Merely
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
I admired your exotic and spur-of-the-moment theory of unusual magical recoil that you gave in Mr. Spunk's class. Despite your lack of citations and the many, many documented cases that contradict your explanation (attached with this letter is a listing of books and recorded instances that can be found in the Canterlot Archives. I can understand that you felt yourself above using the two weeks you had to research such a convoluted theory.) and of course, your stuttering when Mr. Spunk requested that you elaborate.
The false look of fear you had as Mr. Spunk decide to strip of your scribbles of hypothetical data sent shivers down my spine. Anyone else would have sat down. Accepted the teacher's blatant disapproval and been made a fool. But not you, Twilight Sparkle, personal protege of the Princess and supposedly the most proficient student of your year. You would not be silenced!
Bravo! Truly bravo!
If it had not been for the jeering and laughter of your fellow students, I'm sure you would have heard my stomping hooves applauding you for your insistence. Personally, I wonder how such a student noted for their unnecessary redundancy of tedious information could quickly turn into a babbling fool. But I suppose your very existence shows that there is no difference between a fanatic and a hysterical fanatic with inaccurate information.
The next time I leave the school for an outing, I will make sure to give a large donation of bits to the unfortunate. They need all the money they can get because I fear for our poorest if this is the best our brightest can do. And as for our brightest, they do not read books. The poor do. Perhaps you should think about acquiring a cardboard box and spending time on the streets. You'll be making a home there if this is all that you have to offer.
I always thought you truly deserved to have been noted as the best performing student in recent years. Clearly, we shall be seeing a wave of wonderful, unsubstantiated articles filling the Literary Writing Sphere if your actions are to be taken as serious. Should we give every pony a soapbox to preach if all they speak is nonsense? And this is merely a advanced class. Do you speak such words to the Princess?
Sparkle, as a friend, if you find that this class is too hard for you, it might be best to switch to a class more appropriate for your limited skill set. After all, almost everyone in this class is three years older you and are unwillingly to slow down for the illiterate. Shameful but those are my classmates, I hope you understand. I hear that there is a free chair in Magic 101: Why My Horn Is Glowy And Why That's A Good Thing. You should consider it seriously. Everyone needs to relearn the basics sometimes.
Especially you.
Sincerely,
A Secret Admirer
~~~~~
I...
I am a letter. A sheet of paper.
I have no heart to feel. No lungs to talk. No ears to hear.
My mere existence is insanity incarnate, I am without motion or true movement to seek something greater than my form. My world is nothing. My life is nothing. My thoughts are nothing.
I am only a letter. I have accepted this and I know peace.
But I have been born with a purpose. I have a meaning to send.
My creator had Twilight Sparkle in mind.
They wrote upon me. Trusted me above all others.
I have a purpose. I have a meaning.
Does this Twilight Sparkle understand me?
“Who does this coward think they are! My theory is correct and I can read! Do you see this, Spike! Do you see this? I triple-checked my theory and my logic is sound! And what do they mean if I talk this way to the Princess? What do they mean, huh?!”
“Twilight, I think you need to calm down. You were a little-”
“I was little what? Unhinged? You would be unhinged if you were swamped with work and all of this stupid pressure. This coward thinks I can't handle Advanced Thurmagic Theory. I think they can't handle having a younger, better student in the room so they have to resort sending me this piece of crock!”
“But Twilight, you recited the wrong theory in the wrong classroom. Wasn't that speech supposed to be for Alchemic Rune 1?”
“I don't care! My reasoning was right!”
“It is an advanced class. I'm surprised the teach didn't boot you out. Now if I'd done that in class, Mr. Sleight would have kicked me right out and locked the door. Stick to the soft classes, you'd be done faster. Do you know how many study halls I have now? Not enough! I want a whole semester to myself!”
“That's what slackers say! You should feel bad for gaming the system! But don't you see what that coward wrote in this letter. The things they implied about me, aren't you offended?”
“As long as you think you are right, who cares what they wrote? It sounds like they're jealous and trying to pick a fight. But that's life. I think that everyone makes mistakes. You made a mistake and so did the sender of this letter. You're both wrong.”
“What are you saying, Spike. I didn't make a mistake! They made a mistake. They think they can bully me? Me? Hahaha! They must be out of their minds! What a bunch of closed-minded dimwits...”
Because I have no flesh or nerves, the sensation of being torn apart doesn't bother me.
As Twilight holds me up in the air, her magic keeping aloft as she strips me into two, I can see a glimpse of her. This is the first time I've seen the world outside the nothing that I see as a letter.
What I see is in a glittery purple hue but I see Twilight Sparkle, a unhappy unicorn mare. Her face is dark with exhaustion, sleepless nights carving their names under her eyelids. The way her eyes light up as I come apart. She takes glee in destroying me. And that's when it hurts. I finally experience pain.
I have failed.
Whatever purpose I was for. This couldn't have been the intended result.
I long for a second chance. I wish she would read me again.
Instead, she throws me away into a curved prison.
My sight fades and all is nothing once more.
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
I have noticed that you made no attempts to write a rebuttal to my necessary critique of your well-being. Thus I will take great pleasure in assuming that you agree with my assessment. Who knew that a student of the Princess could be so humble? I was so sure that you would have been on the warpath, accusing everyone in the classroom to be ignorant and obvious to your superior work (even though it lacked basic fact checking) from that day. Perhaps, even dropped from the class for being a unruly student?
I will not admit that I was waiting for you to snap. We are not children arguing.
Instead, I will admit that you have surpassed my low, low expectations of you. If I could compare your competence with a child, I would agree that you are a snot-picking moron who wears the dunce cap like a badge of infamous honor. That is far higher than what I thought of you before; a paste-eating infant who should be joining her peers in magical kindergarten.
However, it has come to my attention that it was rude of me to be so blunt without sugarcoating my words. Also, that I should mind my language with dealing with such a volatile, stuck-up and pompous moron. If you wish not to be offended, do not look up these words. Their synonyms would not help you in the least. There's no need to be learning new words that could only weaken what little speaking ability you have left.
Congratulations, Twilight Sparkle. You certainly know how to take criticism gracefully.
Your betters thank you.
Sincerely,
A Secret Admirer
~~~~~
I wake.
That is the best way I can describe it.
I wake and feel Twilight Sparkle peering through my content. It seems my creator hasn't given up. I have been given another chance. My new form is hardly any different but I find that I can see a little. Twilight leans over me, biting her lips as her face squeezes in places, grimacing.
I can't tell what she's thinking but her horn glows. She does not move me but instead fishes out the remains of my other form. She pushes both parts together and tapes it whole. Twilight lays the letter next to me and flips it over.
I can't read what she is writing but I choose to bask in her presence. When she is done, I feel something pulling me. I move. What essence that make me sentient goes to the new letter. I see Twilight in my old body and watch as she leans back into her chair, her head looking for someone else. Could it be the Spike?
“So, I'm a moron? Well, Spike... Do you see this?” She mutters, her hoof flattening my crumpled form. “Do you see this?” Her ears flatten and she sighs. “I'll teach Secret Admirer a lesson.”
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
I wasn't expecting such a frank and honest response. Admitting your faults is the first step of achieving excellence. Of course, you wouldn't have to be honest if you hadn't made such an mistake in the first place. How could you confuse the two classes? And more importantly, does the teacher Ms. Globe not care about proper documentation to back up such words. But then again, I suppose it does explain why your hoof-writing was unreadable smudges.
Sparkle, please do not consider a job in the arts.
Again, I thank you for being able to handle such direct criticism. But I do wonder why the letter I sent you was torn in half and re-sent to me. Are you too cheap to pay for your parchment? And the paper smells of rotten fruit and is littered with eraser marks. This is not the condition I sent the letter to you.
Seeing since you can't afford such nice stationary paper, I sent ten sheets along with this letter. Please take no offense but you need practice on keeping a prompt writing correspondence and examples on how a letter should look.
I would be glad to volunteer my time.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Admirer
~~~~~
“So, it looks like you got another one of those letters? I am literally worried about the safety of the school remaining un-blown up, un-destroyed, un-fallen into some seismic crater, un-”
“Shush, Spike. Just because I sunk a classroom's closet twelve feet into the ground doesn't mean I can do it to the entire school. Also, this is actually the third letter. Hmm... Ha! I wrote back to them and despite them being rude as ever, they want to keep writing letters to me. Do you know what this means?”
“But Twilight, that closet was on the fourth floor.”
“I'll tell you what this means! I'll lure Secret Admirer into thinking I'm their friend. They'll tell me all their secrets, fears and grade scores! And then when I have enough information to piece who the culprit is, I'll report them to the faculty for harassment and emotional abuse.”
“Twilight, I don't think that's how it works.”
“Or I dunno, I'll post these letters on the main board for everyone to mock.”
“You're not thinking this through.”
“I'll listen to what you have to say if you can solve this one question.”
“What?”
“Spell 'volatile' and I'll give up my plans for revenge.”
“Val-”
“Wrong!”
“I don't need to spell volatile to do this! Here I come, nerd!”
“Spike! That tickles!”
And so the letters are exchanged.
Twilight writes and writes.
I watch, my sight becoming stronger as the days go by. Soon I gain a abstract conscious and I am able to project my form outside of the letters that grow everyday. Twilight cannot see me but she seems to be subconsciously aware of my presence. Her body follows, adjusting itself to turn to wherever I float to in her room. When I return to her letters, she decides to re-read the one I chose, even if it's the earlier ones that she dislikes.
Twilight tends perk up and take the time to fish out a letter if she finds that I am attempting to phase through her window. I wonder if this is her way of watching over me.
Despite my growth, I am aware that I am only a letter.
I know my place. I know that is by her side.
But still, it pleases me when she does so. I only exist for Twilight's sake, after all.
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
How is the weather for you? I dislike the chill and brisk that comes this time of year. It seems I'll never get used to living on a mountain no matter how many years it's been. The way the wind sinks itself into my bones is unpleasant and I can never find the right kind of boots to wear. The hot cup of coffee with me helps. And of course, there's nothing that a warm cookie can't fix. Ah, it seems the weather is good for something. It gives me an excuse to indulge in the sweets.
What kind of sweets do you like, Sparkle?
I wouldn't call myself a chef but I do make a mean chocolate chip. I'll send you some samples in the next letter. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Today, I've finished my major thesis and I've submitted to a group of peers to review before I send it to be published. Have you thought of taking writing seriously? Far more seriously than that uninspired drivel you fed us last semester. The Canterlot Journal is always looking for new authors with quaint, unreasonable ideas of spell-work. I'm just teasing about quaint. I do find some of your ideas to be interesting.
I hope you and yours are doing well on such a fine fall day.
Yours,
Secret Admirer
~~~~~
“Nice love letter, you got there. Can I guess who's it from?” Spike notes as he passes by Twilight and her desk, carrying a load of books before sitting them on his side of the room. For his side, Spike has a smaller desk to make it easier for him to write, a bean-bag chair and a assortment of comics and snacks waiting for his attention.
“Spike! This letter is not meant for you!” In comparison, Twilight has several bookshelves over-flowing with books, papers and charts. She has exactly three clean trash bins for first drafts, terrible drafts and for subject papers that disagreed with her.
Typically, she would utter the phrase, “I will not write such drivel. The teachers are insane. Why can't we just read and talk about our interpretations during class!” for an hour or so before fishing out the assignment. It helps her with her stress.
She does have a fourth trash bin for actual trash but Spike tends to move it around while he cleans up after her. Twilight has a habit of leaving a trail of disorderly books, half-finished papers and broken quills and empty ink pots behind her wherever she moved around. She also didn't like Spike touching her stuff. Therefore their room was divided but with the way Twilight's materials tended to find homes on the other side of the room and how Spike would re-arrange her things, it was only in spirit.
“Touchy touchy.” Spike says, turning to stand on his heels and swooning. “I guess I would be all blush-y and girly if I had a secret admirer fawning over me.” Spike pauses in his motions to switch to making out with the air. “Mwah. Mwah. Kissy face. Oh kiss me, lover boy~”
Twilight rolls her eyes, waiting until he gets tired before she speaks up. “I could make a long argument that this is not a love letter but a exchange of ideas and intelligent conversation. But there's no point when you are-” Twilight gestures to Spike still making kissing sounds with his puckered lips in her direction.
“But Twilight,” Spike shakes his head at her. “You can't see yourself.”
“I see myself fine.” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you see yourself acting so juvenile?”
“Do you hear yourself? You keep on using those words. You didn't always use those words.” He moves to sit on the bed, taking a thinker's pose while mumbling to himself. “Juvenile is something that your secret admirer would say.”
“You smile more.” Spike states, satisfied with his answer. “You smile different when you read those letters and you've been smiling more. Admit it, you're enjoying yourself and your secret admirer.”
Twilight blushes, her face turning bright and her eyes suddenly interested in looking anywhere but Spike. She coughs nervously and hems and haws as she can't form a response.
“Shut up, Spike! You couldn't understand.” She says, before slipping out of the room. Nearly tripping in her hasty escape.
The look on Spike's face as she leaves is answer enough.
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
How are you faring these days? I hope the cookies I've sent brighten your spirits as they do mine. They say that there will be some light snow sometime next week so be sure to get a nice scarf and hat. When the weather turns, I like to bind my hair into a low hanging ponytail and stick it into a hat. Sure, it makes my hair look terrible once I take the hat off but you can't deny the look it gives me.
I will admit that I find my eyes drawn to you these days. I won't say that admire you but you do have a certain appeal. But I've notice that you tend to stick to the same styles. You hardly change your mane and I have never seen a student who hasn't tried wearing a single piece of clothing. It seems that you will be the first. That's adorable.
At this time of the year, I indulge in jackets and coats. This may sound odd but I do love a pair of stripped socks attached to some pleasing thighs. But as a stallion, I'm often too embarrassed to wear them in public. I envy girls in that fashion. Also for their fashion. This is so shameless for me to admit.
I am doing fine. My essay been sent to publication and I am waiting for the editor's review. Not to toot my own horn, but I expect that my article will be going into circulation very soon. I've published many papers over the years and I know that my most recent one is a keeper. If you're unsure about diving into writing, you can throw some ideas here. I can walk you through the process of making a highly well-written paper for the readers' viewing pleasure. But that is just a thought.
If you aren't interested, I won't push the idea any further but you could only be limiting yourself. What are your plans after school? How far do you plan to take your higher education? These are things you should be thinking about. But I can understand if you are a complete scatterbrain.
You have the rest of your life to be a failure, no need to rush the process of your self-realization.
Yours,
Secret Admirer
~~~~~
Twilight does smile a lot more than she used to. And it is a different smile she wears when she is reading the letter. Her lips curl around her cheeks, her bottom lip pulls in and the sides of her eyes crinkle. Sometimes, she wiggles her nose as she sighs to herself. I wonder what she's thinking. Sometimes, she sniffs the paper and closes her eyes in content. I wonder what I smell like. Is it of my creator? Is it him that gives her such pleasure.
I carry a set of knowledge that I was born with. And only that. Whatever deviates from my purpose or meaning, I tend to forget. Often, it is not worth it to attempt to make content with a proper being. To do so would drive me back into insanity and so I chose to continue to be in peace.
I know my creator's intent.
I know Twilight and Spike.
I know of this school, Celestia's School For Gifted Unicorns.
These things make up my world and are dear to me. But I imagine that my reasoning and observation of this room, of Twilight is poor. I simply don't posses the capacity. Thus I can only speculate. Spike once referred to me as a 'love letter' and made actions that suggested romantic intentions. I can only assume that I am a courting letter. No, a courting exchange to win Twilight's heart.
My creator sent me in his stead and so I hope I am performing my purpose adequately.
Today, something is bundled about with my usual white envelop. It is colorful, see-through plastic bag of cookies. They are have brown chunks within them. They must be the chocolate chips. Twilight levitates one out. It is crumbly and burnt in places but Twilight still sniffs with that content look on her face and bites gently into the snack. She leans back as she chews, groaning with pleasure as she moves for another bite.
“So this is what his cooking tastes like. Looks I've found his flaw. These cookies could look much better but taste so good." She giggles." If only his words could be just as sweet.”
Twilight finishes the cookie as the bell rings and an announcement begins. “I have Siege Spell Theory today. Can't be late even if these cookies are tempting me to.” Twilight gathers her things and takes the bag with her, a spring in her step as she goes out into the hallway.
~~~~~
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
How are you faring these days? I'm glad that you enjoyed the cookies and I vow on Star Swirl the Beard's glorious bells to never tell you the recipe. It's a family secret. A common idiom should suffice; I put my foot in it. You may call me unfair but I call you unfair to be have the highest score in our classroom on yesterday's test. I didn't even know it was possible to get 110 points. Mr. Spunk isn't the nicest teacher around and tend to be stingy with his points.
For you to do so well, I wonder about what that says about the rest of us.
I refuse to tell you my pseudonym in the Canterlot Journal. Even if it's still not linked to me in any way, I would not like to receive critiques from you in the mail. You should not mix business with pleasure. Because I receive money from my articles, I'd like to remain completely professional. These are the standards I set for myself. You should consider acquiring some yourself.
It's a bit silly and feminine but since I've notice the class has taken to wearing striped clothing, I'll try to slip some stripped sock with my boots. I might do it today or tomorrow. Whenever I work up the nerve.
I hope the snow isn't doing you in as it has me.
Yours,
Secret Admirer
~~~~~
“Are you sure that you know what you are doing?” Spike asks, a claw scratching his lower scales as he watches Twilight try again to bun up her hair. “I don't think it's suppose to hurt.”
Twilight twirls as she tries to look at the back of her head, her magic twisting her hair into knots and ribbons. Six different striped scrunchies lay torn to pieces in her fourth trash bin and fourteen others wait in the pack. She makes grunts of pain but already gave up attempting to use the mirror she bought. Spike only helplessly holds a brush and hovers with a nervous air around him.
“Spike, it doesn't-” Twilight screeches as her magic wavers and her incomplete bun collapses on it's own weight. “Hurt. Much.” Twilight quickly adds as she digs out the remains of the most recent scrunchie. It it thrown on the floor and Spike picks it up to put in the trash.
“It hurts to watch.”
Twilight shakes out her mane before sitting down and running her hooves through her hair. On the desk, a fashion magazine is whisked up into the air and floats over to Spike.
“I don't understand what I am doing wrong. It should be simple to imitate the hair in the pictures. The directions clearly state-”
Spike takes the magazine and recites, “Winter's Most Wanted: Cool and Quick tips to style your do. It might be cold outside but with these easy tips, you'll warm up your lucky stallion tonight. Wow Twilight, I didn't think that you were into this stuff.”
“I'm not. I was just curious. Sometimes, I get tired of my hair. There's nothing wrong with changing your look once in a while.”
“There's no need to get so defensive.” Spike notices the mix of green herbs and smashed citrus fruit stacked on Twilight's desk. It is a clear contrast of what usually occupies that space. Books, papers, quills or a pile of all three is always teetering off the edge, waiting to create a inky paper-cut avalanche. His eyes widen as they take the set of cotton wool caps and scarves with three stripes on the fuzzy ball on top that have invaded the rest of the desk space.
“I'm not defensive.” Twilight brushes all of her hair to the side and manages to make a long, side-braid. “I just wanted to make a bun and I couldn't do it. They are supposed to look really cute with hats.” She magically moves another scrunchie to tie to the start of the braid. “I guess this is good enough. What do you think, Spike?”
“Umm-”
Twilight's braid is loosening in places, stands are sticking out and the scrunchie climbs down the braid with a loud, petulant plop. The unicorn pales, tugging her braid apart and muttering under her breath before bending to pick it up.
“There was nothing wrong with your old hair style. Maybe, you should stick to that before you get creative.”
“But I wanted to look cute.” Twilight mumbles. “Is wrong to be cute?”
Spike ducks his head, dragging his claw along his shoulder before he says, “Whatever you're doing, you're doing it wrong. Let me help.”
