Sometimes, I would open my eyes and see her standing over me. Her menacing form and crackling grin would be aimed at my dusty, old body in conceited triumph. Just behind her would be the sun, too, perfectly complimenting her in a portrait of my greatest mistakes. My other half didn't control me on the Moon's surface as she did down here. Up there, she could stand separate from me and watch me suffer, if she pleased, with no fear of exposing me to my subjects as somepony in need of pity. So no, to answer your question, I did not spend my time roaming the grey area, building a new life for myself in the midst of its desolation. No, I spent most of the time keeping my eyes tightly shut. For if I dared to view my exiled world around me, I might have given in to more poisonous thoughts and fled to the dark side.
You might think that I reminisced of a better past, or perhaps dreamt of a brighter future with my eyes closed for so long. But the future was simply too ominous for me to imagine. And as for a better past, it didn't take too long for me to lose the ability to remember so far back. Instead, most of my time was spent reminding myself of the night it all changed. How everything could have been different, how I could have improved myself, how I could have seen her coming. Why I didn't...
My apologies, I've digressed.
You see, before my sentence began, I used the dreams of others to rescue me from these thoughts, seeing as how my powers restricted me from having my own. For in the dreamworld, I was unstoppable. I had complete power over my surroundings, and it was the one place where I felt looked up to by all. The dreamers may not have loved me when the sun was out, but in the dreamworld, they were content with being my subjects. I did not do it for self-indulgence, mind you, but merely for a respite from myself.
But up there, I was simply too far from those in distress to find them. So for the most part, I could only float in an endless fog of whimpers and squeaks, too far to hear, but strong enough for me to feel them all the same. It was my own form of solitary confinement, and I preferred it to living with my cellmate. In fact, there was only one time that I was spared from her completely, as far as I can remember. Or perhaps I wasn't spared so much as briefly relocated.
There, in the vapour, was a single drop of water, shimmering proudly against its weaker siblings. It gave off a small cry to be heard, and flickered in a red and orange glow. It was impossible to ignore, especially for one who had spent nearly a thousand years searching. I sought it out without hesitation. Where there was a cry, there was a voice. And a voice could help me find mine again. I was distracted and hopeful as I reached out to it, and there's nothing much worse you can give a prisoner than hope.
Find The Dreamer, bring them home. I had done it thousands of times before. But for the first time, I made the journey for myself, instead of for whom I was visiting. Anywhere was better than the prison in which I had already spent so long suffering. Indeed, that was my first mistake.
When I opened my eyes in the dreamworld, I was standing in the center of a vast, two-coloured canvas. Green was below me, blue above. While I waited for my eyes to adjust, I inhaled deeply, hoping to reclaim the pure scent of Equestria's greenery. The air was indeed familiar, but only because it was the same lifeless and lacklustre scent that was always found in the dreamworld.
Smell is one of the two least nourished senses you dreamers apply to your dreams, but at least it is proof that I have arrived.
I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyelids, before re-opening to a further detailed landscape. A matted mess of what was meant to be grass sat inertly beneath my hooves. It didn't move with a wind or cling to my hooves. It wasn't grass, of course, it was just a poorly detailed substitute for grass, and a lack of detail meant distance. That much, I remembered.
To find my next clue, I looked up to the horizon where the moon was miserably high and bright in the night's sky. I was actually hoping to see a day, but that was not my decision to make. The rest of the horizon was empty except for a small flickering light directly in front of me. The same light I saw in the portal. Something was ablaze, several miles ahead. It was the dream's center, and the fire it housed proved wild and massive, even from far away. I wondered what it was for.
You see, fire is a symbol that can mean a lot of different things in a dream. Sometimes it is inspiration. Sometimes it is love. Sometimes it is the miracle of life. Those are the fortunate dreamers. Others dream of fires dangerously out of control, or worse, aimed at them.
In any case, I was not going to know what it symbolized from miles away. For a regular pony, that was about an hour's walk. For me, I was already there. That was, if I hadn't lost my touch. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, isolating the fire in my mind. I raised my right hoof, leaned forward and placed it down before opening my eyes again. I had arrived.
The fire was even bigger than I had first assumed. It had completely engulfed a two-storey wooden cabin, and showed no signs of slowing down. Its light was magnificent, and its authentic look made me miss home. To my left, I saw three ponies, standing in a row facing the inferno. I approached them and waved a leg in front of their faces. They stood completely still, staring at the light with varying, constant expressions. They were actors. Shells of The Dreamer's friends, turned off and set aside until they were required to perform. The mare's eyebrows were turned up with worry. The two stallions on either side of her, who varied greatly in age, had theirs turned down in anger. I recognized the phenomenon. They were wearing the expressions that The Dreamer attributed to them; the most common expressions that he or she knew. Who they were, and why their expressions were so negative, was part of my mission.
I moved in front of them to observe the space between their hooves. It was a helpful trick I had learned during one of my first dreamwalks. I was surprised that I remembered to check. The young stallion and the mare were about two hooves away from each other, but the older gentlecolt was at least four. That told me that the first two were close, while the third was more of an acquaintance. At least, that was how The Dreamer saw things. A family, I thought, with perhaps an estranged member. It was unusual to only see three actors, but I was thankful that it made my job easier.
I moved on from the marionettes and trotted up the front stairs of the burning cabin, where I noticed a distinct lack of damage. The flames were ferociously spinning all around the house, but they had yet to take any effect on the structure. They didn't even give off any heat. I opened the door and entered the inferno to learn more.
For a terrible house fire, it was awfully calming for me. It wasn't filled with a deluge of cracks and sparks. It didn't lick at my body with intention to scar. It was all wrong. I had seen fire's honest fury before, and this was something completely different. That was my next clue. Mistakes in the fabric. Inconsistencies born from inexperience. It was juvenile. The Dreamer had to be a child. A lack of detail meant distance, and a lack of logic meant childhood. It was all coming back to me.
My task was clear. The fire was the source of The Dreamer's distress, even if it wasn't convincing to me. It was disheartening, but I knew it had to go. I took in another draft of stale air and closed my eyes. I threw my right hoof up in the air, and spread my wings wide, casting a spell to alleviate the danger.
Nothing happened.
I closed my eyes tighter, took a larger draft and threw both of my front hooves in the air. My horn sent a stronger wave of energy through the smoke. But still, I had no effect.
I know now that I was simply too far away from the source to have my usual impact on the fabric. It had taken most of my capacity to even make the trip down, and to silence a house fire from that distance was simply not feasible. Plus, it seemed, the wicked half of my power had decided not to make the trip. But back then, I took it much more personally. I could conquer nightmarish maelstroms and eliminate acres of burning forest with a wave of my weaker hoof, but this simple fire had resisted me as if I wasn't there at all. I felt empty and useless inside what used to be my haven.
I looked around the room for something that I had missed and I searched within for the rationality of my ineptitude, but there wasn't anything to help me. I felt so helplessly afraid, and it wasn't even my nightmare. I took flight, let out tears of anger, ground my teeth, threw my personal disgust at the fire, and cast every spell I knew. But then, I remembered one thing I hadn't tried yet. I had been hoping to save it for The Dreamer, but it was all I had left.
"Cease!" I screamed, slowing the fire for a moment before it raged on. I landed again and gathered all my courage for one last attack.
"PLEASE!"
A gust of wind whipped forth from my body and evaporated the fire instantly. I met my success with shock, but I eventually relaxed and stood tall. I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes, before looking proudly at the silence I had created.
"Thank you...," I breathed.
When my ears readjusted, they picked up a foreign sound. I jerked my head to the source, perched at the top of some basement stairs. It was The Dreamer; a white pegasus filly with black-inked eyes, staring at me with a mixture of fear and intrigue. Her pensive gaze froze me. It was my first experience as the discovery, instead of the discoverer.
It wasn't ten seconds before our pause was interrupted. A puff of flame surfaced out of the floor between us, and multiplied into a fresh, ubiquitous blaze in less than a second. The filly shrieked and rushed downstairs, I assume. Once the fire restarted, you see, I was too insulted to notice. The anger came back briefly, tensing my body and preparing another ireful shout, but before I unleashed it, I gave up on the emotion.
"It's not fair...," I spoke softly. Those were not the correct words. Please understand, they seldom are.
I tilted my head up and peered past the fire through a skylight to the Moon's full form. It shone brashly, fighting off the insurmountable fire surrounding it with a painful tenacity. I did not know why the Moon was so bright in this particular dream. I had never seen it so raw and overt before. It was a nice sentiment, but the Moon was not such a bright place, no matter how much the sun selflessly gave up for it.
It was then that I noticed a ghostly force pulling gently on my heart, the familiar feeling of losing my connection to the dream. It pulled me from upwards, directly towards the off-white prison in the stars, as if my warden was calling me back personally. I wasn't ready to leave. I could have easily given in to the pull and woken up back where I was, but I wasn't finished, and I wasn't about to admit defeat. Besides, I didn't have what I wanted yet.
I remembered another option. If I couldn't calm the nightmare with a spell, then I could calm the source. I ignored the sensation and rushed to the stairs where the filly had been, entering the darkness they contained. I ran down the steps sloppily, not attempting to warp to their base for fear of failing myself again. The fire slowly lost its power as I descended, unable to reach where The Dreamer felt she was safe. At the bottom was an old, wooden door that I would have leapt straight through, if not for my own reprehension.
Instead, I gave myself a quick reassurance as I caught my breath. It was just a child. Children's dreams were the easiest to tame. They were nothing compared to the terrors of the old and anxious. A child's dream was simply a rampant imagination, and they were, in my experience, the easiest to talk to.
I opened the door slowly, but didn't step inside. I looked in pensively, unsure if I would be welcome.
The room had the first impression of a foal's bedchamber. A small metal cot with a thin mattress was on my left, and a few books and children's toys were stuffed away in shelves on my right. Behind the cot was an empty and unused birdcage, hanging in the corner. In the wall next to it, there was a small window at the ceiling, which displayed a vibrant, dynamic image of softly falling snow in the moonlight. You must understand, it was not snowing outside the house, but it was snowing outside the window.
After my initial experience faded, it no longer felt like a bedchamber, but a prison. I ignored the feeling, assuming that the moonlight was just making me uncomfortable. I should have recognized it instead as an instinct.
The owner of the objects was at my hooves a few paces in front of me. The filly was huddled on the ground with her nose in her hooves, weakly sobbing into the dirt floor. Not only had the fire brought her pain, but seeing me fail to quell it had worsened her mental condition.
When she noticed the door creak, she tensed up and took a small step back. I tried my best to not recoil from her stare, but I couldn't help but step away with her. I wondered what I looked like for the first time in centuries.
She scrubbed the dust off of her blanched fur and stood up straight, before pushing her frosted mane out of her eyes and wiping away her last tears. She was unlike anypony I had ever seen before. I had lived through thousands of years surrounded by the most colourful creatures known to Equestria, but she looked like a ghost, comparatively. The only solid colour that she had on her was the black in the centers of her eyes, now transfixed on her visitor. As her crying diminished, my heart beat rapidly for what would happen next. I had so many questions. Would she initiate it, or was that something I needed to do? Was she even old enough to speak? Would I know how to respond? The silence was loudening between us, and I desperately wanted to erase it, but I didn't remember how.
"Hi..." She squeaked instead, before loudly snorting and rubbing her nose on her foreleg.
"Hello," I responded naturally, and oddly enough. It felt nice speaking in an atmosphere again, even if it was artificial.
That was it, I thought. I had made contact. I had what I wanted, and it was time for me to leave, but when I searched within for the pull that would carry me back up there, I couldn't find it. I could only assume that meant she didn't want me to leave.
She giggled gently and sat down, confirming my assumption. Her tiny, immature wings poked straight out from behind her head. My task rushed back to me at once. I needed to speak with the filly, determine why she was in a nightmare, and how I could bring her home. I gestured to the ground next to her.
"May I?" I asked.
The filly nodded and shifted over, and I sat down by her side, facing the door. In the corner of my eye I could see her still staring at me.
"What's your name?" She asked with a petite and squeaky voice. The question resonated strangely within me. She could have asked why I was there, or perhaps a more general "who are you", but the answer to this question eluded me. Not because I didn't have a name, but because I had too many.
"I'm not sure," I responded.
"Why?" she asked curiously.
"I have two names," I said, "I'm not sure which one is... true."
"Can I have one?" She asked even more curiously.
Again, I wasn't sure what to say. Normally I had completely read a child's fears and anxieties within a few minutes inside their dream, but I still didn't know what to think at this point. It was just more evidence that I had lost my prowess.
"What do you mean? Do you not like your name?" I inquired.
"No... I don't have one," she mumbled, scuffing her hoof on the floor.
"Why not?"
"Mommy said..." The mare outside. "...That I'm not ready for a name yet. She said I hafta earn my colours first..."
This isn't uncommon among ponies, I'm sure you know. Sometimes parents neglect to name their foals until they come up with something appropriate. They might wait for a cutie mark, for example. But, colours? Those were not earned, and they certainly did not appear over time.
"That doesn't seem fair," I stated. "Does she not like the white?"
"No... ponies aren't s'posed to be white. Ponies are all sorts of pretty colours. That's what Mommy said."
"Well, I think you look just fine. You're very unique this way," I assured her. Assurance is an easy way to calm The Dreamer's nerves when the source of the problem is unclear. Not that I was lying.
"My sister has a white pelt," I continued.
"Is she pretty?" she asked. That question I knew exactly how to answer.
"She is stunning."
If there is one thing that I remember about my interaction with her, it's that I was smiling when I said that. I am certain.
She perked up a bit and smiled back at me.
"Can I call you Luna?"
My voice caught in my throat. I incompetently stuttered for a moment as she gleamed at me with her vacant yet loaded, black eyes. It didn't make any sense to call me that.
"Why... Luna?" I asked cautiously.
"She's in one of my books," she said, gesturing to her shelf, "she looks kinda like you. She helps little fillies when they're having bad dreams." I took that to mean that she wasn't lucid, at least not yet. She retrieved a small picture book from the shelf and brought it back to show me. It had a splendid, navy blue alicorn on the cover, adorned with a shining crown and matching set of ornate shoes. Her ravishing mane and tail reflected the pure night sky behind her, and her demeanor exuded heroism and confidence. I placed my hoof on the cover, hiding her stalwart gaze.
"But... I am not her?" I tried to state.
"No, she's a princess," she declared with a proud smile.
That comment stung me more than the little filly could ever know. Not only had I been removed from reality for so long that I was simply a children's tale, but I had also become unrecognizable without my crown. I didn't know if it was society that had changed, or if it was just me. When my head dropped, my bangs fell in front of my face. They were pale, blue and tired. Moondust tends to do that over time.
"My big brother reads it to me every night...," she said sadly. The younger stallion. That was why he and the mare seemed close. They were mother and son. There was only one actor left.
"...but he's not around right now." Her head had slowly dropped as much as mine as she spoke, but she picked it up again and turned to me. "Luna, can you please read it to me?"
This was impossible. The cover had no title, and I knew that the pages within would be wordless as well. Plus, I was not about to improvise a story of the mare I no longer recognized.
Words do not appear in the dreamworld, you see. Even the most lucid of dreamers cannot imagine such detail. In fact, it is an easy lucidity test.
I scolded myself for forgetting my task again. I was supposed to be questioning her, not the other way around. I eyed the cot next to us, in truth a blessing, because it gave me an opportunity to calm her in the easiest way I knew. All I had to do was convince her to get back in bed, fall asleep, and her dream would reset. Hopefully to a dream happier than this depressing, painful one. And if not, I could come back and try again. It wasn't my favourite, but it was a quick and easy, if temporary solution. I took the book from her and floated it back to its place on the shelf.
"Perhaps another night. You should be in bed, shouldn't you?"
"I don't wanna be in bed," she pouted.
"But sleep is good for you," I insisted.
"I'm always in bed," she grunted as she scrunched up her face in a snit.
Oh no, I thought. Anything but this. The clues I had found on my way there all connected painfully with me at once. The building on fire. The worried mother. The prison bedroom. Her lack of colour. This child was not restless at all. She was in pain. The dream was not her mind playing tricks on her, but offering her refuge from the waking world. The fire was not simply a symbol for her pain, but an actual manifestation of the real world, leaking into her sub-conscience. The third pony outside, the scruffy looking unicorn, was her doctor.
This is one of the most difficult dreams to calm of all. Children are easy, but sick children are almost not possible. They never want to speak of their illness, they are always the most restless, and there is almost nothing reassuring I can say to them that doesn't feel like a transparent lie.
I scanned the room for signs of the only thing that could make the situation worse; the one thing from which her mind could not fully protect her. As if on cue, it appeared behind us from underneath the wall. As an empty, black wisp of smoke, it seeped into the room ever so slightly, hiding within it a foreboding tendril of darkness. She hadn't noticed it yet, but I knew it wouldn't be long. It loved being noticed. I began to panic again. This wasn't fair. I was out of practice. I wasn't prepared at all. I tried to rush her.
"Little one, please get in bed. I know you don't want to, but sleep is important," I assured her. I was trying to distract her. Seeing it only made it larger.
"No."
She crossed her front legs in disdain, turned away from me and sat down. I noticed the smoke diminish slightly when she did, responding to her refusal. That gave me an idea. It was selfish, and I was sure the mother would strike me for it if she ever found me, but I did it anyways. If she was to be fully acquainted with the monster that night, then there was one thing I could give her that nopony else could.
"How about this... If I give you a name, will you go to bed for me?"
She gasped and swiveled back around, leaping to the air. Her wings buzzed frantically behind her. They were not applying nearly enough force to lift her, but that didn't matter here. It did, however, tell me that she had never flown before. It made the pull on my heart reappear, only this time it was towards the dirt.
"Really?" She whirred.
"Yes, really."
"Okay!" She cheered and flipped backwards, landing lightly on her bed. She pulled her thin covers around her and looked at me expectantly.
I hadn't planned this far. I never had any foals of my own, and I didn't know the first thing about her. I looked to her room for clues, but I didn't even know how much of it was a true reflection of her actual bedroom. However, when I saw the cage again, empty and free of imprisoned birds, and hanging next to the impossibly serene image in the window, it came to me in a perfect flash.
Whitewish.
I said it proudly to her, but I was still afraid that she wouldn't like it. When it crossed her ears her face faded of all expression. She looked down at her tussled sheets, completely still for a few silent seconds. My mind turned again, desperately searching for something better, but then the smile reappeared.
"Whitewish!" She exclaimed. She whispered it a few more times to herself before leaping out of her bed excitedly. She was not holding her end of the deal, and we were both going to regret it soon.
"Yeah!" She celebrated, running around me in a frenzy. "I'm Whitewish!"
I tried my best to remind her to get back in bed. I should have tried harder.
When her eyes caught it, she did a double take before freezing still in place, untainted horror enveloping her innocent gait. The empty mist jumped at the chance with glee and expanded up the wall, creating an ominous groan as it climbed. It had been over 900 years since I had encountered it, but it hadn't changed in the least. No matter what form it took, it always made that noise; like a cry from an animal as it's suddenly swallowed whole by its predator. It was, and always will be, an expert in fear.
She fell backwards, letting out a frightened gasp. She screamed as the beast's tendrils slashed the dirt at the edge of her room, shaking the filly as she tried to get up. I stood between them and placed my hoof under her chin, helping her back to her stance. The monster held its bearing behind me, swirling with vile eagerness. It stared us down without eyes, and laughed at us without voice. I ignored it, as I always did.
She tried to speak, but could only exhale a stutter. I intervened.
"Calm down," I told her calmly.
Children are oddly adept at mimicking the emotions of adults. If I was calm, she was calm. If I showed panic, she was through.
The tears started appearing in her eyes again as she peered around me to see the enlarging monster. I bent down to her level.
"Focus on me, and I can make it go away, understood?" I always said that. I may have been out of practice, but this routine was very easy to recall. It was too important.
She looked back to me incredulously. "R-R-...Really?" She asked.
"I promise," I assured her, smiling again.
I waited for her to relax a little, keeping my form in front of her fears, and my eyes tied to hers. Once she did, I continued the procedure.
"You are going to have to look at it again, okay? But you mustn't panic. Can you do that for me, Whitewish?"
Her ears fluttered, and she nodded weakly. I stepped aside. Without her rising heartbeat to spur it on, the monster was stuck in its expanded form. She kept her eyes fixed on its unearthly breathing, somehow managing not to scream and cry again. Her bravery was actually quite astounding. It was almost as if she knew that it would all be over if she faltered again.
"What i-is it?" She finally asked, unable to hide the shudder in her speech.
"Some call it the beginning... others call it the end," I said flatly.
"So it-... it's like you?" She asked.
I gave her a surprised look.
"It has two names... like you."
I looked back at it with contempt. At first, I thought Whitewish had accidentally yet perfectly described my other half. But, after I considered it, I decided that she could never even dream of the despair this monster created. She was a fly, comparatively.
"In a way," I answered.
"So... which one is it?" She whimpered.
"That is up to you."
"Can you... go see...," she pleaded, gesturing to it with a trembling, white hoof. A flicker of happiness passed over me as she looked to me for guidance. I had forgotten what it felt like. But unfortunately, I couldn't fulfill her request.
"No. I'm not allowed near it," I replied. She was starting to whimper again, so I interrupted her.
"Listen to me," I said sternly, "whether or not you go to it is up to you, do you understand?"
She nodded, but did not take her eyes off of it. I continued.
"No matter what happens, it will always be your decision and your decision only. Not its decision, not my decision, but yours."
She nodded again. I was hiding the truth, but I at least wasn't lying.
The three of us stood in silence, with nothing but our reflexive breathing lending energy to the room. When Whitewish noticed that the monster was no longer approaching her, it started to shrink. And when she noticed that, it shrank faster until it was once again just a small, silent wisp of smoke on the floor. To my dismay, it did not recede any further.
"Why won't it go away...," she whispered.
"It will if you are not afraid of it," I assured her. Up to that point I had been doing remarkably well to calm her down without lying to her, but that was my first and only lie of the night. I just desperately wanted to see her smile return one last time before I left. That was my universal sign of success. It did not matter what language they spoke, or how their nightmare behaved. A smiling dreamer was a dreamer returned home.
I would never see it again.
"Now then," I said, "it's time for bed."
Whitewish stayed petrified for a few seconds, enraptured by the monster. Once she was ready, she looked back up to me sadly, exposing her pellucid fright for a few cruel moments. She then nodded and stood up, hobbling to her cot and scaling it laboriously. Her wings did not even twitch to help her up. The downward pull on my heart grew stronger, and I shamefully ached for the moonward pull to come back and balance it out.
When she got to her pillow she reached under it and pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a small, white bird with brown spots. It was old and tired, but detailed with love by its conjurer. Its wings, in particular, had been cared for most of all. She held it close as I tucked the sheets around her shoulders. That was the next mistake I made, ignoring the toy. I thought that it was just a bedside companion, but then, I should have wondered why it was not there in the first place, and why she had waited so long to summon it from underneath the pillow. Children have stuffed animals, and indeed keep them through their adulthood, for times when they need a friend. A friend, it seemed, was something I had forgotten how to be.
I caressed her head gently, hoping that her mother was doing the same on the other side. I looked back at the frozen monster, feeling like the job was done. She had been found and brought home. I should have paid more attention to her vacant eyes, and indeed, to her unreturning smile.
I've replayed what happened next several times in my mind, but I can never understand it. Perhaps it's why I'm even revealing this to you in the first place. I can't find any solace in my own memories, and my sister does not even know what to tell me. But maybe somepony else can. I just want to know why I lost control so suddenly, so viciously. I want to know what gave me the audacity to say what I said next to her, as though I had any reason to give her any hope. And most of all, I want to know what happened on the other side, seconds after the words left me.
I told her to be strong. I told her not to be afraid.
She closed her eyes and choked on a murmur, holding her only friend tightly to her chest. The tears came back again and paved a soft river into her sheets.
"What's that?" I asked, bending my ear down to her mouth.
"Are you Princess Luna?" Her brow tensed, trying to hold herself back.
I wish I could see my answer again, perhaps from another perspective. I know what I said. I know how it sounded. I just wish I could remember if I was smiling.
I said yes.
Her voice cracked and I felt a dreadful presence rub against my side. A black tendril crept into my view above the filly and I turned to face it, but not far enough away to spare me from the toughest words I may ever hear.
"Then where did you go?"
Then it was over. That sentence rang between my ears as I was flung away from her world forever. I shouted and reached out to not be pulled away. I wanted to have a chance to answer her, even if I didn't know how. But I was no longer welcome. Not by either presence.
When I awoke from the nightmare, I opened my eyes, as everyone does. She was there, of course. I couldn't hide forever. Only this time, her smile was even wider than usual. She had seen everything.
Nicely done, Luna. And they say I'm the evil one.
She didn't have to speak through oxygen for me to hear her. I closed my eyes again to shut her away, but she already had me.
"Stop it," I tried to demand aloud, pretending she couldn't hear my thoughts just as well as I could hear hers.
Preparing yourself for our return, are you? I must say, I'm impressed by your commitment. But that? That may have even be beneath me.
"Shut up!" I shouted, even my own internal voice betraying me with equally frail syllables, "You don't know what happened any more than I do!"
Oh, I saw enough, dear Luna. You served her up on a silver platter. Or... perhaps a white one.
And then she laughed her putrid laugh. The laugh that spelt our mutually assured doom in the first place, and the laugh that used to keep me awake during the days. I knew what she would do next. After letting me soundlessly cry for a few minutes, she would scream at me, over and over again until I responded. Eleven years. Eleven years! Until I screamed six months back. Then three weeks, and four days. It was the countdown she used to remind me of when she would take over again. When our thoughts became her schemes, and our actions became her terrors.
And then I would retreat back into my vapour. There, I would be free from her horrible insults, and instead trap myself with my own. I wouldn't listen to her criticisms, so that I could better hear mine. I wouldn't need her to hate me, because I managed that just fine by myself.
Suddenly, the dreams didn't seem like such a haven anymore. Not for me, and not for Whitewish.
So, for the first time in hundreds of years, I stood up. The long-settled moondust spilled off of my dusty, old body as I raised it to her level. Her menacing form and crackling grin faltered for only a moment, but she knew that I saw it. She advanced to crush me.
Elev-
"Eleven years," I interrupted.
That was when she finally lost her smile.
"Eleven years, Nightmare Moon."
"Six months...," she breathed, eying me curiously.
"Three weeks."
"And four days..."
"I'll be waiting."
"I will hold you down."
"You'd better hope nopony helps me up."
She sneered at me and spat on my hooves.
"Nopony will."
She erupted with her sinister laughter again. I ignored her and sat back down, turning to see Equestria hovering across the space next to me. It didn't look any different, you understand, but I did not recognize it. It was so close now that it was no wonder I caught hold of a dream. But that dream now was surely out of reach, if it still existed at all.
I never strayed near the dreams again, and the remainder of my sentence was spent replaying the events in my mind, trying to find clues that Whitewish had survived. The only thing I had left to go on was her last sentence, hanging over my head like a terrible secret. It was not the sentence of a defeated soul, but an angry one. I had betrayed her, and every other pony by leaving them behind. If she hated me for all that I had done, then there was still hope.
And there's nothing worse you can give to a prisoner than hope.
