The Collective

The world had been absorbed in a surge of surreality from one moment to the next. Twilight could feel the fear sinking into her body, enveloping her heart in a shroud of ice. Coldness sent her shivering, the urge to vomit sent tears into her eyes.

Analysis of the effects of unknown spells was tedious, and Twilight hated herself for every second she had wasted. But now she knew. It was, really, the easiest way to kill somepony: it required only that she lost her guard for a single moment, then it would all end. Everything would end. She was lucky that it hadn’t happened already.

Cold rage dwelt up inside her, mixing with her fear, causing her vision to shift, blur. It was so useless. So completely, utterly destructive. The spell would kill her, but it would replace her with an identical version of herself, leaving all her memories intact, all her skills... her nemesis would win nothing, nothing, nothing. Did she not understand? Did she not know? It would terminate her consciousness only; it was pure evil; a thing whose only purpose was to murder...

No.

Twilight removed the contents of her desk, shoving them onto the floor without a second look.

Sleep was now death. But loss of awareness did not even necessitate sleep, it would be enough to fall into trance, to lose herself in an activity until the knowledge of what she was slipped her mind. And then she would die.

Unless she broke the spell first.

Books were being summoned from their shelves, many hitting the ground with a thud, few making their way to the desk. Twilight’s frantic eyes scanned over covers, dismissing most immediately, opening those which were left. Soon she was scouring through pages, her heartbeat a constant reminder to think, think, think, always think. Always know. Always be there.

She was Twilight, she was a pony, and she was a member of one of the few species who had reached a state of awareness over reality. Awareness that she now clutched onto like her firstborn foal, that she could not lose, could not let slip, not for a single moment.

Read. Evaluate. Adhere awareness.

Think.

Twilight tossed another book aside, swallowing under the heat that seemed to numb her head.

Read. Read.

Evaluate.

Think.

A newborn Twilight opened her eyes as her head shot upwards, her mind snapping out of slumber.

A heartbeat later, she remembered. Tears ran down her cheeks. Tears of fear. Tears of relief.

Tears of joy.

Calm, and with a crystal-clear sense of determination, Twilight directed her attention back to the solution she had been working on, before her fear, her racing heart, and her pulsating blood had put her over the edge of consciousness. She set a part of herself on guard, a constant reminder of who she was, while the rest pursued the outlined solution, finishing the work which her past self had begun, and cast the spell.

Her past self, who was now dead. Who, with her final thought, had been so utterly wrong.

The attack had been far from pointless.

It was genius.

Her nemesis must have known that Twilight would fail. And now that she had, she could not hate her anymore. She knew that she should, she knew that she had more reason for it than ever before, but she was mentally incapable of doing it.

She could not hate the pony who was the sole reason for why she was alive.

A breath left her body, carrying a single, whispered word.

“Mother...”