was covered in dirt, dust, and a few bits of dried blood from small wounds that had long ago scabbed over. I also had a few patches of fur missing, some of them scorched off. My red pinstripe vest was in tatters and was barely hanging on by a thread. The red was faded enough that it was almost pink, and it had a few stains on it that I did not want to know where they originated. My hooves were chipped and there was a pebble in my rear right hoof. My short blonde mane and tail had been scorched a little and had clumps of dried dirt in them.
“Holy Faust above,” I exclaim out loud, “what the BUCK happened to me?!”
The shock of my appearance quickly wears off as I mentally kick myself and force myself to focus. I decided that no matter what, I had to get answers and worry about other things later (which, in my opinion, was one of the dumbest decisions I’ve ever made), so I figured I needed to go to the other place I called home: Canterlot.
Thankfully the mountain city was visible from Ponyville, and sure enough, once I turned towards Northwest, I could make out the outline of a mighty castle jutting out from the side of a mountain on an artificial ledge, with several waterfalls cascading hundreds of hooves into the valley below.
I checked the sun and saw that it was almost at the center of the sky: just around noon. Canterlot could normally be reached in just under an hour, but that’s by train. Judging from the state of my surroundings, I highly doubted there was one nearby.
I let out a heavy sigh. Oh well, looks like I’m walking. Hopefully I’ll be able to make it before nightfall.
