Twilight stumbled into her Canterlot apartment, soaked and sore. Every marble stair leading up the tower had been slick with pounding rain, and even as she swung the door shut, the clatter of wood against stone was nearly silent under the explosive crack of thunder. But here, she was safe from the wind and weather. For all the fierce storms surrounding the capital that night, the air was still within her chambers. Once the door was closed, it was as if the city itself had stopped breathing, and Twilight relished in the silence.
Staggering across the room, she collapsed into bed without a thought to drying off. The wetness in her mane seeped into the sheets, but resting after a long day of politics was more valuable than dry bedding. Twilight yawned, stretching, and flattened her head to her pillow with a sigh.
For the span of a few minutes, her mind danced on the edge of slumber. And yet, sleep evaded her. A lone candle fluttered beyond her eyelids, brighter than the sun, turning what would be peaceful black a grating maroon. She shut her eyes tighter, rolled over once and once more, and even tried pulling the damp sheets up and over her eyes, but to no avail. Pretending the flame wasn’t there proved impossible, and so Twilight rose with a groan and crossed the room to where the tiny cone of fire flickered next to her dresser.
A single breath, and the light was extinguished. The faint smells of lavender and smoke drifted off the scented candle, then nothing. Grumbling, Twilight dragged herself back to bed. It took over a full minute of walking before she realized something was wrong. She felt around, waving her hoof this way and that, expecting to bump against a table leg or wall or shelf or something.
Weird, she thought, but weirder things have happened. Maybe not sleeping for a day and a half had drained her of sanity as well as strength. She had half a mind to flop to the ground right there, but something about the darkness urged her to make it back to her sheets and pillows. Twilight leaned down, rubbing a hoof along the floor. It was neither warm nor cold, and seemed entirely flat, like marble. Wherever she was, it wasn’t the carpeted tower she had been in moments ago.
And so she concluded, I must be dreaming.
It was a strange dream, to be sure. Certainly this was the first time Twilight's exhaustion from a long day had followed her into slumber, so much so that she felt she could fall asleep within sleep. The thought made her giggle—or try to. No sound escaped her lips.
Curious, she tried to speak. Her mouth opened and her tongue moved, but the shadows were silent as ever. A deep breath, and she tried screaming.
Nothing.
You’re dreaming. You’re only dreaming.
The inability to speak was suffocating, even as she breathed deeper and deeper. She tried to tap her foot on the floor, but the hard surface that had been there once had vanished. Now Twilight was flying, or rather floating, in whatever inaudible nightmare was trying to swallow her. She sunk into the inky ether like a dead leaf in a forgotten pond, opening and shutting and opening her eyes again.
This is a dream, she repeated. This is only a dream. Her thoughts came quicker now, twisting through her mind’s eye like scrambled text on a page. Her own voice that had always spoken her thoughts read the letters, but made no sound.
Phantom limbs stretched out, but upon reaching all over, Twilight found nothing. Her mouth opened wide to scream, her mind spun in circles, but neither her lungs nor soul made a sound. Beneath the weight of such emptiness, Twilight felt her will crack and writhed as panic seeped in.
I’m dead, then. The words flashed through her mind, black on black and yet somehow understandable. I must have died in my sleep. Maybe the storm had blown the tower down, or lightning struck the spire and somehow found its way to her through the puddles on the floor. Rain and beds and candles seemed an eternity ago, and Twilight realized she’d forgotten the sound of thunder. The realization made her want to cry, until she noticed she’d forgotten how to cry, too.
This was all that was left. After an abbreviated life as Twilight Sparkle, the remnants of her soul, through some terrible twist of fate, were condemned to this pit.
“It’s not very fair, is it?”
She would have cried out. Memories and meanings were slipping away like sand through her fingers, and yet something had just spoken, and she’d understood.
“Most believe it ends with a scream. The ones who don’t say it ends with a whisper.” The voice was exceedingly quiet, almost whimpering.
She couldn’t breath anymore, and yet felt no pain in her lungs. In fact, there was no feeling in her chest at all, or anywhere else. The only sense she had left was hearing, and the only voice in the world was speaking to her.
“But I was born from it,” the voice said. “And I can tell you it ends in silence.”
Nothing. Nothing was everywhere. She was becoming part of it, unable to tell where her body stopped and the void began. Her mind was breaking down, with thoughts becoming raw emotions: fear, confusion, and despair. And through the infinite darkness, whispers echoed.
“Of course, what better mother to silence than darkness? And not the starlit dimness you call night. I have seen it.”
Something glimmered, miles away. It was the faintest fleeting twinkle and the brightest burning star. Fear swayed, and wonder sparkled like a candle in the dark.
“You could never know darkness like I do. Even beyond entropy, when time decays and pulls your soul through the terminus of light, you are not entirely gone. Only I can know just how many shades there are beyond black.”
Twilight. Her name was Twilight. What did that mean?
“I didn’t ask to be born, any more than you did. Divinity plays a cruel trick on those it touches, I think, in that we so often forget how small a fraction of eternity can be.”
She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t nothing. She was Twilight. A voice was speaking to her about something. Divinity, eternity, or rather, the opposite of it?
“When my mother wakes, this place is my nursery. And thanks to your efforts, she won’t even visit me anymore. I wonder if divinity has tricked you too?”
She didn’t belong here. Nothing belonged here. Twilight blinked, then was surprised that she could. Her eyes closed and opened again, and more lights sparked to life, near and far. She blinked again. Had she always been able to blink?
“You can’t understand how this feels. To wish so desperately for a dream when you know you could never hope to sleep. To be an end without an ending.”
Through the shimmers, Twilight glimpsed a face. Its eyes were soft and white as starlight, and they looked like they were going to cry. She wondered if they were her own.
“I’m sorry. I really am. But this was the only way I could see her again. I can’t make it beautiful like she can.”
The darkness wasn’t so scary now. It wasn’t even darkness, really. Lights twinkled and glowed like embers, rising and falling as if caught in a breeze. Twilight felt herself touch down, onto something warm.
“I missed you,” the voice said, but not to her.
Twilight closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out in a long, loud sigh. When she opened them again, the thousands of shimmers were gone. The only sound was her own breathing, and the only light was a dim candle across the room.
