Prologue: When the Curtain Drops
Manehattan. This is where the dream was born. It’s where it lives, thrives even, but not where it dies. The detested thing dies in the gutters. It dies under bridges and in orphanages. It dies under a mountain of cocaine, sold by that “good kid” you let foalsit your grandchildren the other day. It’s crushed with a carriage in a small town just two miles west of nowhere...
It dies when a mare is raped on her way home from work. It dies when she gets home and has to pretend like nothing happened while she feeds her children. The dream dies when her husband beats her within an inch of her life and leaves because she is with child.
It’s born again when that child grows up in a shit hole, and she’s beaten daily by her drunk mother who is unable to cope with what her life has become. It’s born when her older siblings blame her for everything they never had. It’s born when she finally finds her father, and he does the same terrible thing to her that he did to her mother. It’s born alongside the spark; the fire in the filly’s eye as she proclaims to herself that she’ll rise from the ashes. She will never be looked down upon or mistreated again. She’ll be a star one day. She'll be loved. Ponies from all over Equestria will bask in her presence. She’ll escape that detestable shit hole once and for all and travel the world.
Too bad that shit hole is Manehattan, and no one ever escapes Manehattan for good. Not really. It becomes a part of who you are. It’s the blackness in your heart. It’s the glimmer in your eye. It’s the pit in your stomach. It's that drive that pushes you upwards and onwards, yet it tethers you down. One day, you’ll go back to Manehattan. You’ll go back searching for the very thing you left to find, and that is when you realize that what you're searching for doesn't exist. It dies inside. That's where the dream dies.
My eyes open to the sound of applause. The light is blinding, and it takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust. To what end, though, do they adjust? This is no room. There are no walls, no ceiling. My hooves do not set gently upon the floorboards of my bedroom.
This is an empty, white expanse. There is nothing. My eyes do not perceive anything in any direction, nor does my magic sense another presence. This endless void is without magic, without substance, without company. I am alone here. Though, I’ve always been alone. Being alone is my birthright. The family I was born to assured my solitude. Still, I find the whole situation eerie. As such, I begin to wander aimlessly through the expanse, though I can scarcely tell I’ve moved an inch.
My legs are mobile, yes, but there are no landmarks or blemishes in this purgatory which allow me to measure my distance. As my hooves touch down, they meet no resistance. There is no earth below me, nor sky above. Everything is perfect white. I could walk for an eternity, and I would remain in the same place. Where did the cheering applause go? Where did the sweet sound that woke me from my slumber escape to? Can I not follow it away from this endless void? Come to me, sweet music. Serenade my ears with your bittersweet sound.
“Hello?” I cry out helplessly into the nothingness. I am desperate to hear that sound again. I spent my entire life desperate for the sound of applause, and it eludes me still, as I am…what? My head hurts. Where am I? I cannot remember. Who am I? I cannot remember. How long have I been here now? I cannot tell. It could be months, years...seconds.
The suspense is maddening. An eternity to seek the answers to these questions, yet I find myself impatient. Not that it seems there are any answers to be received in the infinite perdition, the Abaddon, I find myself wading through like an vast ocean, and I am but a krill. There must be more to this place, yet I cannot see beyond my narrow scope of reality.
A voice calls to me, answering me after all this time, and it is my own. It says, “Welcome!”
I turn to face the sound, and I’m hovering in the air above a raucous crowd. The cheering has returned to my eardrums. I bask in its sweet melody. The howling of a thousand voices cheering, the rolling thunder of hooves as they hit the ground. They are music to my ears, long since deprived of all sound.
Below me I see them. The ponies stare in awe at the mare on stage. Fireworks buzz every which way from her glowing horn. I smile as I recognize myself above the crowd. My tell-tale cape and hat adorned, I am an object of beauty and showmareship. I never addressed myself, but this crowd instead.
“Welcome, one and all! Watch in awe as the Great and Powerful Trixie performs the most spectacular feats of magic ever witnessed by pony eyes!” Loud booms sound behind me, and as the fog machines work their “magic” over the crowd, my smile drops. I remember this.
I see the stage for what it really is. Suddenly, the smiles of the crowd look sinister, coalescing darkly with the billows of fog wafting over their forms. Several of them look up to me with manic, expecting eyes. My other self is seemingly unaware. She continues to explain excitedly to the deranged crowd what trick she will be performing next, but I can see the termites, working feverishly upon the wood. They too see me, and their greedy mouths turn up in toothy grins. I try to scream, to warn myself of the danger, but no sound escapes my lips. My lungs draw in no air. My hoof reaches out, but I’m too far above the scene to assist. As the pulley lifts me by an invisible wire, the support beam snaps. It comes crashing to the stage below.
My eyes open to the sound of applause...
