Thou Shall Not Have Sense

Twilight decides to stop running.

[Sad] - [Offscreen Adventure] - [Teen]

Sometimes she wonders why she does it. Why she runs. Why she doesn't stop. Maybe she was destined to be like this, to be on a permanent walk to nowhere in particular, helping people along the way—And she means it, not simply helping 'ponies', just... helping, everybody whenever she can.

'I will stop,' she promises herself. 'I will stop tomorrow.'

It is just a coincidence that when she stops, it is in a forest, and she can't stop there, can she? There is not a way to get food everyday, or water—yes, water, very important—, there are dangerous animals in every corner and there is nobody to say 'hello' to.

She ignores the fact that she can conjure up food and blast a tree to splinters with a simple beam and continues walking.

'I will stop,' she thinks under the shadow of a tree. 'I will stop tomorrow.'

A bird sings, almost mockingly, at her old promise. She remembers to herself that birds, at least not ordinary ones, can't read her thoughts.

Sometimes, she lets her thoughts go wild. Not exactly wild, per se—though, that had been funny the first few centuries—, she just lets her thoughts wander to that part of her mind, brimming with happy memories of a life lived in a small, rural town. Of a life with friends, with family and achievements.

She wonders why she let that life go.

She wonders why they let her go.

Because if there is something she knows, is that they could find her if they wanted to. Or maybe times have changed, and they had decided that she is too much of a nuisance to even look for.

She stops by the palace, just a quick visit to say 'hello' and leaves before any pony of relevance can recognize her. Though it was not likely, as her enchanted cloak hid her from the public eye.

As she walks down the road, she says to herself, "I will stop. I will stop tomorrow."

Sometimes, she thinks of that day. That day she left town.

It was dark, the full Moon was on the sky, countless stars shone in the firmament, and she had been having a stressful day. So, she had decided to go out and walk a little.

She walked all the way to the Castle of the Two Sisters.

That should have been a warning.

Next day, she said she would be out, traveling. Gathered all her friends, she did. "I'm going to go traveling. Love you all, take care."

She noticed something was off when she appeared in Baltimare.

Maybe her silly idea was going too far.

'I will stop,' she thought, for the first time, on a boat destined to a minotaur island. But she knew how her mind worked, so she added. 'I will stop tomorrow.'

Sometimes she goes to visit.

It doesn't really matter, because all her friends had passed away—though they're inmortal in their own way, she reminders herself as she sees the stone statue near the town hall.

She walks in town—more of a city, times have changed, after all—with her trustworthy cloak. Says hello. That sort of thing.

She finds a little colt curled up in a ball over a crumpled box, crying. He has lived in that dark alley his whole life. He has no one to care for him, no one to look after him and no one to love him.

She doesn't take on companions, because after a few years they go and settle down and leave her behind and alone and sad.

So, when she puts her cloak around him to warm him up, and tilts her head in an unspoken invitation, she promises herself that she will find him a family. A family that doesn't consist of herself, obviously.

She wonders how people see her and the little colt right now. A scared, whimpering little brown foal, and a big, intimidating lavender alicorn.

When the little one smiles, however, she decides that, maybe, she can have a family for once in her life.

This time, she leaves city with a companion—the first in decades—humming a song from a long time ago.

She is known as the Lonely Goddess—ridiculous, she knows. She goes from somewhere to anywhere. She is a legend, or a myth, it depends.

She makes sure to go the places she hadn't visited in decades so they can get a good look at her new companion. If she could, she would grab him and rub him on their faces.

Last time it didn't work so well, though.

Sometimes, people ask what they do. She answers with, "We walk." And it is the truth, they do that. If they want the long answer, she would cheerfully sit down and write all of her adventures.

She is sure that if she does, they would die before she ends up writing the second century of her life. And that is without adding her adventures with her male companion—not that kind of adventures, mind you.

The gryphon's expression when she offered to write her adventures with Stone Hooves will be forever in her mind.

He leaves. Or rather, she does. But he left first, hurting her without even opening his mouth.

She should have known, he was a grown stallion, after all. They had just stopped in the Ol' Apple Barn—which is not a barn—to get a few drinks and make jokes about their adventures, earning odd looks from everyone but the barman and his daughter, who are the only ones who know who they are.

She had noticed the nervousness Stone Hooves had, the way he moved everytime the barman's daughter came closer.

They would stay for the night.

When she made sure that he was asleep, she picked up her things and left.

After all, she had promised him, long ago, that he would have a family that didn't consist of herself.

Because she is not worth it, she knows. And nothing will change her mind.

She doesn't visit again.

It happens one night, as she walks down a road on a hill, towards a small town. The Moon had just come out, stars following it. Something clicks in her mind.

She stops.

It is boring, her new life. It had been exciting at first, what with having the opportunity to settle down, buy a house, work, grow plants and similar stuff.

Even talking with neighbors had gotten boring.

So, when a new threat comes, she jumps at it with almost-maniacal glee, smiling all the way.

And when she defeats it, and is standing in the middle of a scorched area, with chunks of charred meat surrounding her, she thinks of how the people will say thanks.

A little minotaur comes to her, and she smiles at her. The girl points a finger and yells, not a thanks, not a praise, but a bloodcurdling, "You murdered it!"

She leaves the town in the middle of the night. She doesn't even collect her things, 'let them gather dust,' she thinks. Because it is better than blood stains.

This time, she is on a field. Not a tree disturbs her view of the night sky.

She counts the stars. She thinks that maybe it is time to see her friend, then remembers that he is dead.

Maybe she should visit his granddaughter.

Maybe. Probably tomorrow.

Sometimes she wonders how long has it been. Sometimes she struggles to find what language the people of the year speak—which includes snogging, but she doesn't want anybody to know that. Sometimes she has to ask for a newspaper. Or ask an old earth pony how old the city or town is.

Sometimes she has to find a book to know what is now considered history.

She is in some of them.

She doesn't wonder why they are in the fiction section.

The air is getting cold. She doesn't care.

She has had so many companions, her favorite moments is when they met her for the first time. Their expressions range from fear to weird enthusiasm.

But they always leave, and they always break her heart.

She keeps getting new companions, even if they're going to stop and leave her behind. Because she doesn't care.

Her favorite time of the day is when it gets dark.

It is not dark yet. She doesn't care.

People say that she has walked all over the world, to places impossible to describe. Places that go beyond a mortal's imagination.

Some of them still call her the Lonely Goddess, others call her the Wanderer. Others the Equine of Death and Destruction. Others go as far as calling her the Spirit of Chaos.

That title belonged to one of her friends, but she doesn't care.

Not much.

She lays down on the grassy hill, watching the sky. She is waiting for the stars to come out. She kills time by remembering.

People forget that she has walked down the memory lane, too.

But she doesn't care.

The sky is getting dark. It is a normal twilight.

She smiles despite herself.

And she doesn't care.

A few stars come out, sparkling.

She giggles.

And doesn't care.

The Moon appears, a full Moon.

She laughs out loud.

She couldn't care less.

It is dark. Many of her friends have passed away. Many of her deeds are now myths.

Sometimes she is called a murderer.

But she doesn't care. Because there is work to do. Somebody, somewhere, needs help. And she is going there, and she is going to help. Maybe change the world for that person, maybe get called a killer.

But she is going to do it anyway.

Because that is what she does. She is just an idiot, passing through, helping people. And she is going to do that, even if the stars burn out.

One day, she will stop.

But not this day.

'Maybe tomorrow.'