The Chronicle of Equestria: Miseriae

by Ponysopher

Rating: mature
Tags: Human, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 38106

A humanoid character examines a distopian Equestria

A lone humanoid figure gazes over the world of Equestria in spirit. He sees all the oppression that the tyrant Celestia has imposed upon the kingdom. After seeing in for a short while, he shares in their pain. He desires only to free the ponies of this world, but he cannot, because his master's law will not yet allow him.

The story has a "Human" tag, and thematically speaking, this is appropriate; however it is not accurate. The main character is not necessarily a human, despite having a human-like form.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-12-19 18:30:20 UTC

Anteverbum

I will now give an account of my time in the realm of Vanaheim (you, reader, know it as Equestria), the third of the nine Realms of Yygdrasil. For those in the realm of Midgard (you who dwell there call it Earth), this will be a non-canonical section of my currently unpublished work, The Chronicles of the Other Realm. While every event that happens in the canon of that work will take place in the realm of Álfheim (they who reside there call it Osiris), I will give you, reader, a glimpse of the events that I will not speak of in my largest work.

Because the events in this account take place far into my story, there will be some concepts that I will try to make clear that you may understand the section. However, some of the questions you may ask yourself while reading this fragment of my sagas will likely remain unanswered. I should further warn you that my style of writing is most likely not what you are accustomed. While I do my best to be descriptive, the scope of events that I am used to describing, compel me to write in a method of summarization; hence the title, “The Chronicle of Equestria” and not “The Tale of Equestria.”

This story will take the form of three books, each containing several chapters. Although some of my chapters may be longer than others, realize that I do not write anything down which I do not believe is important to the story. This brings me to my final point. Some of the events I write in this book will be certainly disquieting and the rating posted for this story is very appropriate. Please understand reader that I will never write anything in these pages for shock value alone. I am not proud of several of the chapters that I will write; however, I believe that each and every one is completely necessary for your understanding of the gravity of this work. Furthermore, I should advise you to regard such events with respect and solemnity. This first book, after all, is called, “Miseriae,” which in English means, “Miseries.” I will now begin my account.

I sat motionless in the center of the prison cell. Lit by dim red lights on the ceiling, there was barely enough light to see anything in it. The cubical cell was made of six feet of reinforced steel. There were six doors each made of reinforced steel between me and the hallway that led to the rest of the prison. There was no way that I could break out at my current level of limited power. Not that it really mattered. I had allowed myself to be captured in the first place by the local authorities. I allowed myself to be put on trial. And when I was sentenced, I chose not to escape. “The Book of Statues” says clearly in section seven, subsection alpha, “Unless the country in question is engaged in any type of military conflict, those who inhabit it must abide by its laws.” Therefore, I would play nice for now; at least until they let me off the leash.

The goddess-queen that had the audacity and power to rule the entire realm was so Machiavellian that she threw me into one of the most secure jails that I had ever encountered just because I appeared from out of nowhere; being an illegal alien. When I inquired of myself as to why she did this, I found a use for my time while sitting there in pseudo-darkness.

My body and soul were completely without motion, but my spirit was hovering through Vanaheim, or Equestria, as the natives called it. [I shall henceforth use the native names rather than the empyreal ones.] I was surveying how this world operated. Although my body took the form of a man, the inhabitants of this realm took the form of ponies. Yet they were very different from the ponies to which the inhabitants of Earth and Osiris are accustomed. These ponies were much more brightly colored; for their number encompassed almost every color that on could conceive. Their coats were often colored a lighter color and their manes a darker one. Also, their faces were more expressive and defined, more human and less equine than the ponies to which you have seen. Their mouths were not nearly as protrusive, and their eyes maintained a diversity of color equal to their coats.

Of all the ponies, there appeared to be three species living in the realm. There were pegasi, unicorns, and simple ponies (I later found that they were called “Earth ponies”). Specifically, the unicorns and pegasi fascinated me. Like the Pegasus of Greek mythology, there were many pegasi that had wings which they used for flight. The bases of their wings were located on their upper back. The wings themselves were small in proportion to their bodies; their wingspans not exceeding four feet. Despite this, they were extremely fast flyers; accelerating to speeds I though not possible for mortals. That said, they were not nearly as fast when travelling by hoof. The pegasi seemed to have control over the clouds in the sky and could walk and sit on them as though they were solid ground. I marveled at this when I understood that they were the only kind able to do it. Something in their genetics, unique to their kind, gave them this ability, though I could not discern what it was.

Likewise, as their name implies, the unicorns had horns protruding from their heads. The size and length of these horns differed from pony to pony; some being long and thin while others were short and fat. What gave me further shock, was that, apparently through the use of their horns, a select few the unicorns could use magic. And when I say magic, I do not mean controlling the actions of another or summoning a familiar spirit, but I mean something that I had never seen before: they could alter space at will! I was very surprised at this as it redefined my conception of magic. When they would use this magic, their horns would produce an aura which would match the color of their eyes (with a few unexplainable exceptions). After I was released from prison I would have to speak to my sister Ichigo, who would be able to make sense of this marvel.

Lastly there were the Earth Ponies (not to be confused with “ponies from Earth.” They had no odd characteristics (at least by the standards of this realm), but were noticeably stronger than either the unicorns or pegasi. Lengthier too was their endurance and perseverance. According to some legends that I heard, they had been in Equestria first and were “naturally connected to it;” whatever that meant. Initially, I assumed that they were a race found lower in the social classes, but this theory was soon disproven.

They spoke a language that was an odd dialect of what the humans of my daughter, Kanna’s region spoke. Yes, it was an odd dialect of English. Despite my unfamiliarity with the language, I was thankful that it was not some strange one that would take me a while to pick up. So after a short while, I was able to completely understand every conversation that I witnessed in spirit.

Another thing I realized was that a good eighty-five percent of the population appeared to be of the female gender. I pondered this a while, because it, within my short frame of reference of only a week, appeared to be stable. To this day I am unsure of the reproductive habits of these people. Respecting their privacy, I never did witness the actual act; however, enough on that topic.

After examining the populace of the country as a whole, I looked to astrological workings of the world. I found that, as on both Earth and Osiris, the central planet had one sun and one moon. Yet I realized that there must have been some changes in the distance of the bodies because when the sun set, the moon rose after it. When the sun was up, the moon had already set behind the horizon. When the moon was in the sky, the sun could not be seen. So if one was out at night just as the moon was setting, one would be enveloped in complete darkness for moments before the dawn.

I should also note that the seasons did not change in the normal way. Rather than the seasons change for themselves, it was required of all the ponies in the land to complete the actions necessary for the changing of the seasons. I shall speak no more of this. Know simply though that the natural order that is found so easily on Earth had to be replicated by manual work on the realm of Equestria.

After I examined the heavens in full; noting all of the beautiful constellations, I sought then to examine the earth. The country that I was imprisoned in was entirely surrounded by geographic barriers. It was no wonder that the tyrant maintained control over it as it was nearly impregnable. To the east there was a range of tall mountains too steep for any to climb. This mountain range bounded the eastern part of the kingdom. Out of curiosity, I went past the mountains and saw a great ocean that never seemed to end. Because, travel is not so difficult in spirit, I was able to find another land mass about three thousand miles from the shore of the continent of ponies. On that land mass lived a colony of dragons abiding in massive cities. After seeing this, I left promptly from that place and returned to the kingdom.

The southern boundary was hemmed in by a massive forest full of many feral and wild creatures. I later came to know that it was called the Everfree. To the north there was another mountain range, though I perceived that it could be crossed by a madman if he was desperate. Beyond it I glimpsed a kingdom where griffons ruled. I gazed at them for a time, but was compelled to look away because of the savagery in their culture and the unspeakable atrocities that they regularly committed.

To the far east there were a great number of walled cities beyond another mountain range. Their names were Manehatten, Fillydelphia, Canterberry, Trottingheim, and Tramplevania. Each was a well-stocked and defended city which appeared to be able to hold out in the event of a long siege. At the foot of the eastern border of the mountain range, there was a large fortified city called Stalliongrad which guarded the only conceivable pass through the mountains. It appeared to be a citadel defending the capital city which was at the end of the pass and concealed within the western end of the mountain range.

Locating the capital from far off, I decided to examine it closer and went there. When I arrived, I was completely awed by what I saw. Canterlot was massive and tremendous. The city, the capital of Equestria, was carved into the centermost of the mountains in the range. Thus it was shaped like a cone; made of seven levels ascending up the mountain. Each of these levels was made by carving a ring-shaped hole deep into the mountain; the edges these rings serving as walls for each of the levels. And the wall surrounding each level was one hundred feet taller than the one below it; the first level having a wall fifty feet high. Each level of the city had a massive steel gate and each gate faced a different direction so that if one wanted to ascend up the levels of the city, he would have to travel around the circumference of the level to the other side. The bottom level was two miles in diameter. And around the mountain of the city was an outer wall that was one hundred feet high, eighty feet thick, and six miles around. How the ponies of this world managed to accomplish such a feat, I thought I would never know. It must have been magic.

Though awed by the sheer immensity of the city, I continued to look upwards and saw palace looming; built into the mountain so that it hung from the side. Its base was at a height of eight thousand feet. Apart from the city, the size of the palace itself was staggering enough. It was not one, singular structure, but was made up of ten of towers; each made of white stone and topped with a golden, pointed dome. Each tower had a different height but all of them reached over five hundred feet. From below, I could not see the limit of the highest tower as it pierced through the clouds. And from several windows, in the towers, waterfalls of sourceless water flowed.

My first instinct was to criticize the architectural design as it was built on the wall of a high mountain. Hanging on the side, it looked like an accident waiting to happen. Yet I could also see the military benefits of it as well. Attacking the actual palace would be very difficult without an army of pegasi, as the sides of the mountain were too steep to climb. From the top of the palace one could survey, on a clear day, a good portion of the kingdom with the help of a telescope. At that time, I tried to enter into the place, but I found that there was a strong barrier that kept out empyreal spirits. I suppose I should also note that the prison I was located in was just outside of the city, sitting magically on a cloud high in the air so as to decrease the already minimal chances of escape.

Thus having surveyed the splendor of the city, I then went to examine, for the first time, the ponies who lived there on a more detailed level. I immediately noticed the lavish lifestyle that the people lived there. They lived in houses that looked to be made of the finest wood that could be afforded in the whole realm. The average size of a house was about six-thousand square feet large. The typical home I went inside had beautiful walls made of marble and covered with tapestry made of silk died with the most vibrant colors. Every house boasted a large banner that had a tree of families on it that somehow connected its owners to royalty. And I soon perceived that as the number of royal families increased, so did the house’s proximity to the palace. Only the most closely related to the tyrant lived on the seventh level of the city. Consequently, those who lacked much noble blood lived in the lowest level of the city. Though, even the poorest, most unroyal citizens could not be called poor. The average income of a household I found to be astoundingly larger than what it was in my kingdom.

The young enjoyed going to universities where they spent many easy years in study for high paying careers. And after graduation, for four days a week, they spent a sole eight hours working. Many were lawyers, others CEOs and others were leaders in the trade of design. The art produced there was post-impressionistic, and hence, was not to my tastes; yet, I perceived that the abundance of culture in the city indicated a golden age. When they were not working white collar jobs where they raked in money like leaves, they went to sophisticated dinner parties or pegasus races. They went about their business with posh demeanors every day; having barely a care in the world. Yes, the ponies in that city had that highest standard of living I had ever witnessed.

With a good feeling, I decided to move to another city to see if the whole of the realm had this kind of splendor to it. So looking at a map, I decided to go to a small town called Ponyville in the west, which had about five hundred residents. So, instantly appearing there, I began to observe the difference between the capital and the other cities. What I saw was nearly heartbreaking. As soon as my spirit reached the border of the settlement, I saw that Charlotte, the spirit of Despair, and her subordinates had control of the whole town. The whole region, including the air was teeming with the black creatures. If the empyreal realm required light to see, I would have been blind, as their number blocked the sun. Never had I seen such a great mass of demons concentrated into one area.

I looked and witnessed the lives of the ponies there. On the first day of the week they would awake early in the morning, even before the sun rose, and began work. Whether it was farming or cooking, or producing, all of their work appeared backbreaking, and there was no end to it until the sun went down. Every day it was like this in and out. There were no days of rest. I saw a pony who had the apparent age of 11 stop her labor to rest. A soldier from the town garrison, who was overseeing the labor, struck her with a rod and told her to cease her laziness. This was a regular event. At the end of the day, they returned to their hovels, and the garrison that was in the town distributed a meager ration of food. After eating, I perceived that every pony went to bed and they repeated the same each day with no respite. They received no benefit for the quality of their labor either. All the wealth that they could have gained was sent to Canterlot for the wealthy to squander.

I then observed the educational system. I call the buildings they went to “school,” though only because that is what they best represent. This is not a fair description. Something of these people I have failed as of yet to mention is the subject of the cutie mark. On the backside of every grown pony in all the land was a sign. That sign appears when the young pony (I believe they call them foals) discovers the profession that he or she is destined to undertake, as a picture representing that profession. For example, one who would be a baker may have a mark that looked like a cupcake on their flank. To my knowledge, no two cutie marks have ever been identical although many appeared quite similar. Now, the goal of these schools was to have foals try every possible activity they could until their cutie mark appeared. This usually happened around the age of eleven. The problem was that, the authorities in the area did not always allow a pony to work in their special profession, but they tended to categorize certain marks and placed the ponies in jobs where demand required rather than paying attention to what the cutie marks actually presented. Once I saw that a pony who had a cutie mark that was clearly a beach ball sent to work in a steel mill all her life.

Returning to the living conditions of the ponies,  Their families were put together by the authorities: biological relatives did not live with one another, but the foals were snatched up and housed elsewhere at birth. Each family unit was given a number. This number corresponded to a certain hovel that was identical to every other house in the city. There they would live until the dark end of their days. Eighty-one houses made up a block and each block was surrounded by a fifteen-foot-high wall. Every wall was covered with posters with pictures of Celestia, the goddess-queen of the realm whose power it was to control the sun and moon. Each of them had a message that spread propaganda.

After just a day, nothing really surprised me anymore. Every now and then, a pony imagining that perhaps there was something better than the life of endless, fruitless toil would ask about the relative state of their oppression. As soon as they spoke, they were they were hanged without trial and their corpse was left to rot; hanging from the block walls as a reminder to every other pony. I would like to point out the brevity of these occurrences. The second that there was even a hint of possibility that a pony questioned the status quo, they were immediately executed. Yet as these incidents did happen, they were rare. As a whole, all of Ponyville did not know that such a thing as freedom existed. In the schools they were taught to unquestioningly obey the tyrannical figures that ruled over them and never asked why. It was all they knew.

Neither was there any mourning. If a pony became sick, there were two outcomes that came of illness. If the malady was deemed curable by a town doctor, then they would be transported to a clinic near the blocks. Then they would be transported back to the workplace after a speedy recovery and life would resume. Yet if the sickness was deemed incurable, the pony would be taken underground to the catacombs and entombed there to die. When such things happened, the pony’s family did not weep even as they worked. They simply accepted that they would never see their beloved one again. Loss was a daily part of their lives. After seeing all this I went to the other cities. There was no difference anywhere else. So, my spirit returning to my body, I collapsed and wept for them: all they who suffered under the sun.

Now if they were to act, to rise up and fight against their oppressors, there was a possibility that the ponies might have gained their freedom. I looked over all the world for one of the lowliest subordinates of the god of Passion. Yet there was no sign of any of one. When I asked myself why this was, I came to the following conclusions. The great inhibitor of Passion who leads people to action is pain. And this “pain” can divided into acute and chronic pain. As an example of acute pain, I cite Fear. Fear is an extreme and immediate emotion. When Fear is present, the natural reaction is just to curl up in a ball and wait out the situation in hopes that the cause of the fear will simply go away. Yet almost always, the cause will never leave. In the case of these ponies, the hanged, rotting corpses of friends, and the daily beatings if they attempted to rest, kept all of them in a constant state of fear. In terms of chronic pain, I cite Despair. Despair is a dull but equally intense form of pain. When Despair is present, once again, the reaction is just to hope that the pain will go away. When pain exists, there is no room for any other thought. There is only the constant desire to rid oneself of pain. I believe that the constant state of pain that the ponies of Equestria underwent was a main contributor to their inaction.

Yet after a while, I came to see that pain was not the only reason for the lack of rebellion. The root of the problem was much deeper than that. I think that Plato, the poet and philosopher, gave an allegory that very well fits their situation. Every city other than Canterlot was a cave with only a dim, dying fire in the center. And all the ponies were chained to the walls of the cave and restrained, so that they never saw anything other than the dark cave wall in front of them and the shadows of those around them. All they knew that existed were the shadows and darkness. They did not mourn their small range of vision, because to them, that was all that the world truly contained. There was nothing else.

Year after year, in and out, I watched all this. And eleven generations passed under my watch. After eight hundred and eighty eight years had passed, I spoke for the first time since I was imprisoned and I lamented:

“I have observed all the oppression that takes place under the sun.

There is no hope or even desire for anything better.

The sun rises, and the sun sets. And it hurries back to where it rises.

Thus it has been and so it will be.

They see only the shadows.

The truth is hidden from them.

Lies are their truths and the truth is gone.

Knowing only lies, none yearn for truth.

There is nothing that has meaning.

All of their accomplishments are forfeit.

Nor is there any purpose in their lives.

They are slaves of Fear and Pain.”

Applejack

It was after this long period of observation that my imprisonment was drawing to a close. Having nothing better to do, I was roaming Equestria in spirit; wasting away time.  It was a partly cloudy day. I stopped for a moment to recline in a grassy area on the outskirts of Ponyville and looked up at the blue sky. The sun had drifted behind the aerial city of Cloudsdale for a while and a shadow was cast over me. With just the right amount of light I was enjoying the solitary peace of the day.

There was no scampering about of animals or the frolicking of ponies that I was so used to seeing in the recent years there. There was the solitude that I was accustomed to, and the peaceful silence that I knew so well. Being alone for such a long time is a curse at first that only becomes worse as time drags on. But eventually the world becomes your companion, and even the faintest forms of life become your conversers. You become more aware of even the slightest changes in the environment, hearing the quietest sounds and seeing the faintest rays of light.

Then, suddenly, I felt the presence of a strong spirit … no, a goddess. The incredible amount of energy that flowed through the empyreal air led me to confirm the identity of the presence that I felt. It was the Fate of the Future, Skuld. I quickly widened my scope of vision; frantically trying to find the purpose for which she decided to come to this world. Yet I could find nothing. I yelled for her boldly, “Where are you Skuld? Show yourself and reveal the purpose for your presence.”

And then I heard it: that childish voice which accompanied the mighty deity of the coming time. She asked with a laugh, “Are you so conceited that you assume that anything of value in the universe will happen below you?” Upon hearing this, I understood why my search was fruitless. I had flown high up and gazed down upon the world when that which I sought was happening in the air. I looked upward.

And lo, I was smote by what I saw. There was a young pegasus that was flying at a great speed through the air. She was colored a light blue but her mane and tale shone with the brilliance of the rainbow. The filly was quickly picking up velocity by the second and I could tell that she was approaching the speed of sound. Though, she could not seem to reach past that point. Flying over her head were two mighty angels. On the right of the speeding foal was Success and on her left was Failure. And the two spirits were exchanging fierce blows with each other using spear and shield; attempting to determine who would influence the one that they hovered over. And I saw Skuld, in her shining halo in the sky, holding a pair of golden scales: the Scales of Fate. And I saw her point the scales between the two angels and depress the right scale. She had made a choice and then she disappeared.

It was then that something monumental happened. The angel of Success with a mighty thrust pierced the great bronze shield of Failure and penetrated her chest; deporting her to the realm of Hel. At that moment, the rainbow-tailed flyer broke the barrier of sound and an enormous shockwave erupted from the epicenter that was the fate-favored speeder. Yet this shockwave was unlike anything I had ever before seen. It took the likeness of a vast rainbow that quickly spread over all of the realm. And in the triumphant boomer’s wake, there was also rainbow that trailed behind her. All of Equestria must have seen and heard the colossal occurrence.

I stood aghast with my mouth agape at the wonders that I had seen. Never had I witnessed anything so wondrous as what this princess of rapidity had accomplished. She was so young; no older than eight years of age, and yet, in all my time in that realm, I had never observed such a wonder. But despite these handicaps, she had prevailed. I could see that ponies from all over were flocking to admire the splendor of her glorious achievement.

When the shock of the moment subsided, a thought began to gnaw at my mind. As amazing as a spectacle as that was to see, like the master chess player, it was unlike Skuld to make one move and accomplish only one action, especially if it was only for aesthetic purposes. She must have accomplished something more with that decision. Again I looked all over the realm for something of extraordinary demeanor. Yet I could find nothing. To my knowledge, nothing else of worth happened on that day.

Another eleven years passed when nothing irregular ensued. After this time period I was finally released from prison. I had planned to tell of how, but I can see that story is not so welcome here. Let it suffice to say that immortality is an amusing concept when paired with a poorly organized correctional system.

So being released, the authorities sent me to Ponyville to work on a farm, because the agricultural district needed more workers, or so they said. And I found myself finally coming to the place that I had only seen for centuries. Knowledge and experience are two different concepts that have light years of distance between them. For centuries I had watched the oppression that now I was to take part in. I braced myself as I approached the fields. I expected that I would find its inhabitants plowing the fields with the glummest of faces.

Yet, in spite of every predisposition, I found that this was not exactly the case. Plowing the fields was a bright red male pony. As the overseers put me to work and gave me a cord attached to a plow, I attempted to strike up a conversation. Though he was not a mute, the only responses that I was able to extract from him were direct affirmative and negative answers. The conversation went something like this:

“Hello, good sir. I believe that I will be assisting you in labor from now on.”

The pony responded with an elongated, “Yup.” A silence ensued.

“Although I am quite physically different from your average pony, I assure you that I am very agreeable and I hope you will not be deterred by my unorthodox form.”

His response was a likewise elongated “Nope.” Our distance increased as we were plowing in opposite directions. We were out of earshot for about six minutes.

I gave him my name when we neared one another again, and was answered with, “Big Macintosh’s the name.”

Most of our discourse went on like this for the next eight hours. I found that he was a practical stallion: simple in his reasoning, though by no means foolish. When I tested his skills at problem solving he seemed to be able to find the easiest way out of it.

“Big Macintosh,” I said as I neared him again. “Let us assume that there were two mares fighting over the ownership of a foal. One claimed that she was the true mother and the other claimed that she was the true mother and that the other mare stole the foal from her. How would you determine who was the true mother?” I hoped that he would give the same answer that King Solomon gave.

Yet he responded in a manner that surprised me. “Couldn’t they both just share the foal? Doesn’t everyone in the town have a responsibility for it?” Admittedly, this was a satisfying answer considering the collectivist nature of the society. It was a characterizing and pleasing answer in some ways. After this, I tested him with other questions of logic and he surprised me in other ways as well.

Despite his terseness, I found that my co-worker was not miserable in his situation and was very focused on his work. At the end of the day, when the sun had set, we were both exhausted as we walked to the block where we would spend the night. Yet the pony did not have the look of a slave.

Entering through the door, I immediately saw the poverty of the quarters. The entire house was a one room apartment twenty-six by twenty-six feet in area. The walls were made from grey unpolished stone, and the florescent lights above were only just bright enough to light the room. On the left side were three beds with grey, woolen sheets. In the back was a sink and a small hole that I perceived was the lavatory. On the right was a wooden table.

An orange colored mare with a blond mane enthusiastically greeted me a second after I had finished taking inventory. She shook my hand vigorously, clasping it with both hooves, and said, “Well, Howdy do Mr. Michael? My name’s Applejack it’s great to meet ya and I just wanted to thank ya for your help on the farm today. I know that you’re just gonna love it here. Did Big Macintosh there treat ya’ll good in the fields today?”

I was taken aback by the juxtaposition between my two housemates so it took me a moment to respond. “Reasonably well Miss Applejack. I believe we made fair progress.”

Moving along, she spoke again, “Well I hope y’all built up an appetite ‘cause the town guard are coming with dinner soon.”  I did not know what she had been doing that day, but the idea that she still had energy was amazing. Then again, I was more used to aerobic work that came in waves rather than the ongoing, strength-draining toil that I had done that day.

Applejack was correct. Not long after I had knelt down at the low table did the town guard bring us six pieces of bread and three cups of water. Dinner lasted about twenty minutes, with most of that time taken up by dialogue. Applejack and I exchanged pleasantries for a while. I told her of what is what like to spend time in a prison and she told me what life was like from her point of view. I had to be very careful to balance on the fine line between giving up my identity as an immortal and deceiving her. She happily and energetically told me about how she used her hind legs to shake apples from the trees in the orchard.

I then understood that my assumption was correct. Applejack did not feel as though she was no more than a slave to an overbearing totalitarian government because she did not know that there was anything more to life. Yet I did not ever speak of it to her. It was best that I not say anything about it. I fell into sleep as soon as I laid down that night. I did not dream as I usually did, but awoke the next morning to the sound of a rooster.

The next few days were full of more draining labor. Wake up at sunrise, work the fields with Big Macintosh who, although being very agreeable and practically sound, did not provide a great deal of conversation, drag myself home at sunset, eat dinner (which thankfully did change occasionally to provide nutrients), exchange a few words with Applejack (whose enthusiasm never did falter), fall asleep immediately, and repeat. I tried to count the days, but the days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, and the months into… I just stopped counting the days.

I had suffered torture before. It was no stranger. Yet this kind of treatment was different. It was oppression. Torture is a kind of pain that makes one desire nothing else than escape. Yet oppression is much slower. It is a sluggish slope down into meaninglessness. At first, I could not bear the fatigue, yet as my body adapted itself, I soon became numb to the pain. My world became focused on the rise and fall of the sun. As the sun rose, so would I, and as it fell, I would sleep. It was at this time that I realized that nothing other than my work mattered. My life was focused on raising the crop. And so it was for a long time.

In retrospect I ask myself why I did not just leave. I could have escaped at any time from when I was imprisoned. Although I did have to obey the laws of the world, I could break them in order to leave to another realm. I could have at any time gone back to Osiris where I would have been welcomed as a king. I would sit on the imperial throne in the east and awake to the next war to fight or dark god to vanquish. I could have gone back to the world of heroes at any time, yet I did not. I suppose I stayed because I believed Hope was still there somewhere.

As the seasons changed, it was about time to bring in the harvest. The many weeks of farming were finally about to pay off. On the day that the reaping was to begin, I awoke robustly. The monotony of the world seemed to end on that morning. With a sickle I went gleefully through the fields cutting down the fully grown wheat, and Big Macintosh placed it into bails. I could not contain myself as I swung the tool. As I worked on, my spirit that was so accustomed to war fooled my soul into believing that it was again in the midst of battle; surrounded by legions of foes.

I was suddenly back in Osiris; being full of ecstasy. I was the mighty combatant of the north who struck endless seas of his adversaries down with his shining sword. I jumped about, soared in the air and swung the tool like I would my blade through the sinews of an unworthy enemy. I twirled and leaped with great joy as the scythe cut like butter through the grain. I began to fancy that this was the triumph that brought meaning to the endless tedium of the abysmal days for my housemates. What bubbly bliss I felt, bouncing through the bountiful boughs of barley; bludgeoning in beautiful battle the bumbling buffoons of Belial. The blight of the boundless day blew away as I banged on them blow and beating in my bacchanalian daydream. And lo, the dance was over before the sun had set. The harvest was complete. Coming back to reality, I stepped back to admire the splendor of my handiwork.

Yet my joy was short-lived. For after all the wheat was collected, the overseers quickly came and carted it away. When I realized what was happening; that the fruit all of my hard labor was being taken from me, I yelled and attempted to stop them. But of course they beat me senseless with rods and drove away my months of accomplishment in a few minutes. Again I would like to point out the brevity. It was over just like the snap of fingers.

Dinner tasted like sand that night. I sat at the table sulking, not even caring for my injuries. My purpose had been taken from me. I was not even surprised by how trivial the matter was in comparison to the losses I had before endured. It was a great loss because I had lost that for which I had so hardly toiled. Celestia had stolen months of my life from me. A mix of emotions chaotically battled for control of me: hatred, despair, frustration, pity, and utter pain.

My roommates seemed to be likewise affected. Applejack, who was usually full of life, was now staring at her oats glumly. Big Macintosh was slumped in his seat; not having swallowed the same bite that he had been chewing on for an hour. For a fraction of a minute, I was actually surprised that they were affected as much as I was by what had occurred . Both had likely seen their share of these troubles. They saw the collection of their goods long beforehand, and, unlike me, must have been guarded against it. But when I gave thought to it, I understood that no matter how much one became used to the harshness of this world, and no matter how surely one anticipated the coming day of the harvest, nothing could ever save one from the demoralizing sight of seeing a year’s worth of time taken away in a matter of moments. The gloom had pervaded the room, so I got up and went out of the apartment.

I found that a few other ponies were outside as well. Passing by window after window I glanced into the houses and found that a few were visiting friends. Yet not enough were out to break the restrictions on assembly. I thought and remembered that there was no rule that said that ponies had to go to sleep after dinner, and yet this was the first time that I had ever realized that we were not confined to the workplace and house. The night was then the time when the ponies socialized. I laughed bitterly as I understood that the guards allowed this because they already commanded the loyalty of their protectorates. There was a hole in the block that led to the outside. A guard was stationed outside.

As I walked out towards the more urban area of Ponyville he said to me, “Before you go on your way, you’re free to do what you want at night but when the sun rises you’ll go to work at the Everfree forest to chop down lumber. I’d get some sleep if I were you.”

I mumbled an incoherent response and continued on. Stopping at the edge of the town, I began to pace and speak to myself aloud. “I knew of the oppression that is taking place under the sun. I saw their agony, and yet I did not know it. So I lived among them. I walked a mile in their shoes and I thought it not so bad ‘til today. I did not feel the emptiness that they felt, nor did I taste the bitterness of their ceaseless toil; that when they have succeeded in their goals, when they have completed their long, hard task, the results are ripped from out of their hooves. But now I know the intensity of their agony.

“Yet I recognize also that there is also one torment that I did not suffer with them: the knowledge of a coming death. In a thousand years the dust will be gone from their bones, but I will remain. Their lives are like the blink of an eye to me. Life for them is so short, eighty years; or ninety if they are very lucky. And they do not realize that the light-producing fire in the cave is right behind them. This is the most painful realization.

“I hate this life because of the grievous work under the sun.

I hate these things for which I have toiled;

For they will be given to those who did not toil for them.

We live in darkness, frustration, affliction.

What does the worker gain from his toil?

As goods increase, so do those who consume them.

Of what benefit are goods, except to feast one’s eyes on them?

Nothing is taken from labor that can be carried by hoof.

I have carried the burden that has been placed upon them.

The only hope they have is to be happy with their toil itself.

Each one is a condemned criminal.

Only they do not know the date of their execution.

They all came from dust.

To dust all of them will return.

In the place of judgment and justice is wickedness.

Everything under the sun is meaningless.”

And uttering this lament I walked into the town.

Pinkie Pie

The most recognizable feature of the buildings of Ponyville was that they were so bright. Even amongst the gloom that pervaded the air as ponies passed with their heads low, I could see light pouring from the houses. As I looked in, I could clearly and blatantly see the scenes that were going on inside. I walked through the dark streets and sampled the events that transpired indoors.

I looked into one home and saw that the condition of this house was not unlike mine: a small room just large enough to live in. There was a full sized family in the center of the home: a father and mother and their adolescent fillies. They were all colored bright hues of blue and purple. Each had a cutie mark that was somehow related to masonry.  Both girls were nuzzling into their parents’ manes; weeping soft tears that rolled down their cheeks and dampened their coats. They occasionally sobbed and let out little cries. While my heart cracked for them, it broke when I saw the faces of their surrogate parents. They did not look sad, but were at a loss. Tears came to my eyes as I saw that they could provide no comfort for their children. They simply did not know what to do. I wept for them as I realized that they bore the burdens of their children as well as their own.

I looked into another dwelling and I saw yet another distressing scene. I saw two old mares, each nearing the end of their lives; both about the age of seventy. They sat at their table staring down at the wood. I could see in their eyes a look of desolation. There was nothing left in them but a bestial instinct that would wake them the next morning after sleep and drive them like puppets to do whatever purposeless work that they did. I had seen these faces before. These were the faces of the last fledgling veterans of a war that had swept the country and killed all of their friends and family. This was the look of defeat.

As I walked through the streets, seeing the same type of scenes over and over, I began to recognize the inaction that was there. The roads were as quiet as a ghost town, and the people inside were as still as statues. There was no breeze in the air. Everything was as quiet and as still as the grave. My walking pace slowed from the usual quick half-run to a sluggish crawl. I realized I was dragging my feet across the pavement and I felt as though time itself were slowing down to a halt. The world was stopping in its tracks to mourn for its loss. It seemed that Charlotte’s reign was immutable. I passed by yet another dreary scene and my head drooped. I wished to see no more than the ground now.

After spending far too long in this repetitious, miserable observation, something started to bother me. Having walked a bit into the town, I came near a large bakery at an intersection and something seemed odd.  What was that? Wait, was that sound? Was that laughter? I raised my head and saw shadows dancing in the light from the bakery. I could now hear clearly the sound of high pitched laughter coming from it. This was certainly uncharacteristic of this night. Wishing to see what was the source of this disturbance in the silence, I went to the window and peered in.

As I looked into the window, I saw the most amusing sight I had ever watched while in this realm. There was a sole mare sitting at one of the tables of the bakery with two figures made out of clay. She looked to be about twenty. Her coat was colored a light pink, and her mane was a darker shade of pink. She was talking to herself and moving around the clay figures as the though she were acting out a show with an unmistakable look of glee on her face. Every so often, she would let out a joyous laugh that one could hear from the outside. A minute or two later, she looked up and saw me. After gazing on me for only a second, she jumped out of her seat and let out a gasp of excitement. With the most exhilarating motion, she gestured for me to come inside. Out of curiosity, I went to the door and opened it.

At my entering, the ecstatic pony let out a torrent of words in a high pitched voice. “Hi Michael! It’s so great to finally meet you. How do you like Ponyville? It’s great isn’t it? My name’s Pinkie Pie. Welcome to Sugarcube Corner. Wow you’re taller up close. Come on in and sit down.”

It was a lot to take in at one moment. I sat down in one of the chairs near the door and looked at her. She was eagerly awaiting my response, so I decided to oblige her.  “It is very good to meet you as well Miss Pinkie. Ponyville is a charming place.  May I ask you how you already know my name?”

She responded with a laugh and saying, “Oh, I know every pony in Ponyville, and it’s not exactly easy for you to blend in with how you look. I’m so glad that I finally get to see you for real though. But anyway, would you like to buy some sweets?”

“A clever pony as well,” I thought. “Very well then, Miss Pinkie, I will accept your change of subject to matters of business. May I ask for the prices of your goods?” I made the assumption that because monetary currency was probably foreign to a slave race, there would be some kind of bartering system.

With a smile, she gestured to a menu that was on the left side of the bakery. From the frilly décor of the outside, I pretty much anticipated the items that were sold: cupcakes, cake, candy canes, lollipops, etc. This was predictable. Yet what was surprising was the currency by which the delights were priced: one hour for two of any kind of candy, two hours for any kind of baked good. Not understanding, I asked my hostess, “Pray tell Miss Pinkie, what does your menu mean by ‘hours?’”

Surprised, she cheerfully answered, “What, you don’t know? For every hour that you work at night for Sugarcube Corner, I’ll give you credit for some treats.”

A bit uneasy I replied, “Ah, well, Miss Pinkie, I am afraid that I cannot take you up on your offer. Unfortunately I have no skill or knowledge in the area of food preparation.”

She giggled and said, “Oh that’s silly. Everybody can bake a cake. Ooh, I know. I can show you how!” And without leaving time for me to protest, she ushered me into the kitchen and promptly began to show me how to bake a cake with greatly animated vigor.

She was a very good teacher as it was difficult to lose focus with her unending train of sensational words. So within the hour I had learned a new skill. After showing me, she had me produce another cake for her in order to judge what I had gained. She was pleased apparently because she took one bite and appeared as though she was about to explode with pleasure.

It was at this point that I finally found the chance to ask her the question that had been biting at my tongue since I peered in the window. “Miss Pinkie, forgive me, but are you not distraught? Today was the harvest. Did not the authorities collect all of the fruit of your hard labor? Are you not encouraged to weep at this loss?”

I immediately regretted asking that question. I expected her to stop for a moment. Her head would drop ever so slightly and she would do her best to shrug off the pain of her forfeiture. Her blissful attitude would be brought down to Earth (so to speak).

Yet what I received in reply was not a leveling of jolliness. Rather, she spoke, as though she had answered that question many times, in a matter-of-a-fact voice. “Nope. I’m happy that my sweets got taken. Now they’re being eaten by everybody in Canterlot. And now that all of it got taken, I get to start all over again and see if I can’t make even better goodies.”

Something failed to click in my brain. It took a moment and a vacant stare for me to process what I had just heard. When I did, I could not believe my ears. “So you are working for the sake of work? Is that right?”

“Well, yeah. When you put it that way…” She glanced over at the clock. It was 4:30. “Oh, look at the time.” She said. “You better get to bed. You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”

Hearing this, I was shocked at how much time had gone by. I quickly jumped up and said, “By Lethe, so it is! Thank you for your kindness tonight Miss Pinkie. I shall perhaps see you soon, but I must take my leave now.” And I rushed back to my hovel to gain some rest before sunrise.

When the sun rose, I was indeed tired. All of my energy had run out. The first of the seven seals on my body that limited the power I could use loosened itself and gave me a portion of the power it sealed up: the energy I needed to move on through the day. I tied a black rag around it so that no one would notice the light it emitted. I was thankful though for it. I didn’t have to worry about exhaustion so much.

As I sawed through trees that day, only half of my soul was focused on the task at hand. Although, it was not so noticeable as it did not require much thought. I was pondering the events that had happened last night. This Pinkie Pie … just what was it that made her so elated on the saddest day of the year? I contemplated all the possible reasons, but in the end, I could only conclude one.

A light appeared in the darkness of the cave in which the ponies were chained. “Is it possible?” I asked myself. Was it possible that she understood one of the greatest secrets that had ever been revealed to mortals … one of the secrets to joy?

I thought back to the time that I was imprisoned in the torture chamber of my son, Lucius, who ruled over the known world at the time. I remembered the endless hours that I was stabbed repeatedly through the stomach and chest, only to have the wounds healed and reopened in minutes. It would not be long before I would break, sing like a bird to my interrogators, and be deported; leaving Osiris to rot in tyranny. I prayed desperately for seven days and nights for some kind of comfort, a savior, a deliverance from the pain, something to end the torment. And on the eighth day, I heard a small voice inside my soul. It was so faint, and yet it was as clear as the waters of the Caribbean on Earth.

It said, “It is revealed to you, Michael, son of Michael. From this day forth, you shall be one of the few to understand that which has been given to mortals but not understood. Neither do the immortals understand it.”

I had an epiphany then, but I could not describe what I realized. Inside of my soul was placed an unbreakable resoluteness, an impregnable wall that was my will. I was in the most immutable peace, yet I could say not why it was so. A day later, when the demons under Lucius’ command realized that I was not responding at all to their torture, they screamed, “How do you not feel the pain? Why do you not beg for mercy? What is the reason for your idiocy?”

It was at this time, that I remembered a poem that I had read in my library. It was written on Earth, but exported across the realms by an angel. I remembered that poem, and I finally was able to put to words the epiphany that had given me such strength. I answered them with that poem.

Remembering that bold statement from so long ago, I believed that this Pinkie Pie understood the meaning behind this poem even if she had not heard it. It means that no one is truly controlled by his environment; that unlike the common deterministic psychology which has so intensely been integrated into many cultures, people are not only a product of the events they have experienced or the environment that they have lived in. We choose how we will wake up each morning. Whether it be with a feeling of deep depression because there is no clear purpose in life, or whether we grab life by the horns and scream in its face that we will choose how we are affected by its trials and tribulations. And even though all that awaits mortals is death (or so many are inclined to believe), it is they who will choose how they will live until that day and how they will meet that end. The three Fates and the Almighty God do control everything that will occur, but it is we who decide how we will respond to the events that they cause.

I believed Pinkie Pie understood this secret. This was the reason she was filled with so much delight. She understood that there was nothing her oppressors could ever do to her that would make her feel the dull pang of depression. Despite the hardest efforts of the mighty Charlotte, Pinkie would not kneel to her. Although I did not take the time to sit down and still my body and soul, I imagined that if I looked at her with the eyes of an empyrean spirit, I would see the angel of Success or one of his subordinates following behind him.

It only followed then that Pinkie Pie was willing to work as hard as she could. Because despite the fact that she could not reap the benefits of her toil, she knew that success is a journey and not an event. The road to victory has many stops, but until the end of the great race, only the unsuccessful stop to smell the roses for long.

With this realization, I too was empowered with the spirit of Endurance. For many days I worked diligently for the sake of work. At night I would go to Sugarcube Corner and earn myself a cup of tea and hear the random but happy rambling of my newfound friend. Each and every moment of my day was focused on returning to that bakery to hear from Pinkie and be in her company. For every day without fail, she would be in the same jovial mood.

I felt that she may be the light inside the dark cave. I had known her father, and her father’s father, and his father before him, but all of them followed the same pattern of hopeless indifference. Pinkie Pie though was something so new. I had never met anyone like her in this realm. I had thought about retracting one of my lamentations in the prison outside Canterlot: “What has been will be again; what has done will be done again.” I said to myself, “It may be that I was wrong. There is newness in this mare.” And for a while, all of the oppression under the sun was overshadowed by Pinkie in the night.

It came to pass that one night I was enjoying a well-earned cup of tea and listening to Pinkie Pie talk about the wonderful things that had happened that day. As always, she spoke in a quick, unending inundation of words. “… and then I saw Applejack coming and I was like [she let out an adorable gasp accompanied by her jumping in the air] because I hadn’t seen her in a while and I was really glad to see her. And so then I had this really great idea that we should throw a party…”

Yes, out of all the ponies in the enslaved land she was somehow the only one who ever had the supplies to throw parties, and a lot of them for that matter. Yet, unfortunately, she was rarely able to do so. There were many laws against congregation that prevented her from throwing parties. Yet every now and then a specific occasion came up that let her slip through the laws.

“…and I had to go to all the way to Stalliongrad to get some party stuff…”

“Stalliongrad?” I asked myself. “That’s quite a ways from Ponyville. I wonder how she managed to return in time.”

“And on the way there I saw this really fun-” She stopped mid-sentence and looked puzzled for a moment. She looked down at her stomach as though it were grumbling or something. I thought this odd because she had had dinner plus a piece of cake thirty minutes ago.

“Miss Pinkie, is there something the matter?” I asked with concern.

Suddenly a look of surprise crossed her face, followed by a humongous grin. “Oh no Michael, everything is better than fine.” She said very quickly. She sped towards the door to the kitchen (and the rest of the place) and called out. “I have to go do something. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her last sentence was muffled by the several walls between us.

I sighed and thought not much of it. I chuckled, “There is always something amusing going on with that pony.” I finished my tea and walked out of the shop; heading to bed.

The nights in Ponyville did not seem dark to me any longer. The streets were lit from the lights in the nearby houses. They were also quiet. No sound could be heard except for the occasional passing pony’s hooves. This was in stark contrast to the noisy day which was full of shouting and the sound of the machinery sawing through trees. The sun did not seem to give off much light under the canopy of the forest either. Yes, the nights were peaceful.

Walking out of the housing district, I strolled through that same clearing that I always admired for thinking. I looked up at the moon and gazed at it for a moment; appreciating the glowing orb that gave light in a sweeter way than the sun of this world. Staring more intently, I imagined that I was just able to make out a strange pattern of craters on the moon.

Yet I was not able to look for long. Unexpectedly, I felt a massive rush of empyreal energy brushed past me. It had to be immense because I would have not noticed it across the dimensions otherwise. It was not long before my eyes became wide like dinner plates. I was fairly sure of the substantial cataclysm that was about to occur, but I had to make sure. I fell to my knees. I had to reach the empyreal realm quickly and determine its source. Stilling my body, I began to focus on a single image, and in doing so, stilled my soul as well. My spirit was now free to roam; no longer having to spend its energies on controlling my soul and body. With my new eyes, I looked towards Ponyville: where the jolt had come from.

What I saw traumatized me. Only fifty meters away was another one of the Fates. Dressed in the finest blue robes and crowned with the longest, most stunning brown hair was Verdandi, the Fate of the Present. Her face, though pensive, was full of purpose. I knew that she was here to accomplish something monumental. Her eyes were reminiscent of the great northern sea on Earth, and she gazed in my direction.

My first reaction was to return to my body and flee as fast as I could. But before I could even traverse a nanometer in the present dimension, she was standing two meters in front of me. I was paralyzed with fear now.

She spoke with a melodious voice that nonetheless inspired great fear. “Michael, fear me not. I have not come to make war against you myself. For I have no doubt that the Almighty God would come to your aid; sending legions of angels led by one of the seven to protect you. Neither be afraid of what I have come to do yet. I have already completed my task. In the town of Ponyville a lot was drawn, and I guided the drawer. The decision has been made.”

And she disappeared. Returning to my body, I gulped a deep breath and collapsed to all fours, exhaling. When I gained my composure somewhat, I returned to my bed and laid there until the sun rose with my eyes wide open. The first seal loosened soon after; giving me just enough energy to last through the day.

Despite my weariness about an apocalypse that may have occurred that day, generally, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The sun shone in its usual dim and oppressive fashion all throughout the daylight hours. There was not a cloud in the sky. We were making progress in collecting lumber so the canopy allowed for a constant view of the heavens. Because of the changing seasons, the days were becoming shorter. That meant less work. So I went home that day with at least an extra hour to burn.

As usual, I spent a short time conversing with Applejack; however, again, my main goal was to make my way to Ponyville and enjoy discourse with Pinkie Pie. So soon setting on my course, I soon was nearing Sugarcube Corner. No sooner had I opened the door to the bakery (which I assume was a bit like a café considering beverages are not made at bakeries) did I meet a very excited Pinkie; jumping up and down at my presence.

She almost squealed with glee as she spoke. “Oh my gosh, Michael, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you to get here since last night.”

I decided to humor her. “And exactly why are you so excited Miss Pinkie?”

“Because tonight is that night that you’re gonna help me make the most super, specialest, most tastiest treat ever!” She said continuing to bounce up and down and with her eyes bulging.

There was something very odd about this Pinkie Pie. She was always joyful, but this was far beyond joyful. In fact she was so jubilant that it almost seemed unnerving and unnatural, which was very odd. Usually, Pinkie’s mood was contagious, but this was a mood that made me feel awkward and out of place. I spoke trying to maintain my customary voice of manner.

“Ah, and what ‘treat’ is that Miss Pinkie?”

She giggled and answered with a high pitched voice. “Cupcakes!”

Now generally I did not bake anything other than cake. Cake was the first and only good that Pinkie Pie had taught me to make. Thus I could not understand why she wanted my help. “Hmm, Miss Pinkie, do you recall that my skills as a baker of indulgences other than cake are unrefined.”

Grinning from ear to ear, she responded, “Of course I do. But you really don’t need to know how to make them to help me.”

“Well,” I thought to myself, “She has indeed been a gracious host so far. I may as well practice the art of giving in the form of time for her. She deserves it for the charity she has shown me.” I spoke. “Very well then, I shall oblige you if you so desire my assistance.”

She shouted, “Yaaaay!” and rushed into the kitchen abruptly. She returned five seconds later with a cupcake in her hoof. It was topped with white icing and rainbow sprinkles.

I stared at what she had brought. “Why would I be helping her make cupcakes if she already had one or more?” I asked myself. Puzzled, I voiced my concern. “Ah, Miss Pinkie, why do you have—”

She cut me off and said, “Oh, this is just a sample to get you ready for the job.”

I had not had such a delight in a while so this was quite a temptation. This was not to mention that I did have a bit of a sweet tooth. “Well, if it pleases you.” I took the cupcake from her and bit into it.

There was an explosion of flavor in my mouth. For the longest time I had been eating nothing but the tasteless foods that provided nutrients necessary for survival. Hence, this taste was phenomenal: a maelstrom of the most exotic sweetness.

“Miss Pinkie,” I said, “This is extremely exquisite.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she happily said. I noticed that she was watching me intently, but I was too memorized by the sensation in my mouth to care. I finished the rest of the cupcake as slow as possible; cherishing the euphoric feeling. When I had finished, I licked my lips and said with a relish, “Well, shall we begin on our quest for more of these lovely extravagances?”

Oddly, she looked less jubilant than she was moments ago. A visage of confusion came upon her and she replied, “I think we should wait just a minute.”

“Why ever do you say that?” I asked baffled by her patience.

“Uuuhh, I just think that we should savor the moment.” She slowly said.

For a moment, I had the notion that she was stalling. Yet it was her enterprise. She made the rules. I said, “While I cannot understand with my present knowledge why you would wish to forego our mission, I shall nonetheless comply with your wishes as you are the commissioner herself.”

So we stood there for five minutes doing nothing but stare at each other. Yet after this time had passed, I started to feel a bit of drowsiness. Feeling this, I spoke to my companion, “Oh, I am sorry to inform you, Miss, that for some unexpected reason I am at the moment feeling a touch of sleepiness. I apologize for this and beg that you would forgive me if for some reason I may doze off during the course of—” Darkness had overtaken me at this point. I fell to the floor; completely losing consciousness.

Una Lux Deficit [Draft]

Author's Forward:

Before you read this new chapter and have a question about the cancellation of this story, it is still cancelled due to my lack of readers. I've learned not to add anything to the mature category anymore. Moreover, I want to state that I am admittedly very ashamed for writing this chapter, but I've already written it along with the following chapters to finish the first book, and I'm not about to let all that work go to waste. They wasn't finished, but I'll give you the drafts for the chapters following the last one. This chapter is a bit different, as you may have guessed from the way the last one ended, and it's a basic Cupcakes rewrite. For that reason, if you don't want to read this chapter, I completely understand. For those who don't I will provide a summary of what you need to know in the forward for next chapter. For those of you who choose to read this chapter, you have been warned, and I'm not proud of it. Moreover, since I wrote this, I've become a much better writer and I realize this isn't even good writing for the horrors within. I'm probably going to delete this story someday, but here it is for now anyway.

I felt something old against my skin. I opened my eyes and saw a bright headlight aiming at me; the room shrouded in darkness. I tried to move and found that I could not. Realizing this I immediately shut my eyes. I knew what kind of situation I was in. This had happened more than once. I only hoped that my captor had not noticed that I was awake. I held my breath; waiting for any response to my consciousness.

In my head I sighed with a breath of relief. It was good that my imprisoner was not keeping a close watch on me. Then again, I had seen it before on the receiving and speculating ends. When a normal, kidnapped person awakes and finds that they are restrained, their first response is to yank and pull at their bonds; all the while making a racket in shock. This essentially is the abductor’s cue to begin whatever they had planned. I was not going to do this and would buy myself time. I already knew that it my current state of unreleased power, I had no chance in breaking the straps that bound me to the table I lay upon. Also I was I used to this sudden restriction, so I did not panic. I had time until they found I was awake. I could take this nice and slow.

Alright, first off, I had to make sure of my bindings’ composition. Without moving, I felt them against my bare skin. “Hmm,” I thought to myself. “They appear to be made of some kind of animal skin. Not too old either. Barely sundried. Not leather … it doesn’t feel the same. Yes, this was equine.” I scoffed silently. “Indeed, I can say with fair certainty that this is pony skin.”

“This deduction is very valuable because it reveals the high probability that this is not the first time that my shanghier has done something of this nature. They have killed before. It could be that they are even experienced.”

I started to do everything I could as quietly as possible to determine if they had done anything else to confine me. Obviously I had been drugged so that I lost consciousness. Luckily, it did not appear that anything in that drug was strong enough to inhibit my mental capability; however, because of my great tolerance for chemicals of any kind, I could not tell for sure if they had actually administered any such substances. All body functions seemed to operate normally as far as I could tell.

I groaned again inside my head. “This unfortunately doesn’t tell me anything further. I could conjecture that they are less experienced than I had first believed as they could have used a muscle relaxer that would have preserved my ability to feel, but still prevented movement. This would increase the shock and fear of the victim, as not being able to move, though unbound, is quite a disturbing sensation. Yet this cannot be confirmed, as it may be that in the repressive environment of this realm, access to such luxuries would be restricted. In addition it may be that they are saving it for when they are dealing with whatever they have me for.” I stopped there with that train of thought. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I wouldn’t be able to determine their level of skill until I actually saw them.

The next matter was to form a plan. Most likely, I was dealing with a mortal jailer. Statute, section two, subsection alpha, of the Book of Heaven states, “An angel may not kill or otherwise harm a mortal being unless they are commissioned by the council of the first generation Archangels or the Almighty God himself or is participating in a military conflict.” Lovely, so even if I did break out I would have to make sure I did not hurt them. Furthermore, subsection delta states, “An angel may open seals necessary only to defeat his enemy and no more.” Unfortunately, I was most likely already stronger than them, so it looks like I would not be receiving any extra help.

Therefore, the first of three possible courses of action was stricken. Two remained. I could not judge them myself, so I considered delivering then into the hands of the authorities. “No,” I said to myself. “That would produce an undesirable result. Although Celestia oppresses us, the guards know that rebellion of any sort is far from our minds. Thus they trust that they are presiding over a utopian society. If I were to suddenly show them otherwise, it would be likely that they would decrease our relative freedom that we enjoy in the night. This I cannot allow.”

One option then remained. “I will take the passive approach to this then. I will wash my hands with all of the blood that this murderer has shed, and I will suffer the judgment later. In the meantime, I will escape and prevent them from committing any further atrocities.”

With this resolution: the only plausible decision I could make, I continued. “It follows then that escape now is not my only goal in my present disposition. In order to avert them from transgressing upon their brethren more than they already have, I need to understand a few things. The first of these is the identity of the killer. The second: the depth, nature and number of their past transgressions. The third: their motive, and once I find that motive, any way to turn that purpose against them. Once I understand all of this I will be able to ponder breaking out.”

After I had thought all of this, I found that the only disadvantage I had was that I could not determine how much time I had until I had to ditch. I would not allow myself to be deported. That would cause a number of problems. Hence it would be best if I could foresee what they had in store for me. I saw that I could not form a plan until I could determine this. And when I did find this out, the clock would be ticking and I would be trying to scrape together a plan when I should be executing an already formulated one. There were many things that I could not determine about the depth of the issue that I was in and many deliberations that I could not make with such limited information. A chill ran up my spine as I realized that I did not even know if my imprisoner acted alone, or had a collaborator. Again I scoffed and thought, “Sun Tzu was right. ‘What enables the wise sovereign and the good general to strike and conquer, and achieve things beyond the range of ordinary men, is foreknowledge.’ The game of chess has yet to begin and already my opponent has the upper hand. For it is more than probable that they have premeditated this.”

Thus, having been left with no additional judgments to make, it was time to begin. I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness that was maintained by the small light shining in my face. I did my best to focus on the darkness alone; hoping that my eyes would adjust. “Alas,” I said to myself. “In this weak form I am even limited to the sight of mortals. The sight of angels is not limited to the presence or absence of light.”

Moments later, in the darkness I could see a smudge of something other than void. I saw that it was pink. Quickly it became larger, and I found that my adversary approached. As she poked her head into the light, the world stopped for a split second. The one who had bound me and made herself known was none other than Pinkie Pie.

It hit me like a freight train. It could not be true. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true! What fear was powerless to do, shock succeeded in doing. My heart started to beat like a jackhammer. Here, standing before me, was the very role model of joy that I had idolized for so long; the one whom I spent every day in happiness with because of her joyfulness. I couldn’t take this. I was about to die from shock! My heaving breathing turned into hyperventilation.

Peering into my eyes, Pinkie spoke first with the same jubilant voice she had earlier, “Hiya Michael, welcome to my basement!”

I stopped for a moment. “Michael, calm down. You can’t do this now. You are on a mission. You can freak out when you’re done.” When I heard myself say this to myself, I was actually able to grab ahold of myself. The greatest happiness that any angel can enjoy is to embark on a mission in the name of God. Suddenly, my bodily functions became calm. I was on a mission and I would do my best to complete it. So, just like that I regained control of myself.

“What did you say?” I asked.

Pinkie repeated herself. “I said, ‘Welcome to my basement.’”

“Score,” I thought. She already had revealed our location. I was now in full-on solider mode. Nothing was going to stop me from fulfilling my objectives; certainly not fear or shock. “Pinkie let’s get to business. Why am I here?”

She responded condescendingly, but still jubilant. “What, you don’t remember? We’re gonna make cupcakes?”

“And how exactly are we going to do that with me tied up? Don’t play games with me. I’m more than aware of the reason that I am here.”

“I’m not kidding you know. We are gonna make cupcakes. It’s just that you’re going to supply an ingredient instead of helping with the baking.”

I scoffed. “And exactly how long have you been in the business of cannibalism?” I made my first move quickly; hoping that I could complete my second objective without difficulty.

She snickered and responded, “Oh, Michael, always so serious. I’ll give you a hint,” and she backed up; disappearing into the darkness again. A blast of light, a few seconds later, forced me to shut my eyes for a moment. Pinkie had turned on the fluorescent lights above that lit the whole room. I would need a moment for my eyes to adjust.

After a short while, I was able to survey the entire room. The scene before me caused me to feel revolted. The basement was fairly large: about the size of three regular rooms. The walls appeared to be covered with fiberglass (bugger, the smart filly had considered soundproofing her operation). I lay on an operational table towards the back of the chamber. To my left was a waist high cart covered by a white sheet. In the front was a flight of wooden stairs that led to a trapdoor.

The contents of the room resembled a party that she would have thrown. Yet the image was far from pleasing. The whole of the scene was decorated with disembodied parts. There was a large, rectangular table with a rotting cake midway on the right side and the decomposing head of a pony on the left. Balanced on the tops of the chairs around the table were also the heads of ponies. Some were male and others female. Some were foals. All of them had their eyes shut and had a distorted smile across their faces. Each of them had a party hat that appeared to be made from their own flesh.

Hanging from the ceiling were their intestines that dripped bodily fluids; apparently a bad attempt to simulate party streamers. Touching the ceiling were a variety of decaying organs filled with helium. Across one of the walls was a big banner on which the words, “Life is a Party” were written in blood. All around the room were heaps of bones. Some were full skeletons minus the skulls and others were just piles of thighs and legs.

Then I saw her. She was standing in the left corner of the room dressed in a poorly stitched dress. When I saw it, I had to admit that it would have struck great fear into anyone else. It was made entirely of cutie marks; cut from the sides of the passed ponies. On the back of the dress were two pairs of pegasus wings, and around her neck was a necklace made from unicorn horns strung together. Truly, she knew that psychology was a huge factor in the game she was playing.

I uttered a curse and thought, “It looks like I’ve got a lot of blood on my hands now.” The number of skeletons and heads gave me the estimate that Pinkie had killed about twenty five ponies. However, the amount could have been larger as she was not obligated, to my knowledge, to heap all of her victim’s remains in one room. “That settles it. I’m dealing with an experienced murderess. Well, up the up-side, two of my three objectives have been met just in the game’s opening. The pieces have completed deployment and formation. Now it is time for us to race for each other’s king.”

Before, Pinkie could ask an obvious question like, “Well, how do you like it?” or something to that effect, I had to establish momentum and ask her questions. I had to keep her on the defensive. I spoke, “Well Pinkie, looks like you’ve been busy. May I ask why you have clearly slaughtered a number of good ponies?”

“Well it’s like I said silly: to make cupcakes.”

“Bloody hell, I won’t get anywhere with this.” I thought. Before I could think of how to best advance, she took the initiative.

Picking up the skull of a departed one with her mouth and balancing it on her front hoof, she skipped back over to me and put it in my face. I noticed that as every other one in the room, it had no defining features. There was no damage done to the skull or any color on any part of it. There was only its bleached, white color. In death, all were the same. While some may have been very beautiful or very smart, nothing was there to tell them apart now that life had left them.

Pinkie spoke, “I remember the great taste that this one made. She was so scared during her last minutes. She screamed and cried when I skinned her. But I know that she’d be happy to know that she was so yummy.”

She tossed the skull aside, picked up a second not too far from where she stood, and spoke about it. “Oh and this one … This one was a fighter. All the way to the end he just shouted nasty words at me. His last words were bad words. What kind of person is that?”

She went on picking up skulls and recounting the last moments of their late owners. I was amazed at how she could tell the difference between the remains. To me, there was no difference. They all had stories, but those stories only exist in the minds of those who remember them. I saw that there was no individuality in death.

Then, all of a sudden, her voice quickened in pace. “Alright, enough of them. Let’s get to you.”

The game was about to quicken in pace. I had to start thinking fast. Pinkie turned around and uncovered the cart behind her. On it were surgical instruments of several types and a few different types of knives. Also, about ten syringes, all containing different types of fluid, sat on the right side of the cart.

My mind, although unafraid, began to race. “Alright,” I thought. “Judging by the instruments here, I think I’ve got about 25 minutes before she starts doing any irreparable damage; however, if she is as demented as she sounds, she may be fond of physical as well as psychological torture. She’s not in her right mind and doesn’t understand the gravity of killing. Although my allegory of this being a game of chess is appropriate for my part, it may be the case that it is more like a game of hopscotch for her. This may increase that time to 35 minutes. I’ve got until then to get her to spill everything she’s got. Then I’ll have to get outta here.”

Pinkie eyed me and the implements like one would stare at delicious food before sinking one’s teeth into it. “Let’s see,” she said; her voice unchanging. “How will we start?” She looked from me to the cart and back to me again. Then she started to move around me and examine my body. Surprisingly, it was only at this point that I realized I was naked. I could not help but feel a bit of shame as her eyes passed over my unclothed body. I suppose it was only natural for a pony, but I was not a pony.

Another thought crossed my mind. If she had heavily premeditated all of these events up until now, why was she not immediately moving to her work? The answer came quickly: She was trying to make me afraid if it was not already. I was defenseless in this position and to have my soon-to-be-killer examine me so closely would have made any normal person start to panic even more. It did not work as she intended though and I was able to move the probability that she liked to torture her victims up I my mind.”

I could not see her for a moment when she was behind me. She lingered there for longer than I had thought she would, but she finally spoke. “That’s a pretty fancy cutie mark you got there. I think it would look great on my new dress I’m making.”

“Bingo!” I thought to myself. “Yep, she’s up for some torture. The b— doesn’t even realize who she’s dealing with. The longer she dawdles, the more time I have.” The “cutie mark” that she was referring to was a large tattoo on my back: the seal of the archangel. Covering most of my upper back, the tattoo was of an enormous, golden dragon that looked to the left. Its scales glistened in the light. The underside of its massive, outstretched leathery wings was black and its eye showing was red and terrible. Its left claw was bound with a shackle and chain, but in its right claw, it held a double-edged sword. The seal of the archangel is a special mark that cannot be forged. It is a sign to everyone who sees it that anyone who bears it is a servant of the highest, Almighty God.  We are the greatest of his servants, placed under his direct command and created with the purpose to carry out his will, using the power of God himself when permitted.

Yet as I pondered these things, I was cut to the heart. The seal is not just a mere colored cut. Pinkie was partly right when she called it a cutie mark. It is a feature that defines my identity. The image is full of symbolism, but there is no room to explain it in these pages. My spirit screamed at this realization. Pinkie was about to take my cutie mark. I loved it so much that I almost lost sight of the goal. I was about to scream and beg her not to, but I caught myself. I could not let my pride overcome my mission.

Pinkie came back around and picked up a scalpel with her mouth. As she returned to my back I braced myself and in an instant knew what I had to do. For a split second I felt the coolness of the blade on my skin. Cool like ice and water. Yet that water soon turned into a searing fire. For the first few seconds, it was all I could do to remain silent. I could not scream. Sun Tzu, the master that would help me through this said, “If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him.” If I showed no sign of being in any pain, Pinkie, would become frustrated because I would not play along in her game. Hence, her tongue would become looser.

I could not fail at this task. “Get ahold of yourself!” I thought. “You have suffered greater pain than this. What is a little incision on your back compared to a spear through your gut or an aeon of mourning for a wife?”

Finally after I was sure that I was not about to cry out, I spoke slowly and deliberately as she sliced through my flesh. “Pinkie, I am aware that you are doing this for cupcakes, but is there another reason for which you are doing this? For that matter, why me?”

She paused for a moment. This was good. She was confused as to why I was able to speak while her merciless cutting tool was scarring me. She continued her work, but spoke. “Well, it’s simple. Your number came up.”

A number of sensations stopped my progress for a moment. On one hand, I fought the urge to cringe as I could feel not only the pain, but blood flowing down my back, and a lot of it. On the other hand, her answer was for some reason chilling to me. It was like I had heard a demon say those words before with the same inflection that she did. I was stunned for a moment but then realized it was not exactly fear that I felt, but rather a fearful type of nostalgia. Yet my train of thought was halted by a new sort of pain. Pinkie had placed the scalpel down and had picked up a skinning knife. The pain was worse as she separated the flesh from muscle. I was not in the best of situations. I had to go faster, but this was good. I had her on the right path. “My number came up?” I asked.

“Yep, my stomach twitched three times and I knew it was time to take a number from the hat.” It was after she had answered this, that she finished carving off my beloved seal. She said with a delighted tone, “Ooh, looks like you’re a bleeder.” She came around and showed me the cut away skin and her bloody muzzle.

I ignored what else would have horrified me. I could not allow myself to look at the seal. It would have destroyed me to see it cut away. I was extremely favored by Verdandi, for Pinkie not to have pressed on with trying to make me look at it. “Great, now I know how she determines when and who she kills. I’m making progress, but I need to push further.” I spoke; not responding to her comment, “And what prompted you to set up this lottery?”

A roadblock approached. “Ah, so that’s what you’re after. Sorry, I think I’ll dodge this one a little and just tell you that it started a while ago.”

“Merda! She’s on to me!” I thought.

She then picked up a much larger knife and said, “Your wings are really nice too.”

For the next ten minutes I made absolutely no progress. I cannot really describe what it feels like to have a pony use a butcher knife to hack through an appendage. But I think it suffices to say that it was agonizing. I could barely contain my shrieks, let alone formulate good enough questions to trick her into telling me what I needed to know. To make things worse, she deliberately did things to make the pain more excruciating; such as sawing halfway through the bone and snapping it off with her hooves or stopping to experiment by seeing if she could cut through faster by hacking or sawing and then switching from one side of the wing to the other. I could not help but cry out a few times; losing ground. It was at this point, that blood loss was becoming an issue.

After I was wingless, and heavily bleeding from the sides, she picked up another knife. “Why is your mane so long? It’s pretty and all, but I think you’d look better with it short. Ooh, I’ve got an idea! Why don’t I help you with that?”

I lost it there. In the culture of Heaven, the length of hair is a sign of status: the longer the hair, the more powerful the angel. I couldn’t let her do that. She had taken my identity, but she could not take my pride. I screamed at once, “No, please. Please don’t do that. I like my hair long.”

Pinkie’s response was to bundle up my hair in one hoof and begin top cut into the very top layer of my head; scalping me. I yelled and begged her to stop to no avail. It was horrible. I knew that she was not going to comply and the fact that I was giving into her torture, worsened this situation. She was good. She found the only way to break me. By the time that she had finished, I was nearing defeat. It was not the pain that was the problem. Rather it was the defamation. It would take a long time to grow it back.

“Aw,” Pinkie Pie said in mock sympathy. “You look like you’re about to cry. Do you need a hug?” The earth pony threw her forelegs around me in what would have been a comforting hug had it not been for the situation and the unicorn horns sticking into my chest.

“Don’t be such a baby.” She said. “I just took off your hair.” The last stallion I had didn’t break until I electrocuted him. But then again, that’s when everyone starts to get a bit sleepy. Some ponies even fall asleep on me. Can you believe that kind of rudeness?”

How could it get any worse you ask? What other way to make an already difficult situation nearly impossible than for the spirit of Desperation to pay me a visit? He spoke and I immediately recognized his voice. “So, Michael, you appear to have drove yourself into a bit of trouble.”

I was too traumatized to try to force him out. I yelled into the halls of my soul in anger and exasperation. “I am not in the mood for your crap, Desperation.”

He ignored my outburst. “What don’t you just open a seal or two and be done with it?”

“You know that would be a violation of the code, deceiver. Now is not the time to aggravate me.”

Desperation’s tone changed. “I wasn’t talking about releasing your angelic energy.”

Yes, he went there. A long while ago I had made a contract with the Dark One, and although it was quite one-sided in my favor, the repercussions to the power that I received had the potential to be game-breaking. “Do not solicit folly to me demon.”

My conversation was interrupted by an immensely intense agony that was caused by Pinkie Pie driving a white-hot nail through my wrist. Chikusho! That hit a nerve!

I had to think faster but the penetrating anguish made it nearly impossible. Desperation spoke again, “There is no point in this enduring pain. Just escape and hand her over to the princess of this land.”

It was at this time that time stopped again. The next moment would decide the fate of a city or even a world, and yet I felt that I could not come through. My entire body ached with suffering and my wrists burned with the flame of seven suns. Worse though, I had been extremely demoralized by the loss of my cutie mark and my hair. I could not resist Desperation. I was about to give up. I was on the verge of defeat. My will seemed to indirectly aim towards the empyreal lock on the first black seal which would release demonic power into me. I could hear also the icy cold voice of Miyo, the spirit of Defeat telling me that I was about to fail.

Then I saw it. I saw a vision of the events that I knew would come. I saw all of the ponies in Ponyville standing in a huge crowd. And I saw that one out of every ten was executed. I saw that they could not exit their blocks anymore except for work. They went through their miserable lives each day under the sun. There was no respite for them. And I saw further that every day the oppression became even worse than it was before. Each day there were up to four suicides. Nor was there even any mourning; there was no time. I saw that they were bound by hooves in the fields and in the factories, and were finally forced to work after the sun went down and they collapsed from lack of sleep. The weak who fell first were executed and the strong who remained were given the executed as food. And even what was left of their labor was sent to Canterlot for the gluttonous to squander.

Seeing these things, I began to weep because there was nothing I could do. [Pinkie was patting me and sarcastically speaking words of comfort] Defeat had clamped her icy hands around my throat, and the Keres, the gods of violent death, were following close behind her. I saw their eyes even though I could only see with these human eyes. I saw those eyes of fury and malice and eternal wrath coming for me.

But then something stopped the coming wrath. I was brought in my vision to the far corner of the world; to the treasure room of the royal palace at Canterlot. There lay one of my three swords which is called the Kadosh. I saw that all around it were stallions in Celestia’s royal guard trying to hold it. Yet because they were evil and because the sword was made from the enchanted wing-bone of an archangel, it was too pure for them and they burnt themselves when they touched it. But they continued to try to grasp it with their teeth or hooves nonetheless. I asked myself why they would do this. But then I remembered what was sealed inside of that sword.

Inside of that sword was the god of Passion, who had offered his aid to me twelve millennia ago. The god of Passion: the very spirit who is charged with the essence of resolution: that unquenchable fervor in the hearts of men that compels them to press on in the face of the greatest adversity: the spirit that stands in the way of the great demons that would destroy the world of men: hardship, tribulation, difficulty, uncertainty, and doubt. Passion, the fulfiller of dreams, was inside that sword, and that is the reason that they tried to wield it so badly. Whomever can find the angel of Passion, can find the purpose and meaning that they long for in their lives. When people find Passion, they know that life is worth living.

I saw the sword begin to glow and shake and then something amazing happened. I saw that the god of Passion came out of the sword and take on soul and flesh. He incarnated into the mortal world. He stood at a height of six feet and seven inches and his muscles were like coconuts; his chest the broadest I had seen in an epoch. His face was hard like one who has seen an eternity of suffering and it shone like the sun of Earth. His long red hair was so vibrant that it appeared that it was on fire. He was clothed in the finest armor made from the hardest steel with a cape dyed the brightest crimson. In his left hand was a shield three feet in diameter and in his right was a spear five feet in length.

The guards were terrified at his presence and they fled. He looked at me and spoke with a mighty voice, “Michael, I see you may need some support. Why never do you ask for it?”

I replied, “Passion, it’s bloody good to see you again. Yeah, I could use a bit of a breather.”

Passion spoke with a loud voice in only a tone in which only he could speak.

“Stand firm O young angel!

Hold Fast!

Rise up and fight.

Begin not foul flight nor yet be afraid.

But rather make the shout from your breast both mighty and long,

and shrink not when you fight your foe.

Get in close where fighting is hand to hand;

inflicting wound with long spear or sword.

And do not forget in your heart,

for nine years your father fought unceasingly as you now are

and on the tenth year his foes turned heel

and fled from his unrelenting determination.”

These words ignited a flame in my spirit; a blaze that cannot be put out or doused. That flame quickly spread throughout all of my being and Passion had done his work. Hearing these words, I was thrust back into the world of time. The pain all over my body and in my mind clawed at me like an angry lion, but it was not enough to stop me. With great determination I searched the deepest, most uncharted parts of my soul for that one question that would lead me to victory. Dragging myself though the myriad of useless data I pushed onward in spite of the greatest mental and physical torture and found the prize. I could not believe how obvious it was though hidden from me until this moment.

It had all came together. Pinkie Pie was not acting like herself. Neither was this situation a fitting explanation for that fact. This led me to believe something that I could not see or hear. It was of further interest to me that she would not answer my question about what prompted her. Something told me that I was not dealing with simple insanity. It did not fit the bill. Rather, I think that there was another Pinkie Pie influencing her from her soul.

From this assumption, I was able to further for a conjecture that would lead me to my victory in this dangerous game. If I spoke aloud now, I would not reach the Pinkie who was my friend. Rather I would be talking to the one that was controlling her body. Yet from the beginning I knew that to give control or let slip the control of one’s soul and body was not a happy ordeal. It only happened in the midst of great suffering.

The room was quiet except for the sound of hammer and nail. I spoke aloud in a serene voice. “Miss Pinkie, why are you in such pain? Is there something I can do to help?”

Pinkie looked over into my eyes. Her huge smile that she had for the duration of the incident began to fade. Her face became quizzical and her smile became a frown. “What do you mean?” She asked. “You’re the one who should be in pain right now, not me.”

My response answered both statements. “I believe that you are doing this for a reason Pinkie. A reason other than the petty reason you gave. Could you please tell your friend before he dies?”

My question seemed to strike at the root of the problem. Her frown slowly turned into a pouting face, and tears came to her eyes. Her hair, which was usually poofy, fell down and became straight. A strange scene began to enfold in front of me. Pinkie grabbed a mirror with her mouth from under the cart, balanced it on her right front hoof, turned around, and looked into it so that I could only view her face reflected in the mirror. At first I thought I might be delirious due to the blood loss because of what occurred then.

I heard Pinkie speak in the direction of the mirror, but although I could hear her voice easily, I could not see her lips move in the reflection. “Why? Why am sad sister?” I heard her voice say, woefully.

Yet then I heard her speak in a completely different voice. This one was overjoyed. This time her face did move in the mirror. “You are not sad now dear sister. You have me to make sure of that.”

Again Pinkie’s voice changed and I heard her voice filled with grief again. The mouth I saw in the mirror did not move. “I know that, but I can’t help but think that I’d be happier if we weren’t doing this; if we had more friends than just each other. I mean, I wanted to make people happy before. Just because I can’t make them happy doesn’t mean I have to make them sad.”

Again, her voice changed and the face in the mirror answered. Yet the voice was no longer so happy. Now it seemed aggravated. “We have already discussed this sister. There is no one who can understand us. What’s more, they all hate us. That is why they all must die. It is our duty to kill them. Making them happy is no longer your concern. You said it once before yourself. ‘I do not make the rules.’”

Pinkie returned, her motionless features in the mirror not matching the voice I heard. “But I wanted to make everybody happy. That’s what my cutie mark says.”

The face in the mirror went from aggravated to angry quickly. “I told you already, they don’t deserve to be happy! Who was the one that kept you company on the rock farm when you were in the desolate place? ME. Who was there to comfort you daily before that day when the world changed and you became as frivolous as you are now? ME! And who mocked us when they saw us having a normal conversation, calling us crazy? THEM!”

“I know,” said the Pinkie outside the mirror. “But sometimes I just feel so lonely without anyone but you.”

The Mirror Pinkie shrieked, “Why would you need anybody other than me? I am all you have. You can only trust me and no others!”

Pinkie’s voice outside the mirror now sounded a bit intimidated as she said, “But what about him?” referring to me. “I think we can trust him. He seems nice. He even asked me if I was in pain when he’s the one bleeding with nails in his wrists.”

The Pinkie of the mirror lost it at that point. “He is deceitful unlike me and must die! I can see that you are becoming weak sister. It is I who have done all of this for you, and when I give you just one second to watch during cupcake-making time, you start to question me! That’s it. You need to stop thinking so much and just let me do everything. We are done here.”

Hastily Pinkie dropped the mirror and turned around. She grabbed a knife and drew it back, to plunge it into me.

I thought about my objectives. They were all more than complete. “I think I can bail now.” I thought.

Pinkie plunged the knife into my stomach. I gasped and my entire body seized in pain. Yet it was not as painful as it should have been. The blood loss was catching up to me and I was fading.

But even as Pinkie cut a hole in my stomach, I spoke. Pinkie and I both heard my voice as though it were coming from a tunnel. “Accessing demonic restriction system … releasing restriction to level four.”

A dark aura of black energy visible to the eye erupted from my arms and legs and began to course through my system. My fingernails grew into claws and my eyes became those of a dragon. Not knowing what to do, Pinkie grabbed a syringe from the cart and drove it into my flesh to no avail. With a great display of herculean strength, I broke free of my bonds and tackled Pinkie to the ground; holding her by the throat and staring into her eyes.

My face was terrorizing, my strength many times greater than it was moments ago, and my voice, terrifying. Even as I spoke, my wounds healed; flesh and muscle regenerating and knitting back together. “Do not always assume little pony that you are dealing with mortals. You may just find that there are a few immortals lurking this realm. I’ll see you tomorrow night as always.”

So saying this, I released her from my unbreakable grip and pulled the knife from my stomach. The wound healed in seconds. I strolled out of the basement though the trapdoor. Finding my robes just lying around, I picked them up and redressed myself. Walking through the kitchen I came to the entrance and walked through the door. I continued walking towards the gate of the city and strolled out in the same way. Coming to my stomping grounds (the clearing that I used for thinking just outside the city) I spoke aloud again. “Reset seals one through four.” And the power was sealed up.

It was at this point, when the adrenaline rush had subsided, that the shock from events of the present night had affected me. I fell to my knees and started to weep. I cried softly at first, but then my soft sobs became wailing, and that wailing became one loud, aggravated yell. Pinkie Pie, the one whom I had looked up to, the one who I thought was a light in the darkness, was truly one of those most tightly chained to the wall of the cave. It was too much. I didn’t even care about the semantics. Yes, I would have to keep a constant eye on her from now on to make sure that she didn’t murder anybody else, but that was trivial when compared to this. I made so many assumptions of her.

I thought that she understood what it meant to live: to be the master of one’s fate, and the captain of one’s soul. But I was just wrong. She lived each day happily not knowing that she chose her state of happiness, but instead found joy from killing. I asked myself why she was so demented and the obvious answer quickly came: She was lonely. She had no one to enjoy life with and that demon provided company. In my vast array of experiences, I have found that of all the sufferings that people can endure, loneliness is the one kind of suffering that creates true monsters like what I had witnessed that night.

And I uttered this loud lament:

“There is no one who understands the secrets.

Not one!

They forever live in bondage

And cannot see the light that is so near behind them.

Meaningless! Everything is meaningless.

I said, ‘Look here is something new.’ in awe.

But it was here already, long ago.

There is nothing new.

There is no remembrance either.

Those men of old and those woman of today

Are not remembered.

Their sacrifice is forgotten and meaningless.”

Rarity [Draft]

Author's Forward:

For those of you who did not read the last chapter, Pinkie Pie repeated the events of Cupcakes with the exception that Michael didn't die and opened "the fourth black seal" and he escaped, after effectively going evil super-saiyan and terrorizing Pinkie. He then lamented again

As I finished lamenting, I did only what came natural to one who has dwelt in the Spirits’ realm.  I grasped my robes and rent them. I made many tears in my clothing. Then I grasped the dust from the ground and heaped it onto my head. I cursed as I remembered that Pinkie had cut my hair short, which had previously dropped as low as the back of my abdomen. Now, though a little had regrown, as far as I was concerned, I was bald.

The sun rose and I returned to my labor with many scars showing. I had made sure also that my back was not showing. It would be a while before my wings regrew. Although Applejack asked about my condition, I gave no answer. I spoke nothing of what had transpired. I only went on with my work in a sober mood.

The sound of sawing through wood gave me no comfort either throughout the day. While I may boast that I am hardened against pain, it is not so easy to ignore. In addition to the nostalgic sound of steel cutting through something, my entire body ached with pain from opening the fourth black seal the last night. Although it was not as bad as it could have been, it was difficult to handle. Everything was harder than usual. The day seemed so much longer than it was. The dark sun refused to set even though the days were becoming shorter. Yet all things must come to an end so it finally did.

Returning home, oblivious to my weariness, I quickly ate my meager dinner and started for the door. Applejack stopped me.

“Michael, you seem kinda down today. Somethin’ the matter?”

I turned to her and put on a fake smile and responded with mock happiness. “I have only realized that the world was not what I thought it was.”

My dirty appearance and tired eyes though, did not help with my disability to mask my emotion and she easily saw through my façade. “Come on I know somethin’s bothering ya. It’s not good fer ya to not talk about yer problems.”

I sighed. I could not just walk out but I also could not speak about the discovery I had made. “Miss Applejack, what would you do if you had a friend that you thought highly of, but you just found out that they were not so good of a person?”

She pondered for a moment and replied, “Well, I suppose I’d just have to treat ‘em the same anyway. We all have problems with us, but it’s those problems that make us ponies.”

I had anticipated this response. I had heard it many times before and it did not help me at all. But this was not something for which I could receive help. I just needed to make her believe everything was better. So I did my best to make it seem like I had just had an epiphany and said, “That makes a deal of sense. Thank you for your help in this matter.” She seemed satisfied with this and permitted me to leave as I did every other night.

I walked towards Ponyville and instantly my head drooped and my face relaxed to a frown. I thought about how Applejack felt about life as it was and again it occurred to me that she was content enough as she was unaware of the lowliness of her quality of life. I began to think of all the tears I had shed for her kind. “Ignorance is bliss,” I thought. I wondered what they would feel like if they saw the gluttony that was in Canterlot and how juxtaposed their city was compared to it. “Oh well, that is a tangent of thought for another day.” I came again to my stomping grounds.

And again I put dirt onto my head, and rolled around in the dust. I groveled in self-pity and lay there for a while. Then I heard footsteps. I quickly jumped to my feet, and said before identifying who it was, “I thought this place was a secret. It was difficult enough to find among the trees.”

Yet I realized only after I had spoken these words that I was looking at the angel of Passion. Before I could speak any further, he offered me the courtesy of a response, “Unlike you archangels, the gods’ power has not been sealed and restricted so heavily. I am free even with the burden of a fleshly body to traverse this realm with ease by using the pathway of the fifth dimension.”

I did not speak further, but eagerly awaited his words. He continued. “I am aware that you are mourning, and do not wish to interrupt your sober mood, but I have a message for you. Do not enter the house of the killer tonight. Rather, enter further into the city and walk on until either the sun rises or you are stopped. Do not worry about your promise to her. I have already made it clear that you will not come and she has pardoned your absence. Neither worry about her continuance in her dark deeds. I will relieve you of your duty and watch her. As you must have realized by now, her ailment is not of the flesh, but of the soul. Therefore, I see that it is unfitting for you to try to prevent her in your current state; trying to fight a demon-possessed person is rarely so different from fighting a demon himself.

“Also,” he motioned to Kadosh, my white sword, at his side. “You will most likely not be able to hold this sword for a while. I will hold onto it until it can be returned to you.”

I inquired of him further. “Do you happen to know also of what has become of Fraternitas or Uranus?” I was referring to my two other swords that were confiscated when I was imprisoned.

Passion responded immediately. “Uranus is in another treasure room like the one that I was in. Similarly, the guards are trying to extract Christina [the goddess of Peace]; however, she is not feeling so outgoing the time. It was amusing to watch them try.

“It seems also that Fraternitas is in the hands of the sun-goddess. Skuld has found that she does not even have to waste her time in the empyreal world when she could just sit in Heaven and remotely control the queen of this world by her link with it.” Skuld was one of the three people who had established a link to me through the sword and made the issue of distance between them and me nonexistent. Her attachment to the Fraternitas, however, was not as intimate as the other two and I had. The other two, my brother and sister by blood, had placed a part of their essence into it.

This was good to hear. I felt very insecure without those weapons at my side that had been with me for aeons. So to know of their location was at the least comforting. I spoke to Passion in the language of Heaven; a nice change from the restricting language of Equestria. Our words are bit difficult to translate, but I will do my best.

“A thousand thank you’s my good friend. Your words are comforting. But tell me, why have you chosen to restrict yourself to this realm when you could easily traverse the other eight?”

He answered with a question. “Why have you not given up on this world?”

“Does it appear that I have not? My clothes are torn and ashes are on my head.”

“You could have left long ago. You and I are the only angels that stay in this dark realm (except for Peace. But as usual, she will not be of much help). Even when you were imprisoned, here you are now still. I think that there is a cause is worth fighting for.”

“It seems like a lost cause though. Hope is nowhere to be found.”

“You are right. Estelwen [the goddess of Hope] is not here. She lazily reclines within your daughter’s sword; not caring for the suffering of these people. All of Heaven has seen Equestria and said that the Fates have abandoned it as well, but I think that this is all the more reason to fight.

“Only the lost causes are the ones worth fighting for. Only when all the world is covered in darkness and the minions of the Dark One call themselves the princes and princesses of it and the Keres overpopulate it, is it time to take up arms. You are not alone. For too long I have seen the oppression that is taking place under the sun, which enshrouds the world in night. I think that it is time to bring the respite of the moon to this world and let its inhabitants see the light of day.”

I spoke. “How do you expect us to do this?”

His answer was so characteristic of him. Passion answered, “Let us wait. Let us bide our time. Let them bring down oppression on us all the more. Let us await for the right time.”

And with a loud voice he broke into song. The tune was swift and inspiring.

“The night is nearly over.

the day is almost here.

Let us then put off any weakness

that may yet linger in our hearts.

No man, no god

Neither demon or angel, spirit or immortal—

no one can make us bow our knee until our end.

But we chose to do so freely.

The Fates have chosen the choicest elite

To stand guard before they call for the attack.

Let us then call upon Rika [the spirit of Endurance]

And stand firm like trees planted in water.

Like the phoenix who rises from the ashes,

or the hydra that loses a head,

we will soon stand up and return their blows;

crushing our enemies beneath our feet.”

He said this and then turned to leave and be about his business. On the way out of the clearing, he calling without looking back, “Expect a change of profession soon. Your talents are wasted on wood-cutting.” He disappeared through the trees. Passion had gone against custom and conversed with me. It is common knowledge to those who dwell in Heaven that anyone that walks about with torn, dust-covered robes wishes to be alone. Courtesy then dictates that people abide by this custom. Therefore, his words were of great importance.

But no sooner did he leave then did Charlotte’s influence return. Passion had provided a brief moment of relief, but he was gone now. He had spoken of the stoic life by which joy can be found. Yet if no one other than me knew the secret then it was meaningless. I cared little for my own state of happiness. I saw an entire world of suffering people before me. I was not so selfish as to think I could be joyful amidst this. I had a long night ahead of me. My mood slowly slackened from inspired to depressed again.

I was still in the realm of darkness and I was still in mourning for the tragic revelation that I had witnessed. The world was ruled by a tyrant that boasted control over the sun (and the moon). I lived in this world and was forced to labor in it. Nor did my labor have any value. Anything produced from my hard work was taken from me.

The walks through the streets of Ponyville in the cover of night were at least something to do other than sleep away my existence, but they did not provide any sense of achievement. There was only the dull pang of depression coupled with the bane of boredom. The streets were light now enough to see. The light from the houses had dimmed and the grey color of pretty much every building on the block did nothing to help the mood. Each one was exactly the same as the last.

I did not know to where I walked either. I was told to walk until I was stopped or the sun rose. That is what made me feel a bit uneasy. Before when I had walked, I had nothing in mind, no objective, and no clear destination. I was just walking for walking’s sake. Yet now I was on guard for something to happen. It was unnerving to have to look for something.

Additionally, I could not help but feel out of place as I walked. By-passers sniggered and pointed. (I suppose that even the enslaved have standards.) Ponies looked from inside their houses to see my shameful attire. I was rudely reminded that I was in a foreign land with alien customs. Here my dirty apparel did little more than make me stand out rather than cause bystanders to ignore me. “Oh well,” I thought. I was a traditional person so even if my exterior meant nothing to everyone I would not clean myself. I ignored them.

As I walked through a part of the city that I had never seen before, I passed past a shop whose color contrasted heavily with the dullness of the rest of the city. It reminded me a bit of Sugarcube Corner. The name “Carousel Boutique” was engraved into a sign above its threshold. I quickened my pace ever so slightly. It brought back a hint of nostalgia from when I would shop in the company of my late wife.

Yet I slowed to a crawling speed as a thought crossed my mind, and I was surprised it had not come to mind earlier. The god of Passion did not have the gift of foresight. In order for him to suggest that I would be stopped by someone, he would have to have thought out the path I would take through Ponyville and determined why someone would stop me in the first place. And for what purpose did he do this? Furthermore, what did he mean by a job change?

The door to the shop that I had just passed opened behind me and a voice stopped my train of thought. “You, come in here!”

I turned around to determine its source, yet the pony who had spoken had already come around me and started to push me into the store whose door was momentarily left ajar.

“Good Celestia,” said the still unidentified but obviously feminine voice. She had scarcely spoken six words and I could already tell she had a refined manner of speaking that seemed not in common with any other pony I had spoken. “Why in the princess’ name are you drifting around Ponyville with that shredded and shamelessly filthy apparel of a ruffian and with what little mane you have mangled and full of dust? As a fashionista I simply cannot allow you to continue on until you have cleaned yourself and acquired a suitable set of clothes.”

The pony pushed me behind a movable screen in the left corner of the boutique, which was a bit short for my height so by instinct I bent my knees to conceal my entire body. She went around the other side. Momentarily, she tossed over a large white towel.

“Now stay right there, disrobe, and cover yourself with that. I’ll be back in a moment.” I heard a door open and shut towards the middle of the room.

“Well, that was abrupt.” I said aloud to myself. “The mare does not even know me.” Apparently the pony who owned this shop was so bothered about my appearance that she was compelled to fix the matter. “Well, I am not so concerned for tradition as to make a deal about it. Practicality is also a virtue.” And I decided to oblige my host.

I removed my torn robes and folded what was left of them on the ground. I then grabbed the towel that she had given me. It was quite large; large enough to cover me from my knees to just below my neck. Why she would have a towel this large, I did not know, but considering the suddenness of the situation I decided not to number the possibilities.

About five minutes later, I heard the door open again and the same pony spoke. “Are you at least relatively decent sir?”

“I have covered myself if that is what you are referring to Miss.”

“Well then, in that case, follow me.”

I stepped around the screen and finally was able to look at her. The beauty that I had set eyes on was a unicorn. Her coat was colored the purest white and her mane was a vibrant and deep indigo. Her eyelashes were long and beautiful and her eyes were blue like the sea.

As she led me through the door she had come from and we ascended the stairs to a third floor, I could not help but think that she was incredibly beautiful for one of her kind. Also I realized that her speech did not match the dialect of the city, but resembled one of the more distinct dialects that one would find in the city of Canterlot.

We came to the third floor and entered into a very large bathroom. At first I was very surprised at how large the room was from the inside as, from the outside, it appeared that the third floor was quite small. I was also surprised at how similar this room looked to one of those at my palace on Osiris. The entire room was covered with intricately decorated tiles except for the ceiling which was made of glass. Around the room were twelve columns carved and decorated in the Corinthian fashion and on each column were three torches that gave off a great amount of light which compensated for the time of day. On the left side of the room was an area that had two mirrors, two showerheads and two stools. That side had a slight slope that lead to a drain. Taking up most of the room though was a bath the size of small swimming pool filled with steaming water. I marveled at the extravagance of the room.

The pony brought me into this room and said, “You’ll find everything you need to bathe yourself. Please do Equestria justice and make yourself clean.”

Before she left, I thought it would be at least good to know my host’s name. “Thank you for your kindness Miss…”

She faced me and was gracious enough to respond, “Rarity,” she said with an elegant tone and shut the door behind her.

I gazed around the huge room. “Well, this is quite odd.” I said. “I wonder where she acquired the resources to create a room of such luxury.” Yet again this was a question I would leave unanswered. I had not bathed in quite a while now. There was a shower outside of the block where I lived, but the water was always cold. To have a warm bath was a chance that I could not pass.

So I washed myself with the soap and shampoo (for what little hair I had) while sitting upon the stool and then rinsed myself. I was not one to make of big deal of how I felt based on my level of hygiene, but it was very nice to enjoy cleanliness. I only wished that my hair would grow back faster. Then, I could be completely comforted for several reasons. Yet that problem could not be helped.

I finished cleaning myself and walked over to sink into the enormous tub. To my dismay, it was a bit shallower than I had hoped for, yet I cannot say that I was surprised with the great difference in my height versus those who would generally use it. I stood at a height of about six feet and four inches while the standard pony from head to tail was only four feet. The water did not come up to my chin as I hoped it would, but instead rose to immerse me from the stomach down.

I was disappointed; however, shifting over to a different part of the tub, I found that there was another section where the depth increased to that desired level. There I sat down and enjoyed the pronounced heat of the water which leveled at my upper chest. The pony who designed this must have had larger occupants in mind. I was greatly pleased at this feeling I had not appreciated in so long and sat back to soak for a time; letting thoughts pass through my head freely.

I was in mourning over Pinkie Pie’s situation, yet Passion would watch over her. I could rest easily knowing that nopony would die on his watch. Despite my sadness over all my crushed conceptions about her, I could not help but feel that the heat was washing away the issue. For a second I was alarmed and considered if there was some chemical in the water that would alter my state of mind, but I quickly calmed back down again. It just felt like home. So I forgot about the deep, depressing thoughts that troubled me and looked to other facets.

Glancing at the room, I realized I could not withhold my wonder at the structure of the bathroom. I had noticed that even in Canterlot that they did not have such luxuries like this as it did not go with the culture. Rather, the practice of cleaning oneself and then soaking in a sort of hot tub as an everyday practice was a custom that was unique to my country. I marveled at this change of pace. So my thoughts came much more smoothly than they had been doing for the last few years. They were coherent and intelligible rather than the erratic and survival based judgments into which I had recently narrowed myself. I began to let my mind pass over some books that I had long been meaning to digest. With the calm state I was in, thought was clearer, reasoning easier, and deduction more natural. I was able to draw conclusions that I had not had the capacity to before.

Even now I am not aware of how much time I passed sitting there, but I can say that at least an hour passed. After this time had elapsed, I finally arose from the heated water and toweled off. I noticed that a white bathrobe hung on the door with a pair of sandals my size below it (once again, why these things were in Rarity’s house I will never know). I placed these on and walked down the stairs. Descending down one flight, I was about to begin the flight down the second, but I heard the sound of a light sneeze come through the door that led to the second room. Thinking that my host was in this room, I knocked thrice on the wood.

I heard the now familiar voice of Rarity answer. “Come in.”

I found her hard at work gazing through a pair of red glasses intently upon a peace of parchment. Around her horn was an aura of energy and a pencil was levitating close to her. Every now and then, using magic, she would move the pencil and make a mark on the parchment. I could see that she was making a design of some sort.

I took her silence as a chance to survey this floor. The room I had entered appeared to double as both a bedroom and her work place. Around it were columns and arches that had beautiful designs on them. To my left was a four poster bed with a fine comforter on it. Near the walls were shelves with rolls of fabric of many colors. There was a sewing machine on the right, and in the middle was Rarity’s drawing space that had several pieces of parchment hanging on the walls. Some were blank and others had sketches of dresses.

She had reached a stopping point and looked towards me. “Ah, thank Celestia, you look better already.” She said when she looked me over.

“Yes, Miss Rarity, I thank you for your kindness in lending me your wonderfully designed bathroom. I can see, however, that you are a tad busy at the moment. Do you have some simple robes in this place that you could sell me so I could be on my way?” I had taken Passion’s advice, but now all I desired to do was to return home and rest. I was still feeling the burn from the black seals I had opened and I would need rest to last through the coming day.

Rarity looked at me like I did not know what I was saying and said, “Oh, no, no, no, I said that I was going to do Equestria a favor. You are not going out there like you were. I am going to make you a suit and you’ll wear that from now on until you understand what it means to present yourself properly in public.”

“Miss Rarity,” I said very confused. “Are you not aware that I have to go back to Sweet Apple Acres in the morning?”

“Well of course I know that you have to work in the morning, but don’t worry yourself about that. I will have it ready before sunrise.”

Despite my disbelief in her promising declaration, I continued objecting. “And on top of that I do not believe I could work in your house to repay you as your trade appears to require a fair amount of skill.”

“Oh, you do not have to worry yourself over that either. I will not charge you.”

“But Miss, I could not allow you to do me such a kindness. Moreover, are you not bound by the crown to use your resources only for your clients? Do these fabrics belong to you?”

“Well first, ah … what did you say your name was?”

“Michael Iaponis Fujiwara.” I spared her my numerous titles.

“Hmm, that is quite an elaborate name for such a ruffian.” Do not assume reader that I was at all hurt by her slur on my social status. “First, I insist on making you a suit. You do not have to repay me. I have not designed clothing for a gentlecolt for quite a while now. And also your form, where you walk on two legs rather than four, makes me want to try a few new ideas. As for your question on my ownership of these materials, they are indeed mine. Whatever I work on after sundown is mine. So if I work through the night, I can actually earn a bit of money. All you see here is mine; paid for with my money.”

At this point I gave up. There was a chair behind me so I asked if I could sit down.

“Do you think that you could keep quiet while I work? The only reason I don’t send you downstairs is because I’ll have to take your measurements after my concept work is done.”

I answered in the affirmative and she allowed me to sit. She turned to her work and I could see she was in the deepest concentration. For the first few moments I was a bit bored. Although I was able to bear shopping with my wife when she was with me, I generally did not gain pleasure from thinking about clothes. Talk of fashion often put me to sleep. Yet as I watched Rarity work, I became fascinated. She looked quite like myself when I was designing a sword. I knew she would only be working through the night so she would not be producing a masterpiece, but I could see in her eyes from an angle that she considered important even her least important projects as I did when I occasionally designed and forged a low quality sword for a mortal in my spare time.

After she measured the length of my arms and legs, the width of my waist and found my height, I truly became interested. I could tell by the look on her face as she guided her tools with her glowing horn that she was a true mistress of dressmaking. I felt a tear come to my eye as I began to appreciate what I saw before me. Here was a true mistress of an art: keeping attention to each and every slight detail and yet seeing simultaneously with her mind’s eye the shining prize at the end of the challenge before her that was the finished product.

Eventually I saw a suit coming together. When I thought it was finished it turned out she had only just started. On a simple pair of pants, a shirt and a jacket, she went on to sew into them wondrous and intricate patterns with golden and royal blue thread. I was amazed at the extent of the skill by which she made these patterns. On many a sword I had done my best to engrave decorations, but none of even my fanciest works even compared to what she wove into her work. This went on for even longer than it took to make the clothes themselves, and after what seemed an eternity, she had accomplished her self-ordained task.

“Well then, let’s go downstairs and try this on shall we.” She finally said.

This rhetorical question brought back memories of what my wife, Serena would say. Normally I would have groaned and begged her not to put me through to boredom. Yet in this incident I could barely control my excitement, and squeaked out in the most composed, polite voice, “Of course Miss Rarity.”

I stared aghast as I stared at myself in the mirrors from every angle. The outfit she had designed was absolutely breathtaking. Out of all the many outfits that I had worn over the years, not even one of them, the most ingenious masters of all the time I had been ruling over either my island that I currently was king over, or the huge empire that I once was emperor over, had ever made anything that could have ever compared to the majesty of what this was.

“Miss Rarity,” I said. “This is the most astounding work that I have ever seen.”

“Really?” Rarity asked with a puzzled tone. “First, that was only what I put together in the span of a few hours. Second, most of those in Canterlot do not like it when I decide to be creative. And I’m not only speaking of the form that I had to make this in to fit you. They always have me make dresses and suits exactly how they want them, and when I make even the slightest change that I think would improve it, they tell me that it looks well but will not pay my shop the full price. This was just a bout of fancy that I thought would be fine to experiment with. I never have fun with my work because it is so constricting so I thought that I would have a bit this time.”

I decided to see if I could milk this situation. Seeing that there was no trace of the sun yet in the night sky, I said, “Well, are there any other projects that you are putting a creative spin on.”

Rarity looked at me, amazed, and responded, “Well… yes, would you by any chance wish to see them.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Didn’t even have to work for that one. “Why yes, I would love to.” Never thought I’d hear those words coming out of my mouth when I was talking about clothes. This was a strange world.

So we went back upstairs and she began to show me the conceptual drawings for her projects. Each of them was more fabulous than the last. Although I was not familiar with the kind of design that goes into dressmaking for four-legged beings, I could tell that these works were completely masterful. Each one appeared to be fit for a queen or goddess; having adornments and features that I did not think would be possible to make. Yet she apparently had the intent to make them.

Yet when we came to one, she said, “This is the only one that I just cannot seem to finish. I have been thinking about this one for a while and I just cannot seem to find what is missing.”

Now I must confess that despite my previous distaste for anything related to fashion, I had read several on the subject of design. When you have a nearly unlimited amount of time at your disposal and a hunger for knowledge that is near to ravenous, you tend to take in everything that you can. Also, being a maker of swords, the answer to her problem was obvious to me. There was a blank spot on the dress that was simply dull. Everywhere else there was a beautiful design. So I said the one thing that comes easiest to a sword-maker who has an immortal wielder in mind. “It looks like if you put a large ruby there it would be perfect.” I looked at her, ready for a critical response as to why that idea would not work.

Yet as soon as she heard this, her eyes lit up and her face spread into a surprised grin. She looked at me and said, “That’s exactly what I thought about doing a long time ago, but the people in Canterlot hate it when I do that sort of thing. My, sir, I think you may have an eye for fashion.”

I realized it then. I had wondered if there was any way that this mare suffered like all the others. She appeared to live in a large house with all kinds of luxury, but she did not enjoy her work. And when she did enjoy it, and in doing so, made her work better, they punished her for it. If the magnificent suit that I was now wearing was what she just through together impromptu, I could not imagine what it would be like if she was given unlimited time and free will to do whatever she wished with her trade. The possibility was breathtaking. The art I was staring at now was the result of years of repression of her creativity. Although they were very beautiful, I felt a chill of excitement up my spine when I imagined what the dresses would look like without that problem.

She paused for a moment in thought. Then you could almost see the light bulb appear over her head. “How would you like to stay here for a while and work as an apprentice for me?”

I nodded that I would. I felt that the fates had drawn me to this place. Passion knew that this would happen. Perhaps he had a plan.

“Oh, you will? Oh that is just fantastic. Don’t worry, I will handle everything with the overseers and we can start tomorrow. Maybe you can even help me change the minds of my stubborn clients.

I just kept nodding. I barely knew what was going on anymore. I had just agreed to do something that up until now that before I would rather have eaten dirt that do. While Rarity was nearly jumping for joy, I could not help but feel as though my spirits were being lifted. The fates had a plan, and I think I was right on track with it. Only with their interference could a series of events this inexplicably improbable occur. I believed that if I looked at the room I was in with the eyes of an empyrean, I would see Skuld and Verdandi weaving the thread of space and time into the great fabric of the universe.

I lay in the bed of the guest bedroom across from a room that boasted a sign that read ‘Sweetie Bell.” I usually had trouble falling asleep: the unfortunate bane of one who has too much to think about. Yet something was different than usual. “Why do I feel like this bed was designed for a mare?” I asked myself. “Come to think of it, this entire bloody room looks like a female’s.” The walls were painted pink and white, there was a dresser with a large mirror on my left and a large cabinet on my right. Yet, the awkwardness aside, I did enjoy the bed. The mattress was firm and the feeling of the silky sheets was a comfort that I had not ever enjoyed even as a king. I was a Spartan person so the floor and a wool blanket where all that was in my royal bedroom on Osiris. So this was quite a different atmosphere to sleep in. I fell asleep almost sooner than later; sparing myself the usual hours of tossing and turning.

I usually dreamt elaborate, detailed dreams where I would explore the possibilities of a certain event occurring. I explored psychology in them which helped me understand the philosophy that I have today. Many times I would have an ominous or prophetic dream that would give me great fear, from which I would awake and stay awake. But my first night in the Carousel Boutique was dreamless. Nor I did wake up with my heart beating like a jackhammer in a cold sweat and wait for the sun to rise as I often did. Rather, I awoke to the sound of a filly who was vigorously shaking me from the best slumber I had, had in an aeon.

I groaned even though I was rested enough to awaken. Although it had happened quite long ago, this scene was actually quite nostalgic for me. I thought, “A young woman shaking me awake each morning until she was twenty five. At least it is better than having the sun’s intense brightness wake you up. Only in this scenario I will not be walking downstairs to my—” I cut that thought short immediately. I would not be letting that remembrance ruin the good day ahead of me.

I sat up and opened my eyes, gazing at the filly who had brought me into the day. “I assume that you are Sweetie Bell, the younger sister of Miss Rarity?”

“Yep, that’s me. How’d you know?

The thoughts of obviousness crossed through my mind. “Just a good guess I suppose.”

“Well hurry up and get downstairs.” So saying this, she cantered out the door.

Dressing myself in a white shirt and a pair of some nice looking pants (Why Rarity kept articles of clothing that fit those with a human form lying around I will never know) I descended the stairs and took the left door into the kitchen. On the right side of the room was a table with three places set out apparently for the Boutique’s occupants. Sweetie Bell sat on the furthermost seat, Rarity sat closest to the door and my empty spot was with its back to the wall. I was surprised to find that a breakfast of eggs, toast, and orange juice had been laid out for me.

Resisting my urge to gorge myself on the feast, I passively walked around Sweetie Bell and took my seat between the two.

“Good morning to you Miss Rarity. Did you sleep well.”

Rarity spoke with felicity. “Quite well. And you?”

“Likewise. I usually am denied the pleasure of a full night’s rest without the condition of being exhausted before I begin sleeping.”

“Well I am glad that you did. Today I happen to have a bit of free time and I’ll be taking this opportunity to give you some instruction.”

“Miss Rarity, if I may ask, is it a regular occurrence for you to have breakfast?”

“Well yes actually. I understand that most of Ponyville does not enjoy the same luxury, yet as long as I make my clients happy, I can use my time as I wish.”

Breakfast was filled with such pleasantries. I noticed that it was a tad burnt and found that Sweetie Bell had taken the liberty to make breakfast on the occasion that a new person had taken up residence. Yet the lack of absolute perfection did not bother me in the least. I was having breakfast for the first time in ages.

So, Sweetie Bell having gone to school, Rarity brought me to the second floor and started describing the work which she did and how she did it. I thought how my brother Kisshu would probably skin me alive with teasing if he found out what I was doing in this realm. I was taking up residence in a town of cute ponies, and the particular pony that I was living with was a dress designer. Yes, I could only pray that he would not go searching for me untimely. That fact aside, I paid my best attention to my new mistress’ (yes, it sounds a bit odd writing that) lesson on the harmony between material and color.

As I laid in bed that night, as I am accustomed to doing, I could not help but think that I had found a place of rest. In many of my quests across the other realms which, as is the case of this story, I do not plan on placing with The Chronicles of the Other Realm, I would live in many places in the enslaved worlds. This was not the first time that I had lived in a world where despair or one of her minions ruled. Yet it was a rarity that I would find refuge from the pain before giving up and leaving the world for good as I may have easily done with this one.

Yet beginning one day, I was reminded of that old maxim: one must not judge a book by its cover. I awoke with a very good feeling that day. Today was the day that Rarity would finally finish a dress that she had been working on for quite some time. She had told me many times after the day was over that she had put her soul into it; that she had truly believed that it would be her best dress yet. And I was very happy for her. My joy now was just to see her smile.

It was mid-afternoon when she finally completed her work. As she did when she was so happy, she hopped a few times. I congratulated her on a job well done and we both took a few moments to admire her handiwork.

The dress that she had made was very wonderful. I confess that it did not inspire within me that same passion that I was so wonderfully given when she had made that makeshift suit on the night when she offered me employment; however, it was beautiful nonetheless. White like a dove, into it was sewn elaborate patterns that were characteristic of her handiwork. One could spend days admiring them. But the colors that abounded upon it were breathtaking. Each color was specifically intended to be exactly where it was. Scarlet, gold, azure: the most royal colors. And the form of the dress itself seemed to defy some of the natural laws. I cannot describe with words the skill that must have been required to create its intricacies. I thought that a princess could have worn it with pride.

A knock came at the door of the store. Rarity opened it to greet one of the overseers. This pony that had entered was a pure white male with eyes black as the night. He wore thick leather armor, held a small gladius in his saddle and was crowned with a helmet of bronze. Happily, Rarity brought him in and showed him the dress that was displayed upon a manikin.

The stallion looked at it with discontent for about one minute. He spoke then gruffly, “This is not what was expected of you. It’s not what was asked of you. If I were to deliver this I would be greeted by only disgust and laughter. Burn it and start over. Follow the order more precisely this time.” So saying this, he promptly exited, slamming the door behind him.

I looked at Rarity whose face was frozen in a mix of horror and shock.

I needed to say something fast. “Rarity, I—”

She cut me off using a reserved voice and maintaining her stunned expression. “No don’t say anything. It’s fine Michael. I guess I just need to be less creative.” It was not long before she broke down; galloping up the stairs and locking the door to wail and cry out a river.

Unfortunately for Rarity, the inhabitants of Heaven generally do not take pains top comfort one another. [I think from here on I will use the Heavenly name “Aesirs” for simplification rather than the earthly “inhabitants of Heaven”] There, if you want privacy, the easiest way to receive it is to do exactly what Rarity did. The immortals do not attempt to comfort one another, for our problems are usually too big to offer help, but we leave time to heal emotional wounds. Hence I did not have much experience with comforting people, even though at the time I ruled on an earthly throne.

Because her door was locked, the best I could do was beg for her to come out. When that did not work I tried to talk to her, but her only response was that she wanted to be alone. Yet I am certain that this was far from the case. So for the remainder of the day she stayed locked away in her room; sobbing.

She remained in a bitter mood for the rest of the week. Yet there was no stopping the work she had to do. Following the orders of the overseer, she burnt her masterpiece outside (I nearly wept when I saw the flames consume weeks of her life) and began working on a new one the next morning. The desolate look in her eyes betrayed the façade that she put on as she made her new dress of repression. Each night throughout the week I think that she cried until her eyes were red.

I was greatly saddened by Rarity’s distress. When I mused on the gravity of her grief, I truly began to suffer with her. Yes I saw the luxury in which she lived in, but when I examined the income she would have made otherwise I immediately saw that she was living far below her means. She worked all day long and yet she received no fruit for her toil. When I considered her position, I reasoned that her life was even worse than that of Applejack or Pinkie Pie. At least when they worked, the quality of their work was not judged. Nor did they put great effort into one of their projects. On the farm I never remember paying special attention to one wheat stalk nor did I take great pride in one masterful cake when I worked in the company of Pinkie. All of her effort went into one project and when that one project was finished, it could all be for nothing.

I also discerned that she had another restraint. She could not express herself in any manner, which seemed to be in direct opposition of her character. You could tell in in the tone she spoke, in the way that she ordered her words, in the manners by which she conducted herself. Every part of her sought to express herself. The one thing that she wanted, she could not have.

There was also a deep longing in her that I could not see until later. Rarity knew that something was missing in her life. She had little to no interaction with other ponies. She had no friends; no one to comfort her in a way that I could not. Neither was Sweetie Bell old enough to comprehend her sister’s anguish. Solitude was a great curse for her.

On the night of her rejection, despite my lack of ability in the department of comfort, I came to Rarity’s locked door and spoke to her. Despite her angry cries to leave her alone I spoke to her soothing words all through the night. I knew inside she did not desire solitude. She desired a comforter but the pain would not let her seek aid. In the day I took every chance I could to reassure her of her genius and that those in Canterlot were mistaken. The night came and she would lock herself away. If the Aesirs are not competent in comfort, they are exceptional in patience; I persisted without fail in my efforts each night and day. I repeated my process in an attempt to have her let me enter. This continued for seven days and six nights.

On the seventh night, I assume that my efforts finally drove away the spirit of Solitude. Because of this, when I came to her door and asked if she would let me in as I did every night, she came to it and unlocked the deadbolt; welcoming me into her bedroom. She let me in and lie upon her bed in tears.

I spoke first when she appeared silent. “Miss Rarity, let me convey again my condolences for your loss.” When she only responded with a sob I continued. “I realize that there is not much I could say about your present situation that would lift your spirits; however, I have decided because of the severity of your despondency, that I will reveal a few secrets to you that will make you glad.

My tone became sober; one that I remember using many times when relating to my daughter the secrets of the empyreal world. “Now before I tell you of joy I must speak to you of sorrow. Before you can understand what wonders await you, you must understand the wretchedness of your situation. I am extremely sorry that I must further increase your pain before I can make it any better, but unfortunately, that is often how healing works.” I paused and waited for her approval. She did not express any revulsion from what I was saying so I continued.

“Each and every day you work without rest; performing a job that you dislike because of its constrictions upon your nature. Nine out of every ten parts of your wealth is taken from you and sent to Canterlot. For those around you it is ninety nine out of a hundred parts of what they earn. Worse of all, the laws against congregation prohibit you from gaining much company, and it keeps you in a deprived state of mind. Of this wretchedness I will speak no further. It is not my place to tell you of that which you are missing out on. That is a solemn duty that is reserved for one of your own race.

“Yet this pain is not the end of the matter. I think that you deserve to hear that you have the power to live in complete joy. Now you must understand what I say when I say ‘joy.’ Joy is not happiness. Happiness is an emotion. Hence, happiness is fleeting. It is what a person feels when good things happen to them. But as soon as hardship makes its way towards them, happiness flees from them like a rabbit from the dogs. Joy, in contrast, is not a trivial, passing feeling. Joy is a conscious choice to be glad even in the face of adversity. That decision creates a lasting sort of happiness. Although that choice is impossible to make if one does not understand at least one of the seven secrets.”

Rarity had ceased her weeping and now was looking at me with a face of curiosity. I took this as a sign that I could go on. “Now as you may have guessed, I am not from this world. My homeland is in a place called Álfheim, but they who dwell there call it Osiris. Yet although I was born there, it is not the place that I am destined to live. I have spent a great deal of time in and will spend many more years in a place called Asgard. You here in Equestria would call it ‘Heaven’ which means ‘the sky.’ This is an incomplete description as it is not physically located in the sky, but I digress.

“In Heaven there is a great library where books written by many angels are kept. Some of those books contain dark secrets and are locked with silver clasps which few know how to open. Others contain falsehood and are bound by black animal skin. Still others contain truth and are bound with white animal skin. There is a white book that bears the title Arcani Septimi Gaudio which in your language translates to ‘The Seven Secrets to Joy.’ As its name suggests, the book contains seven secrets that lead to perfect and complete joy. Long ago, mortals were given clues as to what the secrets might be, but these clues have been lost to time. Yet now I believe that under the circumstances, I can reveal to you the clue that hints at the first of the seven secrets. I wish that I could simply give you the secret, yet there are many statues against it that my master in Heaven has written to prevent any immortal from giving too much to the mortals.

“Over the course of the nights when you were weeping in here, I deliberated heavily over how I would relate this to you. Yet I could not think of any mortal who grasped the secret well enough to write of it. But then I remembered a poem that I once heard.”

My voice changed as I began to speak of that poem. The sound that came out of my mouth was only a whisper, yet the intensity in it was unmistakable. “I was once in a prison in my younger days. It was dark and forlorn there; each day an eternity of purposeless anguish. With swords and knives they tortured me endlessly all day and night long. There was no end to my suffering. It was so intense, but they would not do away with me. They always drove me to the edge, and left but a little life left in me. Then they healed me with their dark magic and started again. With every moment that passed, a portion of my resolve ebbed away. Each passing second came on step closer to the loss of my sanity and life. I would have lost myself there. I was about to die from the wretchedness of my depression.

“Then I fell into it. Before that day, I knew not what true hopelessness meant, but I did then. It is the feeling of being trapped, chained down, rendered completely immobile. There are many was to kill. Flesh burns, bones break, but to take hope from someone is to truly destroy them. I was so without hope that day when all I knew was pain, but what utterly broke me was that I could do nothing about it.

“I found that everything is meaningless without hope. Without hope, even the strongest are weak, the wisest are foolish, and the wealthiest are poor. All of the world appears different through the glasses of hopelessness. You realize that there is only blackness everywhere; even where you thought the light once reigned. Every day, all that is before you is the present, unforgiving pain, and the inescapable future which is before you. The pain is so intense and your body begs for it to cease. But then you ask yourself, ‘What would it profit to end the pain? Just another will replace it, and who knows if it will be worse?’ In the endless abyss of your soul you wander as your life fades unexplainably. There is nowhere to go, but if there was, would there be any reason to go there?

But I also learned that hope does not begin in the light, but in the dark. Just as the doctor does not seek the healthy, hope does not seek those who are without tribulation. Hope comes in the twilight hours when the light has been missed for the greatest amount of time. The night is at its blackest and a multitude of demons roam free. She raps on the door of your numb heart. They jeer at her saying, ‘You are wasting time goddess. He has been lost.’ There is no answer (what is the purpose in you answering? Who is this that they call hope?).

But she is patient and resolute. She softly knocks at the door; persisting relentlessly. Finally, for no particular reason, you open the latch, and she comes in. This is I learned of hope during that time.

“Unexpectedly, the dawn came. Hope came. Light soon overtook the agony that was extinguishing my spirit. There it ignited a fire that spread throughout my spirit and then engulfed my soul. It was a realization brought about by a poem that I had read long ago. The words in that poem were my strength each passing day. When my tormentors saw they change in me, the defiance against their efforts, my harsh words for them, and my unaffected resolve, they were astonished and immensely angry. They tried all the harder to receive a response from me. They invented new tortures, tried different methods, even read books (God forbid!) to try and break me like I was so recently. But there was nothing they could do nothing to dishearten or weaken me. I was unconquerable.

I would now like to share with you the poem that revealed to me one of the secrets. This is what he wrote:

‘Out of the night that covers me,

Black is the pit from pole to pole.

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced, nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance,

My head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the horror of the shade.

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate.

I am the captain of my soul.’”

I fell silent and let her take in the words that I had spoken. For an hour we sat motionless, and over time, her humor improved. She was happy for the first time in a week. She embraced me and said “Thank you so much Michael for that. Although I cannot understand fully everything you’ve said, I’m consoled now. I think that I can go back to my work with willingness now.” Hearing this, I left her to her thoughts.

I had to be very careful during this time. I found that now I was becoming attached to the unicorn. I had to be very careful how I proceeded. I had to remember that she was a mortal, and that, though she provided very good company, she would one day pass away. As much as I liked being with her, I could not allow myself to become her friend. It would be too painful for me when I had to leave her or she had to leave me.

Over the next few days, I witnessed that Rarity was slowly becoming happy again. The look in her eyes when she focused on her work was the same as it was before. She put great effort into the dress that she was making and did so contritely. She smiled as she used to, and during the nights, I conversed with her over tea; something that I had always enjoyed.

This change of events was pleasing, but I was greatly troubled. I saw that although she was gladdened by my words, but she did not fully understand. She was blind; blinded by the continuous brainwashing of the oppressors to whom she was subject. This realization was extremely painful and became all the more agonizing still as the long days passed on. I had succeeded in helping her through this one issue, but the next tribulation she faced, would be met with the same, distressed attitude.

One night it became too much for me. I walked out of the boutique for the first time in ages and saw again the dimly light streets on Ponyville. Again I went down the street to the outside; staring out the ground all the way. Nothing had changed. The blocks were grey and desolate; the only life inside the houses. The air was cold, winter was at its zenith. I scoffed. Winter is my favorite season. At that time I could not enjoy it.

I went out into the woods and I found my stomping grounds; that grove where I had uttered many expressions of sadness. I came to the center of the clearing and fell to my knees; my head drooping. I sat there doing nothing but stare at the ground for a moment. Then I looked up at the moon. I saw in the moon a great figure, but I blinked away the thought. “I am too prone to look for order in the orderless.” I said to myself. And I spoke yet another lament; another bitter speech.

“Woe to those who seek pleasure.

I have seen its value with my eyes.

Pleasures are valued at nothing.

They too are meaningless.

Laughter is foolish.

It accomplishes nothing.

Nice things are dung.

They bring not joy and soon fade.

I have seen those who desired to build great projects.

I saw a passionate master at work;

happy in his labor.

Yet his work was not valued.

His years were poured into it.

His years are now gone.

What has he gained?

Nothing.

It is better mourn than to feast.

For death is common to all mortals.

The end of a matter is better than its beginning.

As it is with the good man so it is with the sinner.”

Rainbow Dash [Draft]

Hearing my cry, Passion, the immortal in the flesh, appeared from behind one of the trees and came to me. A moment of silence passed with him standing over my body which had fallen to the ground. A soft breeze swept by and blew a few dead leaves over me. I did not brush them away.

I discerned that he was exercising great willpower in not speaking first. It was not within his nature to stand pensively and wait; for he is Passion. He is an emotional god, but he is not an emotion. His power rises in intensity based on situation, but for those who he truly influences, his power has lasting effects. Passion is a higher concept that the body cannot feel. Only the spirit can comprehend it.

Anyone who has in them the spirit of Passion will not back down from any challenge or stand down even to the test of time. Passion is the god that makes the goal clear and illuminates it in glory. He makes that goal so desirable, so wonderfully necessary, that they will have the courage and resolve to strike down with great force any mighty adversary that stands in their way. He is a force of action; a spirit of accomplishment who is not accustomed to stagnancy. Hence it was not his way to stand still as he did.

Understanding this, I decided not to test him and addressed him weakly. “Passion, neither Hope nor Endurance is with us. There is no angel which has come to our aid. I can only see the spirits of the Dark One, who are so great in number that they are like the bees of a hive. I am not even sure that the Almighty one even sees the pain they undergo—”

He spoke with a harsh voice. “The Almighty sees all! Whether or not he chooses to send aid or not is a matter of his perfect will. Do not question sovereignty!”

My feeble voice was not altered by his outburst. “Apologies Passion; Although you have spoken well of our situation, I am not certain that the fates desire that things change here. We have both assumed that they desired for the freeing of the people because of their few, unaffiliated changes in person, yet they have not spoken. No one can claim to truly know the will of the Fates.”

“Michael, I have no doubt in this. You are letting the hardship best you. Did not your imprisonment in your own palace, or your time in the ninth ring [of Hel], or your days before your salvation teach you that Hope always comes to the darkest of times?”

“Are they truly downtrodden though? They do not know any better. Are they truly suffering if they have nothing with which to compare their low status? Without pleasure can pain exist?” I asked.

“It is true that ignorance is indeed bliss, but each one of them holds the same things in common. Take the female you are living with for example. I will say that her most recent episode was a passing moment and that she seems to be content during most of her days. But deep within the confines of her mangled spirit, her suppressed sense of justice yet lives. She knows without realizing it that there is something more. She simply does not know what.”

I sighed. This was going nowhere. “You have spoken well, but how much longer must I wait?”

“Come now, where is your strength? Where is that king I saw only two millennia ago standing up to challenge the third Fate herself? Where is the craving for more of life’s weight? Come let us ask not for less, but for more. As the task becomes more difficult, the reward and the joy in that reward become greater.”

An excited chill ran up my spine as I understood the meaning behind his last sentence. Raising myself up, I spoke. “No being, mortal or immortal, can resist the allure of the spirit-lifting Passion. His words inspire even the most cowardly of men to open war and encourage even the most demoralized angels to fight.” Ending my praise I asked, “Have you any new missions for me? Your last recommendation resulted in what one may call a promotion.”

Passion, now pleased with my change of tone, responded. “You have seen the ponies of the earth and you have broken bread with the unicorns. Yet even as a spirit you have not laid eyes on the pegasi. Tomorrow your wings should have enough strength in them to bear you to the clouds. Visit with the first one you meet: the one who proved the legends true. They are the last free race of this realm; for even the goddess who sits on the earthly throne of this world cannot lay siege to the heavens. Tomorrow, after the last ray of light has left the sky, go to her.”

I thanked him for his words, and he departed swiftly. And with the higher feeling of passion in my spirit, I returned to the Carousel Boutique to sleep away the few hours of night I had left.

I was already awake before the dawn came. I was awoken by a dream some time during my attempt to achieve some hours of rest. I often had dreams of great terror. Not that I was afraid. I had become used to it over time. I just could not bring myself to return to slumber after awaking from a nightmare. Nonetheless, Passion’s speeches where still vivid in my head and drove me on through the day. I worked as I always did and the sun rose and set as it did.

When the sun had set, I told Rarity that I would be going out as was becoming my habit in the night. Going to another secluded area, I removed my shirt and extended my wings. I stretched them outward like a man would his arms or legs after sitting in one position for a long time. My wings were unused to this type of treatment. I rarely used them. In fact, I could only remember ever using them on two types of occasions: when I stood before the Almighty and used them to cover my face as a sign of respect and when I traveled through realms. No, I rarely put them to use.

I also reached behind my back and felt that my seal had returned. It had grown back with my skin. This gladdened me as the proof of my purpose had returned to me. I also noticed the many other scars that I had accumulated during that night with Pinkie Pie. It would be a while before they disappeared. Yet, they did give me a sense of accomplishment. The scars I wore were like medals given to a soldier to an Aesir. So with the boldness that I had not felt in ages, and with a mighty push of my wings, I pushed myself upward towards the city of Cloudsdale.

As I ascended I spotted a hole in the clouds and flew through it. Coming above the clouds, I decided to try my luck and let myself fall onto one of them. Success. My feet touched its surface and sunk as one would on a pillow, but the cloud I found to be as solid ground. I did not think much of it. I had seen it done before and as to how this breach in the laws of physics occurred was a quest for another day.

Looking ahead of me, I saw nothing but the tops of the clouds illuminated by the moon, but as I turned around, a great marvel caught me off guard. Before me I saw a huge mansion which must have been nine thousand square feet large and as tall as one hundred feet. I could tell that it was made of out the clouds and it reflected in the moonlight a brilliant white color. Supporting it were many great Greek columns and there were at least four pillars each a hundred feet tall around it. It had three towers horizontally stretched across the edifice. The one on the left was one seventy five feet tall. The middlemost tower was one hundred feet tall and the right tower was sixty six feet tall. Each had the likeness of Byzantine influence; being capped with domes. On its right side was a rainbow that took that likeness of a waterfall that faded into nothingness as it stretched down towards the ground.

Seeing this great wonder, I was frozen by its magnificence for a moment. My amazement did not pass, but it eventually weakened to the point that I was no longer transfixed upon the castle-like house. I strode across the Aether to the large door that was the apparent entrance to the manor. I came to it and realized that oddly, it was the only part of the building not made of cloud but of wood and iron. I made the assumption that this was to make it more conspicuous. I rapped thrice upon the door and waited.

I received no answer and knocked again. Still, there was no answer. So I gave up and turned away. But as soon as I turned, I heard a voice from above say, “What, you didn’t think I would actually bother to use the front door did you?”

I looked upwards and saw from the overhang of the porch, there was a blue, female pegasus with a mane colored as a rainbow, around the age of twenty, gazing at me with a look of mischievous delight. Her voice was curious. When she spoke I felt a feeling of exhilaration swish about me. Yet her voice cracked as though she was younger than she appeared.

I countered her comment with an entertained tone. “I did indeed assume that you would answer the front door when I knocked. I have traveled to many lands; to the far east and west, north and south, but in all of those places, no matter how strange their customs, every person whose door I knocked on always answered their front door if they were present within their home.”

A twinkle appeared in the eye of the winged air-mistress as she dropped from the ledge to the top of the stairs in front of me. “Well, that’s because none of them were as awesome as me, Rainbow Dash.” Her voice cracked again, but I could not help but shiver with glee over the power and confidence that her voice commanded.

It had been a time since I had met somebody with such confidence as this mare. Yet I would not lose this verbal battle. She had incited me to a war of words. And although I would remain respectful throughout, I would strike swiftly and terribly until she submitted. “Well, Miss Rainbow Dash, you have just betrayed yourself? Until now I was not sure if this was your dwelling or not, but you just confirmed that. That makes us even. I know that you live here and you know that I have traveled in the past. Yet I believe that the former intelligence is of most use in our present time.”

She dodged my blow and struck elsewhere. “Oh yeah, well, I think I’ve done some pretty cool stuff that you don’t know about too.”

Ah, this was becoming interesting. She had just scored a critical blow. I did not see it a fit time to speak specifically of the many battles I had fought and the voluminous expeditions on which I had undergone. This was not because she was particularly witty, it was just by chance. She had taken a high-risk gamble and I just happened that I could not counter. I was smote, but by no means defeated. If I could just catch her on one continuous train of thoughts she would be fighting a losing battle. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and let her audacity feed my curiosity.

“And what deeds might you be referring to Miss Dash?” I had her here. She could not resist the bait on his hook. The second that she responded, I would launch an attack on the significance of her past triumph and then the battle would be underway. It would continue on until I wore her out. Mentally exhausted, she would yield.

Yet her answer caught me off guard. She turned to her side and lifted her hoof. “Oh, not much, I’m just the only pony in all of Equestria alive to ever have performed the sonic rainboom.”

Then I realized it. It was her: that pegasus that I saw when she was just a filly. There was no doubting it. She bore the same features as the filly that had been so favored by the Fate. And I saw on her flank a cutie mark that chronicled the events of that day. The sigil represented a cloud. Coming from that bottom of that cloud was a rainbow that took the form of a lightning bolt. Truly, this was her. This was the pegasus who Skuld had chosen to set a series of unknowingly connected events in motion.

I faltered for a moment; desperately trying to gain a hold on myself before any significant amount of time passed. If I waited more than a few seconds, my silence would be understood as a sign of surrender. With no more than a second left after I pulled myself out of my stupor, I said with all of my years of experience in verbal conflict, “And do you know what that means Miss Dash?” It was a statement that only bought me a few seconds, but a few seconds was all that was needed.

“You bet I do. It means I am not only a legend, but a talented enough flyer to join the Wonderbolts.”

Jackpot. I did not have to be familiar with who she was talking about. This was it: the killing blow. “And can you be sure of that my dear lady?”

I had dealt with many cocky girls like her. This was child’s play beyond this point. All according to plan, she lost it and was fixed on battling me for that one statement. She was convinced that she was baluable enough to join these “Wonderbolts” and all I had to do was tire her out; defending that one statement. Arguing is much like physical battle. The more time expended, the more the value of endurance becomes evident. Our conflict continued on for another five minutes.

In the end I knew that I was the victor. She had won one engagement: the previous one. I gave it to her. But the next statement I made would spell her defeat. Yet I did not choose victory. I was satisfied enough knowing that I could have won if I wanted. Of course I played the better man and did not play my trump card. I gave in even though I had the tool of her demise in the palm of my hand. Diplomacy is always better than martial force when the opportunity exists. This pony would provide a wonderful sparring partner and if I let her win the first war, I would not only entice her to fight with me another day, but I would be on good terms with her outside of the battlefield of the tongues.

“Well, I do concede Miss Dash. You are indeed a worthy flyer and the greatest one I have ever seen. I wish you luck in that endeavor.”

A euphoric and exultant look of glee crossed her face when she saw that she was officially triumphant. “Yeah I am aren’t I? You know what? I like you. What’s your name?”

“My name is Michael Iaponis Fujiwara, but call me simply by my first name. I would love to hear about your feats in greater detail if you would care to indulge me.”

She chuckled and said, “Well that’s a pretty weird name but, sure, why not? Come on in.” She flew up to the lowest window and went through it and beckoned for me to follow her inside. I had lost the battle but gained a friend. Tactical retreats are so wonderful. The way I saw it, I had won two victories.

After I squeezed myself through the tight window, I was surprised at what I saw. Although very spacious, Rainbow Dash’s home was nearly empty. I believed that I knew why, but I asked her nonetheless, “Miss Rainbow Dash, I am a stranger to this world, could you tell me how the pegasi relate to the world below?”

Her cheery expression changed as she began to answer this question. “Oh, ok … Well our job here is to control the weather and we do that pretty well. But those guards from Canterlot, they don’t pay us good for it. They say it should be a full time job and we don’t that we wanna work 24/7 so they only give us a few bites to eat every now and then. So we started having to steal food in order to keep ourselves alive. It’s a pirate’s life, but so far none of us have gotten caught.”

I thought as much. I the end, the pegasi where free, living in palaces made by their own hooves, but lived not better than street rats. “Ah, I’m sorry Miss Rainbow Dash.”

Her demeanor snapped back as she said, “Oh, just call me Dash. Come on, let’s go outside and have some fun.”

I had never flown before, so flying as a primary method of travel was different. Yet Rainbow Dash commanded the skies with her mighty wings and performed daring feats as if she were stepping over a hole in the ground on her way. I did my best to keep up, but she outdid me without even trying or really intending it. It had been a long while since I felt that I was the amateur at anything in quite a while (except for maybe dressmaking, but Rarity did not deliberately flaunt the gap between my skill and hers so obvious).

Rainbow Dash buckled over in laughter when I could not perform tasks that she considered simple. “Haha … you- you were talking so tough twenty minutes … pfft … ago.” And she lost herself for a while in hilarity. Regaining control, she mustered, “Ah, I never thought you’d be a rookie.” When she had finally ended her laughing fit, she said, “Here, let me help you.”

So throughout the night, Rainbow Dash coached me through some simple flight maneuvers. I was not as agile as she was, so it was difficult for me, and when she wanted me to free-fall fifty feet short of the ground (which she said was like a bunny slope) I almost quaked in anxiety. I cannot imagine how it would have continued had I not seen that the sun was approaching dawn.

“Ah,” I said with some dismay. Though terrifying for myself as a beginner, flying was exhilarating. “I apologize, Dash, I must be off to work. Unlike you, I am bound to a duty that requires my vigilance from sunup to sundown.”

In disappointment, she said, “Aw, do you have to leave now?”

“I am afraid so; however, I can return after the bright circle has run its circuit in the heavens.”

Excitedly, she said, “Great, see you then.” Eagerness is such a diverting base emotion.

Returning to the ground brought me down low in both senses of the phrase. From above the clouds, one could not be blinded by them, so the moon always cast her bluish glow on all the world had to offer. But the sun, bright as it was, seemed to give off only a faint degree of light. It burned viciously in the heavens; unchanging from every time I looked out the windows of Rarity’s house.

Yet I will not go as far to say that the sky felt any freer than the earth. Even distracted in the air, I still knew that I was subject to the sun. I knew also that Rainbow Dash was just as much a slave to Celestia as any I had visited thus far. Rather, the sun was in the sky. It never touched the earth. So it seemed to me that although the pegasi where free, they were all the more bound.

Just like the ponies who dwelled on the ground, they were blinded by the sun in the day. They had no conception of what it meant to have luxury of comfort.

The thing that I liked about the heavens was that you could see the moon so clearly at night, not being dimmed by the bottoms of the clouds. The moon was so clear, so pure, not like the yellow light of the sun. It was night, but the moon seemed to provide more light than in the day. When Rainbow Dash granted me a break from the agility training, I had a moment to look clearly at it.

As I did with Pinkie Pie and Rarity, I went back to the domain of Rainbow Dash each night and enjoyed her company. Yet as the nights passed by, I began to realize that she was gladder to see me than I was to see her. Not that I was growing tired of her, but she was just ecstatic every time I ascended.

As soon as my head bypassed the hole in the clouds she leapt upon me and forced me to “play” with her (in other words, “perform death-defying stunts). And a thought came into my head. A dark, looming thought that I did not want to accept: she, like all those before her, was lonely. She had the same problem as every other pony in all of Equestria on which I had yet laid eyes.

The allegory held firm. They were all, even the pegasi, chained to the wall; their heads braced so that the cold, dark, rigid, featureless wall was all they could see. Perhaps the cave was ovular, and the pegasi were chained so they were the closest to the dim fire in the center of the cave, but it was not enough. Rainbow Dash, even with the heart of a conqueror in her, could only see shadows, not light. In the end, an imprisoned pony is imprisoned, no matter how close to the escape she is.

Months went by me. Winter gave way to Spring after a curious event that they call the “Winter Wrap Up,” which I shall not speak of in the book. Spring went on about its way and I discerned that it was late in the month of May. With each passing day I felt that I was becoming a closer friend to Rainbow Dash. I found that in addition to her commanding, overconfident side, she also was a master of pranks and was a bit lazy at times. She was great fun to be around and rarely was in somber; the kind of mood with which I am very familiar.

I will say though that there was never any down time in her presence. Take one day for example when I devoted some time to studying the planet’s moon. Again I fancied that I saw in the craters of the moon that shape of a unicorn’s head. I tried to convince myself otherwise, but in the end I asked my companion about it. She told me that she too saw the shape of a unicorn in the moon. Yet when I tried to make sense of it she told me to stop staring at nonsense and “get back to training.” She brought me back to the world of hard training, which we both enjoyed dearly.

Despite the hardship of living in a dystopian society, being with Rainbow Dash was not so bad. She was always so happy to see me, which was bittersweet. I was happy that she enjoyed my friendship but I knew that she was deprived of relation so much that she thought I was amusing. I was about as amusing a person as a doornail.

I also found that she was not so much of a philosopher. I had been looking for one pony in Ponyville who could share with me the journey of looking for the truth. Rarity was about as close as I came, but I could not always speak of dreadful things without her attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere. With Rainbow Dash, I was equally limited in conversation. However, she did prove to be an effective opponent in verbal sparing matches to which I was so accustomed.

I had not drawn a sword in ages and it was wearing on my soul. The lack of battle was making me a bit tense. The flight training that I was undergoing had provided a nice substitute to begin with but it was becoming easier for me and therefore my bloodlust was rising. I needed a challenge. It is not good for one who is born to carry out mission to sit still for long. Yet speaking with Rainbow Dash for more than an extended period of time always led to some sort of respectable conflict. Although she was not well versed in grammar or terribly articulate, she was unrelenting, and that is what made her mind interesting.

She was also a very persistent meddler. Day by day she pried at my senses. She already knew that I was hiding enough stories to fill up hundreds of libraries of books, and I was reluctant to tell her. I had already leaked one of those stories into this world and I was reluctant to loose any more. But she knew what she wanted and she would not let go of the goal.

One day, after she was smiling with glee after a victory (one actually won this time), she asked me a question that made me jump. “Michael, how did you get that cutie mark of yours?”

“Ah, Dash, worry not about this sign, you may not find the story interesting.” Using the subjunctive mood was the best I could do here. I just had to hope for the best.

“Oh, so there is a story behind it. Tell me. I wanna hear.”

Merda! This would not do. “It would be a waste of your time.” I had to change the subject fast. “Hey, I think I’m ready to try that corkscrew free-fall again.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She said blatantly.

Chikusho! “Ah, look at the time. I think that the sun is going to rise soon. I guess I need to head back to Ponyville now.”

“The moon is directly overhead.”

Bugger! “Alright, I guess I cannot dodge your question forever. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts.”

She agreed to give me a moment. As quickly as I could I started to develop a story that would betray as little about myself as possible. When I was quite sure that I was not breaking any of the statutes or interfering too much with a realm that I did not have dominion over, I began.

“What you ask for is a dark story. It is full of many events that I will not relate to you because they are not for your ears. Maybe someday, if this world is different, I will tell you the full story, but only if the world changes. In addition, the unabridged story is very long and I would not have time to tell all of it tonight. Therefore, for these reasons, I will give you an appropriate account of how this mark appeared upon my back, forever to stay.

“I was born in a place that is today called Osiris by its inhabitants. At that time, unlike this world, the country was not stable. People fought each other in order to see who would gain power over one another. They say that this war was as old as time. I myself cannot say when it started because there were no men alive who saw its beginning and no one who had passed bothered to write it down or speak about it to others.

To make a very long story short, as soon as I could, I helped bring stability and the war ended. And I ruled as king over that realm for a long while.”

Rainbow Dash exploded in excitement. “Oh my gosh, you were a king?”

“I was many things before coming here. Yes I used to be the king of that region. But during that time I was undergoing a time of trouble in my life. I had a thorn in my side that I could not remove. So it came to pass that I came to possess a certain substance, and this substance was very valuable. So valuable it was that some of my closest friends made an assassination attempt on my life.” Rainbow Dash’s face stared to display her awe.

“I will not say how, but to some extent, it was successful. But as you can see, I still live. Out of anger I set out to kill my assassins, and ended up taking the lives of many innocents.”

She gasped. “Yet the most lasting of short-term consequences was that I imprisoned one of my good friends from an undue amount of time. She is alright now, but she would not be where is today if it were not for my transgression against her. Perhaps one day you will meet her.

“Yet for me, that matter was over. I did not think about it for a great number of years. During that time many things happened. One of those important this was that I retained my kingship, but became also a servant to a greater king.”

Rainbow Dash interjected. “What? You let a bully tell you what to do?”

“My becoming a servant was a choice of my own. And every day I thank my master for giving me that choice. It is my greatest joy to serve him and see his other servants happy. It is that vicarious joy that has kept me going ever since.

“Yet there came a day when my master wanted to promote me, to be one of the greatest among his servants, which was a great honor indeed. But unfortunately, when he examined my record of deeds, he remembered the sin that I had committed so long ago in slaughtering my assassins. Because of that one deed, I could rise no higher.

“But I was committed to his will. I would do anything I could to serve him to my fullest effort. So I begged him to consider if there was any way that I could atone for my sin. He answered that I would have to take the punishment that they were at the time receiving. I shuddered at this thought. I knew where they were imprisoned: the land of the inglorious dead, which is called Hel in my master’s realm and Hades in my homeland. Their punishment’s duration would be for all time. I could not pay it in a standard way. So my master told me that I would suffer in their place seven times their torment for a number of years that he had determined, but would remain unknown to me.

“I could do nothing but agree. Ah, Miss Rainbow, are you sure that you would like me to continue? This part is not exactly fitting for a lady’s ears.”

She nodded, still lost in the story that I was recounting. “Very well, so I was taken to the darkest, coldest park of Hades which is called, ‘Ha Hafrada.’ And for an immeasurable amount of time I was subjected to the worst tortures that you can imagine and greater. Day and night (I say “day and night” but it was always dark there) my screams where heard throughout the realm and it was unending.

“But I did this again out of choice and each day I comforted myself with the idea that I would soon be released. It was not hope that I had, but rather it was a word that I have not yet coined. What I mean is that I thought that I would be released, but I was not completely certain. I believed, but I did not have faith that my master would remember me in my agony.

“As time dragged on, the notion of being free of pain became a foreign concept. All I knew was suffering. It is very difficult to describe but although the pain was still horribly agonizing I was almost numb to it. The best way to understand it is to try and imagine that you had never known pleasure (for I had forgotten what pleasure felt like). Then try to imagine what pain felt like. You would have nothing to compare it to so it would be difficult to say whether it where bad or not.

“I have no idea no when it happened but there was a point which I just stopped dreaming that I would be released. I had become a part of that world: the world of suffering, and there I would remain forever, so I thought. Finally, my master sent a messenger to tell me that the time was almost over. I paid the messenger no attention and just assumed that it was a trick of my mind. I did not even comprehend fully what that meant. What was there other than this place? Where would I go? What would this place I was released into be like? It was a mystery.

“Finally they came for me and took me from Ha Hafrada. It took ten years for my injuries to heal and a long time for my mind to readjust to a world without suffering. It was so foreign, but I felt that I could become used to it. So when I had regained my sanity, my master brought me before him, and carved this seal into my back. And he promoted me, and I was rewarded for my choice with power and wealth seven times the amount of pain I had suffered there.”

I ended my story and Rainbow Dash stared in wonder. “Wow,” she said. “You must have been so brave. I could never have done that.”

I struggled to see if I could relate this to her. I thought about then immediate moral of my story. Then I realized that I had accidentally and unintentionally hidden one of the seven secrets to joy in that story. Damn. I could not keep my mouth shut. Then I consoled myself when I remembered that the statues allow for the use of story when relating secrets. At that time, the sun was about to rise, and I had to make my way to Ponyville to gain and hour or two of sleep.

The next night was about the same. I became a little better at flying and Rainbow Dash gave her side of the story of how she received her cutie mark. I am sure that you are already familiar with all the sides of that story so I will not go into detail about it. Her tale did not take as long as mine did so I had about three hours of sleep if I left at the instant. I was about to part, but she stopped me.

“Don’t go.” She said; blocking my path.

“Rainbow Dash, I should go to bed a little earlier tonight. I have not slept much recently, and coupling with my day work, it is starting to become a bit taxing.” I had already started a bore a bit deeper than I expected into the reserve of the first seal and if I went much further it would break: something that I did not want to go through in Equestria if I could avoid it.

“You don’t have to go you know.” Her voice sounded different than usual. It still cracked, but it lacked her usual tone of confidence. Now I could hear only a different tone, but I could not make out what is was. “You could just stay here.”

“I have to go to work on the morning. I work in Ponyville you know.”

“But you don’t have to do that. You could just stay in Cloudsdale.”

I now knew where this was going. The tone that was in her voice was desperation. I had to be very careful how I addressed this situation. “Rainbow Dash, I am not a pegasus. Could you not find another of your own kind to keep you company until I return?”

She looked away for a moment. There was an ominous silence that ensued. Finally, she managed, “I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to keep it a secret.”

That was never a good phrase. I had heard it all too many times. I braced myself. Her voice sounded harshly through the night air. “There are barely any pegasi left! They are either hiding from the princess or working for her as her guards. Didn’t it seem odd to you that I have the only house in Cloudsdale? When they couldn’t make us work for them they killed a lot of us!”

“How can what you say be true? I have seen many pegasi attending to the weather each day.”

“Those are the ones that the princess was able to buy out and enslave. As far as I know, I’m the only free one in Cloudsdale.”

I then realized the dilemma I was in. Rainbow Dash was not lonely for no good reason. The sun goddess waged genocide with those who she could not control. I was now facing a truly abandoned pony. It hit me hard. “Rainbow, I cannot express with words my sadness to hear what you are saying. I can say that in my time I have felt similar pain to your loss. But I ask you, please, be reasonable for a moment—”

“You be reasonable! I just want to be your friend and you keep leaving me every night. Every day I worry whether or not you’ll come back. I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid you’ll get killed like the rest. You have wings too ya know.”

She was now breathing deeply from shouting. This was not the Rainbow Dash that I knew: the Rainbow Dash that told me I was a wimp for not wanting to free fall five thousand feet and spread my wings just before I hit the ground. This was not her. I tried to speak with soothing words, but alas, I have found in situations like this there is little one can say that will calm down the shouter. “Rainbow, my good friend, you must understand that I cannot always be with you.”

This made her recoil at first, but then she screamed at me, causing tears to form in her eyes, “Why not? Why can’t you just stay here? Why? Why? Why? Do you know what I’ve been through? Do you know what it’s like living every day without anyone?”

She was breathing even more heavily now and tears were rolling freely down her eyes. In truth, the answer was yes. I did know what is what like. I myself had spent seventy years as a winged mortal. I lived every day alone and without any help. People avoided me like the plague because of a curse. I lived every day in utter anguish. It was then that ever failed a test of endurance and formed my pact with the Dark One; a pact that I regret making to this day. Yet at the same time my heart was melting for her. It was not an easy pain to take. Rather, I can say that it was a mental equivalent to my time in Ha Hafrada. Loneliness, I declare, is the worse mental suffering a person can be subjected to in their life.

That was it. I knew where this was going. I was either going to be badly hurt or end up in Cloudsdale for good. I had to end this fast. I turned heel and started running towards the clouds’ edge. It would buy me some time. Just as I jumped off, I heard her shout something incoherent. I didn’t have time to respond. She would be after me and I would be at a disadvantage.

As soon as I opened my wings and began speeding across the sky, I could hear her galloping towards the edge. I had about five seconds to think of a plan. I spotted the Everfree forest and aimed myself towards it. On a madman’s chance that I was able to reach it, I would be at an advantage. Four seconds left. Options started running through my head fast. Three seconds left. Kill her? Not an option. Wound her? Couldn’t bring myself to it. Keep fleeing? Fruitless. Two seconds left. I could hear the sound of her screaming just behind me. An insane idea came up. That’s it! I couldn’t make it into the forest into time, but I could at least try that.

I folded my wings and started in a free fall towards the edge of the forest with some time to spare. As long as I was in a free fall, I was equal with Rainbow Dash. What would be the difficult part was landing. As I neared the ground, I focused all my energies on my two legs. My voice became dark and although the sound of the wind was loud, Rainbow and I heard my words loud and as though I was speaking in a tunnel. “Accessing demonic restriction system … releasing restriction to level four.”

A black aura of energy enveloped me coming from my legs, and arms the places of the first four seals. My appearance changed to make me appear as a mighty adversary. Speeding towards the ground I concentrated my energy into my hands and thrust it towards the ground; dramatically reducing my speed. I came to a light and feathery landing, and I saw Rainbow Dash swoop down and land in front of me a few seconds later.

When she looked at me she seemed not to notice any difference and screamed again. “You will go with me.”

With a display of great speed, I sped up to stand in front of her in the blink of an eye from one hundred feet away. She did not have time to react before I said, “Forgive me Rainbow.” I struck her immediately across the side of her jaw; knocking her out immediately. It was done.

I looked at her unconscious body as I resealed the power up. I could not help but shed tears as I contemplated what I had just done. I had been so cruel so I knew that I could probably never see her again. But it was for her own good. I could not allow myself or another to become too close and become friends. I would have to leave this world eventually and it would only make it harder for her to see a friend leave then.

I picked her up in my arms and began a slow, painful ascension to Cloudsdale. Opening the fourth black seal was no minor deed. My body was in agony as it felt the effects of having black energy flow through it when I was using white energy so much recently. The effect was like an intense burning sensation all over. I did not count the time, but it was a while before I reached her house and laid her down on her bed.

My burden finally taken from me, I sat down; leaning against the wall, completely exhausted. I called out, “Passion, get in here!” The pain was starting truncate the manner of my speech.

Passion answered and entered the house. “Strong words coming from one with such short hair. Normally, I would not answer to one of your rank, but it is necessary for the preservation of our mission at this point. How can I be of assistance?”

“I can’t go back to work at daybreak. Send a spirit to take my form and have it work in my place in the house of Rarity until I can get back. I don’t want her to know the difference either. She needs to think it’s me. Also, you wouldn’t happen to have some paper on you?” It hurts me to realize that I used such base speech when speaking to a god.

“I have some parchment. Have you need of it?”

“Yes.”

Handing it to me, Passion said, “I shall fulfill your other request then. Do you have a plan to return to the ground once more? That was quite a stunt you performed and I do not assume you will be doing it again. That was far more energy than you needed to release in order to keep yourself from injury.”

“Forgive me, I cannot say that I have had to stop myself ten feet from the ground in complete free fall while being chased by an enraged pegasus before. No I don’t have a plan, but reaching the ground will be least of my troubles. I can fly down the normal way. It will not be easy but it will be simple. Remaining undetected will be the difficult part. I will have to hide in the Everfree for a while; at least until the pain subsides. Oh, and I’ll need red ink.”

Passion drew his sword and landed a shallow cut on my right forearm. I winced, but did not make a sound. “Anything else?” he asked.

“I am considering leaving after I have recuperated.” I said this somberly.

“I understand. Then I will be the only angel left in this realm.”

“If Hope does not come on the Eve of the Summer-Sun Celebration, I will leave. I will not see the beginning of another year when the princess rules unchallenged.” Hearing this, Passion dipped his head in farewell and departed.

Even though my entire body ached, I did my best to write out a letter to Rainbow Dash using a quill I kept on hand and my blood for ink.

“Dear Rainbow Dash,

My heart grieves me to write you this letter. I am so sorry that it had to come to this. I never intended for the recent events to run their course. I am aware that, once you awaken, you will want to pursue me out of anger and desire for revenge. Yet I ask that you will not try to pursue me. It will be a fruitless effort: you will never find me. In a few days’ time, I will most likely be leaving this realm. But do not be discouraged. I have not decided to forsake you. In my absence I will leave behind one who will watch over you and protect you from every evil; including yourself.

By the time you find this letter, I know that you will be grieved as well. Know that it was never my intent to hurt you like I did. Please do not jump to conclusions when I say this: I love you. But I do not love you as you would a coltfriend. Nor do I love you as a family member. I curse this language for making it so difficult to express myself. What I mean is that I want what is best for you and am willing to force you through a little discomfort so that you will not have to taste true anguish.

I know that you must be in pain over what has happened. I am as well; however, I know that if I had stayed with you, I would one day have to leave you; for I am not of this realm and cannot remain here. On that day your distress would be ten times what you are feeling now.

I do not expect you to actually forgive me as I had asked you before I did that horrible deed, but I ask that you would continue living on. Do you remember that story I told you about how I received my cutie mark? I promise that if you search that story for a moral, your discontent will turn to joy.

Peace be with you,

Michael Iaponis Fujiwara

Slave of the Equestrian Solar Kingdom

King of the Eastern Kingdom of Osiris

Loyal Servant of the Highest God”

In the post script I wrote a lamentation.

“Why is their suffering in the world?

Why can I do nothing?

I must wait silently.

I must watch with a stoic face.

I must watch tyrants oppress the weak,

See ponies weep and cry,

View souls desolate and weary,

Observe the cycle of death again.

Why is their suffering in the world

When I could stretch out my hand

Stopping it with my awesome unrestricted might

The demons running from my terrible sword?

It is all for the journey,

I heard Him once say.

‘Pain brings perseverance,

Perseverance heralds maturity.’”