Hexagons: Part l

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**The Crystal Ponies~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Existent by day, expired by night. The power of the celestial sun's light, filtered through the ancient relic--the Crystal Heart--gives life to these Crystal beings. They are all deceased and are truly an extinct race, as past tragedies and massacres have left them ever so.

However, with the power and privilege of the Crystal Heart, the ponies are able to experience life after death.

A sheet of parchment laid blank on a dark desk inside an even darker building, locked up behind it's sturdy wooden door. From the outside, a concealed and hooded figure approached the only window at the base of the exterior, scanning the inside for any activity.

A massive rainstorm had been pummeling the ground below for quite some time, and it had beaten the dirt and grassy terrain into little more than just mush. The coat that the quadrupedal silhouette wore was drenched in rainwater, and all four legs of it were covered in mud.

The figure lightly sighed.

"I'm actually doing it," it spoke, deep underneath its breath.

After examining the interior one more time, it carefully opened the window, loosening it from its locking mechanism. But instead of using it's hooves, it manifested a weak magic to accomplish its goal with no sound at all. The evident unicorn figure then opened the window and climbed through the sil in the wall, closing the window back silently after it entered. The light coat that was worn had been afflicted by filth that spewed up from the very ground. The violent gales outside were unlike anything this town would normally see.

After entering, the first place the illegal intruder headed was the desk at the far end of the wall directly ahead of it, where the parchment laid. The ambiance that emanated from it's horn led the way. A nearby quill was magically snatched upon arrival, and then quickly dipped into an intricately designed cup of ink. Then, the cloaked criminal started to deface the parchment with it's own additional literature, spaced directly below it's introductory.

Their genealogy provides them with this ability through the concept, and fact, of reincarnation. In their deceased state, they are all alive in the form of ultra-transparent spheres of light that roam free in the spacial matter of our world, freely. They can also take on a non-corporeal, yet visible form, that anyone can see if they concentrate almost every bit of their will towards it.

Still, no sign of detection allowed for further writing.

Crystal Ponies, whether airborne or not, are able to be seen by members of their own kind and bloodstream, with very little setback. Also note that, while their blood isn't any factor that contributes toward their communication, it is merely a similarity that does indeed help keep them gathered together, but in an unconditional, forceful way. Such is the case for those those that have been in close proximity to one another for quite some time. But it doesn't always measure up to that result. Some of them willingly choose to leave what little they have behind, and the fact that they're able to do so proves that they are able to feel emotional attachment, since they know they would be completely alone if they do.

Of course, since they possess no physical bodies any longer, and that they are invisible to anyone else but their own kind, the entire science and logic behind the afterlives of these wise ancestors of ours-all of ours-is slaved over and over and over even further. To the point, even, until the very thought of the possibilities that pertain to them indeed existing is flawed into absolute corruption of the mind's basic, primary understanding.

Any, and possibly every other race of ponykind, cannot seem to fathom any sincere thought of theirs to go toward the logic, even simple fantasies. Perhaps, though, the latter, as the use of fairy tales and the like. With the rise of conflicts between and within religions all over the globe, every effort has been made to debate since the conflicts' popularity has risen. Far too much strife had been present to pay any due attention to imagination and wonder.

There is, however, but only one place where the Crystal Ponies need not hide from the cruelty and insolence of the world of today, regardless of their inability to feel fear anyway.

The only reason why the author stopped writing was because the prolonged use of his or her mind. But after a while of cautiously listening and observing, enough energy had been regained in order to resume writing.

Underneath the wet, grey cloak that this entity wore, minuscule traces of tears started to well up inside it's eyes. There wasn't enough to had been leaked onto the cold hardwood floor, or down the thin grey coat that the wearer also wore. But hesitance was more than surely present. The weak and hazy, conditionally hued aura that emanated from the writer's horn was perhaps the only characteristic that would come close to defining it's identity, if anyone witnessed this act.

The writer also wasn't very tall, at a recognized glace; standing just only a few inches shorter than most equine residents of the world. If he or she had been crouched down while writing, reducing the use of his or her energy, the shape of this character could give the impression that this is the doing of a mere filly.

However, it was highly doubtful that the writer was indeed the age of a filly, given the boundless intelligence of the topic it was writing about, unless it had studied about the Crystal Ponies with the insane intent to rewrite their history.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**The Crystal Empire~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---The Birthright---

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This popular tourist location, tucked well into the furthest northwest mountains of Equestria, is also the namely land of origin for the Crystal Ponies. Or at least, that's the general consensus that history leans toward, in society's striving need to be correct.

While the Crystal Empire is home to many Crystal Ponies, and always a home to all, not all of them choose to take any further residence there. Some of them, unable to experience frail cowardice, decide to leave what very little they have behind and search the world for a place they feel is their rightly home.

The Crystal Ponies are able to roam freely during the daytime, anytime, but only while taking residence in the Crystal Empire, where the heart of immaculate ore is forever elevated above the region. The sun's light touches and enters the Heart, and it is then refracted along with the iridescent gleams from the relic. The vaguely hued light shines over every inch of the region, and provides the one and only foundation for the Ponies' lives.

The Crystal Ponies' lives are consistent with day and night, just like the lives that you and I live. When the sun begins to drop, the city starts to sleep. Portions of the city can stay alive that day until the crystal light vanishes from whence they stand. However, those that are not present in the Crystal Empire at the time of sunset are able to remain outside the city limits for as long as they have stored some of the light within their souls. But they must return to the Empire before the light in their souls depletes. Expiring the privilege of free roaming the Earth will result in the second and final death of that individual, in which they will never have another second chance at life.

They are gone forever, no returning.The crystallized iridescence is what gives the Ponies life, and it is infinite. There need not be any worries regarding scarcity or greed.

The ponies also, really, have somewhat physical bodies, but it is too vague to classify them as actually possessing them. The most they could do upon trying to interact with the world is talk, which have always been vocalized as whispers--even if they scream--and wear a few articles of light clothing, proving that their ethereal bodies are also capable of touching. Sadly, though, they still wouldn't be able to feel the touch of anything, or anypony else.

Crystal Ponies have no way of remembering their tragic history, for the devastating event had resulted in the segregation of both organic thinking and emotion, to put simply. This is the reason Crystal Ponies are unable to feel little to any stimulants toward fear, excitement, love, hate, loss... Not even a sense of fulfillment through achieving something in their second lives. But again, those who are able to can seek out a new life for themselves, however doubtful they are afflicted.

The Crystal Ponies cannot feel and experience anything-literally-on their own. They live their second lives accursed, as the popular belief of reward in their second life emulates from their suffering in their first. They appear to all have been wrong though, considering the way their history had to take the unexpected turn that it did.

The author, its quill enveloped inside a slowly strengthening aura, was beginning to run out of ink. The Unicorn, identity only minimally deducible from it's use of magic, quickly dipped the quill's tip into the small cup of the dark liquid and traced it immediately back to the parchment it used to write upon, the pen dripping not one bit.

The complete story of the Crystal Ponies and their depressing history has yet to all be claimed and confirmed; such is the sad truth. There are so many fissures within the basic logistics regarding their very existence.

One can only believe the salvaged history that lives today for so long...

The writer ceased its actions. It laid the quill it had been using on the desk that supported the stained parchment. It's tip had glided over it so much that it had broken, and ink leaked profusely. But a little evidence wasn't going to stop the hooded Unicorn from rewriting history.

The intruder, namely, wasn't supposed to be where it was, in an area surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books upon books. They lined the entire wall in front of the figure, with the exception of the small space it used to write, being directly between two bookshelves. This was the only hint as to what this building really was.

"I've got what I came for," the Unicorn thought to itself.

With no intent on staying any longer than it did, it silently trotted with a decent across the enormous rug in the room, making no sound with how thick the decor was beneath it's feet. The rainwater dripped off of the coat both to and from the desk, and the floor was fairly afflicted by it. The cloaked intruder then magically unlocked the small circular window at the wall opposite to the massive bookshelves and climbed out as soon as it opened.

The storm outside proved to be a nuisance, as the sound of marching raindrops and rushing wind made their way through the open window and into the building. The character, however cautious it was to this point, had closed the window again, but not to it's full extent. If anypony else did happen to catch a glimpse of the mysterious character, their eyes would most likely be deceived. With the once lush trees around rushed low enough to the ground and the haze in the air so thick, no one could ever correctly assume that the figure was really there.

"Sorry, Rarity," the hooded figure muttered under it's breath once more, but he or she was able to hear themselves in that instance. Then, less than a split-second later, the silhouetted figure vanished, and in it's brief evanescence, only the clothing it wore was left to fly along in the violent gales that ravaged the area.

Whoever this was, he or she had some sort of hesitation to intrude upon the residence that which had been targeted.

"Sorry, Rarity..."

Those words; this regret, would most likely ring inside the character's head for the duration of the goal it had set out to accomplish.