It all started with the nightmares.
Or perhaps it started when they drove Luna into seclusion, thought Pipsqueak. After weeks turned months of sleepless nights and blinking awake from troubled day-dreams, it was hard to say what happened when. Names and dates were minnows in a stream, wriggling out of her grasp as soon as she reached for them.
Pipsqueak found herself wandering through the Ponyville market at noon. Daytime in Ponyville was strange, now. The weather team kept it sunny all the time, as if that alone could banish the things that crept through the corners of your eyes, and even in the sweltering summer heat, everything looked cold and bleached like a bright winter’s morning.
The townsponies could see how wrong everything was, they all could. None of them would say anything, and they’d all deny it if asked, but they knew. Pipsqueak could see it in their faces. She could see it in the too-wide smiles and the dark bags under the glassy eyes, in the way that ponies would find themselves swaying from side to side or walking in circles if they didn’t watch themselves. It bled into the town itself, walls dented by involuntary, spasming kicks, nonsense graffiti that lingered on shop-fronts like black mould, odd patches in the park where ponies had dropped everything to stop and graze until the biting, gnawing sense of wrongness retreated.
The glass of lemonade between Pipsqueak’s hooves was already warm. There was no ice in it. She was tempted to return to the stall and ask for some, when she looked back the seller was already gone and his customers were ambling off elsewhere. The lemonade was too syrupy by half, and made the dry, prickly heat feel all the more intense as though it was leaching moisture from her with every sticky, sickly sip.
She began to wander again through the town, past the gazebo where the Golden Oaks Library stood a decade ago, past Carousel Boutique where she’d bought her first dress, through the overgrown schoolyard playground, past shadowy figures dragging a pony into a doorway, towards the empty, utterly placid lake, all the way up to the Friendship Express station before reaching the gazebo where the Golden Oaks Library stood a decade ago.
Pipsqueak sat on a bench, next to a pony who wasn’t sleeping, and watched the shadows weave around the corners of her vision.
It had been noon for hours.
* * *
Pipsqueak blinked awake from troubled dreams, in a part of Ponyville she barely recognised.
The unfamiliar surroundings didn’t bother her. She never slept in her bed any more. Nopony did. Sleep would strike anywhere, anytime, except for the eight hours spent laying in bed, staring at the ceiling with aching eyes and waiting for morning.
The dreams, though. They were always bad, and usually worse.
The true nightmares were straightforward, at least. Panicked visions of death and darkness, of twisted monsters and dead friends, of falling, suffocating, drowning, bleeding, these were all simple. It was only terror, after all.
The dreams of abandonment were worse. She would blink awake from visions of Ponyville in ruins, covered in grey snow and ancient ash. She found herself on the road alone after being driven from Ponyville by everypony she knew, or alone in Ponyville after driving them all away herself. Her father’s face twisted with loathing and disgust. Abandoned by those she loved. Shunned by those she respected.
Forsaken by those she worshipped.
There was a worse nightmare, and it visited Pipsqueak more than any of the others.
It was the one where nothing had changed.
It was the one where nothing could change.
Pipsqueak dreamed that she was back in the wrong body. That this time, the spell had fizzled, the doctors had given her an embarrassed look and told her that she was silly and that this wasn’t necessary or even possible, and that she’d have to go back home as a colt.
This time, she went all the way through the wrong adolescence. Her jaw and skull bulged into an angular mess. Something swelled inside her throat and turned her voice into a deep, cludging, burble. The gristle between her legs grew and dangled, glomming onto her like some dread parasite, seeping poison into her body and soul.
They told her to act like a stallion, and she did. It pained her more than words could say, but there was no alternative, no better future, only cold reality. She wore a stallion’s skin and it itched and stifled and stank around her.
Like she was wearing her own corpse.
The nightmare was over, but this one always lingered like none of the others could. Pipsqueak didn’t even hesitate before reaching up to her smooth jawline with one hoof, and between her haunches with the other, just to be sure. She didn’t care that she was in public. Nopony else would.
When the day finally faded into night, her foreboding lingered still.
* * *
The night sky looked sticky, as if painted in black tar. Starlight sunk into the gooey mess, and the moon was...
Pipsqueak stared at it. The full moon looked no brighter than normal, in fact, it looked duller if anything. But there was presence to it, real weight, as if it had been dragged ten-thousand miles closer to Ponyville. It looked down on Ponyville, watching, considering, judging.
It called to Pipsqueak with terrible purpose.
She had to find Princess Luna. This was obvious, blindingly clear, and had been for as long as she could remember. She hadn’t ran off after her yet because—well, it was time to find her.
Pipsqueak bade her parents goodnight as they sat huddled under the kitchen table, rocking back and forth endlessly. They said something in reply, but Pipsqueak had forgotten it before she’d even left the house.
Baking days would turn to muggy nights, and the nights in Ponyville were thick with stink. Nopony came now to cart away garbage or to drain the midden tanks. The clear, sunny days burned the worst of it off, but the nights let it settle to the ground until the stench clung to everything. Stepping outside meant going head-first through a wall of stink, reeking of sewage, putrefied waste, crawling rats, and the cloying-sickly smell of rotting hay.
Pipsqueak still walked through town on most nights, because the creeping things were hidden in the dark. They didn’t flaunt themselves as they did in daytime, daring anypony to notice them.
The Golden Oaks Gazebo looked thin and insubstantial. It was not the Golden Oaks Library, and the history of that library had infused a kind of magic into the square, showing the Gazebo for the weak pretender it was. When she arrived at the Gazebo, Pipsqueak clicked her teeth around the crowbar in her mouth. She did not pause as she approached the center. If she paused and considered the enormity of this errand, she might not complete it.
The flagstones had been cemented together and laid perfectly. That would not stop her. It would barely slow her.
* * *
Grey dirt coated her muzzle and forehooves. She had been chipping away at the mortar for some time now, and all she could taste and smell was dust, clogging her nostrils and keeping the night’s stench at bay.
She took a break when she tasted blood, her lips chapped and split from working the crowbar into the mortar. Her pinto coat was lathered with sweat, her short mane clung to her forehead, and errant tail-hairs were plastered to her dock and haunches.
The last of the mortar came out, and she found herself working again. She strained at her joints to lever the flagstone out of place, grunting and swearing. When it toppled over to reveal a pit of dirt underneath, crawling with ants and worms, she cried out from excitement.
The elation didn’t last long. She set into the dirt, scooping it up with her hooves and tossing it to the side, scrabbling desperately. As she dug deeper the foulness of her task seared itself into her mind, but the urge to continue became unstoppable. She knew what she was doing now, what she was looking for, what she would take. The words floated in her mind like scum and she pushed them down, but it didn’t matter. She was already unclean.
Tears of shame and panic dripped from her face when her hooves scraped wood. It was old wood, strong and finely-wrought. It had been buried for years, and rot was barely beginning to set in. A true testament to the woodworker’s craft.
Pipsqueak brought down the crowbar until the wood split, and cracked away the lid to reveal the contents of the box.
As she touched the bones, bones too small and light to be a pony or even foal bones, the revulsion finally overwhelmed her. She flopped sideways to be sick. She could barely taste it as she retched. Finally, there was nothing left but the metallic tang of adrenaline.
Once the bones were gathered in a roll of linen, she got to her hooves and began to walk.
* * *
She stumbled and trembled through the Everfree Forest, and her very mind changed as she went.
With every step she took, the fog that clung to her every sense shrank and faded. It did nothing to reduce the tiredness, and in fact her fatigue sapped more of her spirit every moment, but it was clear, and she knew what each movement would take now.
In fact, that was the worst of it: Pipsqueak found herself at the wrong end of the Everfree Forest, having passed thorn and claw, steel and teeth with only shadows for company, barely aware of her own movements.
Was she in her own mind, or the mind of another? Could she decide to stop and turn back, or would a strange presence take over and send her towards her doom once again?
She crossed the Bridge of Loyalty, and she knew turning back would be pointless.
Half an hour had passed. It was longer than they had said in their tales, from the rope bridge to the castle. Her limbs twitched and trembled as she climbed the steps to the Grand Hall. The atrium was open air, though a shimmer of enchantment overhead kept the worst of the elements at bay. It was the only part of the castle that looked like it had ever been inhabited.
Bookshelves, easels, and hanging tapestries had been hung or propped against all of the Doric columns surrounding the hall. Sigils had been daubed on the floor in slick-looking blues that did not scuff or rub even as she stepped on and over them. A hearth-fire smoldered at the side, and a cast iron pot bubbled away over it. A desk, a case of thaumaturge’s tools, and what looked like half of an alchemy lab were also present.
In the middle sat Luna, magnificent.
Pipsqueak bowed deeply to the cross-legged princess. She dropped the linen wrap she had carried to the side, shuddering.
“Y-your highness...”
The Princess of the Night opened her eyes. “Rise, Pipsqueak of Ponyville.”
Pipsqueak stood.
“We were in seclusion, and not to be disturbed. Why have you come here?”
The driving, undeniable reasons for her journey turned into a gluey, opaque mash in Pipsqueak’s mind. Every time she tried to grasp a straw of argument, her exhaustion forced her to let it go.
“They drove you off,” she said. “They drove you off and made you hide away until you were more like them, and after you left the nightmares came and something dark and strange is in Ponyville and I know it must be connected because you’re the Princess of Dreams and nopony can sleep until they’re a step from knackered—”
Doubts crept into Pipsqueak’s mind as she spoke. Had Luna been driven away? She must have been, there were memories and noble houses and letters in the paper—or were they memories at all, or just feelings so strong they might as well have been memories, feelings that bore no names and no dates and no names and clashed with actual memories like tar on a crystal river, looming black before being swept away.
But she couldn’t stop. She continued, “—Or you weren’t driven off and just had to go, but I had to find you because Ponyville has gone bloody mental and I need your help, or, I need to help you so that you can come back—”
Princess Luna tilted her head. “We require your help?”
“No! I mean yes! I mean—I’m not sure what I mean, or how I’m supposed to help but I know that somehow I have to,” she said, breathing hard. “You—Your Highness, you’re incredible. Since you came back, the night sky has never looked the same. You’ve brought back magic and sciences that had been forgotten for centuries, art that nopony knew existed. Ponyville has a whole new district because of you, for poetry and song and study and drink that wouldn’t exist without you.
“It feels like you’ve brought in a new age and it’s better now. You came back from a thousand years of solitude and gave us all this.” Pipsqueak tried to push down the choking, stifling feeling in her throat as she spoke, “I don’t know what I need to do to help. I just know that if there’s anything I can do, I must do it.”
Luna nodded. “Hmmn. But why did you come, little one? Why did you move first, in front of all my other disciples in Ponyville?”
Pipsqueak swallowed, shuddering at the arrogance and presumption of what she was about to say, but she could not stop herself and words burbled out once more: “B-because you know what it’s like. To hide yourself away. You know what it feels like to feel wrong inside,” she said, her voice cracking.
She took a moment to compose herself, and said, “You know what it’s like to return from a terrible place. You know what it’s like to wake up not clouded, not trapped, finally loved for who you are. And you know the fear of waking up one morning in a world where you’d never returned at all.”
Dark wings wrapped around Pipsqueak. Luna’s embrace was soft, and warm as a summer night. She whispered into Pipsqueak’s ear, “Thank you, my child. You have done much for us, more than we are worthy to ask.”
Pipsqueak looked upwards, sniffling. “I have?”
“Indeed, for I called upon you and you came. You have been my eyes and hooves in Ponyville. You withstood powerful magic to bring me the agent of your own salvation. Most of all, you did these things without true knowledge, you simply felt me and knew.”
Pipsqueak nodded dumbly, until she saw Luna’s magic move the linen wrap of bones.
“Wait, don’t—” she cried in panic.
“Worry not, child,” she said, gently. “We shall not be profaned by simple wards, least of all those made in prudence and care by a dear friend.” With that, Luna’s horn lit up. The linen unfurled, leaving bones and dust and feathers and sinew to hang in front of them. The air shimmered thickly.
Pipsqueak gasped as the feelings of dread, nausea, and fear evaporated.
“Twilight Sparkle is most judicious with her burial wards. I expected no less,” said the dark alicorn. After laying the remains down on the small linen shroud, she looked down at Pipsqueak. The mare’s face dripped with sweat, her eyes were red and sunken, and she looked minutes away from collapsing. Luna’s horn lit a second time.
Pipsqueak shuddered with pleasure as all of the tiredness, the weeks of collected shakes and shivers and exhaustion, the creeping madness of prolonged insomnia, all of it faded away in an instant. She looked up at Luna in wonderment, just in time to see a mighty yawn from the princess.
“I—I feel brilliant! It’s like I slept for a week! How—what did you do?”
“I took your tiredness from you and gave you my—” she paused to cover another yawn “—my own energies. There is a small price for us both, and you will find yourself very hungry. Come, Pipsqueak, and eat with me.”
Luna broke the embrace, and led Pipsqueak to a nearby dais. Fresh milk, crusty bread, and a cast-iron pot of hot soup were all summoned. The princess served out two bowls, passing one to the mare across from her.
The princess had been right. As soon as Pipsqueak smelled the soup, hunger clawed at her stomach as if she hadn’t eaten for weeks. She cracked the bread and gulped down the soup, burning her tongue in her speed to eat.
After the first bowls had been finished, Pipsqueak said, “Um, Princess Luna? What’s going on? I mean, what's been happening to Ponyville? Why did you leave Canterlot? And why did I come here?”
The princess nodded. “Yes, I think you deserve some answers. I will show you.”
A beam of light shot from Luna’s horn, expanding out and slowly forming into an image in front of them. It was the strangest creature Pipsqueak had ever seen. A long, thin, eel-like body that was either the brightest of silvers or the darkest of blues led to a bulgy skull with googly eyes the size of tennis balls, ending in a trio of elephant’s trunks. It frolicked in the air in front of them, snuffling up currents of aether.
It took Pipsqueak a moment to recognise it as the thing that had been appearing in the corners of her vision for the past few weeks.
“These, my child, are the Night Mites,” said Luna, “Shadowy creatures that feed on dream magic. They live in symbiosis with ponies, living off their dreams in return for allowing ponies to sleep without our innate herd anxiety and psychic energies tying us in knots. The changes of the last few years—not least of all my return—have altered the nature of our dreams, and the Night Mites have become fattened and bloated on strangeness. They linger helplessly in the corner of your vision and cry out for help. Sleep turned into a rare, twisted thing, and ponies suffer needlessly.”
The image of the mite changed, its sleek body bloating and bulging, its trunks turning sluggish, and its movements jerky.
“I left one month ago, consulting only Twilight Sparkle and two professors at the Academy for Gifted Unicorns. These rituals are delicate. Mere outside knowledge of them could have tainted my incantations and worsened the crisis. Solving the problem before my mites or my ponies began dying off from surfeit and sleep deprivation required research and the stretching of mental thews that had not been flexed for some time. This all required solitude, and so I came here. Come, Pipsqueak, eat some more,” she said, dipping a piece of bread into soup and passing it to the earth pony, “The rejuvenation spell needs nourishment or it will quickly fade.”
Pipsqueak took the food gratefully, and took a bite. As she ate, Luna continued: “Your role was borne from both necessity and convenience. I could not manifest directly in Ponyville without my power overfeeding the mites through mere proximity and killing them all, so I required a proxy. I know you better than most in Ponyville and yes, I have more in common with you than most mortals. I reached out to you through the aether, and you answered my call. Do you follow?”
“Y-yeah, I think so. I came because you asked?”
“Yes, my child, and I owe you a great deal for that.”
The pair ate in silence for a moment. A feeling of deep contentedness seeped into Pipsqueak’s every pore. She wriggled in closer to Luna, basking in the feeling, and Luna returned the embrace, draping her majestic wings over the mare. Somehow she knew that everything would be all right.
“Prepare yourself, Pipsqueak,” said the princess, “I am about to complete the ritual.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I will bring about my harbinger, and he will unleash the spell to cure my subjects.”
“Your harbinger?” Pipsqueak swallowed. The word had a certain weight to it, doubly so from the princess.
“Yes, an old friend. Will you stay with me and watch, Pipsqueak? It will be quite a wonder, and I would enjoy intercourse with you in the meantime.”
“What!?”
Princess Luna raised an eyebrow. “A conversation between us, to catch up on events and discuss many things?”
“Oh, that. Yes. I’d like that.”
“Excellent. Now, we begin.”
Princess Luna stood, energy gathering around her with her every step. Her horn glowed black as the runes and sigils daubed on the floor and columns lit up a brilliant white, channeling their power into the princess, whipping wind around the room, scattering books and alembics and chalk every which way.
The bones stretched and twisted, each one pure silver, diamond strong and feather light. Sinews and flesh formed of pure energy shimmered into place, each dusty, decayed feather grew strong and was joined by dozens more, and two magnificent wings spread wide.
It formed a bird, bigger than any eagle, brighter than a phoenix, glowing with great power. With one flap, the lines of energy flowing into it dissipated. The owl hung in the air, gigantic.
Energy radiated from him, tangible, solid as a Saturday-night bassline or the morning tide. It promised healing from chaos, sense from nonsense. It was the very cure for what ailed Ponyville, and Pipsqueak could only marvel as it took flight.
Its lone message of hope seared itself into Pipsqueak’s mind, and she loved Luna all the more for it,
“Who!!”
