Tis’ our fate to roam thy dreams,
But we feel a burden’s tear,
When we see why thy screams,
That it is us that thy fears.
There are shiny tears on our clammy face. We know that for certain. We can barely feel their light, moist presence cooling the entire half of our bony cheeks that are soaking wet, but our face seems to be numb and freezing. Strange, it is the middle of the summer, yet we feel cold. We know that it’s the middle of the summer. Summer. Our sister’s solstice is coming soon. The summer high point will be nigh. The moment she raises the sun in front of all our subjects. We recall her nervously asking us to help her plan the glorious celebrations. Her glorious celebrations. She was so happy. Her sparkling amethyst eyes, that looked so much like father’s, were alit with triumphant joy, her smile shining as bright as the sun she raises each morning. She was jumping happily, squealing with giddy delight when we promised to assist her. Her laughter echoed in the polished stone hallways, a euphoric memory that was still imprinted in our…my mind.
Our sister. She is our equal. Our steadfast diarchy has never been greater, and we are closer than ever, even closer, now that Sombra is gone. She is our equal! We treat her as our equal. But does she treat us like her equal? She treats us as a sister, a best friend, values us, as she would one of her subjects. Is that all we are? A subject? Just another piece on the great chessboard of life, an insignificant stitch on the tapestry of reality? Just some pawn in the realm of existence? Is that all we are? A snarl is fighting its way up our throat, which is tight with some little misery. We…I swallow it. Sharp points that were not in my mouth moments ago dug into my tongue, which protested at the abuse. My breathing quickens. I glanced down. My coat flickered to a black hue, then back to its usual blue. My breath hitched. No, no. no, not here! We will rise!
Accept it!
Why doest thou loath our night?
Is it our star’s piercing gaze?
Or the chilly, sharp, bite?
Thus is the night’s black haze.
We are crying harder now. Tears, stinging in our eyes, which is sharp and reptilian, a brighter, malicious shade in contrast to the warmth and glory in the prior colour. The numb is unbearable. We cannot feel, cannot hear. A claw rakes across our mind, leaving scars that slashed insanity. What do our tears mean? Tears were always a sign of sadness, anger, or elation. So what do our tears mean? The sobbing is our desperation, our jealousy, hissing.
They love, they admire, adore.
The sister’s wonder, her sunny day,
Her awoken entities galore,
Nothing like the night’s silent way.
They love her. Every subject, every pony, creature and siren. Their blissful, gleeful faces, smiling childishly, worshipping the golden orb, that beamed harshly, like a cruel dictator, burning in its baleful wrath. It scorched plains and civilisations mercilessly, yet everyone still revelled in its pitiful light. It was nothing in comparison to the serene and gentle moon, who cherished her subjects as they should, who graced them all with silver illumination, a mere hint of her glowing love for everyone. And us. We, the patriot of the night, decorated every one of our paintings with starry arrays and colours, a work of art that was never appreciated. We used to watch them, shunning the night, going into the comfort of their homes, leaving the night, and me, forever lonely.
They need to appreciate it! They do not know how much tender care goes into every diamond, millions hanging on the intricate and dark canvas. Our nightly courts, held in the room opposite to the one which my sister patronised constantly, which was filled to bursting with crowds every dawn, wanting to see their beautiful ruler, was always empty. No one came. The black polished room was always lonely, but I never failed to sit on my throne, waiting every night, in a small burst of hope that somepony, would one night come see me. But nobody came. No one would pester us with little matters they always bugged Celestia with. No one brought up points or highlights of important and crucial information to us.
Our sister would come sometimes to our night court. She looked at us, pity filling her purple gaze, which we often took as a chance to get some comfort, burrowing into her shoulder to cry, pouring out an eternity of pain. We sometimes looked forward to that. Then she stopped coming. She was always too tired to come. She would be exhausted from her day’s activities, and leave me, with my abandoned court. The court of the night, forever hollow.
With no one to share our pain,
It becomes a heavy load,
Tears would spring up again,
But never on the surface showed.
“They don’t love me! They love her but not me! Why?” We shriek to the heavens, which shows clearly through the transparency of the carved glass panes in the ceiling, tinted a shade of dark blue. We have a small flickering wisp of flame, a hope, which dimmed every second, that somepony had heard my cry, and would offer me fellowship. I cocked my head, ears pricked eagerly, listening for the welcomed cacophony of hoof steps.
Nothing. The fire went out.
Madness was laughing, taunting us. She hovered on the edge of our mind, hysterically giggling, daring us. We grunted our weak defiance, roaring in challenge.
She struck quickly.
The world became an icy pool of inky black. Our…my vision blurred and faded, leaving me with aching numbness. My sister’s pale face loomed, laughing. She looked so malevolent, I screamed in shock, shock also from the sudden root of agony that spiked up in my back hooves, leaving destruction in its path.
It hurt.
It was black fire, unnatural and unforgiving, burning me from the inside out. I kept my wailing at a fevered pitch, unconsciously struggling from insanity’s grip. Nausea rolled in waves over me, crashing down and gnawing quickly at my core. A fierce green jealousy, the same shade as my new slit eyes, glared at the kingdom that hated her gift.
I never felt so alone in my life.
"The moon will rise! One way or another, it will rise!"
Corruption hurts to try,
But insanity will win,
For no one hears my cry,
Nor saw thy Nightmare Within.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I do not, however own any of the MLP characters.
I wrote this with a massive headache, so point out mistakes that I may have missed.
There will be a sequel, Thy Nightmare Within 2: Eyes of Diamond, about Sombra’s corruption!
