I rise to weak hooves. Beneath me the floor appears to be shaking but a voice in my head says no, it is just me. My whole body aches, stiffness radiating forth from within my very bones. Twisting my neck side to side bones crack, the sound reverberating through the empty branches of the library.
It’s then that I realize how quiet the library is.
How tomb-like my library is.
My knee goes out from beneath me, and I’m once again laying on the floor. This time I wait. Wait and study. If I can barely stand it would do no good to force my legs. I’ll simply lay here until the numbness has gone. In the meantime I let my eyes graze where my hooves cannot. The library is as always brightly lit, the books are on their shelves and my quills are still in neat rows on the desk. Why does something feel off? My back leg twitches, involuntarily.
Wait.
My ear flickers, this time with a voluntary motion. I try to focus on that leg, willing it to move just once more. There it is, like the leathery whisper of a bat’s wings, the sound of parchment against wood. I crane my head back, twisting as far it will go. Bones missed from earlier's stretch start creaking now. Had I again fallen asleep on while reading? But, if that was the case, why was I in the center of the floor. I'm craning, trying to get at least the tiniest of glimpses at this stubborn scrap. If I had fallen asleep here that paper would tell me what I was doing before hoof I'm sure. But why I’m so sure is unclear.
I can’t see it. Even in the most twisted of forms it eludes my sight. It must be right beyond my hind leg. I feel determined for reasons unknown to see this paper. I hesitate wondering why this is so important all of a sudden, wondering why I don't just...I don't know. I can't get up, not currently. I'm still feeling weak in the hooves and I slowly close my eyes, letting them rest and hopefully putting to rest that buzz too...
I open my eyes.
The library is burning. Books strewn from their shelves, spines broken and pages torn. Over there a whole pile of books soaked in the remains of shattered inkwells. It is a slaughterhouse in my eyes. A slaughterhouse filled with the carcasses my dearest belongings.
I choke on the acrid smoke. It has crept deep into my lungs and clawed its way into my eyes. I squint, eyes blood shot red. Is that movement? I peer to the left, and yes. Out of the corner of my eye I see them. Needle teethed demons that laugh and crow from the shadows, jumping from shelf to shelf.
Everything is so very, very wrong… why does it feel like this is as it should be...
A single demon appears before me, solid and formed not of the smoke and shadows like his brethren, but of flesh, blood and bone. The thing caresses my cheek with a single claw and then, grasping my muzzle, tugs my face close to his. The reek of decay and almonds slams into me. But its his eyes that I focus on. His eyes, soulless depths as they are, appear to be searching through mine. I feel as he shifts through my mind, pushing aside childhood memories and discarding carelessly thoughts of science and learning. He is searching for something, but for what I cannot tell. Then he leers at me, a smile of a thousand jagged knives upon his visage.
“Wake up, my little pony.”
I gasp for fresh air and once again I’m in the library, my library. The false library. I brush that thought from my mind. This is my library, this is the real library. This library here is the one I call home at night, not that ghastly graveyard of books and demon infested hive that I just left.
I shudder at the memory and cringe. I can still feel the lingering ghost of his touch on my cheek, and the sweet scent of his- no! I vigorously shake my head. I will not think of such a creature in that manner.
Then I notice it. The scrap of paper. Somehow, and I don’t know when, it had appeared in front of my muzzle. It’s a small little thing, torn from a larger sheet, it has been folded into a small triangle. My hooves, no longer shaky reach out, unfolding it. Curiosity has been taken over by trepidation.
It lies now, perfectly flat, beneath a single hoof of mine. Do I dare remove the hoof and see what lies beneath or do I leave and forgot this morning occurred, maybe going down to Sugarcube Corner, get a cupcake and relax. No, I know as soon as I even think that I could not let a single piece of potential information slide past me. It would go beyond my nature to do so. Before I could dwell on what might be, I lift my hoof and stare at what is beneath, at what is on that scrap.
Or rather the lack of what’s on the scrap.
It’s blank, completely and utterly blank. The only thing marring its surface is the creases left behind from its earlier folding. I flip it over. The back too is bare.
I snort. All that, and what for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I take hold of the scrap, teeth careful, and get up. I start to walk over to the waste basket but my hooves have other ideas, leading me to my desk. Frustrated at this point, I drop the scrap there, its plain off white surface taunting me. I nudge a quill into its proper place, and then turn tail on the entire desk. I needed one of Sugarcube Corner’s sugary confections now more than ever before. I was simply going to put that scrap out of mind and relax…
And with that I leave the library, my tail swishing neatly around the door frame as I shut the door. I shut it harder than normal, but I was ready to leave that not behind. It and its simple message.
We are going to have so much fun, you and I.
