Fantasy

by Aiyonbeam

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Sad
Length: 1883

Twilight gets wrapped up in a book.

Ever since I was small, I've been able to dive into what I read.
I've been able to immerse myself in a fantasy world so deeply and so thoroughly it's like I'm there.
…I hate it.
And I love it.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-27 08:10:59 UTC

The Chapter

She sits there, sipping her tea, calm as ever as she waits for Twilight to talk. The twitch in her pupil's ear, the glint in her eye; Celestia knows this mood well.

And so she sits, and waits to ride it out.

They sit there for a long time.

Celestia sighs, puts her tea down, and speaks.

"Lay it on me." she says quietly. "What was it about?"

"A-A pony." Twilight stammers, voice quivering with some emotion Celestia couldn't begin to place. "She... She was c-cursed. Cursed to be forgotten, her entire life. Cursed with music, music that flowed through her head until she couldn't take it and she found out what happened to the Third Princess and-"

Twilight stops, choking back a sob.

"She went insane." she finishes finally. "She lived the rest of her life drifting in and out of lucidity, and she died cold, a-and alone, a-and crazy, and-"

The sobs racking her frame, Twilight collapses into Celestia's side, burying her face in the alabaster mare's coat.

"Oh, Twilight." Celestia coos. "It's okay. It's okay. It isn't-"

"But what if it is!?" Twilight screamed. "What if it is and I get cursed? Or you? Or Luna? Or anypony!? I-I don't... I don't want that to happen. Ever!"

"Twilight." Celestia said, her voice just firm enough to cause the smaller Princess to look up at her, tears making streaks down her face.

"Twilight, the first thing we need to do is calm down." Celestia says slowly, insistently. Deep breaths. Deeeeeep breaths."

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

"Twilight, please." Celestia says. "Remember."

"I know, I know." Twilight says, voice still wavering. "It... It isn't..."

"It isn't real, Twilight." Celestia echoes. "Do we need to do the mantra?"

"No." Twilight says, sighing. Tears still flow down her face, and she turns away from her mentor.

"I'm sorry." she says quietly. "I'm sorry."

She repeats the words like a twisted chant, slowly curling into a ball as she sobs, weeping gently while apologies stream from her mouth-

A pearlescent wing drapes over her, and Celestia's voice cuts through the stream of 'I'm sorry'.

"For what?" she asks simply. "For reading? Twilight, why should you be sorry for doing what you love?"

"But-" Twilight says. "Look at me! I'm a mess! Every other day, I come bursting in, breaking down because some fake ponies had fictional problems, and I'm just making you sit here and take it! A-And then you calm me down, and I feel so dumb, because it isn't real! It's just a story but I forget that, and I can't stop doing it!"

"Twilight, you are not making me do anything." Celestia chides gently. "If I didn't want to hear about your stories, I'd tell you. I respect you enough to do that. And you are not dumb. I promise you. And you aren't a mess."

"But still! I... I g-get so wrapped up. I get lost in them, Celestia. Why?"

Twilight took a shuddering breath.

"My l-life's great! I've g-got it good! I've got fr-friends. I-I've got a home. My life couldn't be more happy!"

With renewed sobs, Twilight cradles her head in a pair of lavender hooves.

"Why do I keep trying to escape it?"

A hoof rubbed Twilight's back, making slow circles as it massaged the alicorn.

"Oh, Twilight." Celestia said, her voice practically a whisper. "Oh, my little pony. Come here..."

With that, Celestia wrapped Twilight into a hug, the two alicorns crying into each other; Twilight's frantic sobs and Celestia's quiet tears streaming down both faces.

"Twilight," Celestia said. "We all have these things. We all have something that takes us outside of ourselves, makes us better. When we do it, we leave this world. We escape reality and go to someplace better. Some ponies play music."

Twilight flinched at that and Celestia, grimacing, made a note of it.

"Some ponies write. Some paint. And every time, they experience joy. They experience pain. Some artists might recoil at the sight of a banana in a bowl, just because of what the banana implicates, and that is no different from your reaction whenever somepony says 'Well, that went-'"

Twilight shuddered, giving out a small wail of anguish and Celestia - despite herself - smiled.

"You're not dumb. You're not a mess. And I'll always love you, Twilight. I'll never, ever forget you. I promise."

They sat there, Celestia slowly soothing the younger pony as she cried, cleansing her system, clearing her mind.

Eventually, the tears stopped.

Twilight stood.

The two looked at each other, and shared a nod.

"I'll see you soon, then." Twilight said softly. "I'm going to go back to Ponyville now."

"Of course." Celestia replied, laying a hoof on Twilight's shoulder. "Come back if you feel you need to vent again. Please, please don't shut ponies out just because you think they won't understand."

Twilight nodded.

"Twilight?" Celestia said, an eyebrow raising. "Just out of curiosity; was that story you read about anypony you know in particular?"

Twilight nodded, a slow, deliberate motion.

"Why don't you visit them, or leave them a letter? Just let them know you do remember them. I think it'll make you feel a little better."

With another, more firm nod, Twilight's horn flashed, and she was gone.

"S-Sister?" Luna's voice called from somewhere behind Celestia. "Are... Are you free to talk?"

"Always, Luna." Celestia said, turning and smiling at her younger sister.

"You..." Luna said quietly. "You remember me."

Celestia raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I-"

Celestia's words were cut off as Luna launched herself at her sister, catching Celestia in a flying tackle of happy tears.

"You remember me!" Luna cried.

Celestia looked over at her sister, and at the book clasped in her hoof...

And sighed, shaking her head and smiling.

"Always." she said softly. "Luna? Do you think I could borrow that book? Its storyline sounds... Interesting."

Dear Princess Celestia,

I know I don't write to you as often as I used to. With my powers being what they are now, your room is a quick teleport away; I've never really needed to write these.

But I feel like writing this down will help me, somehow.

Like getting something off my chest.

I figured it out, why I do it.

It took some time, and a lot of thinking, and - I will admit - a lot more tears.

But I've arrived a simple conclusion, based on the evidence, and the data, and the fact that this just feels so right to see it, to write it down, to hear it in that mental voice that isn't my voice when I commit the words indelibly to memory.

(Sorry; the story used rather sophistiated diction and long, intricate paragraphs and similes; sweeping metaphors and language that just felt so right, and good... It's rubbed off on me a bit.)

But I digress.

You see, I realized something, alone in my room, at a quarter-to-three in the morning.

I don't try to escape reality when I dive into a book like that.

I borrow another.

I take my thoughts, and I slide them into the protagonist, and I become them. I live a life that is not my own, yet it is my own because I'm the one living it. And when I come back out, when the story ends and I'm sitting there, holding a book so tight and I'm sobbing...

...It's because, though I scream and rage and wish with all my might that it was otherwise, It wasn't real.

And it never will be.

I wanted to reach out. I wanted to help that poor mare. I wanted to help her find herself. I wanted the story to end happily.

But I couldn't, and it didn't and it still isn't real and I hate that.

I hate it and I love it.

Because in the end, even though I've dived down deep into a world, a mind I can only dream of, there is still my world. My mind.

My life.

And I need to live it.

I walk the fine line between visiting a different reality and escaping from mine, and sometimes I get lost.

Sometimes, the sound of a harp makes me cry, or the phrase 'Well, that went horribly' makes me tense up with fear, or I have to remind myself that Yes, She May Not Have Been A Pony, But She Never Was In Equestria In The First Place.

Because that's the essence of my gift.

Of my curse.

I fall in love every single day.

Whenever I read a story like those, the ones that make me laugh and cry and slip away from the real world, I open myself up. I take the risk.

Sometimes, it pays off. Sometimes, the colt gets the filly. The pony escapes from the time loops a better mare than she was, and with a special somepony to boot. Sometimes, just this once, everypony lives.

And sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes, the mare goes crazy, her love for what gave her her purpose in life drained. sometimes, the mare kills herself rather than live in a world full of memories that aren't hers. Sometimes, the stallion's last leap isn't the leap home; it's a leap into a darker, scarier world, one where he dies, never having revived his teacher.

But even though those things happen, and even though, on some level, they happen to me, I'm...

I'm glad they did.

Because even the 'wrong' endings are right. Even the bad, the horrible things that happen, they fit.

And that marks the difference between a good story and a gateway into another world.

So please forgive me when, tomorrow, I come running into your arms, sobbing because the stallion died and the evil-but-not-really-evil-just-super-lazy spirit that came out of his toaster had to live on without him. Please try to understand, even though it might be hard sometimes, that these jaunts through despair and terror are what bring me joy, even as I sob, as I cry and mourn.

Please understand that it's me reaping the fruits of my labors. It's me reaching the end of a life, closing the book on an important part of me.

And please forgive me if I ever make that weird whimpering-snorting-gasping sound. I've heard it made by other ponies before, and it sounds horrifying.

Always Your Little Pony,

Twilight Sparkle.

Lyra Heartstrings looked down at her work. This particular song had been a real doozy to transcribe, gathered from the random melodies playing out in her head; strings of notes a bird might sing, or the tones of a pony's voice as they talked. She knew it was a good one, though; she couldn't wait to play it.

A loud 'bang' from her porch interrupted her thoughts, and Lyra turned, walking quickly to the entrance of her hoof-built log cabin, her grey hoodie shielding her from the chill of the night air as she opened the door.

A small basket lay on her doorstep, with two loaves of bread, a fake mouse, a crown of tulips, and a red sweater lying inside it. A card was attached to the handle.

'I remember you.' Lyra read, confused, before shrugging and taking the basket inside. She was rather hungry...