I sit down and admire the beauty of the night. No pony has had a nightmare all night, it seems, which is a first; usually there is some poor soul being haunted by something. But I always get asked one particular question that bemuses me every time: Do you ever dream, Princess Luna?
An odd question indeed.
But, yes, I do dream. In fact, I have one particular dream that constantly recurs in my mind.
In my dream, it is always dark and raining.
In some strange and unknowable place, most likely a city or town somewhere in Equestria, there is a row of old townhouses—made out of bricks at least a century old. These houses had their windows boarded up with wooden planks, and battered concrete steps leading up to their rotting wooden doors. A rusted old streetlamp stands beside the narrow cobblestone sidewalk—dimly lighting the scene before me. A small grey cat, flicking its tail and peering at me, sits at the base of the lamp. The cat does not open its mouth, but its soft purring resonates in the air and to the back of my mind.
My attention is drawn to the townhouse in the middle; and it was the only one in the row with a bright blue door. When I first had the dream, about four years ago, I was standing at a street corner, regarding the houses from across the road. For a little while, this was the extent of the dream. I would observe briefly, and then it would fade, and I could do nothing about it—despite my power and abilities. I would wake up.
I stand up from my seat, and my ears twitch at the sound something behind me.
“Excuse me, your majesty,” a guard said, interrupting my deep thought. “Is everything alright? You’ve been out here for a while now.”
“Everything is fine,” I say. “I appreciate you asking. ’Tis a lovely night, is it not?”
“It sure is. If there is anything you need, I will be outside, your majesty.”
“Thank you.”
He left.
I head toward the balcony edge and hook my forehooves to it. Gaze out to the vista again.
As the years went by, the dream progressed. It was during my fifth or sixth visit something finally changed.
It begins, as always, with me standing at the street corner, but then I move. Now I am at the foot of the concrete steps, leading up to the house with the blue door. Even now I can only look up. The door is closed, sadly. The grey cat sits upright on the top step, looking past me, still as stone; and try as I might, I cannot make myself climb the stairs. A clasp of thunder wakes me up from my slumber.
That was two years ago. I remember sitting upright in my bed, in the middle of the day, awake but disoriented. I turned my head and looked at the tall streetlamp that reached my window. It flickered ominously in the rain.
It was not until last summer that I was able to climb the stairs. All I wanted to do is reach out and touch the door; for if I could touch it, then I could somehow know more about the secrets lying behind it; but my body remains frozen. And every time I tried to move closer, the cat mewls at me, reminding me of what I am not permitted to do during this visit.
In the distance, I see a few scattered shooting stars, glowing a light yet dull white, contrasting against the purple starlit sky, and I close my eyes and make a wish. Then I open my eyes. Maybe that wish will come true one day. I continue to watch the stars fall from the sky.
It was a couple of nights ago when I had the dream again. The door was open for the first time, but not by me. This time I noticed the door knob missing. If I were to give it a slight push, it would open for me. But I was rooted to the ground, and I could not use my magic; that was one of the limitations I had on myself: I could use my sorcery in other ponies’ dreams, but not my own; and no matter how hard I looked, I could not figure out why. I had no control over my movements. I thought that would be the moment where I would wake up, but I did not. Something brushes up against my legs. I look down to see the cat staring up at me with a contemptuous look. It moves past me and nudges its way through the blue door, leaving it ajar. It was the first time I had ever seen the door open, even if it was only cracked. A thin sliver of light spills onto the concrete at my hooves, and for once, I heard something other than the rainfall.
I heard whispers. Dark, eerie, whispers. I thought right there and then, they were Nightmare Moon’s whispers haunting me for all this time; but was it? I could not find out anything because the dream ended before I was able to decipher them. Those voices were lost.
And the strangest thing about these dreams is the way they resonate with me; and despite the crepuscular atmosphere of my surroundings, I never feel like I am in danger by those voices, but rather feels like I have come home. It is so familiar, a place I have been to before and yet have not been at all; and I see everything with the greatest care and detail, I could almost believe I was awake if it were not for the surreal nature that envelops the scene like a dense fog. When I wake up, I am left with only the memory of how intense it felt, but the images have already faded.
I sigh. A cold breeze brushes against my body, and I feel morning closing in on me.
I use my magic to bring over my colour pallet, brush, and canvas. “I do not know why I never thought to do this until now,” I say. “How strange.”
It took me a long time to transfer my dream to a painting, so long that it is time to lower the moon and time for the sun to rise.
Ever since that night, I have found that keeping painting canvas next to my bedside to try and paint what I remember was only in vain, for the details would slip from my mind within mere seconds of waking up.
Soon enough, I discovered aspects of the real world would generate short flashes of the dream in my head: The sight of rainwater flowing down a curb; a cat perched under a streetlamp, specific side streets in random locations, and even certain melodies.
I get up from my bed and look out my window. It was a sunny day, and the guards were training for the day. Quaint….
But if I were to ever believe in the supernatural, this would be it. I cannot help but feel as if some magical, inexplicable, inscrutable force is sending me a message, shouting at me in the only way it can. Why else would I return to that place again and again? Why else would it feel real, so important. I get closer with every visit and yet I am still far from the answers.
It has to be real.
I am eager to know more, and I am inclined to travel all over Equestria and search until I find this place. ‘Tis the only thing I know for certain: I have to find this place, I have to know what is behind that blue door.
But so far there has always been something holding me back; not doubt or fear, but a little voice in my head saying, “Not yet, now is not the time. Not yet…”
Not yet….
