Lost and Listless

Who?

I walked the streets of Ponyville again. My hooves were cracked and bloodied, leaving a trail in my wake that everypony avoided except for me, when I would eventually come around again. I ignored the calling of the distant owl. I ignored everything. I felt nothing. Thought nothing.

No, that was wrong. Flies buzzed around my eyes. I’d blink, and they’d return again. My hooves itched. Colors seemed too bright, too out of place. I moved without thinking, without thought. Around, and around, and around.

There were sounds that wounded the air, things that curled and twisted high and low. Around and around they followed me. Sometimes I would be knocked down. But then I’d get up again. Patiently, I’d continue my march.

This path wasn’t nothing, there was a rhyme to it, a pattern. I had to keep going.

If I would be successful- something would be unlocked, something important and deeply invested within my being.

I had to keep taking my steps, I had to keep the rhythm, keep the pace with my intent. Something would go wrong if I didn’t. Some spells didn’t need words, while others did. The mind, in any case, needed to be steady. The currents needed to hit their frequency. The tongue could hold a tempo, but so could a train of thought. If they could, what meant a body couldn’t?

Was that why priests were so devoted? Was this my equivalent of a sacred rite?

Who?

The perspective changed. The owl watched the mare. I watched the mare.

Her coat was dark with grime to the point of being black, mane long and tangled, dripping with lice. Her path was painted in rust. Each of her four hooves acted as brushes, to curve each stroke. Time passed; days flickered by without a blink, and her pace began to degrade into a hobble, and then a shuffle.  The blood she left behind became harder to steady. The streets she had appropriated for her divine cause became infringed by normalcy, weakness.  Her intent had been  to create a figure-eight, with a smaller, third loop budding  in-between.

But Ponyville didn't want the symbol. Day after day, its inhabitants made her reset her timing, stopping her over and over - all the while cleaning the streets of  her blood. She kept trying to make it happen. Day, after day, after day, she managed to escape her captors and walk - no, shamble- to victory.

It made me angry to watch. Somewhere deep down, I knew the mare had lost something precious, something that made her whole. And now she was punishing herself.

But I was also angry at the town, wondering why they stopped her. How else would they know if she was dedicated or mad? What would happen if she had managed to defy Harmony?

I followed the owl, joining her on a bench. I watched the broken mare pass us by, a starving figure whose glassy eyes shivered erratically in their sockets, darting this way and that out of focus. Her mind was dreaming somewhere else.

Part of her hoof squelched underneath her. She stumbled but caught herself. The pony didn’t care about the puddle of maggots left behind as she resumed walking.

She clopped and shuffled down the path and turned down another, a cloud of insects following in her wake, and those who did not fly, crawled aimlessly to feed on her diseased blood.

Many stared and muttered at her with horror and pity. Nopony dared to leave their homes to go near her, unless it was to try to help. Children were kept away. There was one stallion that caught my eye. He was tired and older, brown-coated.

I had seen him before, from my entrapment, and now I watched as he struggled to avoid looking at me - rather, the diseased mare.

Does he mean something to you? The other owl asked.

“No,” I answered. “I wish he did. He stands out for some reason.”

Sometimes that is all that is needed, The owl remarked.

The owl flew off, leaving me questioning, and I struggled to follow. My wings felt so heavy. We touched down on a straw roof and observed the scene below. The mare had fallen and didn’t move. This was quickly noticed by other ponies. Some ran off to who knows where, while others clustered around the streets and alleys. A nervous murmur arose, no one quite certain what to do with themselves.

It was only after a lavender mare with wings and a horn fluttered down next to the body, that the world faded into silence. Her horn glowed purple. Between the two thatched houses closest to us, I could see another mare, this one a white unicorn and armed with a plethora of shears and shaving implements,  arrive and join the first one.

Just as the mare was about to be shaved, the bodies of each and every pony turned into an ice sculpture and collapsed into snow.

I shifted my weight on the roof, feeling my feathers ruffle in the chilling breeze.  The dream logic that had been pervading my senses faded away, leaving my thoughts clear, if fractured by the absence of confidence in the matter.

The moon was full, giving everything a ghost-like radiance. All I could hear is the wind, blowing and whistling around us. I noticed the owl was still there. And I, suddenly, was myself. A unicorn, perching on a roof, shivering in nothing but stubble-covered skin.

My tail flicked out in an attempt to keep me balanced. The winter breeze caused me to shiver, and it didn’t help I was pelted with ice. The roof was slick, I realized too late, as I began to fall. My mouth opened into a scream, and I closed my eyes, awaiting impact and pain.

Who?

I found myself sitting up and shaking my head. I was in an unfamiliar, small bedroom. Knick-nacks hung everywhere. They gave the sense of familiarity, helping me relax and shake off the dream. Yet, when I turned myself over, I saw I wasn’t alone.  A strange blue mare stared back at me, somehow, impossibly, laying in my small bed with room to spare between us.

She smiled kindly at me - but it was a different sort of look than Redheart’s. Hers meant “Don’t worry”. This mare’s meant “Do not be afraid”.

I didn’t know what to feel, sitting there next to her.

“I don’t believe there is any wrong way to react in a dream,” The blue mare told me. “Still, I appreciate your calmness. That will make things easier.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

The question took her aback. Her eyed widened,  and she blinked, not sure if I was kidding. I was instantly guilty for offending her. After staring for a moment and looking me over however, her expression resigned itself into understanding, albeit a sad sort, her smile withering into a frown.

“I suppose it is true then,” The blue mare whispered. “Oh, poor child. You truly do not remember anything?” She extended a hoof from the sheets to stroke my side. I felt my smile wobbling with tears.

“No, now don’t cry. I will not have that.” The mare frowned even more, and sat up. She was taller than me. I was enveloped by indigo fur.  It did not last for more than several moments, but I could not hold it any longer. I broke down into sobbing. She froze, and I didn’t care. When she pulled back, I buried my face in my hooves, hissing and crying quietly.

“Ah-”

"I should know more than I do, but none of it seems real, not even myself," I whispered. "There are particles of truth, perhaps figments, but nothing matters. I'm so weak. I cannot explain anything."

“Please,” The mare intoned, loud and - was her voice uncertain? I felt the weight of her hooves on my shoulders. I rubbed my eyes furiously, and cracking through a swollen lid, I found the blue mare appearing nervous. “I-I’m not very...Good, at emotions, my little pony,” She said softly. “But that does not mean your feelings do not matter. And also know that nopony is judging you for what you cannot tell them.”

“I should though,” I protested softly, my voice rasping. “I should be able to say something. I was even thinking of coming up with a fake name, perhaps until I learn otherwise. I don’t want to be left in the hospital and treated as an invalid. Something happened to me. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“Perhaps you could suggest a nickname for them to use?” The mare offered. “Worry not. Soon, you will be out. It is apparent to them as well, that there is only so much that they can do with their healing arts.”

At my downcast expression, my eyes averting themselves, the mare took my chin beneath her hoof and turned my head to face her. “We will not let you be alone in these terrible of times, my little pony. That you care so much is a good sign. Do not mistake these tears for weakness. You have suffered enormously, and you have emerged with your spirit intact. That is no small feat.”

I opened my mouth to speak, and instead found my lips sealed shut. The mare shook her head. “It is not your duty now to be a hero. You must recover, and do all that you can to avoid the darkness within.  Let others solve the mystery.”

She released me, allowing me to gaze upon her warily, taking a deep sigh. “All right,” I tell her. “I will try to get better.”

Although I heavily doubted that.

She nodded, finding my quiet voice to be satisfactory. Then, after a moment of staring at each other, she offered a slight smile. “I keep expecting you to thank me, but I forget you do not know who I am.”

“Right,” I mumbled, looking away.

“I am Princess Luna,” She told me, her smile widening just a bit. However, there was something in her eyes that still appeared sad. “I will give you kind dreams this night, and shall not invade your privacy any further.”

She faded away, as did the unfamiliar room.  For a moment I was filled with relief, before I realized I was falling.

Then, I drowned.