When There Are No More Stories To Tell
The white tendrils of fog stretched like reaching fingers towards the windows on the house across the road. The building behind that one had already all but been consumed and forgotten about—the fog covering it so thick and so dense it was as if the structure itself had been wholly erased from existence.
But if that were the case, then where were all the startled and shrieking ponies?
Where were the Princesses or all of Twilight’s friends? Where was Spike for that matter?
“Spike?” Twilight Sparkle called again through the open doorway.
Twilight had only been awake for less than sixty seconds and most of that time had already been spent staring out her bedroom window, trying to keep her hooves from shaking out of her control. On instinct, she propelled a short burst of magic onto the spreading whiteness outside; only to watch in horror as it disappear as quickly as everything else the fog touched and greedily devoured whole.
“S… Spike!” she yelped again.
Twilight turned and trotted to her door, stopping only inches from the doorframe. The stairs leading to the first floor were gone—the spreading white cloud ate away up her stairs as fast as a child might tiptoe up to their room after being out of bed long after the sky went dark.
“No… no,” Twilight whimpered out, stepping back into her room and slamming the door behind her. Unsure of what to do or where to go, she slunk back to her window to shove it outwards. The vacant silence outside gave her pause. No wind. No noise. Not a single sound at all.
The spreading fog uttered no noise as it claimed the rest of the house it was slowly dissolving into pure white nothingness. It was as if it ate sound itself.
Sweat rolled down Twilight’s face as she gave her head a frantic shake. “I… I could try—”
“Flying over it?” someone in the room asked.
“Yes, I could fly over it and see if it’s spread to—”
Twilight exhaled and retreated back from her window. The house across the road was already gone and now the expansive white began to claim cobblestone by cobblestone on its path directly towards Twilight’s doorstep.
“What are you doing inside my home?” Twilight asked The Stranger, who was pleasantly seated on a chair beside her bed. “Better question: what do you have to do with what’s happening outside?”
The Stranger crossed one clothed back leg over the other and presented her with a faint smile. A rather forced and uncomfortable one. “What makes you think I have anything to do with that?”
“Because usually when bad things start happening around Ponyville, the ones responsible end up bumping into me some time or another. And considering you entered my home without my consent and don’t appear all too troubled by what’s happening outside…”
Twilight let her words hang in the air as her eyes found the heavy book The Stranger held close to its chest. In the hand not holding the book, The Stranger gripped a feather quill that never stopped dripping black ink onto the carpet below.
The Stranger’s original faint smile weakened at that. “I may have something to do with that… but, truthfully, it was never my intention of having things come to such a dire conclusion.”
“Come to what?” Twilight spat angrily, holding a hoof towards the window. “How far has this fog spread? And what is it doing to Ponyville? There’s not another building in sight!”
“It is erasing it, I’m afraid,” The Stranger answered evenly. “Ponyville is merely being forgotten about. One brick, one home, and one pony at a time.”
“Forgotten about?” Twilight asked quizzically, narrowing her eyes at the coolly seated Stranger. “What are you—”
“Talking about?” The Stranger finished for her, causing her to furrow her brows. “Next you will ask me what’s happened to your friends and family. Then about the Princesses and Canterlot. Then about Spike and why he won’t answer your call. And finally about Equestria in general. And by the time you’re done asking these particular questions and learning what is truly happening, that fog outside will have eaten its way through half of your castle and all that lay within.”
Twilight’s expression went from one of anger to disgust to well-contained sorrow—her ears falling flat against her head. “You’re only trying to stall me from whatever’s happening out there!” she trumpeted, even as her words broke around the edges. “There just has to be a solution! And I’ll find one! Same as always.”
With a slight nod, The Stranger smiled at her again. “I’m sure you will, Twilight. Never was there a time when my friends and I thought you wouldn’t save the day and return all that was bad to good. But, even you aren’t in control of endings. And at some point every good story needs an ending.”
“Start making sense!” Twilight screamed. “If you’re the one doing this then why are you doing this!?”
“Equestria is being forgotten about, Twilight, because its story has finally come to an end.” The Stranger pulled open its thick book, finding its place somewhere close to the end. It licked the tip of its dripping quill with its tongue but did not bring the quill close to the page. “My friends and I have enjoyed writing about you and your friends for years now, but I’m sorry to say that we have no more stories to tell. For years, we have said everything we’ve wanted to and done everything we could, but no longer can we continue. It would be a disservice to everything you’ve done for us to continue it any further. There are simply no more stories for us to tell.”
“Stories?” Twilight’s eyes went from the window behind her, to the floor, then back to The Stranger’s eyes. “Since when have my friends and I ever been just stories? Who are you to say something as ridiculous as that?”
“Because when you think about it,” The Stranger replied calmly, “everything and everyone can be a story of some type. Every person or pony alive could be considered a story—all with a beginning, middle, and an end. Some may be longer than others and some may be shorter and some may be more interesting than others, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re all still stories at their core. I, myself, could be considered a story—a rather boring story, I must admit—but a story all the same. The only difference between myself and others is that my story also involves stories created for others. Including the stories pertaining to Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony.” It held up a thin finger. “Excuse me for a moment. This may make you feel a bit better about all that’s happening.”
Bringing its dripping quill down to its book, The Stranger wasted little time and scribbled together what must’ve been only a handful of lines at most. When it was done, The Stranger glanced back up at Twilight with a shrug. “Some tea, perhaps?”
Twilight shook her head adamantly. “Not interested.”
“Really? I guess I can’t blame you.” The Stranger thought on that for a moment. “I did use the word ‘delicious’ when I wrote about your tea. Would that change anything, perhaps?”
Again, Twilight only shook her head. “Not interested. I’m not even sure if—”
“You have a kitchen anymore?”
The only made Twilight huff out angrily. “Can you stop guessing what I’m going to say, already? What is your game here? Why haven’t…” Her words faded as her nostrils sniffed at the air in search of some new, inviting aroma. Angling her head, she found a silver platter resting on one of her bedside stands with a steaming teapot and cups stacked atop of it.
The Stranger rested its head on its hand, looking away from her. “This isn’t guessing, Twilight. I know everything you’re going to say because I was the one that wrote this little scene between us. I wasn’t supposed to… I know that… I know I’m not supposed to be here at all, but—” The Stranger exhaled quickly and started again. “Your castle remains the way it is because I wrote that it does. I added a side note about a ‘delicious’ pot of tea magically appearing in your room and that exists now too. I wrote myself here because I wanted to and I’ve been calling myself ‘The Stranger’ this entire time because I’ve always been terrible with names. Long story short, this is all happening because I wanted it to. And because this scene exists, so do you. But that all stops the moment I stop writing it. After that… you will be forgotten—same as everyone else in Equestria. And the moment I stop writing begins now.”
To illustrate its point, The Stranger quietly shut its heavily worn book and set it on the bedspread along with its quill, still dripping onto the fabric below it.
Sluggishly, Twilight went to sit on her cool stone floor as her eyes began to shimmer. “My friends… my family? All of them… gone? Just like that? Just because we’re all some story that didn’t deserve to be continued?”
“None of your friends or family are gone, Twilight Sparkle,” The Stranger went on to clarify. “Merely forgotten. And all it would take to see them again is for this story to continue. For your story to continue. That is why I’m leaving you my book and quill. It has held every one of your stories for years and it is what brings them all to life. Now I want to pass on that story to you—to do with as you wish.”
Hesitantly, Twilight took a small glance at the book on her bed—the frayed corners and thin scratches and dog-eared pages and all. It was a book that had seen a lot of use over the years.
Twilight licked her dry lips before beginning, “Anything I write in there… it becomes real? Absolutely anything?”
The Stranger nodded. “Yes.”
“So… I could write about Applejack and her farm and her sister and all of them and I… I could visit them whenever I wanted to? They’d all be back and everything would be the same as always?”
“Of course. As long as there exists a story for them, they will never be forgotten about. As long as Equestria is remembered, it will do just fine. Same as it has for years.”
Twilight wiped away the tears by the corners of her eyes before reaching towards the book—only to stop a short distance from it. “And what if I can’t think of anything good? What if I’m not the one to continue our story?”
Surprisingly, The Stranger only laughed at that. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone else better to continue this story. Reading as many books as you have, I’d imagine you’d know more about storytelling than anyone else in Equestria; the good stories, the bad, the uplifting, the heartbreaking, the light and the dark and the stories in-between. And remember, if it ever seems like too much responsibility, you could always give a chapter or two over to a friend to handle for a time.” The Stranger pursed its lips for a moment. “Maybe don’t hand it off to Applejack too often, though. Only so many stories you can write about apples.”
“I’d write a thousand apple stories if it meant Applejack would never be forgotten about again.” Using her hooves, Twilight finally grabbed the book off the bedspread and flipped to the last page with any writing on it. She hesitated before bringing the quill up.
“Writer’s block?” The Stranger gently inquired.
Twilight disagreed. “I’m only thinking of the best way to see all my friends again at once. I… I only hope it’s not a story too many ponies are sick of hearing by now.” She softly prodded her cheek with the tip of her quill. “How did it start again? I hope it was something like this.”
Finding the right words to begin with, Twilight Sparkle finally brought her quill down to the blank page and began to write, her speed and intensity growing with each completed word and sentence. As she wrote, Twilight read aloud in a soft hushed tone.
“Once upon a time… in the magical land of Equestria… there were two regal sisters who ruled together and created harmony for all the land.”
As if on command, the world of all consuming white outside her window was hurriedly peeled back—the buildings and homes and shops of Ponyville once again becoming visible and colorful and pristine.
“To do this… the eldest used her unicorn powers to raise the sun at dawn… the younger brought out the moon to begin the night… thus the two sisters maintained balance for their kingdom and their subjects… all the different types of ponies.”
In the distance, the last threads of white fog disappeared as what replaced it was Princess Celestia’s ever burning sun and beautiful cloudless sky. Down below, every resident of Ponyville went about their day as if it were any ordinary day… because, truthfully, it was only that.
An hour into her fervent writing spree, Twilight Sparkle was startled by a knock on her door.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important, Twilight,” Spike greeted her timidly. “Only wondered if you wanted lunch yet. Getting pretty late in the afternoon and all.”
For the first time in a long time, Twilight Sparkle looked up from her book and to the chair by her bed, almost as if expecting to find someone there.
“You okay, Twilight?” Spike asked as he took a timid step into the room. “I’ve seen you read for long periods of time before, but never write like this. You writing another letter to the Princess or something?”
“Actually, I’m writing a story,” Twilight told him earnestly, taking a calming breath. “A story I don’t believe I’ll ever want to see come to an end.”
Author's Note
Two things:
1. This is obviously a love letter to fanfiction in general.
2. I felt like getting weird for a change, so here we are. 
