Saturday, January 19th, 1003 A.B.

I would first like to apologize for the hasty ending of the last entry, but due to the sensitive material contained within this journal, I wish to avoid anypony finding out about its existence. This is why that by the time that the awoken pony, who turned out to be Rainbow Dash, had arrived at the threshold of the kitchen, the journal was already secure in the safe downstairs. Upon inquiry as to why I was awake, Dash, still half-asleep, was easily convinced that I had merely having a midnight snack to ease my nerves, and joined me for some celery and peanut butter.

The next morning, I was awoken by the smell of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. Groaning as lifted myself up on heavy limbs, I was greeted by Applejack as she emerged from the aroma’s origin, and announced that the morning’s meal was almost ready. Before returning to the kitchen, she asked me to rouse Pinkie and Dash, who laid near me, still submerged in their own respective slumbers. Soon, over a delicious breakfast of hay pancakes and daffodils, I was informed by my friends that they would be dedicating the day to spending quality time with me. There is nothing of real importance relating to the Itch that happened yesterday, so I will simply put that it was one of the most relaxing and enjoyable days that I have had in a long time.

While yesterday may have been relatively normal, today, on the other hoof, has held three bizarre developments in the Itch’s macabre characteristics, one of which I can still feel the effects of now. As to what today’s vision contained, it is with guilt-ridden relief that I can say that this most recent hallucination has not followed in the hoofsteps of its predecessor. Thankfully, instead of involving my own painful demise, today’s daydream featured the deaths of not one, but two other ponies. I ask for all the forgiveness in the world for the relief I felt after I ‘woke up’ from the vision, but I still cannot deny the peace of mind that somepony other than I dying brought me.

Though the fact that my ‘death’ had not repeated is reason enough to put ink down into this journal, it is not the only reason that I write today’s occurrences down. Neither is the odd affair of two ponies dying instead of one, though it is bizarre, but rather how they met their deaths that is truly fascinating.

*****

Since I had spent most of the previous day out and about with my friends, and neglected on my duties as librarian of Golden Oaks Library, I spent most of the morning and most of the afternoon fulfilling those duties. In the morning, I was mainly preoccupied in addressing the books that had been checked in and checked out, and which ones were overdue. As I found out, there were quite a few Ponyville residents who had neglected to return their books on time, though, I suppose the large number could be due to the resident librarian spending most of her time in the basement for the past few weeks. After a small lunch, I set out from the library in order to retrieve the missing books from their tardy owners, leaving Spike to take care of the library’s affairs in my absence.

By the time I reached the last house on my list of literary offenders - around 6 o’clock - the Itch had already encroached upon my spine. It began in the middle of my visit on the previous house, but thankfully, I have grown better at distracting myself from the gnawing sensation, so I was able to go about completing my duties with a calm facade upon my face. I planned on finishing business at the final house before finding a secluded spot outside of Ponyville where I wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.

Pausing to readjust the book-filled saddlebags at my sides, I beheld a typical Ponyville dwelling. With a thatched roof, soft pastel coloring, and colorful woodwork, it was nearly identical to any other house in the town, save for a bright blue mailbox, which on the side read in white font, “Mane and Wit household.”

*****

One interesting distinction between Ponyville and my native Canterlot that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years is Ponyville’s lack of a number-based mailing system. Unlike the city of my birth, my current town of residence is small enough in population that the mail carriers know the residents of every house on their delivery routes by name, which eliminates the need of numerical ordering. Though, I myself have never had to bother with placing my name upon a mailbox; everypony pretty much knows where to find the mare who lives in the big tree right in middle of town.

*****

Trotting up the cobblestone walkway, I heard sounds of youthful play emanating from inside, which went silent when my hoof rapped upon the wooden door. A second later, I heard the sound of hooves hurriedly moving towards the entryway, accompanied by a colt’s energetic voice.

“I’ll get it!”

The door opened, and I found a stocky young colt - looking to be around the age of the Cutie Mark Crusaders - looking up at me. As I stared down at the pale green youth, I couldn’t help but feel he looked familiar.

“Hey, Miss Twilight! What’re you doing here?” He asked with a slight lisp, and I realized why he had seemed so familiar. He was one of the colts responsible for leading the Ursa Minor into Ponyville and the damage it caused to the town during my first year of residency at the Golden Oaks Library.

“Snips!” A stallion’s voice sounded out from further inside the domain, “that isn’t how we address visitors!”

“Sorry dad!” Snips yelled back, “sorry, Miss Twilight. Would you like to come in?”

“Well, I can only stay for a little bit,” I replied, stepping past the diminutive colt, “I’m quite busy as it is.”

Walking in, I found myself in a quaint living room - photographs lining the walls, a ceiling-mounted lamp, a worn looking red sofa, a glass coffee table, and a shelf full of books - one already inhabited by another colt, one with a yellow-orange coloration - Snails, I believe it was. He greeted me in a meandering tone, and went back to playing as his friend ran past me and joined him. Left standing awkwardly in the room for only a few moments, I was soon met by the stallion of the household, Written Wit, one of Ponyville’s local writers and a stay-at-home husband.

“Ah, hello Ms. Sparkle. How are you this fine day?” The lemon-coated unicorn asked me in a genial tone, smiling as he walked around the two colts on the floor, “what brought about this surprise visit? If you’re looking for my wife, I’m afraid she’s currently at work downtown.”

“Ah no, I’m actually here to see you on library business.” Pulling my list out of one of the saddlebags, I read what was on it out loud, “you currently have three books overdue, I’m afraid. They are Write M for Macaroni by Alfredo Hitchcook, L'Amour des Legumes by Petit Pois, and… Desperate and Dangerous Dominatri-”

“Y-yes! W-well, I’ll just go get those for you from my study upstairs, all right?” Written cut me off, grinning nervously as he glanced at the two colts playing nearby, “please, won’t you take a seat while I’m doing so?”

Setting my saddlebags on the glass coffee table, I sat myself down on the sofa behind it as he trotted off into one of the adjacent doorways. I squirmed in my seat as I felt the Itch scrape its rusty claws across my skin, picking at my muscles with its jagged talons. I silently prayed for Written to return as soon as possible as the Itch began to mount in ferocity.

All through my torment, Snips and Snails played and laughed between themselves on the wooden floorboards. I began to grow annoyed with their antics; how could they be so carefree, so oblivious to my own pain? How dare they be so stupid, so uncaring? With one of Snips’ annoying high-pitched laughs, I felt my aggravation boil over, and my threadbare patience snap.

“Would you shut the hay up?!” I demanded, slamming my right forehoof down onto the glass coffee table. I must have not known my own strength, for when my hoof made contact with the table’s surface, the glass shattered and fell to the floor below. My sudden outburst startling the infuriating duo from their play, I decided to capitalize on their momentary silence and continued, “both of you are seriously starting to get on my nerves, and you-” I noticed that Snails staring at my right hoof, and growled out an infuriated “what!?”

“Miss Twilight,” he began, his tone trembling, but thankfully speedier than earlier, “you cut your hoof…”

Looking down at my hoof, I saw that I had indeed cut it. A bright red slash stretched across my fetlock, no doubt caused by its violent introduction with the table.

“I’ll go get some bandages!” Shouted Snips as he jumped off and ran for the doorway his father left through.

“Oh no you don’t, you little foal!” I snarled, using my magic to yank him back and throw him next to his slow-speaking friend, “you’re going to shut up and listen to what I have to say…” I said as I hopped off the couch and made my way around the coffee table, using my magic to shut and lock all of the doors leading from the room.

“Miss Twilight! You’re scaring-” Snips began, but was cut off by my hoof striking across his face.

“I said shut up, you little... Ohhh…” I stopped, closing my eyes as I enjoyed the pleasure that hitting the annoying brat gave me.

“Miss…?” Snails didn’t even have the time to get out a second word before I was on him. I hit him, again and again, not daring to stop striking, else I end the euphoria hurting his frail little body brought me. He screamed and screamed and screamed as his friend vainly pulled at me, begging me to get off of him, but I just continued boxing the colt’s trapped, writhing form. Eventually, Snails stopped resisting, only having enough energy to breath gasping breaths through broken teeth and blood. Slowly, I turned around and stared into Snips’ face. One eye had swollen shut from where I struck him, but the other one was a living painting of fear. His pupil was a tiny black pinprick, quivering as he looked into my own purple eyes.

I could feel my mouth contort into a nasty sneer as he began to back away from me. My horn lit up as I opened the door behind him, causing Snips to jump as it squeaked open. He turned around with a speed his chubby frame belied, and made a quick dash for the safety beyond the doorframe. Just as the stubby little colt reached the doorway, I slammed the door shut into his face with a delightfully painful “snap,” throwing him back into the living room. Picking Snips up with my magic, I turned him around to face me. His eyes were staring straight into mine as he nursed his broken muzzle with his hooves, blood streaming down his tearful face all the while.

“Aww, did the pool widdle foal want to escape?” I pouted, mocking the trembling colt, “well, don’t let that mean ol’ door stop you!”

Spinning Snips around, I slammed him into the wooden door repeatedly, his wails becoming softer with each successive hit. Eventually, he stopped flailing about in my magic, and I brought him back to me. Lifting up the barely breathing form of Snails at my side, I held them next to each other, observing my handiwork. Both of the colt’s faces were bloody messes: black and purple bruises spanned their cheeks and muzzles as crimson streams flowed off their faces and dripped onto the floor below. Though I held them at attention, their gazes were unfocused; their minds dazed by the brutal beating I had given them. The fact that they were not paying attention to me ruined the euphoria I had acquired during their thrashing, sending the pleasure buzzing through my tensed body to the ground. Without ecstasy barring its path, the Itch stampeded right into the forefront of my awareness, aggravating my already angered mind even further.

“Hey!” I yelled, slamming their heads together, jolting them out of their daze, “pay attention!” I couldn’t help but crack a twisted smile as they started to cry pitifully in my grasp, not even trying to escape my magic. “That’s better. Now that you’ve learned your place, I have a question for you both.”

Applying pressure to their necks, I continued, “tell me, before you two ran off into the forest just to prove that little showboat Trixie right, did you little idiots even think of what would happen to Ponyville if you had brought an Ursa Major here? I doubt the thought ever crossed either of your tiny brains,” I spat, savoring the colts’ panicking expressions as it grew harder and harder for them to breath. “Well, once I’m done with you, nopony will ever have to worry about you two even breathing, much less thinking.”

Throwing their bloodied forms against the wall behind them, I surveyed the room for inspiration on how to end their miserable lives. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shattered glass from the coffee table glint maliciously in the light. Picking up numerous jagged shards with my magic, I turned and began to advance on the two colts struggling to get up off the ground. They raised their heads to look at me as I approached, allowing me to see the reflection of the glass shards hovering behind me in their fearful eyes.

“So, you two wanted to see some “awesome magic?”” I sneered at their trembling, bloodied forms, “well, let’s put on a show, shall we?”

Snips and Snails didn’t even have time to gasp as I lifted them in the air with my magic and embedded the first blades of glass into their flanks, but they sure did scream when I pulled them out. Their cries of pain were like music to my ears as I stabbed, sliced, and scraped their shaking forms, the glass shards darting about the two colts like tiny, silvery birds taking sanguine sips of the crimson nectar beneath their hides. Snips and Snails futilely flailed their limbs about in an effort to swat away the shards, but only succeeded in tearing the skin of their legs to tattered red ribbons even faster. Blood poured out of the cuts all over their bodies, turning the youths into writhing, blood-soaked messes as their skin was flayed and shredded by my magic.

Eventually, the two began to struggle less and less as their blood continued to leave their bodies and spill across the floor. Soon, I had their barely-breathing, limp shapes held in my grasp, myself left panting from the sheer ecstasy their pain brought me. Releasing the glass from my magic, I slowly lowered the near-dead duo onto their backs at my hooves as the shards rained like blood-soaked falling stars around us.

I stepped back, shivering from the ecstasy pulsing through my body, relishing the sight of their torn-apart forms at my hooves. I would have ceased there and walked out of the house, assured that the Itch’s hunger was satisfied at last, if it were not for this terrible, familiar setting upon my unsuspecting frame. I nearly screamed as frozen needles stabbed through my hide, tearing apart my muscles, and embedding into my bones. The horrors that had tortured me in my last vision had returned with a fearsome vengeance. I writhed and trembled in agony as the euphoria that had warmed me only a moment before was forced out by the numbing, painful cold.

I felt like I was going to die - no, that I was already dying. That I would be the one to perish instead of the two pathetic foals at my hooves. Maddened by the pain and the indignity of my situation, I grew enraged. Why should they survive, and I die in their place? I couldn’t allow that to happen!

Shakily, I drew myself forward on unsteady hooves, stepping over the two’s bodies. Lying in a pool of his own and his friend’s blood, Snips groaned weakly as I stepped over the two’s bodies, and positioned myself directly above their shredded forms.

Opening his ripped eyelids, Snips looked at me with disoriented eyes, “Miss Twilight…” he breathed out, barely able to produce a whisper as I reared back upon my hind legs.

I didn’t give him the chance to speak another word. Shifting my weight forward, I slammed my hooves down upon the two colts’ reddened necks, and a loud “snap” filled the room. All at once, Euphoria overtook me as I stood there on their broken necks, eyes shut, only seeing white as the wave of ecstasy rolled into body, purging the frozen needles from my beleaguered nerves, alleviating my senses to a state of pure bliss. I was lost to that realm of pleasure once again; every part of me, down to the tips of my hooves, was submerged in it and I never wanted to leave. Unfortunately, the wonderful sensation that engulfed my body began to recede once again to the depth of my mind, leaving my conscious to slowly wander back to reality.

“Mi… arkle…” A shifting, bending tone called out to me in the milky haze of the euphoria’s afterglow. “Miss Sparkle,” it condensed, forming a clear voice, “are you alright? Miss Sparkle?” The voice, a stallion’s, asked me, as I felt myself slowly awakening from the glowing fog that surrounded me. Colors swam out of the whiteness’ depths, forming indistinct shapes when the stallion spoke out again, “Boys! Run out and get some help! We need to take her to the hospital!” All at once, the world materialized out of the blurry shapes, and I saw in front of me looking at Snips and Snails, who were poised for the door.

“No wait!” I yelled, shocking the rest of the room’s inhabitants into silence. “I’m fine! Fine,” I lowered my voice as I now had the room’s attention, “I was just lost in thought, that’s all.”

“Lost in thought?” Written echoed, his voice tinged with doubt, “Miss Sparkle, ‘comatose’ would better describe how you were a few minutes ago than “lost in thought.”’

“W-well, it ha-happens sometimes whenever I’m really deep in thought,” I stutter, “I just sort of, shut out all external stimuli.”

“...If you say so,” Written responded, visibly disquieted by my flimsy explanation. “Here,” he changed the subject, pushing three books towards me across the undamaged coffee table, “the books you wanted. Now, I apologize, but we have to clean the house, so you’d better be on your way.”

“But daaaad,” Snips piped up, completely forgotten by the two of us, “we cleaned the house yester-”

“Snips, be quiet and go start cleaning your room,” Written cut him off, making his way towards the front door. “I shall show you to the door, Miss Sparkle?” Picking up the books and my saddlebag, I followed him to the front of his house and wished him a good evening, a farewell the stallion superficially reciprocated, and made my way home. Upon entry of the library, a little past 7, I set about putting the books where they belonged as quick as possible, and then made my way downstairs to retrieve this journal from the safe, and began writing down today’s events.

*****

Though the disgust that accompanies my cognizance of the gruesome content of the visions is not absent, it is overcast by another emotion: relief. It was the emotion that I first felt when I “awoke” from my demented daydream, and I can’t help but still feel a slight giddiness now that I know my own death won’t be a consecutive theme in my unintentional imaginings. And what an imagining it was! Though it may have featured two young colts (a thought that still causes me to wince), I was not a passive observer in this most recent of hallucinations. Instead, I was the cause of their torment; I was the creator of my own pleasure, as I beat their little faces, as I tore their flesh asunder. I saved myself from the needles, from my own death. I was the cause! I was their kille-

Oh my Faust, what kind of monster am I? Their pain, the pain I caused, brought me pleasure? How have I become so twisted, so degenerate? Reading over what was just written, I cannot hold back the feelings of pure disgust for the pony who wrote it. I fear for who I am becoming, if this is to be my frame of mind after every vision that forces itself upon it. Some kind of maniac who delights in the pain of those around me, and now, it’s the pain that I cause? Is that what I’ve become? I wish this vile disease had never infected my mind! What have I ever done to deserve it? I’m a good pony! I’ve saved lives - nations! And this is my reward, my fate? To turn into some kind of bastardous, malicious freak?

And now this relief, this sadistic enjoyment is not the only thing I feel squeezing the sanity from my brain! Ever since the vision ended, where I cut my right hoof inside of it, there has been this tingling sensation in its place. All along my fetlock, there runs this phantom slice that whispers to my nerves, telling them that something is wrong, incorrect.

My hoof was cut, it was sliced open; red, gleaming blood peaking out from between to purple lips. That’s how it’s supposed- NO, that’s how it needs to be. It has to be right, correct.

I need to make the cut myself. I need to make myself right.

In the kitchen. The knives. That’s what I can use. Nopony else is around. Spike is asleep upstairs. It’s just the knives, my hoof, and I…

*****

No, dear Faust no! What do I do? It was perfect; nothing could go wrong. Nothing should have gone wrong, but why? Why did it did anyway?

*****

I was in the kitchen, I had taken one of the knives out - it was long, beautiful, a glinting shard of silver in my magical grasp, lit by the moonlight piercing the kitchen window - and had it laid across my fetlock. Slowly, I pushed it down into my fur, and directed it along its path. It was painful, but it felt so wonderful, so correct. The knife left a scarlet path in its wake, gleaming out from beneath my lavender coat. It was beautiful, right. I was enraptured by the crimson wonder painted across my hoof, until a juvenile, trembling voice broke my reverie:

“Twilight…?”

Galvanized by fear, I spun around and faced the owner of the voice so familiar, one I loved dearly, my assistant, Spike. His face was a portrait of confusion and fright as his gaze shifted between my eyes, my right hoof, and the bloody blade still held aloft in my magic.

“Twilight, what’s going on?” He asked, his emerald eyes staring into my own, silently begging me as I tried to think up some kind of explanation that would preserve his youthful innocence, but found none. “Twiligh-” Spike began again, but was cut off as I dropped the knife from my grasp, and shot him with a sleep spell. Instantly, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped to the floor, only to be caught in my magical grasp moments before impact.

It took every last ounce of my willpower to keep myself from hyperventilating as I levitated my beloved assistant upstairs and into his bed. My mind was numb when I made my way downstairs and washed the knife clean of my blood and used a healing spell to remove any trace of the wound I had just inflicted upon myself. It was only when I sat heavily down in the middle of the library’s main room that fear and his brother, panic, did pounce upon my mind.

*****

What am I going to do? Spike must have saw what I had done, there is no doubt in my mind that he did not. He had to have been watching as I sliced my hide open, as I stared at my hoof, enraptured by my own blood. He simply can’t forget such things! I’ll have to find a way to convince Spike tomorrow morning that what he saw was merely a dream, some frightful image brought upon his sleeping mind.

Ugh. I wish I could be like him right now: asleep. Though, I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight after what has occurred today. I must redouble my efforts in solving the macabre mystery of the Itch. I certainly have enough time to begin tonight, though I doubt I’ll be able to even address the third bizarreness of the vision: the frozen needles, much less accomplish any other study on myself. My mind is far too muddled by today’s occurrences, to achieve anything worthwhile this evening.

Goodnight and signing off,

Twilight Sparkle

Author's Note

Hey-dee-hi-dee-ho there! How are you all doing this fine evening? Thank you all for tuning in to watch everybody's favorite macabre-malady maligned unicorn: Twilight Sparkle!
First of all, how do you all like the new cover art? Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. But, as some of you who looked at my most recent blog post, it wouldn't be there without the help of these two generous individuals, xTSGx and Pixel Pony. Both of them went out of their way to help me out on fixing a file size problem I was having. You both have my gratitude, thank you.
Also, I have a little question. Did anybody feel a little uncomfortable when they read the part where Twilight was brutalizing Snips and Snails? Because I sure did when writing some of it. Just curious, y'know. Hopefully I won't be writing anything that involves hurting the little little ponies for a while, but I thought the same thing when writing the first entry, and look where we're at five chapters later!
Lastly, but never to be least, I wish to thank all of you who Favorited/liked/read/looked uncomfortably at my fiction, I truly do appreciate it.
Well, that's all I have to say. Hope you all are enjoying the Summer season!
Au revoir,
The Fruity Cousin

P.S. For those of you interested, here's a link to the original artwork: Clickedy-click