The Plane

Cold fell, but before she had time to register this fact, the fall came to a sudden end. Immediately suspecting another threat, she tried to lift her head despite the pain of her impact, but all she could see were tiny stars dancing in front of her, and countless blurry dots which were impossible to decipher.

A gasp. With clenched teeth, Cold turned her head towards the source. Slowly, the image in front of her sharpened more and more, until she could make out the shape of somepony else standing there.

Some...pony?

Cold blinked. Something was different. She knew what she was. She also knew a number of other things... names of things...

All the names that had been missing.

“Are you alright?”

“I think so,” Cold answered, stifling a painful groan. With a considerable amount of effort, she slowly crawled into into a sitting position. “Who are you?”

“Call me Twilight.” The pony rushed over, only to stop right in front of her, apparently not knowing what to do. “I'm... I'm... I'm terribly sorry for what you have been through.”

“So it's over?”

“Yes.”

Cold didn't know how she was supposed to feel, but right now she barely felt anything.

“Did you do this to us?”

“No.”

Cold swallowed. She knew that it was foolish to blindly believe this pony, but right now, sitting on this floor with the looming prospect of death absent for the first time in her life, it was hard to feel any sensation of danger.

Curiously, she began to examine her surroundings. She seemed to be in a library, with circular walls whose many recesses served as bookshelves. Beside her, a neatly decorated staircase lead upstairs, and in the center of the room stood a small, round table. Looking upwards, she saw that the ceiling was covered by a single large celestial symbol.

It was... pleasant. Cold couldn't think of any other word to describe it. Without a doubt was it the friendliest place she had ever been to.

“Are you there?”

No-one answered. Twilight was still standing beside her, but she had her gaze lowered to the floor and didn't say a word.

A sense of foreboding overcame Cold.

“Hello?”

But there was no point asking again. If she was there, she would have answered.

“I'm sorry,” Twilight said in a whisper. “You are the only one who survived.”

“The only one?”

“You and twenty-three others were thrown into that place. Only you got out.”

“But... what about the pony who was with me? The one I could always talk to? She was there the whole time. We got through this whole thing together. How can I have survived, but not her?”

Twilight looked at her, and a lone tear dropped onto the floor.

“I'm so sorry.”

Cold closed her eyes, and felt the agony washing over her. Now she knew what true loss felt like. She had been the only living soul she knew.

And she didn't even know her name.

“What... what was her name?”

Still crying silently, Twilight turned her head away and summoned a small piece of paper from the circular table.

“What is your name?”

“Cold.”

She could see Twilight's eyes quickly running down the paper in front of her.

“Gold... Goldspark.” Twilight took a moment to collect herself. “She was a small unicorn filly, gifted in maths and revelation related magic. Thirteen years old.”

“Thirteen,” Cold repeated disbelievingly. “She was a kid.”

“Ya.” Twilight sniffed.

“What happened?”

“Somepony did this to you. To you and the others. We caught him, but we couldn't stop what he had begun. It would go on until all but one pair were killed. If you want to know the details...”

“No.” Cold hat taken in this news without making a sound, but she didn't want to hear more. “Not yet.” Squeezing her eyes, she tried to think about anything other than the dead filly.

“How old am I?”

“Nineteen. You were a homeless pony from Manehatten, raised in an Orphanage.” Twilight moved her glance back at her, biting her lip. “There is something else.”

“Yeah?”

“All ponies which were thrown into the plane have been robbed of their special talents... and the talents of their race. You are a pegasus.”

Cold stared at her, not willing to believe what she had heard.

“But I have fur.”

“I know. The pony who...” She bit her lip. “He is... cruel. And the way he did this... I studied the spell. It is... I can't really describe it to someone who doesn't understand unicorn magic, but the spell alone is a great crime.” She took a deep breath. “But I can reverse it. Even for a pegasus. As soon as you want, I can give you your old body back.”

“Do it,” Cold said without hesitating.

Twilight gave her a look, then she nodded, stood up, and walked a few steps backwards. After drying her eyes, she tilted her head slightly, and a stream of magic began to erupt from her horn, enclosing and flowing all around Cold's body. It hurt, but it was bearable. Squeezing her eyes shut, Cold patiently waited for the pain to go away.

Sooner than expected, it did. Cold let a few more seconds pass, then she opened her eyes and stared down at her body, blinking. Her coat was now made of blue feathers, but it was a kind of blue different from her old coat or the plane; this one was brighter, friendlier. It was a close distinction, but to her it made all the difference in the world. And she had wings, which so far felt like strange and unknown extensions to her body. Pulling a tuft of hair, she could see that her mane was comprised of two differently colored strands, one a light blue and the other white.

Now she knew why she was called Cold.

“All ponies had blue coats when they were sent into the plane. It is just coincidence that your real color is so similar.”

Twilight was still watching her, looking almost as if she was expecting to be yelled at at any second.

But there was no anger in Cold. Twilight wasn't responsible for what had happened, and Cold hadn't fought tirelessly only to falsely blame the first pony she met, especially when that pony was showing her so much sympathy.

“Thank you,” Cold murmured, and with a sigh, she dropped back onto her haunches. Hesitantly, Twilight sat down next to her, and without thinking about it, Cold closed her eyes and leaned her head against her shoulder.

This was all she needed. No danger. No challenges. No laboriously suppressed desperation. No responsibility. And no fear.

Gradually, her breathing slow and steady, Cold drifted off into the first real slumber of her life.