“Oh my! That was a doozy,” Fluttershy gasped.
Safe in her warm bed and bathed in the first rays of a new, cheerful day, the pegasus steadied her breathing and calmed herself down. Or tried to. She had learned many calming techniques over the years but none of them worked very well for her. She was just too nervous.
Propping herself up against her pillows, Fluttershy took a small journal and a pencil from the nightstand by the bed. She opened it and wrote down the highlights of her latest nightmare. Twilight Sparkle had suggested this to help her get over her nightmares, or at least try to make sense of them. It had not worked as intended.
Princess Luna had also tried to help. At first the presence of “Nightmare Moon” in her dreams was worse than the dreams themselves. Over time, however, Princess Luna taught Fluttershy the basics of lucid dreaming, the ability to recognize dreams and even to control them. That didn’t work as intended either, but at least she was able to recognize her dreams most of the time and watch them unfold before her. Writing them down upon awakening did help her remember them.
When she finished writing, Fluttershy returned the book and pencil to the nightstand and indulged in a luxurious stretch before getting out of bed. She hummed a happy tune while she made her bed and planned her day. After opening a window a crack to let in some fresh air, Fluttershy collected the journal and took it downstairs with her.
Fluttershy placed the journal into a wicker basket waiting on one of the bottom steps and then went about her morning routine of feeding and playing with her sizable menagerie of pets and other animals. Eventually she finished her rounds and went to the kitchen to see to her own breakfast. Fortunately for her, her tastes were simple and it didn’t take long to prepare it, and a few extras. Another kettle of tea brewed while she ate.
Her breakfast over, Fluttershy placed the extra snacks into the basket with the journal and the hot tea pot beside it. Flitting from window to window, staying off to the side so she wouldn’t be easily seen, she made a final check on her outdoor critters, and for anyone who might be about. Seeing that all was in order, she swooped up the basket and kettle and hovered beside the bookcase under the stairs. Getting an “all clear” from her bird lookouts at their posts by the windows, Fluttershy pulled one of the books partway out. A click sounded inside the wall and the bookcase swung away revealing a hidden passage. Fluttershy hurried in and closed the door lest anyone should see it.
A short staircase led to a large room filled with skillfully knitted items of all kinds. Fluttershy enjoyed knitting since the concentration and repetition was a kind of meditation for her and allowed her mind to relax for a while. She wouldn’t be knitting today, however, at least not yet. Instead she flew over to some new additions: a couple of tables, desks, and a bookshelf in a nook far from the door.
Fluttershy put the basket on a table beside a waiting tea service and poured herself a cup. She then collected her journal from the basket and a larger notebook and writing material from the pile on another table. Settling in at a low writing desk, Fluttershy fleshed out her most recent nightmare in the notebook. She tried to keep it as stark and close to the real thing as she could, followed by notes and ideas on how to improve it.
She had come to enjoy writing out her dreams and thoughts this way. The connection between her mind and the quill almost magically forming the words on the paper, the sound and feel of the pen dancing across the blank page, and even the smell of the ink delighted her, even when she was writing horrible scenes. Fluttershy sometimes felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily Twilight Sparkle could write using her magic, or even Spike with his hands. Instead of dwelling on it, she learned shorthoof and even developed many of her own symbols to make her writing faster and easier.
The dream fully down on paper, Fluttershy stretched out on a large pillow she had knitted herself to decide on what to do next. She had several projects in the works, some rough and others polished almost to perfection, it was just a question of which one called to her the loudest.
With another grand stretch, she decided to pick up where she had left off last time. Fluttershy seated herself at the other desk upon which hunched a large and cumbersome typewriter. What a time she and Harry the bear had had getting that thing down there. Even though she preferred writing by hoof, the machine made it easier for others to read. A quick review of her notes and scan of the last page and what she had typed thus far to refresh her memory and she was off.
The story was based on one of her nightmares, as most of them were. Between her vivid dreams, danger-focused imagination, and the wild adventures with her friends, she had plenty of fertile ground for them. Her nervous and fearful disposition made it easy to project fear and dread through the page. Twilight and Luna could never have predicted where their advice had lead.
Fluttershy slowly finished the page already in the typewriter before replacing it with a fresh sheet. As she did this she looked at the small bookcase beside the desk. Its shelves contained a few books on writing, a dictionary and a thesaurus (with a note written on the cover to use sparingly), and a couple of popular scary novels.
Another reasonably popular book, “Terrifying Tales of Horror and the Macabre” by H.P. Wingcraft, sat by itself on top. Twilight even had a copy of it and was eagerly awaiting the next release. Fluttershy had seen it once in library where her friend had left it out and asked about it. Twilight told her she liked it but that it would be much too scary for her, before launching into a watered down critique of the stories. Wouldn’t the Princess have been surprised to know that she was unknowingly talking to the author the whole time?
Not that she had any plans to tell anyone her secret. Memories from her short modeling career, what with the photographers and fans chasing her everywhere and all that attention she could never escape, filled her with dread. She almost gave up writing because of those fears but forged ahead anyway. At least her editor and publisher decided that hiding her true identity would add mystery to her work and could even be a selling point. Her gaze was drawn to a box tucked away on the far side of the bookcase. In it was the workings of a story based on that fear. Just thinking about it made her shudder and she returned to her work. Some tales were just too terrifying.
