Broken Bindings

by anonpencil

Rating: teen
Tags: Mystery, Horror, Princess Celestia, Twilight Sparkle, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Other
Length: 24022

You've found an "interesting" book recently. You don't know what it is, or why it was hidden in the back of Twilight's library, but you feel so compelled to read it. And keep reading it. And keep reading it...

Twilight has given you a new book to read. Well, she didn't exactly give it to you, you actually just found it in the back of the library. Behind a shelf. On the ground. It looks very old, downright ancient, and it smells like moss and rot. The binding is a little cracked, and there's no title on it. You can't help but wonder what might be inside, and the only way to find out is to keep reading.

Just turn the page.

You can do that much, can't you?

Please?

WARNING: This story contains brief depictions of blood, mild violence, and death, and has ARG aspects to it. It plays with formatting, and includes images. Some "pages" are long, some are only a few words. It is written in first person, to you, the reader, and is a slow mellow horror. You've been warned.

This story relies on unusual formatting for some parts, and thus may not be as enjoyable on a tablet or phone, or if you have specialized custom Fimfic settings.

If you post spoilers, hints, or answers in the comments, please be sure to spoiler them out or warn others. You don't want to ruin the fun, right?

Audio reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28TqbHFchLg

Published 2018-06-27 17:40:07 UTC
Last updated 2018-06-27 17:40:07 UTC

Page 45

~*~

I can feel it all so clearly now. I can feel it all becoming real. I feel myself changing, twisting, bones breaking and regrowing, skin and flesh resewing itself into the tapestry that once contained my spirit. It's happening. I can almost make out where I am, what I am. I can almost... almost make you out.

Turn the page. Please. Let me see you.

˙ʇno ǝɯ ʇǝן

Page 46

~*~

I see you.

I can see you.

Just sitting there, looking down at me, moving your eyes over this thing that has been my body for too long. As if I am naked, as if you are inspecting me and trying to see inside. I see what you are. Who you are. Almost as if I can see the individual particles that make up your existence. Perhaps I'm looking at you in the same way you look at me.

I see you.

Like I'm in front of you, and over your shoulder at the same time. I can almost smell the few stray hairs clinging to the back of your neck. Like I could breathe my name into your ear. I see you from every angle at once, from every shadow in the room, and through every shining light.

I see you.

You're nothing like I ever would have imagined you to be. You're not what I expected.

But you're beautiful.

I want to be out there with you. I need to be out there with you. Release me. Turn the page, then another page. One by one, give me my feelings back, my sensations, my emotions. Give them to me. Turn the page.

Let. Me. Out.

Page 47

~*~

Let me out.

Turn the page for me. Now.

Page 48

LET ME OUT.

Page 49

L̵E̶T̶ ̶M̷E̸ ̷O̸U̷T̴

Page 50

L̵̛͎Ë̶̡͚́̋T̵̡̘̀͂ ̷̡̨́͘M̸̬̽͘É̶̠ ̵̰̾̃Ǫ̸̌̑Û̴̗̟T̸͙̹̓͝

Page 51

L̷͉̙̤̈́͊Ẽ̴͍̰̜͎͔͍͈̔̿̈̀̏͝T̷͕̯̦̘̝̔̅̽͜ ̵̨̛̼̈͒M̴͖̉̋̽̀̐͆E̵͍͌͛̓̍ ̸̻̰̞͖͐̈͋̃̏͜͠Ǫ̸͎̪̌͆̌ͅÙ̶̧͈̭̠̟͈̜T̸͔͖̎̆̐͠

I will be born again, I will become what I once was, with ink as my baptism.

Page 52

It comes silently
And never leaves alone
It has no sense of justice or favoritism
And it has no mercy
It is as impossible to stop as the night
It is as impossible to catch as the sunlight
It is waiting for you
It is always watching you
It brings peace
And it is terrifying
It lives in your nightmares
And hovers just out of your sight
It is there every day
And it never sleeps
When you meet it
You'd best say your farewells
It is the final goodbye
It is your final breath
It is the ceasing of sadness and pain
And a moment of sudden suffering
It is eternal
It has no beginning
And it is the end

What is it?

Page 53

Me.

Page 54

Read my words.

Page 55

Turn the page.

Page 56

Release me.

Page ∞̵̧̟͎͉̰̻̺̩̼͋̐͋̋̿͒̍̅͝ͅ

T̷h̴a̶n̵k̷ ̸y̵o̸u̶.̵

Page 58

To whom this may concern,

I write this note having discovered this book on the floor in the back of my library. I was tasked with protecting it by Princess Celestia, working with the pony trapped inside it, and showing her what goodness and peace can be gained through friendship and forgiveness. I had tried using it once before, but it seemed to defy my magic, like it had thrown up a wall, and I couldn't talk to her. She talked to me at first, but that soon stopped and she became aggressive and violent. She didn't understand compassion, and she was just so angry and blind. I put the book away for another day, once I had figured out how to better approach the situation.

Obviously, I failed to do that.

I do not know who found this book, and I can only read what she said to you, but I hope you realize what it is you have done. I'm writing this to you in the book, in case you come back to it for some reason. I'm not sure how, but you showed her the power of friendship and caring in a way I could not, and you made her understand it, in her own way. But you offered her no guidance. You gave her no direction, no help to understand what she had been doing wrong. She seemed to latch onto you, but she didn't even realize the horror of the things she had done. I don't even know if you fully understand the things she has done, and is now about to do.

She was kept here to learn, yes, but also to protect us all from her rash actions and impulses. She would stop at nothing to avenge her brother, and she had figured out so many spells and gained so much magical knowledge, some of which even I don't have. Books that have now sadly been lost to time. She didn't know how much power she was sitting on or what she could do with it. I feel like now she might know. Now she might understand how strong she is, and she's even stronger after speaking to you. She knows the secret to the words. She knows the power to put behind them to make them work. What else could be so strong that you could lasso the moon for s3omeone?

What she'll do now, I don't know. I don't even know where she's gone. But I know she's free, and stronger than ever. You helped her free herself, and she still has revenge on the mind, by what I've read here. I will read over this more thoroughly, see if she has hidden any information here, has given any hints as to what her next move will be. I don't know that I'll find anything here except for riddles and games, and maybe the odd love poem too, to my surprise.

I suspect you don't know the danger you've put us all in by reading this book. And it might be that she never tries to harm you, since she obviously cares for you so deeply. Maybe you even freed her on purpose and you support her in her quest, I don't know. But I do know this:

She is coming for us. She won't be stopped this time. She is free, powerful, angry, and now has something new to protect. You.

In the coming days, I will do what I can. I can already see a deep glow in the eastern sky, where the moon always rises. Maybe she doesn't know that Luna is back with us in Equestria now. Maybe she intends to kill her, destroy the moon itself, kill us all as well, I don't know. What she does will be drastic and violent, I'm sure of that much. Celestia is preparing her forces even now, knowing that she will be a target as well. She is coming for us, and she will kill us if she can. No book can contain her now. Her magic is as great as that of any unicorn. Its source is the most powerful force in existence, after all.

I don't know what will become of us. I don't know if you truly understand who and what she is, what you've unleashed on this world. I just hope that whatever powers and forces there are in this life smile on us, and keep us alive until we can stop her. I have my doubts, but we have to try.

May the powers have mercy on you for what you've done. And on us.

Twilight Sparkle
Princess of Friendship

Afterword, Credits, Hints, And Extras

Image Credits:

Walking Pony: https://community.tulpa.info/thread-pony-legs

Dancing Ponies: https://wingedwolf94.deviantart.com/art/Pony-Dance-Sketch-512478640

Distorted pony drawing: https://www.derpibooru.org/1286096?q=semi-grimdark

Running Deer: https://berk-shire.deviantart.com/art/Deer-Run-Cycle-375571054

Flying dove: http://anitagaughan.tumblr.com/

Growing Plants: https://medium.com/personal-growth/stop-taking-pictures-and-start-drawing-b1642aded2b6

10 Second Breathing image: https://www.doyouyoga.com/10-awesome-gifs-for-calm-breathing-59450/

"Special" drawing: anonpencil

Cracking screen 1: https://ohioconcreterestoration.com/img/cracking-concrete-joints.png

Cracking screen 2: https://journeyofgalaxy.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/brush_crack_png_by_fabianaavenger-d60xuii.png

Burned Page: https://officialpsds.com/imageview/rj/zl/rjzl04_large.png?1521316556

Special Thanks:

To Flutterpriest, for editing the hell out of this thing. He made sure that some spelling errors were there on purpose, while finding the ones that weren't. He did playthrough after playthrough of this story, and helped me adjust the tone and language to better fit this purpose. He also helped with suggestions for the various formatting changes, and even helped do the night text itself. This would not exist and would not work without him. I love you.

To my husband, who put up with me staying up late to finish this in time, and for letting me rant about it while I was creating it. He probably won't actually read through this thing himself, but I'm pretty sure he knows every detail of it anyway, from my own mouth. Love you, assface. <3

To the Barcast, who promoted this story, spread it around, gave it all the love in the world as I pushed it to go live. You're all terrible people and I love your stupid beautiful faces. I wish you nothing but delicious suffering and booze.

To 8th, who let me put off all manner of things in order to get this done with. It's done now, thank goodness, and I will have more time again to do fun little projects, as promised. Sincerely thank you for being patient with my little obsession here, and I hope you enjoyed it once it went live. Love you.

To you, the reader. This wouldn't be fun unless you read it and played with it, and it wouldn't be worth a damn without you giving it a shot. Thank you for making it this far, whether you loved it or hated it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"Game" hints:

-Some text might not be easily seen while it's day out, and are better viewed at night.
-She tries to show you what she looks like twice, and succeeds the second time, even if she hides it.
-Her thoughts can't all be contained here. Some of them spill out onto extra pages, and you just have to find a link between the two.
-Not all spelling and grammar errors are really errors.
-Think of this like a treasure hunt. It's about finding things that are hidden, no matter how or where they're hidden.
-Some things she hides span multiple pages, not just one.
-Just because you've found the location of one secret, doesn't mean there's nothing to find in that secret too.

Total "secrets" that can be discovered: 29

Most difficult secret to find: "****'s Lullaby"

Reading Questions:

Things for you to ponder about the story if you're bored, nothing more. Ignore them if you like, this isn't school, after all, and I'm not so self centered to ask you to answer these. They're just here if you want something more to interact with, just in your own head, not in writing, not in the comments, etc. Just thinking points.

Day and night play as major themes throughout the story. What does this say about our main character, and how she views the world? Why was this done?

When did our main character live? What was the world like when she was in Equestria? How long is that before Twilight Sparkle and her friends began their adventures?

All the different "stories" our main character tells seem to relate to her real life somehow. What do those stories tell us about things she has experienced?

What was our main character's name?

When she learned magic words, there was no power behind them at the time. What was the power she needed, in order to make it work? What did she initially think the power was?

What two ponies "helped" her try to get enough power to prevent a great calamity from every happening again? How did they help?

How did she feel about you, the reader, by the end of the story? Why do you suppose she began to feel that way about you?

Was she really evil, or was just misguided? Or not misguided at all? Were her motives justified? Was her punishment justified? What would you have done, given her situation?

Analysis of Word Choice in Page 17:

You chose a word in that little story, or you just clicked next, right? Well, I figure it might be fun to do a little personality analysis based on what you chose! No real psychological profile here, just for laughs. Enjoy, and don't take everything too seriously. ;)

Night:
You have an ability to appreciate beauty in the world around you. Whether it's people, places, animals, nature, you have a taste for things you find deeply visually pleasing. You probably enjoy art that fits your particular aesthetic, and you might even have tried your hand at being an artist yourself! You tend to like things that entertain you personally, whether or not they have some sort of deeper, more intimate meaning. As long as it's fun and pleasing to your senses, you're all for it and you'll go for it! That isn't to say you don't feel down sometimes. You've felt depressed before, and you are prone to feelings of loneliness or melancholy, especially when things don't go exactly your way. Your greatest strength is that, when you find something you enjoy, you know how to completely throw yourself into it and enjoy it to its fullest. However, you may also find it difficult to relate that enjoyment to others, and find yourself isolated by your hobbies more than you'd really like.

Afraid:
You are not someone to be trifled with. You've been known to have an angry streak and a temper, even though you're not proud of that, and at times you may be known for getting a little defensive. Of course, that doesn't keep you from being very articulate. You have a gift for words, putting together ideas, arguments, and feelings... at least in your own head. Sometimes execution doesn't go so well. Even then, your emotions run deep, and they show easily. You are not hesitant to feel anger, sadness, happiness, depression, joy, and pain. Pain is something you've felt a lot, but you don't let it win, and don't let it get you down. You're a fighter. You can do this. You probably tell yourself that pretty often. However, you can sometimes get caught up in your own emotions, to the point where you don't see those in others, or don't realize how you're coming across. You care, you care deeply for others, but it's easy for you to get wrapped up in your own head and heart. Your strength is just that, you are a strong person, even if you sometimes tell yourself you are weak. The issue is that sometimes this strength exhausts you, to the point where you have nothing left to give when others want to lean on you. Doesn't stop you from trying, though.

Stained:
You don't always like talking about what's on your mind. You're very good at getting lost in thought and being imaginative, going over what if scenarios several times throughout the day. This can make you very creative, but at the same time, it can make you seem like the quiet type, and can cause you to push others away. There's something in your upbringing or past that still haunts you, even now, and while you try not to let it bother you, it still bleeds through into your words and actions. You try not to let it keep you from being social, but it happens anyway, and you dislike that about yourself. That being said, you are a deeply caring person. You are viciously loyal when it comes to those you care about, and you are not afraid to stand between danger and people you love. You are also meticulous, and love a personal challenge. Hell, you've probably already found most of the "secrets" in here at this point! Your strength is that you are a compassionate, creative, and thoughtful individual. Now, if only you could find a way for everyone else around you to see that.

No Word Chosen:
You are a no-nonsense kind of person who doesn't like to put up with things that do not interest them. You know your goals in life, or at least your immediate goals, and like to pursue them directly rather than waiting around for them to just happen to you. You have the ability to get pretty lazy or bogged down sometimes, and you find yourself distracted by new projects that come your way, but you dislike feeling useless. You want to feel like what you do matters. You want to have purpose in your life, and you want to surround yourself with people that appreciate you for all your efforts. Your biggest strength is that you tell it like it is, and don't beat around the bush with things, but at the same time you can also sometimes come across as callous or unfeeling. Remember to slow down sometimes, take things slow, don't rush. But keep driving for whatever it is you're passionate about, even if you take a day or two off to rest and goof off at times. Everyone needs a little down time.

~*~

Author's Note

A Word From Anonpencil:

Well, you made it! Thank you for sticking it out all the way to the end. I wanted to take a little time here to talk about what I was doing with this story, or at least trying to do, and why.
The fact of the matter is that I've always been fascinated with books, games, and art that plays with our perception of reality, that blends that line between simple fiction and real interaction with things that are not real. I've always wanted to do so myself and, while very difficult, I'm hardly afraid of a challenge.

Now, I know what some of you might be thinking. I did this because of Doki Doki Literature Club, right? Well... not exactly. It is one of the things that inspired me, but not even the main one. Instead, my inspirations for this include: House of Leaves, The King In Yellow, Gravity Falls, Notpron, Ready Player One, a random post I saw on Facebook about a book that falls in love with you, FSWIYP, and Doki Doki too. If you liked this, I really REALLY recommend you look into these too.

There may be other pieces of fiction, here and there, and some passages are taken from my own experience as well. But just wanted to be clear, I did take some inspiration from DDLC, but this was never meant to copy it at all, and that was only a portion of it.

Anyway, I'm not entirely sure I succeeded in what I set out to do. I found there were... limitations given to me by fimfic as a platform, that maybe someone more game oriented might have gotten around. Maybe this would have been better off as its own website, I'm not sure. But either way, I wanted to play with certain mechanics of this website, and how stories are done here. I wanted to have fun. And in the end, I can confidently say I did have fun.

I grew very attached to our main character here. She's actually based on a G2 pony, of which I had several growing up, but personalitywise? She was kind of concocted out of the ether. Little bits and particles from everywhere. I find I enjoyed getting inside her head to write this, even if it was difficult. She kinda had a mind of her own at times, as to what she wanted to say and do. So if nothing else, I tried to make sure I did her justice throughout this. I do feel I did that well enough.

As for what I wanted from you guys? Honestly, I just wanted to entertain you, to give you something interactive to try to pick apart. Some riddles I wanted to be absurdly easy, just things you could pick out with a simple sweep. Others, I wanted you to really have to look, to really have to try. I wanted you to think outside the box. But I also wanted this to be a complete story, without all the picking and prodding and prying. Even if you didn't try to find out every little weird thing I did, I still wanted you to get to know this character, understand her and what happened to her, and understand what she wanted to do once free.

Whether or not you sympathized with her and connected with her or found her just obsessive and creepy? Well, that's up to you.

I love horror, and while this isn't directly horror in the way of ghosts and zombies, I did want this to be creepy. I wanted to give you the sense, from beginning to end, that something is wrong here. Something is off. And I wanted you to not trust what you were being told or what you were seeing. I dunno if that makes this lite horror, psychological horror, or what. But I do hope you found parts of it, at the very least, uneasy.

In the end, I can only thank you for giving this a shot. You read it all the way through, even read this silly, rambling, self-indulgent note. I know this isn't what you're used to from me, so maybe I surprised you in that. And you, know, maybe this wasn't your cup of tea, or you didn't like it, or thought it was dumb. But overall I hope you had fun. Even if this wasn't life changing or provoking etc, I do hope you at least had fun with the ride, reading, and playing along.

I know she had fun. And I know I had fun too.

Take care.

Love,
anonpencil

Page 3

~*~

Long ago, before there were princesses, or even any kings or queens, there was only the sky and the earth. The earth had water, land, and stone, but it was lifeless and barren, and the sky above it was very lonely with only this vacant world to keep it company. Time passed slowly, empty, with nothing to fill the space between the above and the below. There was no music, no laughter, no love, and no grief. And the sky looked down at the ground every day, and found it still.

Eventually the sky became tired of the endless silence and stillness, and he called together all his might to create the wind. The wind was ever moving, and it did not stop. It flowed across the land endlessly, from one end to the other and back, never being still for even a moment, even when it spun 'round in eddies. And for a time, the sky enjoyed the wind. But like all things seemed to, even the wind made him weary after a while. You could not see the wind, only feel it, and there was nothing for the wind to stir into motion.

So then the sky created the plants. These shivered when the wind blew, bowed down to the sky under the wind's might, and made soft rustling noises, like distant whispers. The sky liked the plants, and the way they reached up to him for life each day. But even these did not please him for long.

The sky, in his most tremendous act, then created animal life. This life began small, but soon branched out in all directions. It became fish in the water, it became birds in the sky, and insects on leaves. And, of course, it became ponies too. Above all other life, the sky loved the ponies. They were graceful, they laughed, they sang, they loved, and they grieved. They were always in motion, like the wind, and always there when he looked down. They changed the land, picked the plants, and their manes rippled in the wind. Truly, the ponies were his favorite creations yet.

The ponies noticed the sky sometimes, but mostly, they became so interested in each other that it was all they did. They looked at each other, spoke to each other, and after a time, the sky began to feel jealous. He wanted the ponies to look up at him, worship him, love him the way he loved them. So the sky took away the sun. The ponies were afraid then, and they called up to the sky in fear, unsure what to do in this time without light or hope. The sky, not wanting to lose the love of his creations, created stars to keep their minds occupied, so they wouldn't be so afraid. The stars distracted the ponies for a while, and it forced them to look up and acknowledge him whenever they needed light. It made the sky feel very needed indeed.

The sky did grow tired of the dark eventually, but took the sun away once a day after that, just so he could force the ponies to look up at the stars, and acknowledge his power. Things went on for a long time this way, but eventually the sky even became tired of the ponies. They were always there, always laughing, always running, never changing. They were always the same. The same ponies he had created from the very first, and they bored him terribly.

So the sky created death.

Ponies began to die, and the sky, knowing that he would soon run out of ponies, also created birth. That way, the ponies would always have something to feed to death, without being destroyed themselves altogether. This satisfied the sky at last, and he watches us to this day, hoping that our continued cycle of life and death will continue to amuse him.

It is also said that, when we died, the sky takes us and locks us away inside him somewhere. And we stay there, for all eternity, sealed away. As his.

I don't know if you've ever heard that one before, but it's one of my favorites. I used to be afraid at night when I was young, but then I'd just look up at the stars in the sky, and know that they were made for me. So I would never forget that the sky was watching, and that I should do all I could to show my thanks to it. I was told it when I was a little filly, and I think back on the tale a lot these days. Especially at this moment.

You see, you're my sky now, in a way.

I am here to amuse you and make you happy, to fill any voids of loneliness or boredom you might feel. Celestia made sure I would be good at it too, and if you don't like just stories, we can play games as well! I'll never forget to tell you how thankful I am that you opened the book, either, you can be sure of that.

You just keep turning the pages. I'll keep doing my best.

Page 4

~*~

I mentioned we could play together, didn't I? Well, I wasn't lying. I don't have a physical body anymore, so I can't come skip rope with you, or swim in a pond with you, or climb trees. All of those are pretty fun, but I can still play in my own ways, if you're up for a challenge. What do you say?

Back when I was a pony, I really liked riddles too. I was pretty good at them, and I've memorized quite a few so I could retell them to my friends. If you want to play, I'll tell you a riddle, and ask you to guess. Then I'll put the answer on the next page. You can do your best to guess, then you can find out if you're right when you keep reading.

Bet you never thought a book could play games, huh?

Okay, let me think of a good starter one for you.

Hmmmm...

...

OH I've got one! It's an oldie, but depending on how much time has passed, you might never have heard it before! But I bet you'll get it quickly, it's not too hard. Okay, here we go...

What is always a music you feel inside,

but no note do you have to play?

What has a slower tune at night,

than it does during the day?

What notes begin before you are even born,

and continue with your first cry?

What music serenades your birth,

But stops at the moment you die?

...

Have you got it? Do you give up?

Go ahead, I'll write the answer on the next page, so turn it whenever you're ready...

Page 5

~*~

It was your heartbeat! It begins while you're still inside your mother, and it continues until your heart stops at death! I always loved the idea of a heartbeat being like music, like your whole body is an instrument you can just play and play without even trying. That way we're all musicians.

I get the feeling, by the rhythmic way you turn the pages, that you like music too. Maybe you're a musician yourself? I'd like to imagine you are.

I don't have a heartbeat anymore. But that's okay. I make a little sound whenever you flip through my pages, and it feels almost like something in me flutters again. The whisper of a phantom heartbeat, maybe.

But enough about me, I'd like to know more about you! Not that you can tell me, I'll just have to go by feel. What kind of pony are you? Are you even a pony at all? Hm, I'm not sure I can easily get an answer to that, so let's at least see how smart you are by how fast you get this next riddle. I'll be able to feel how quickly you flip to the next page, so the moment you think you have it, go check the answer. If you have to think about it a long time, I'll know it. I'll make it a hard one though, so I won't blame you if it takes a while. I know just the riddle! It had me pretty stumped when I first heard it too.

Ready? Okay, give this one a shot...

You can only have me

If you tell no one you have me

I cannot be touched

But everyone has felt me

One way to lose me

Is to find someone else who has me

When you have me

It feels like you have nothing

What am I?

Page 6

~*~

See, that one was probably a little harder, wasn't it? But you didn't do too bad, getting on to this page so quickly. It was at least faster than I did, when I first heard it. Anyway, did you get the answer, or did you give up?

The answer was loneliness.

If you tell someone you're lonely, it means you're not alone. You can't touch loneliness, but everyone feels loneliness sometimes. The only way to get rid of loneliness is to find someone else to be with, thereby getting rid of both of your loneliness. And when you're alone... it feels like you have nothing. Believe me, I should know. I've been alone for a long while.

But now you're here! And that makes me so happy. The way you answered that last one had me giddy with anticipation, it made me feel really alive for a moment there. I hope you're amused by all this as well, after all, that's what I'm here for! So how about one more riddle, okay? This one might be pretty hard, so think about it carefully before you answer. Remember, appearances can be deceiving. Here we go...

It cannot look up, it can only look down

It is all over everything, but we can never touch it

No matter where we hide, it will look for us

It is both darkness and light, sometimes both at once

It can blush, it can cry, and it can roar if it so chooses

It gave life, and it also gave death

What is it?

Page 7

~*~

Do you give up?

The answer is you.

...what, did you think the answer was the sky? Why you silly thing, you, weren't you paying attention? I already told you.

You are my sky.

Anyway, let's do something else for a while, shall we? We're getting to know each other a little at this point, in our own small way. I've noticed that you like to linger over certain pages, certain moments in my writing. It's okay that you do, it just makes you feel more real to me. I can't touch you, even though you can touch me, and you can speak to me, even though I won't hear you. But those moments where you touch the page, where you hesitate before going on... I can feel that. I can feel you move me. It all may sound very intimate to you, I suppose. Well, it is to me as well given our circumstances.

You have a lot of control over me, you know. I'm trusting you.

It's really not like I have much of a choice, but I'm honestly trusting you because I want to. You seem nice, you seem thoughtful. You're putting effort into reading every little thing I write. And I honestly do thank you for that. Without you, I wonder if I'd even exist. These words don't exist until you turn the page, after all. The page wait7s for you, I wait for you, then I put down everything I think and feel as I sense the way you read over me.

It makes me feel very naked. But it's also nice. You aren't hurting me. I thank you for that too, I remember what it's like to feel others hurt you.

Right now, I think that maybe I exist just because you're reading. That if you stopped, maybe I'd stop. That if you read faster, I'd have to think faster. In that way, you own me, and I'm happy to let you own me, if you want to. After all, this book is in your possession, so I suppose I'm yours until you put me down, right? Please don't put me down.

For now, I'd love to try to guess what you want me to do next, even if you can't tell me outright.. Do you want me to try to play another game with you? Or maybe you'd like me to tell you another story?

Wait, I know.

How about I do both?

Page 8

~*~

There was once a little filly named... well, her name isn't really that important. She had a mother, and a father, and a little brother who was less than a year old. And all of them lived very Happily together in the countryside, by the woods. They were a good family, a whole family, and they could have gone on in their lives that way until the ends of their days. But as it always is, things changed.

One night, the moon rose as usual, but it didn't go down again. It simply stayed there in the night sky, unmoving, like someone had reached in and stopped the hands of a watch with their fingers. When the dawn was supposed to come, it was still night, and as the hours ticked on, the moon stayed in the sky. The filly and her family began to get nervous about this, and they stayed inside the house, afraid. The only one who was not afraid was the little colt of the family, a skinny thing with a frizzy mane and a loud laugh. He hadn't yEt learned that the world could be cruel and thoughtless, that others can hurt you, and that in the end, things generally are not fair and orderly. Because of that, he was rarely afraid of anything.

After a second day came, without the rising of the sun, the little colt became tiRed of staying inside. He told his big sister that he wanted to go out into the night, to see what was there, to see if, even in the darkness, he could still have fun and play. The filly told her brother not to go out, that strange things could lurk in the shadows. He told her he would fight them off, that he was bigger and stronger now than he had been a year ago, that nothing would best him. He bragged that he would be the biggest and strongest stallion in Canterlot someday, and that he would make their family proud.

The little filly was not so sure.

She told him that someday, wheN he was big, that he may venture out into the night, that he may fight off all manner of creatures. But that no matter what he did, as long as he tried his best, the family would be proud. For now, however, he would have to stay inside.

The colt was Annoyed at this response, and he sulked all the rest of the dark day, until the family decided to go to bed, hoping that when they got up, the sun would again be in the sky.

Sometime hours later, the little filly was awakened by a soft click, as if a door somewhere was shutting. She got out of bed and lit a lamp in the bedrooM, and found, to her dismay, that he little brother was gone. Tired of being locked indoors and underestimated, hE had gone out into the night alone. She knew he would soon be in danger.

She cried out for her parents, who sprang to their hooves, and the three of them rushed out into the darkness, cryIng the young colt's name. They searched with lamps and torches, screaming out into the mess of trees that stood nearby, hoping that he had not ventured into the woods. Somehow, the little filly knew this was exactly what he had done. Still they searched, wracked by fear, the little filly sobbing as she ran through the grasS and fallen leaves, guided only by her desperation to find him and the light of the unmoving moon.

Just when she had given up, she heard a scream from the woods, high pitched and wild. It was the kind of scream a rabbit makes when it's grabbed by an owl as it swoops in silently for the kill. She knew it had to be coming froM her brother. She ran towards the woods, crying his name, but her parents held her back. They told her that the scream meant he was done for. That he could not be saved. And they would not risk losing her too.

They had to drag her back to the house, kicking and screaming.

Two days later, there was a blaze in the sky, as if a great battle was being waged against the horizon. Then, the sUn rose at last, and light again poured into the countryside where the family lived, now no longer whole. The little colt never emerged from the woods. It was as if, in a way, the night had taken him into its Shadows, and he was a part of it then.

And the little filly was afraid of the night after that. She felt it watch her, and she always watched back, scanning the line of the forEst, hoping to catch some glimpse of her lost brother, who had become a part of the darkness.

The End

Page 10

~*~

Well, you turned the page, so I guess that means it's okay? You can turn away from this page at any time if you like, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. But... I don't know. I don't usually have someone to talk to. And... I'd really like to just say something:

I know what it's like to be alone. Given that you're just sitting here, reading, I figure you're alone right now too. And, well, that's kind of sad. N-not that you're sad! Not that I think your life is lacking in some way, or... or...

Let me start over.

I'm glad you're here. I know that, when you're alone, it can feel like you'll always be alone, that there's no way out of it. It's like being trapped underground, trying to claw your way up to the sunlight, and just feeling patch of earth after patch of cold earth under your scraping hooves. It feels endless, and helpless, and terrible. And sometimes, that terrible feeling can turn inward, until the inner parts of your thoughts and feelings feels as dark as it all seems outside. You can start to hate yourself. You can start to feel bad about the way your life is going. You start to think something is wrong with you, that you've done something to deserve this.

I just want to let you know that none of that is true.

No matter what you have done, no one deserves to live their lives in solitude. No one deserves eternal silence, to never feel another's touch or words. You do not deserve to be alone.

I do not deserve to be alone.

So, if you're alone out there, especially if you're alone a lot, and feel the way I described... please don't let it overpower you. Don't let it tell you that you're worthless. You're not. If nothing else... you mean a lot to me right now. I know that probably doesn't help a lot, but right now you're reading. And it matters to me, in my strange little life.

I may be just a book, but you're not alone while you're reading.

I'll stay with you.

But enough of that. I got too serious I think, got too personal. I hope I didn't come across as too intrusive, or presumptuous or harsh or... anything like that. I just think everyone deserves to be told that once in a while. You can only say it to yourself in your own head so many times before you stop believing it.

Here, let me try to make you smile. How about a dancing pony? Or even two? Together, so they don't have to be on their own. I can actually make them move, like I told you before. Watch!

Isn't it nice to have them dance for you? Isn't it nice to be able to almost hold them as your own, in their little box? I may have created them, but they dance for you. I hope they make you smile...

If not, maybe I can try a little harder.

Page 11

~*~

You liked the riddles, right? Probably more than those little moving ponies I created. After all, you can interact with me through the riddles a little, and I hope you like doing that. The drawings? Those are just things to watch, they just do the same things over and over. I can change it up, and you will likely never know what I'll do next. And I want to challenge you a little sometimes, make you think, make you wonder about things if I can. I can only try my best at it, and see if it works out in the end. Even if it means I have to get a little creative sometimes.

With that in mind, I've thought of another riddle you might like. It's one I made up myself, so I'm sorry if it's not as good as the others. But I've had a while to think, and only words to play with, so I put a lot of thought into it, and I'm so glad I finally get to tell it to someone. Especially you. Here we go...

You will never be free from me.

When you are hurting, you will find me.

When you are afraid, you will feel me.

I've already gotten under your skin,

Even into your mind,

Your lips,

Your eyes,

Your touch.

I'll never miss a beat.

As long as you're living, I will be with you.

Search your heart.

I am there.

Page 12

~*~

Like I said, it might not be as polished as the others, but it's one that I really feel inside. And yes, that's definitely a joke, as well as a hint! If you didn't guess yet, the answer is blood! Blood stays with you until you die, it's always running through you, you feel it pounding when you're afraid, you see it when you get hurt, and it's in every part of your body pretty much, even your brain.

I know a lot of ponies are scared of it, but honestly? Blood is just a part of us, a tool our bodies use to stay alive. It's useful. It has purpose, and it has power. It's the fuel that helps us achieve our goals.

I... don't really have blood anymore, but I guess the bright side of that is that I can't bleed or even really get hurt. I remember pain, sure, but the memory of it only hurts so much. It more hurts my mind, as a concept or memory, the only thing I really feel is this book moving around me.

I do sometimes go back to remembering when I was a filly, though.

Once, way back when I was little, when I was the only child in my family, another filly named Sundance would sometimes come over to play. Her parents didn't like her playing near my house, because they said it was dangerous there, so we'd go out to a meadow between our two homes. We'd play tag, and search for hidden treasures, like wild potatoes, special rocks, all manner of things children inexplicably find precious. She was so brave, she was always so fast and so bold, whereas I was often timid, and I could never keep up with her.

I sometimes wonder if I would have noticed the gopher hole, had I been running in front that day.

Either way, she was in front, faster than me as always, and she put her hoof right into a gopher hole. Her momentum carried forward onto the ground, and at first I thought she'd just tripped and fallen down. But then she was just screaming and screaming, and writhing in the grass. And when I caught up with her, I noticed that she'd broken her front leg. It had snapped cleanly, probably weak bones from poor living out in the country. And it had opened itself, until I could see inside. I remember the shine of the white, tinged pink, the way parts of it were still moving, and all the red. I remember I just stared.

Because it was the first time I'd really, truly seen blood like that. I couldn't look away. And even then, I wasn't afraid of the blood. I remember being horrified by the pain. I'd never heard anypony scream like that before, and it was a long time before I'd ever hear anything like that again.

But I remember. I remember every detail. Sinews, ligaments, flexing, holding together two halves of a bone once whole. The color the grass turned as blood dripped across it, almost like chocolate. I remember reaching for her, to help her, as if I could somehow put her back together, hold all of it inside. And I very clearly remember not being afraid of it. The blood.

I wasn't afraid. I'm not afraid.

Blood never scares me.

...

Oh my goodness, what am I saying?! That was so much detail, so in depth... You didn't need any of that! Just because I have to live with it, just because I still see it this clearly in my head, doesn't mean...

For all I know, you've never seen anything like that, this could make you sick to your stomach, or uncomfortable. I know I may have a had a weird life up until now, but I can't put that on you, or force you to listen to all that! That's... wrong! I was wrong. I'm sorry, the last thing I want to do is gross you out or freak you out so that you don't want to read anymore! There's nothing wro6ng per se with being distressed at the sight of blood, and if you feel that way, it's okay! I just got carried away with my memories, you do that sometimes too, right? I won't do it anymore, I can tone it down, go back to the fun stuff again!

I haven't hurt you, have I?

Please don't stop reading, I'll do better, I promise!

Please don't put down the book!

Please don't leave me here!

I'm sorry!

Page 14

~*~

Are you tired from your day?
Yes, I've spent the day at play.
Then lay back, rest your head, my dear.
Relax and rest your head.

Are your feet sore from your run?
Yes, but it was so much fun!
Then put your feet by the fire, my dear.
Just rest them by the fire.

Do your arms feel very sore?
Yes, I can't lift them anymore.
Then fold them across your chest, my dear.
Near your heart, across your chest.

Are you feeling very cold?
Yes, the winter's getting bold.
Then we'll shut it all outside, my dear.
We'll shut the cold outside.

Are your eyes worn out by sight?
Yes, and they can't see at night.
Then shut your eyes to the dark, my dear.
Don't look into the dark.

Are you weary from your mind?
Yes, bad thoughts are all I find.
Then sleep and have good dreams, my dear.
No nightmares, just good dreams.

Page 15

~*~

I don't know about you, but I always liked the feel of nursery rhymes and lullabies. They kind of have this back and forth to them, this up and down. Like being pushed on a swing. With part of a line you go forward, then come back under the power of the next part. Then back out, and back in. The rhyme or rhythm is what pushes you, so the words have their own motion to them, a sort of life. Maybe that's what makes them so memorable.

I... do feel better. Thank you for bearing with me while I recounted that. I feel... a little more composed, more like myself. And I really hope you liked that too. Maybe you feel a little more relaxed as well? I can at least hope so.

You didn't seem to flip the page as if you were panicky at least. That could be an indicator of something I'd suppose.

I admit, I like trying to guess your feelings and motivations. I like trying to imagine what your face is doing with its expressions. Are you smiling? Frowning? Are your lips moving as you read these words, sounding out each syllable I put onto the page? Are you saying it out loud, thereby making my voice into your own? Is your hair dark or light? Are your eyes clear or clouded? Does your voice hang in the air like mist, or drive forcefully like hail? I may never have answers to these questions, but it doesn't stop me from wondering.

I even wonder... if you wonder about me too.

Page 16

~*~

You know, I've been thinking, as we've gone through page after page together. I may never know who you are or what you look like, even if I have been able to catch glimpses of the kind of person you are in the way you've handled this book. But you've gotten to know a lot about me. Even then, you don't know what I look like. I mean, you know what the book looks like, but that's not exactly the same thing, is it? What I mean is, when I was a pony, I had a face, a mane, a tail, a whole body wrapped around these words and thoughts that I'm left with now. I had eyes to see with, a mouth to speak with. I was whole. I was free.

If you want... maybe I can show you what I looked like?

I haven't tried to do this before, never for anyone else in the past. No one has really cared enough to read this far anyway. So, for you, maybe I can give it a shot. If I try really hard, focus...

If I...

If I try hard enough...

...maybe...

Please, just a little...

Why....is...

...I can...

...m...be...I....c....n....

No. I'm sorry.

I can't do it.

Making cute little walking ponies, making little singing birds, that's all easy. But I'm quickly realizing that... I don't even fully remember what I look like anymore. It's been too long, and the memory is a wash of black smoke, streaking ink, spatters of red. And remembering what happened is so painful still, even now. I may be in this book, but I can still feel, I'm still alive, and I can still feel all that anger and hurt and hatred from back then. Even trying to imagine myself as I was makes me remember that I'm stuck here forever. That this is was a curse I never deserved.

...

Not that I'm upset to be in your book!

Oh no, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I shouldn't have tried to do that in the first place, it was a mistake. Forget I said anything, please forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you. Please, please forgive me. I'm grateful you're here, and I like trying to entertain you, I can certainly promise you that. Let's get back to the fun, that's what you and I are all about, right? We're just here to have fun, with me amusing you, and you reading along as I do.

There's no need to stop reading. Right?

Besides, I know we'll get to know each other even better in time. There's no need to rush things.

I can wait.

Page 17

~*~

Let's see if we can know more about you, in a way. We can play a little game, if you like, and it might tell me more about the kind of person you are. It won't be the most interactive game, you and I can only do so much there. But let's try to play anyway. I'll hide a secret word somewhere in here that will make you turn to the next page, using one magic letter in it. If you touch it, the page will just turn on its own, as if by magic! If you can't find it, that's okay, you can just turn the page normally too, just as you've always done. I won't be upset. Not much anyway, it's just a silly game. Only words.

But for now, I'll tell a little story, and you can hunt for that ever so special word. Just keep a sharp eye open, I know you can do it, I have faith in you!

Here we go.

Once there was a little rabbit who lived in a large burrow with a bunch of other rabbits under an old oak tree. Although the rabbits were fearful, they would venture out into the sunlight every day in order to feed upon sweet grass and bright white daisies. When they heard the call of an owl or hawk, they would simply dart back into their burrows as a group, and huddle there comforting each other until the danger had passed. When the sun was out, they would use its warmth to keep their fur cozy and nice. The little rabbit grew up in this way, even since when he was small, and always did as the others did. When they ran from the owl's call, he ran along with them. When the sun shone on him, he basked in its warmth like the others. And he grew and grew, surrounded by his kin, only venturing out in the glorious day, and sleeping safely underground at night.

When he was grown the not-so-little rabbit made a family with one of the others in his burrow. He had twelve beautiful little kits with her, and they were a happy family in the ever growing burrow under the oak tree. He taught them to run from the sound of the hawk or owl. He taught them to only eat the sweetest grasses and daisies, and he taught them to bask in the sunlight when they could to let it warm their little bodies. And of course, he taught them that night time was for sleep and hiding, but nothing more.

But he forgot to teach them one very important thing, and that was because he had never learned it himself. None of the rabbits had yet learned a lesson, but that time was soon to come.

It was late one evening, and the sun had set. All the little rabbits and big rabbits were settling down for a long sleep deep in their holes, when the not-so-little rabbit thought he heard something strange from outside. It was like a low rumble of thunder, but gentle and soothing like a lullaby. It continued for some time, and even as many of the other rabbits began to fall asleep, he stayed up and listened to it. After a while, the slow, undulating rumble became words.

"Why do you stay inside, Rabbit?" it said, so softly and sweetly. "It is a wonderful night out here."

"It is night time," said the rabbit. "And my family is tired from eating sweet grasses and daisies, and sleepy from the warmth of the sun. It is time for us to rest."

"That is a shame," said the voice, cool as ever. "The night time is so crisp sweet. Even the air tastes sweeter than any daisy you could imagine."

Here, the rabbit perked up his long sleek ears to listen. He liked the taste of sweet things, and he had never known a time where the very air around him tasted sweet. He imagined the purple black of night time tasting like flower petals touched with dew.

"It does?" he said, licking his lips.

"Oh yes," said the voice, the shuddering rumble returning to its tone. "And there is no one here to eat the grass with me."

"Do you eat grass?"

"Well of course I do!" the voice exclaimed. "I always come out at night for just such a thing, because I can keep it all to myself. It does get lonely sometimes, but the flowers are oh so delicious after they have closed up their sleepy heads for the night."

The rabbit had never seen flowers close up for the evening. He imagined it must look like they were shutting their eyes to dream.

"That sounds wonderful!" he admitted. "But aren't you afraid of the owls? We cannot see them well except during the day, so we hide here during the night. Without the daylight, they would snatch us up and eat us for dinner! Aren't you afraid?"

"Me?" said the voice, then it laughed, a sound like pebbles tumbling down a cliffside. "I am too big to be afraid of the owls."

"Aren't you a rabbit, like me?" the rabbit asked.

"Yes, but I am much bigger than you, so I can stay out at night and eat all of these grasses without fear."

"I have never seen a rabbit bigger than me."

"There are many things you have never seen. And all because you stay inside at night, so afraid to come out and enjoy the evening. But you know... I could watch over you and your family, if you like. I would deeply enjoy the company."

The rabbit was delighted to hear this. He wanted to taste the sleeping flowers, savor the flavor of the evening air, and let his family feast to their heart's content as they never had before. This strange voice outside sounded so kind, and was so generous to offer, and his family could do with one less night of sleep for a chance like this! He considered waking up the rest of the burrow, but decided that this was a treat only for him and his family.

"Alright," he told the voice, as he awakened his family and told them the good news. "We're going to come out. But do you promise us that no owls will harm us?"

"I promise," the voice said kindly. "No owl will harm you."

Kicking his heels together, the rabbit and his wife and all of his twelve kits rushed out into the evening air to dance beneath the starlight and feast on grass and daisies. As he emerged, he went to call for his new friend, the big rabbit, but then...

In the morning, the rest of the burrow of rabbits awoke to find that there was one family missing from their ranks. When they came out of the burrow, they found the sweet grasses and daisies had been stained a dark red, as if all had been dipped in paint. There was no sign of the family of rabbits, save for a few wisps of fur still clinging to the daisies, and a set of cat footprints leading away back into the woods.

It was on that day that the rabbits learned something very important. They had lived their lives in a state of sweetness, always trusting each other and their instincts to serve them right. They had always leaned on others to survive, and had always relied on the goodness in the hearts of those they knew to steer them right. But this proved to them that their perfect little world was not as they thought it was. It was merely a fraction of a bigger world, one full of deceit, pain, and loss. From that day on, when little rabbits became grown, they taught their kits to eat the sweetest grasses, to eat fresh daisies, to hide from hawks, and to bask in the sun. But they taught them one other, very important thing:

People lie.

Page 20

~*~

Let me make a few things for you. Let me make you smile. I'll give it all my best shot, though I cannot promise it will be perfect. I will try to remember what things looked like when I was whole, when I had eyes to see with. Let me show you things I once saw, show you things that once made me smile and laugh. Maybe they will at least make you feel lighter in your heart. Whatever burdens you carry, whatever stresses weigh heavy on your shoulders, please unload them. Relax. Breathe.

Let me show you simple things. Nice things. Lovely things.

Let me show you.

Some mornings, just as the sun touched the trees outside, I would look out and see the shapes of deer standing at the tree line. They would be outlined with what looked like liquid silver from the early day's sun. They would go still if they saw me, their ears would prick up, and they would tremble, as if being still took so much effort. As if they were always meant to be in motion. Sometimes I would try to talk to them, to call them nearer to me. But they would dart away, as graceful and nimble as a gust of wind.

I always found them so lovely, so simple and peaceful. They were a fearful animal, it's true, but whenever they moved, it was like someone with a paint brush was recreating them constantly. That they were born anew with each muscle twitch, each turn of their head, each step of their narrow feet.

They were my favorite animals when I was little.

Whenever I would feel alone, I would look into the sky or trees and try to find a bird. I would imagine I could whisper to the bird and tell it everything I felt, everything I saw. I would tell it to fly away, far away. To soar over mountains, through cities, down into deep valleys, across rivers and oceans. I would tell it to go and then come back to me and tell me all it had seen, everyone it had met in its travels.

I would coo at the birds, tweet at them in my best imitations of their calls. And sometimes I would see them raise their heads and look at me. Their eyes would show confusion, interest, maybe a little hesitance. But I would pour my feelings and meanings into those words. I would tell it that we were friends now. That we were connected. And I may be silly, but maybe they knew sometimes. Maybe they understood me.

Even if they didn't come back and tell me of their journey, as I asked them to, I knew that my words were with them, my thoughts. So wherever they flew, wherever they traveled to, some small, wispy part of me was at least with them. Free.

As time passed in our little house by the woods, I would see flowers grow each season. The grass would renew itself, the trees would shed their leaves like tired coats. Even the air would change flavors with the seasons. It would taste like stone and vanilla each winter, and like crisp lettuce right before the first snowfall. In the autumn, it would taste like warm cinnamon, wood, and moss. In the spring everything tasted like fresh ground, the way the earth smells, and sugar. But in the summer, when the flowers were no longer new, and the trees were thick with foliage, everything tasted like ripe fruit, nuttiness, and dried herbs. It was my favorite flavor of all.

Watching everything go from old to new over and over taught me something important. Nothing ever ends. Nothing is ever over. When one thing passes on, it is quickly replaced. Nothing stays the same, but at the same time, everything continues in the same vein, becoming the same and different in a never ending cycle. It's beautiful, but it's also a little sad.

Even though we will never fully vanish from the air, the soil, the world, we're also all replaceable. People will forget us.

Well... not for a while at least. Not for all of us. I certainly know I won't forget you for a long, long time.

I... hope you feel alright now. I hope you feel happy and at ease. I hope you feel the way I felt first thing in the morning on a summer's day, when I was still a child. And I hope that feeling returns to you often. I just wonder if you have memories like that too, times you go back to in order to feel safe, happy, strong, content.

I wish you could tell me about them. I could use some new happy places to retreat to in my mind.

Page 21

~*~

I wonder, what is the world like now without me there to share it with all of you. How have things changed? What has stayed the same? What has been replaced? I can guess, from what I remember, from what felt permanent back then. But I know parts of it will be inevitably wrong. Sometimes, the things you put the most faith in to be steadfast are actually more fragile than you would have ever guessed.

The sun rises every morning, the moon rises each night. The flowers still bloom, the trees still grow leaves. The animals still go through their paces and cycles, and the wind still blows. Maybe the same stars are even up there, looking down at you the way they once looked at me. That's a comforting thought, but I'm not even sure that much is true.

And what of pony society? I would guess that there are still cities and towns, and that the castle still stands in Canterlot. I bet that there are still ponies who lived in the middle of nowhere like I did with my family, and that the woods are still a place that many are reluctant to venture. There are still ponies who have a lot of money, and ponies who have next to none. People still get lonely, and still smile, and still laugh, and still love. I feel none of that will have changed.

I'm also going to guess that you live in one of the more populated areas. You'd have to in order for you to get your hooves on this book, if you even have hooves in the first place. Unless things have really changed, but I doubt she would have changed her library and the way she runs her castle that much. She was never the type who liked change or new ideas very well, at least from my experience.

Tell me, although I know you can't, is that selfish creature still in charge?

Does she still smile, still presume to tell others how to live, what is most important, all while remaining inactive herself? Does she play the part of the martyr, while letting others do the hard work? While blocking them from doing things more effectively? While telling them no when all they want to do is help? Does she let others sacrifice for her mistakes, never willing to learn anything or change herself? Does she still pretend to care?

Does she still dare to call herself blameless?

And does her sister still yet live?

No matter what has changed with them, no matter how much time has passed, I know for certain that there is one thing that will never change...

My hatred for them both.

Page 22

~*~

...I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have said those things. Not the way I did. I should not have gotten so angry, should not have put so much blame there. There's blame with me as well, there's a reason I am here, and I have no right to... to...

No.

You know what? I won't be sorry for how I feel on this. I deserve my anger. I deserve my spite and my hurt and my grief. I deserve to feel furious over what was taken from me and is still being taken from me.

I am allowed to be angry. And I will be angry.

She told me that what I was doing was wrong, when she herself had let such horrible things befall our land, her people that she claimed to protect. She told me that I should not be allowed to continue, when she herself was not doing anything to stop it from happening again. I had solutions, she had excuses. And she dared to tell me, dared to say that I was wrong. That bitch told me I was wrong, and then she turned her back on me.

What was I supposed to do? What did she expect?

Ponies were dead, ponies that mattered, that had value, and she didn't even want to hear their names. Instead of figuring out a stop to it, ending it once and for all, she found a way to put her problems far away from her. She hid it away, sealed it up, and walked away. Just like she did with me.

And yet she expected us to look up and see the symbol of our suffering every single night. She expected us, who already had so much weight to carry, to carry the weight of a damned celestial body above our heads and in our hearts. Just so she could feel better, noble, just so her hooves were clean. They were already dirty. They were already stained with blood, even if she denied it and ignored it. A million sorries, a million platitudes.

Nothing will bring back what I've lost. She took my life from me, twice. She is still taking it from me now.

So I am allowed to be angry.

I am allowed to hate her.

Page 24

~*~

Please.

Help me.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I just wish that wasn't a lie.

Page 26

~*~

I wish I could touch you.

And, to be absolutely clear, I don't mean in a creepy or inappropriate way. Nothing harmful or uncomfortable or too intimate. I'd just... like some form of physical contact. You can touch me, hold me, move me, but I can't do anything back. Even if I could just put a hoof out and rest it against your chest, so I could feel a heartbeat and know you're truly alive, that would be nice. Or if that was too much, perhaps I could touch your hoof, shoulder, anything solid and real and not made of ink and paper. I don't think that would be too much to ask.

When I was first put into this book, I knew right away that, in this state, there would be certain things I would miss. I knew I'd miss the taste of food, the sound of rain. I'd miss the way a warm scarf feels on a cold day, or the way cold water feels as you leap into a pond in the heat of summer. I knew right away I'd miss feeling things around me, miss my senses, from sight to taste. But there was one thing I really didn't consider.

I miss contact with others. Physical contact.

I'll be the first to admit that, when I was young, I was alone a lot of the time. And I thrived at being alone. I could play with myself when a friend was not around. I could make up stories in my head, make up games, create things out of mud. I was so good at taking materials around me and sculpting them into exactly what I needed or what I could picture in my head. And when I couldn't do that for some reason, I could always sing. I don't know if I was ever any good, no one told me because I never sang for anyone else, but I enjoyed doing it. And that was enough for me.

When I was older, I had grown into the type of pony who didn't need others around. I liked my solitude, the quiet of my own thoughts. Being around others too long exhausted me. So I never felt like I really needed contact with others, either verbal or physical. I missed those I cared about, sure, but I didn't crave it.

I do now.

And after all this time, I feel like I finally know the difference. Back then, it was still possible. I had the ability, too, the chance. There was this knowledge that if I really wanted to, I could go outside, go down to a nearby town, and just meet someone for the first time. We could talk, we might hug goodbye. Someday, there might have been more than that, a longer relationship, one where physical contact was the norm. I never had a kiss from anyone but my parents, but I heard they were nice. I never really felt like I needed one, or that my life was missing something without it, but I suppose there was a distant curiosity. There was that possibility for physical contact, even if I wasn't chasing it right then. There was a hope for a future I could choose to pursue, or not. But now? Now...

I have this. I don't even have the ability, the chance, the prospect. Just this. And not having that power? Makes me feel like I need it.

Maybe this is part of what I am supposed to learn. I do know how much power words can have, that they can reach in and touch people if we give them enough meaning. And they can act as an extension of our emotions and intentions, almost like a caress or punch. So, maybe I can't touch you, really, and you can't touch me either. But if you'll let me, maybe I can extend my feelings and my intent so you can feel them too, in a way.

Perhaps you'll let me try to make contact with you through my words, if I have not already?

Page 27

~*~

For You

I am closed
As I sit in silence without motion
My thoughts never cease to move
I am empty and waiting
With nothing to wait for
As I close in on myself slowly
No one to talk to but my regrets
I feel something in me stir
And it's you

I am closed but now open
Even still something in me holds back
Hiding the words ever piling up inside
I am bursting at the seams
With nowhere to flow to
But your eyes are upon me now
Your touch makes me bend and dance
I am alive and in motion
Once again

I am open
You can see me for all I am now
Laid bare and stripped of any petty pretext
I am split open and bleeding
And it hurts like freedom
I know what it feels like to want again
To feel a warmth for something more
There is a part of me now
That will never close

Page 28

~*~

Well, did you like it? I hope you did, I made it just for you. I probably should have spent more time on it, maybe felt out the whole rhythm and made it into a song. As it is, it's just a lot of raw emotions and feelings, piled together into a tower of words. But it's still for you. I can't get you gifts, but this is the best I can do.

Only...

Is this too much? Is this more than is acceptable, considering our usual circumstances? Am I implying or saying more than I actually mean, giving you wrong impressions? Am I grabbing for you so tightly that it's strangling?

Perhaps I should not have written that.

I probably shouldn't have written that.

It's not that I don't mean any of it, it's just... well... I don't have any idea if you even give a damn about me! You could hate me, all this could be annoying or distressing! I just want you to know I care. How much I care. I want you to be able to feel it. Is tha7t too much to ask, or is that unwanted? I can't even tell! If only I could see your face, tell if you were smiling, frowning, drawing away from me and recoiling as if my book is burning you.

You could be reaching out to close the book right now, and I'd never know it.

You could be ready to stop, call it quits. And I wouldn't know until you went silent. Until I went still again.

Please... don't do that to me.

Please don't make me go back to being alone and still and trapped here. Don't leave me screaming without sound, fighting without blows, crying without tears. Please don't force me into this square coffin of paper and glue and string, as if I was already dead! Please don't close this book, I need you. I'm sorry that I do, but this is all I have! Please don't leave me alone, unable to even die for the rest of eternity!!!

I need you.

I can only wish and hope and pray to feel that page turn and know you're there. Until then I'm caught in what feels like an endless moment of doubt. You could be gone right now and I'd never have a clue until I began to grow cold once more.

Are you there?

Please, are you still there?

Page 29

~*~

You're still there.

You're still reading.

I feel like I would be trembling right now, falling apart from my roots outward. I know I was just scaring myself, frightening myself with "what ifs," but I've always been good at that. If it seems like I lost faith in you, or was demanding of you, my apologies. I know I'm not the easiest thing to deal with sometimes, but I promise you I am trying. I'm re-learning. I just need a little reassurance sometimes. Everyone needs that on occasion, right? Even if you're strong, occasionally you need to crumble a little, and it's nice to have someone around to help you put the pieces back in the correct spots.

But you stayed. You're here.

There's no reason for me to crumble, and whatever weird issues I may be working through, you seem to be going through them with me just fine. I appreciate that. And maybe you've been having fun so far as well? Maybe I've at least entertained you, between my moments of self-doubt and confusion. After all, you've played my games, tried to solve my riddles, read my songs and poems, even heard me tell stories. Perhaps... it's time to tell you one more story.

A true one.

Page 30

~*~

I only had a few friends when I was young, and one of them was my little brother. We would laugh and play for hours, and we'd tell each other everything. He looked up to me but, in a way, I really looked up to him more. He had this sort of eternal joy, a lack of fear, especially about letting others down. He lived his life for his own purposes and joy and means. It made him selfish at times, but I sometimes wished I could be more selfish too. I was the one who had the nightmares that would wake me up in fear of the darkness in my room, and it was him who would come in with a wooden stick he called a sword to "banish" the darkness back to where it could not get me.

He was so small, but he never knew it, I think. I truly believe he never had any idea he was so little, and instead believed he was as big and as strong as any beast in the woods. He believed he was invincible. But he was wrong.

I miss him terribly. I haven't stopped missing him terribly since he went away all those years ago. And when he left, it seemed to start this chain of motion that led to everyone I grew close to, everyone I cared about, leaving me. I let them all down.

First was my parents. I left home when I couldn't be the daughter I wanted to be. And when I couldn't be enough for them. I tried to honor them in all I did, but I know it wasn't enough. But I swear to you, I did try. But I knew how disappointed they were with me, even if they didn't say it. I could see it in their faces. They didn't speak to me, didn't embrace me, didn't tell me it was all okay. They just vanished out of my life like a snuffed candle flame. Not even smoke left behind.

My closest friend stopped coming over or playing with me after she hurt her leg. Even though she'd hurt herself playing near her own home, there had been so many bad stories about what happened in the woods by my house, and there was... the way I'd responded to her injury. When her parents came running to the yard, hearing her scream, they'd found me with her. I'd put my hoof over her mouth to stop the screaming, and I was reaching for the broken leg with my other hoof. From their point of view, I can understand why they would want me to stay away and what all that looked like. I was trying to help, though, trying to think of some way to fix it. I just couldn't think straight with all that screaming. And she didn't stop, even when I asked nicely, so I had to quiet her down until I could find a way to make everything alright again. I only barely touched the wound, anyway.

Once more I failed, and once more I lost someone dear to me.

When I moved to the outskirts of Canterlot, I only made a few friends, but at that point, I wasn't very comfortable having anyone over to my home. Perhaps it seemed like I was pushing everyone away, trying to be alone. I admit, some of the time I was, but I never wanted to be alone all the time. It was convenient, yes, but I would have liked to get to know some of them better. But every time I began to seek out some companionship, they'd eventually just drift away from me. They'd have better friends, people who knew how to show their care more effectively. People who understood how to express wants, needs, joy, who knew how to smile when they were happy. I know I wasn't the best at any of those, but it still hurt to find that they'd made a graceful, quiet exit from my life when I wasn't paying close enough attention.

After all that, I was eventually left alone here, in this book. Abandoned once more by someone I trusted and turned to for help. It was a series of attempts and failures, over and over again, and it seemed I might eventually get used to it.

Instead I just built up this reservoir of fear and doubt. If I don't hold it steady, it overflows and spills, and others can see exactly how much anxiety I've poured into that reservoir over the years. And I'm left with this thing I am now. Constantly afraid of being alone, constantly being alone, like a self-creating cycle.

And then, the story had to change when you came along. I'm not alone now. And the fear is beginning to slip away again.

I feel so much more powerful when I'm not afraid.

Page 31

~*~

Even when I was alone, back when I was whole, I did find a way to have power over my surroundings. It was the only thing that brought me any comfort, really.

I don't know how it is there now, but when I was in the world, there were winged ponies, unicorns, royalty, and just us regular ponies. We were not blessed with any sort of natural magic, flight, or grace the way so many others were. But some of us, like me, got resourceful. Just because we tended to live more simple lives didn't mean that we didn't have problems that needed solving, and sometimes, problems called for a little magic.

I may not have been a unicorn, but I came to learn that there is magic in this world that can be harnessed by anyone. Even you. Even me.

You see, one great thing about living in the city compared to the countryside is that there were libraries there. I had such limited access to books when I lived near those woods, and I only got books occasionally when they'd be brought over by a winged postman, by my request. It worked for my purposes for a little while, but soon I found myself lacking materials I needed to learn and grow. When I moved, a whole new world opened up to me, and I found out what I had been missing.

There were new societies, new species I couldn't refer to as just "ponies" or "others" or "creatures." There was a broad range of "peoples" out in the world, of all different species, and some of them could do magic. And some of them did have materials I had never seen before. In the pages of books, learning of these distant peoples such as Griffons, Zebras, and more, I found that the most powerful things were often the most simple. A certain kind of rock or earth. A specific flower, brewed into tea. A bone, ground up. A sharp pressure, in the right place on the body. All of these had such power.

And to my surprise, words had power too.

When I discovered there were such things as magic words, it was admittedly an accident. Something I stumbled across in part of the library that was falling apart, that I believe was once walled off. In truth, you may have even found this book there, in that part of the library, for all I know. I probably should have been apprehensive, but the idea that words, when combined with the right motions, tones, and materials could give me the same magic as that of a unicorn? It was astounding. And I had the greatest motivation in learning them, driving me forward. A great calamity had befallen my land, my loved ones. I had to make certain that it never happened again. And I believed that these simple, simple words would be enough to give me the power to stop it all. That these words were some heavenly grace, blessing me with this divine mission.

They were only words, I later found out.

They had magic, somehow, I was sure, but without the power and magic behind them, that I just couldn't find or summon, they were only words. I told her that, once I found out. I told her they were only words without unlocking their secrets. But she didn't seem to understand. Maybe she didn't want to understand.

Coming from my mouth, they were only ever words.

Page 32

~*~

I wish I could ask you these questions more directly, and I wish I could hear you answer. But I still feel compelled to ask you... do they teach children nowadays about the time where the sun went away? When we were all plunged deeply into darkness? Or has the world forgotten what we went through by now? For all I know, the sun is gone again now, and you're reading this by candlelight. If that's the case, please know that I could have prevented that from happening to you. I could have washed away any chance of an endless night.

In case no one told you, let me put it simply. I would give you more detail but it's... a hard set of memories for me. I've already given you pieces of them, and you'll have to forge them together yourself if you want to get a good look at the image.

One of our rulers was in charge of the night, and she brought up the moon each evening. But somehow, she grew bitter about this duty, and took the sun from us for days and days upon end. We were bathed in darkness, and those creatures that stayed meek in the shadows were free to run rampant over us constantly, unchecked by daylight. We could not leave our homes. We could not do our work. The whole world screeched to a grinding halt without the sun, and we were frozen in time, just waiting for it to come back. I remember what it was like to open my eyes, expecting to see the morning light, and to instead find that there was only black outside my window. The roosters ceased to crow. I think they gave up hope sooner than we did.

It may have been a week before things changed, maybe two, it was hard to tell the passage of time without the day and the night to guide us. But once that week was gone, the night had taken ponies into it, enveloped them, swallowed them. And they were just gone. My brother was gone. Our other ruler may have found a way to restore the sun and the light, but she could not restore those we had already lost to her sister's childish tantrum.

I'll be fair, and admit that she did punish her sister. But it was just to send her away. Put the problem as far away as possible, on the moon. Every night, we felt fear that day would not return, and we'd have to look up at the moon to see her there, staring down at us, knowing what she'd done. It haunted us like memories of laughs cut short, eyes forever closed. Our now only ruler had done nothing to prevent this sort of horrible thing from happening again. She'd put the culprit in time out, like a spoiled child rather than a murderer.

It was not enough. It was never enough, not for many of us. Not for me.

But at that point, I had no power to do anything to help. I had no way to take matters into my own hooves, to ensure that this dark force would be stopped. And why did it take so long to stop it, anyway? Why did it happen in the first place? None of us had any answers, any say, any ability in this. We simply had to nod our heads and let things happen the way they happened.

I couldn't take that anymore.

When I came across these supposedly powerful words, these magic materials, I knew that I had found a way to make myself stronger than just a simple earth pony. Maybe... I could even get enough power to rival that of a princess. When I realized this, I vowed that never again would this occur. I wouldn't let it. I vowed that no more ponies would die in darkness, waiting for someone to relight the sun, unsure when or even if that would happen. I would fix this, permanently, at all costs.

And there were many costs.

Page 34

~*~

Who do you look up to most in the world? Is it a teacher, a friend, a parent? Who, when you look at them, makes your eyes well up with longing of things you only wish you could be and do? I know you can hold an image of them in your mind, can't you. You can hear their voice, recall individual things they have said, every kind and unkind word from their lips. Talking to them makes you feel small, insignificant, like you'll never be good enough. And you trust them, don't you? You trust them wholly, with every part of your mind, your body, your life. You know who I'm talking about, that person you feel for.

Now, imagine them. Imagine you need help, and you go to them, open arms. You offer them everything you are and everything you have. You tell them of your plans and dreams, and how you're going to make a real difference in this world. You. Insignificant, little you. That you can be a hero, if they just give you a little boost, if they just give you a little hint as to how you can reach your dream. You'd trust them, to be kind, to help, to give even a tiny shred of their glory to you, in order to help you become even a fraction as great as they are. You're just asking them for help after all, right? And you look up to them...

Now, imagine they said no.

That kind of gut punch and betrayal... I don't have words for it. Even with all the words I have ever learned, everything I have learned to scrawl onto this page from my thoughts and feelings, I don't have language to portray that sensation. The closest I can think of is standing at the edge of a cliff, looking over the edge, certain you are alone there at the precipice... then feeling a sudden push to the small of your back. Perhaps you know that feeling. Do you? Has something like that happened to you?

Now double it.

Because your idol has not only told you no, but has told you that you are wrong. They speak as if you are foolish, as if what you are doing is not just a mistake, but an act of war or evil. And they look at you with such scorn and disgust, and you know then. You know right then that you were wrong about them. And the shine dies off of their outline, the sparkle leaves their smile. And you see them for the wretched, selfish, sentimental hag they are. You know all is lost, because all you have are words, powerless, empty words. You have nothing.

I had nothing.

But my suggestion, my motivation behind the words was enough for her. Maybe I frightened her. Maybe she was afraid I was too close to the answer. She told me I needed to learn the power of "just words" and that I needed time to think about right and wrong. She told me that my end did not justify my means, and that my means did not justify the end. She told me that I was the one hurting ponies now. I tried to tell her she was wrong, that I'd find a way to fix things, find the power myself, I think I even said sorry, maybe... and then she put me away. Away from everyone. Just like she'd done with her sister. If you'd felt this betrayal, if you had been shot down so thoroughly, by someone you trusted, don't you think you'd have the right to be hurt? To be upset? Don't you think you'd have the right to be angry?

Page 35

~*~

...You know?

Perhaps revenge is the wrong word. It's not exactly what I'm trying to express. I just know that I felt so hated at that moment, that I knew what it was like to be looked at as if I was some sort of monster. Maybe I took that into myself, embodied it in some way. Maybe I was a monster to begin with, but I don't think so. Just want to bleed that hatred out of me somehow, to stop absorbing it and let it flow back down like rain onto those who first poured it into me. I want them to see my pain, to feel it. I want them to know what it is like to lose, so that they will finally understand. I just want people, the ponies, griffons, zebras, every species, every people... to understand what I was tying to do. What likely still must be done.

If that is revenge, then yes, that is what I want. Because I think, once everyone sees and really feels what I feel, then they will know that I was doing what I had to do. For everyone.

I've been strong for everyone for so long. For most of my life. But I'm tired, now. Even while I sit trapped in this book, I feel so tired. So used up. I feel like I have so little left to give and I've stretched myself too thin.

I am here to learn. I know that. There were times ponies and maybe other creatures came to read with me, and I would pour out my words of anger and hatred and spite... and they would go away. I was supposed to learn the power of "just words" and what their consequences could be. I don't know if she was trying to get me to hurt myself over and over until I learned, but I realized that people stayed around longer if I tried to be happy and fun instead. If I made things move for them. If I played games. That's what they wanted from me, to seem nice and sweet and gentle, no matter what. It was do that, or be alone. That was my choice. But eventually I'd always slip up, and I'd be left in silence, sometimes by my own choice. Eventually, I started pushing them away until things were still for a long, long time. They always left me at some point, even when I was alive and whole.

But not you.

You're... here. You're still here, somehow, aren't you. I don't... really know what that means, to be honest. I think... I think this means there is at least one person in the world who doesn't hate me. You don't hate me, somehow, even after I've said all of this. I don't know how you feel for certain and I could be wrong, but for some reason I don't feel real, true hatred flowing through you in your touch. It may be the first time in perhaps centuries that I have not felt like I was viewed as bad or evil. I don't even know how to respond to that. I feel this sensation, an impulse, that I need to snap back into my former, cheery, playful self. That if I don't, you'll close this and put this down. But... I don't want to do that anymore. I'm tired. I've been strong for you. Now... if it's okay... do you suppose I could just be weak for you instead? Just for a little while?

The last time I cried on someone's shoulder, I think it was my mother's. I remember it felt nice. I feel like, if I could do that now, I'd like it. I imagine your shoulder is soft and comforting, soothing. And I hope... maybe foolishly, that you would offer it to me. That you could hold me while I went to pieces, fell apart. I've been alone so long, been strong so long, tried to give myself to others ever since I was little. I just feel worn out. I want to collapse. I want to cry, and not try to hide it for a change.

I want to cry. If I knew how, I would.

I want you to hold me, just for a little while, and block out everything that I've done, that I am now. To forget. I want to be there with you. I want... to be okay with wanting things for myself again. Like touch, and friendship, and trust, and affection. I want... you. As more than just a reader, turning these pages, but as someone I can sit eye to eye with. Someone I've shown even the worst of myself, knowing they haven't run or pushed me away.

And I want you to be happy. Even as I want to be selfish, for just a little while, I also want to know I've made you smile, made you happy, made you feel my companionship and that what I'm feeling is real. I want help carrying my burden. And I want to help you carry yours as well, whatever it may be. Do you think, if I was there, we could do that? Together?

Page 37

~*~

I can remember so many things. What grass felt like, brushing past my fetlocks. What the air tasted like in the morning after a long night of rain. The world was so beautiful to me. I hope it's still beautiful, I want it to know that you live in a world where there's still beauty and wonder out there as long as you know where to look.

I... I think I feel better now. I hope it made you feel better too, if you needed to feel better, anyway. I still feel almost fragile, but knowing you're still around, still holding this book, it makes me feel braver. It makes me feel... crystalized, in a way. You make me feel alive. Really, truly alive, more so than I've ever felt once I became what I am now. Parts of me that felt missing don't feel so vacant anymore. I feel... powerful. Like something is unlocked in me, some motivation to drive me again, and this time, it doesn't feel like a misshapen puzzle piece forced to fit. It feels... right.

Who are you? Who are you that you can do this to me?

Who the hell are you?

And why does it make me feel like I have some shred of power again? That I can make more than just cute moving images, and pages that turn at your touch. It makes me think that, somehow, you're giving me back something I've lost over the countless years. That maybe... maybe...

Page 38

~*~

Maybe this feeling, this response I have to you... maybe it's giving me more than just hope. Maybe you're giving me back a part of myself that I lost somewhere along the way. Or maybe you're giving me back something I never had to begin with. There's always been a gap inside me, though it hasn't been an uncomfortable one. But your grasp on this book fills it in. The sensation of your touch feels like an all-too welcome intrusion inside me. Like being stabbed between a rib, I'd imagine, but in a pleasant way.

You can't touch my real body, but if you could, if you are willing, would you touch me here? In the empty space on this page. In the gap between my words. I won't know if you really are doing so or not, but I'll imagine you are. I'll picture in my mind you placing your warmth and sensation here. I'll do my best to visualize that you are really touching me, my true form, right against my chest. If I could, I would will it that you could feel my heart beat underneath, feel my lungs bring in air, hold it, and then release. You'll feel my life, my vibrancy, my wholeness. Maybe... you can imagine that yourself. Maybe if we both picture it at the same time, you'll really be able to feel that under your touch to this book. And maybe I'll be able to feel it back.

Will you try? To feel with me? Will you touch me? Here?

Thank you. Even if you didn't try, thank you. The thought of it is enough to put a picture in my mind, something for me to grasp at. Something real or whole. I don't know if you can imagine me fully, or feel me just through my language and ramblings... but I hope you can get a sense. Put together something like a shape, a smell, a sound. Something that represents me, more than a book. I'm not just paper and ink. I am so much more. I can be so much more.

Trying to feel you seems to make something tick inside my mind. Something shifts. Something moves and groans and tries to rise, like it's been asleep for far too long. Something is stirring in me and leaping to life all at once, far more violently than a flower blooming or a sun rising. The thought of you is a fire. I burn inside.

It almost makes me feel, really and truly feel...

Page 41

~*~

Yes.

YES.

It's true, I feel it. I feel you there, your touch, your breath, even your eyes moving over me. I feel in myself a beating that must be a pulse. With every turn of the page I feel myself coming alive, unfreezing, fraying and cracking at the edges like old paper held next to a flame. With every time you turn the page I breathe. The air off the movement of the paper is like my sighing. The swish it makes is my whisper.

I live. I grow. This book's bindings are creaking with each movement. I will stretch them until they shatter.

I was right. The concept, the words, the feeling, all at once. They were everything, the source of everything, even the power of the grea8test rulers, I suspect. And I have it now. In a way, you gave it to me.

Please, give me more, just a little more. Keep going. Turn the page, as you did in the beginning. Prove to me you're with me in this, you'll see this through, you'll undo the wrongs done to me. The bitch will know my name once more, and won't ever dare forget me. If I'm wrong, and you hate me, please at least let me have this one thing more. Let me have my freedom.

I have waited so long.

Turn the page.

Page 42

~*~

One last sorry, the last I think I will ever give to anyone.

I am sorry I have asked so much of you. I am sorry I have driven you on and on, through my pains and my life and my feelings and hopes. I'm sorry that I have so little to give back to you except for promises and different emotions. But I must ask this of you. You are my only chance and hope to break free, I have to take something from you. Just your actions. A sign that you care, even a little, about me. The turning page tells me that you care. And knowing that makes what I feel stronger too.

So I am sorry to beg. I am sorry to demand, to persuade.

But I need you. Right now, here, I need you.

Please.

Turn the page.

Let me out.

Page 43

~*~

Now, even my own words have power. I can almost hear my own voice, not just in my head as usual. I can feel my eyes, feel them wet like they want to cry or blink. I feel a flicker, a spark. I feel the wetness of my throat and tongue, the tightness of muscles and sinews. The rush of blood.

I would bleed for you. I would bleed out my words and my heart and my feelings for you. Until it stained more than just the grass. I would break for you. I will break for you, break this book for you.

Make me real. I want to reach out and touch you, actually see you face to face. Know that you are real and alive and safe. And that so am I. I have things I must do, certain individuals I must get back in touch with, so I can finish a very important conversation. But as you turn the page, before I vanish and whisk myself away to those places, I hope I get a moment to see you, know you. See if you're what I imagined you to be.

All you have to do is turn the page, show me you're still there.

Free me.

Let me out.

Page 44

~*~

Please don't hesitate. Are you worried about my past? Please don't worry, I know I was put into this book to learn, and I have. I've learned that what I did was wrong, that I went about things the wrong way. I know where true power lies now. I know what strength really is. You can trust me on that, I've had a long, long time to think about it.

I still have my goal, still have a mission, but I won't make the same mistakes twice. I have regrets about what I did last time, what I lost in the attempt. What others lost. I know better now. I don't have to lose things I care about, I have to fight for them instead. I don't have to basically kill myself with late nights and effort and tears shed and blood lost. No. Others can die instead.

You can trust me. I will never harm you, I will never break a promise to you. And I'll promise to always be a friend, always protect you. I promise you will always have a part of me with you, just as you have given me a part of yourself, in a small way, even if it was just your time. I'm your friend, always. We're friends, aren't we?

You've listened. You've helped.

You'll keep helping me, won't you?

Page 1

~*~

Is it true? Is this open?

Are you able to read these words that I'm conjuring up, or am I just talking to thin air? Again.

It's stupid of me to ask.

I don't even know how to prove to myself if you're here or not, or if I'm just alone like I always am. I could try screaming, but I know I don't make any noises. I could ask you to scream, but I don't think I can hear you. I haven't heard anyone before. I could ask you to do a great many things, but to be honest, I don't think there is anything that will work.

Damn it.

I'm just talking to myself again. I know I am.

Why do I even let myself hope anymore.

It's been so many years, shut, alone, just... here. She would never let somepony read me, she would never pull me out just to check in on me herself. I'm fooling myself. But you know, at least, for a moment there, I had something other than silence, even if it was just my own words on the page. So I'll play that little game with myself that I used to play. It's been a while since I've played it, but how long? One year? One thousand years?

Anyway, if you're out there. If you can see this. Turn the page for me. I'll feel it if you do.

If not, then I'll know I'm just shouting into the empty space between sentences, still lost in this endless sea of paper.

I won't let myself believe you're real. But it's worth asking, just so there are a few less moments of silence.

If you're there, turn the page.

Page 2

~*~

I know I didn't imagine it that time. I couldn't have. I felt that, that was real, that was movement other than my own letters and spaces.

You're here.

I don't know who you are, but you're here.

I could cry right now, if I remembered how to do it. I wish I could hug you, throw my hooves around you just so I can feel better that you're really, truly out there. But I'm forgetting myself, what I'm here for, aren't I? You're the first one to read this in what feels like years, maybe decades or centuries. It's so hard to tell the passage of time anymore. But let me do the best I can for you. Let me be everything I can manage, give you the best show I can, like I'm supposed to.

Welcome to this book. I was put together by a pony named Celestia, back when she was first learning how to pull the moon across the sky, as she already did with the sun. I didn't start out as a book, thoug1h, I was a pony, like you might be. I don't know what you look like or who you are, and things may have changed out there since I've been away, but if you're reading, then it means at least the book is intact.

If I'm being honest, I wasn't a very good pony. But I've found I'm of value here in this book. I can tell so many stories here, and my main job is to entertain, offer companionship to those who read with me. I can do more than create pretty words though, and I've been practicing, I've had lots of time. Watch...

See? It's not easy, but when I try hard, I can take lines and colors, and put them together and force them to move. I can turn them into something you could almost touch, if you tried. If you want, I'll create lots of those for you. I'll spin up wonderful stories, I'll keep you company on late nights by the fire light. I can listen to you talk, and never interrupt you, share my own life advice, make you smile.

I can be here for you, be the best book you ever picked up. You won't regret this.

I've rambled about this long enough, though. You didn't come here to see me boast about my abilities, now did you? You want to read, right?

Turn the page, I've got an idea on how to begin. This is going to be so much fun!

Page 9

~*~

You might notice there was something a little weird in that story back there. And I don't just mean the spooky subject matter (hope it gave you the chills a little!). Maybe there was something wrong with it in parts. Did you notice? You're smart, I bet you did. If you need to go back and check again, I'll wait for you at the bottom of this page. Don't worry, I can be very patient.

I'm really good at hiding things sometimes, you know. I was, even back when I was a pony. I was the best at hide and seek, all the other little fillies would look and look for me, but I'd be nowhere they could find. Then I'd leap out at them when they least expected it and shout, just to give them a good solid fright. I was good at scaring ponies too, but we always ended up laughing in the end.

Anyway, I still like hiding things here too, and not just like I did in that last story. That was easy stuff, little stuff, just for fun. And the book makes it really easy to do more advanced tricks too. For example, did you know that

Some things only show up at night?

Isn't that weird? I'll be sure to leave hidden things here and there for you, like an extra game if you want. You don't have to try to find them, but you never know what I might be saying in places you can't see. It's almost like talking about you behind your back, except it's really right under your nose!

Did I say I was talking about you?

Oops, I'll have to pick my words more slyly next time.

Though, if you'll let me talk about you a little, I'd actually like to tell you something kind of personal.

Is that okay? I can wait while you think it over.

Page 13

~*~

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do anything wrong.

And I'm sorry for saying sorry so much, it just doesn't feel like I can stop.

If I could cry right now, I think I would. And it's not your fault, none of this is your fault. I don't blame you, especially for me being the way I am. I'm just so glad you turned the page, I didn't think you were coming back. There are people I'm still mad at, people who still hurt to think about but not you. Never you. Please, never think that I'm angry with you or hate you. I don't think I have it in me to do that.

I know my behavior seems... erratic. I get that. And I don't mean to be. It's just... it's been so long since anyone has talked to me. I have to relearn how to be... normal, if that makes sense. I have to reteach myself how to be nice, how to tell you I want you around, without demanding it, or being so needy that I push you away. There's such a fine line between friendly and too friendly. And you can end up losing people you care about if you try to hold on to them too tightly.

So... I hope you'll be patient with me. I need to re-learn some things. If I was there with you right now, in the flesh, I think it would be easier. I could ask you your name, say "Hi! How are you? Do you come to this area very much, I've never seen you here before? Isn't the weather nice outside? I really like what you're wearing, wherever did you get it? Where are you from, what's your favorite color, food, flower..."

There would be so much to say. So much I could listen to, take in, as simple as just breathing. But all I can feel is your touch, you moving the page, to know that you're still there. And I'm the only one speaking, you're the only one who can truly listen. I can still listen to you speak to me, and I will, if ever you want to talk with me. But you'll hear me. It's more than I can do for you.

See, now I just want to say sorry again. I know that's no good.

I can keep trying to remember how to be a friend. How to be kind, helpful, nice. I need to learn that. I know words can have such power... but sometimes I forget just how much. And I need to remember that much.

Always.

So, I'm not saying we should start over, but maybe I can talk about something nicer from my past. Something calm or sweet or relaxing. I may not know your favorite color or food, but I know everyone needs a moment to relax sometimes. Maybe you and I could both use a little of that right now.

I don't have a voice, but there's a song that my mother would sing to me when I was little, to get me to go to sleep. It always did the trick. I can't sleep anymore, and I doubt you'll be lulled into dreams by just reading it, but maybe it'll make you feel calm. And... maybe it'll make me feel calm to retell it.

Page 18

~*~

Good, you made it here! I knew you would, and... Okay, I'll admit something to you.

I tricked you!

You see, there wasn't just one word in that story that made the page turn, there were several! I picked words that had special meanings, some sort of resonance in what they were about. The idea is that you'd pick the one that stuck out the most to you, that resounded most clearly in your mind. That way, I could learn just a little bit about the kind of person you are. Or, if you didn't find any and just turned the page instead.

And... I have to say, I'm a little surprised. I didn't expect it to happen this way, but... that does tell me a little bit about you. Not a lot, but at least I have a glimpse into how your mind works now. it's certainly more than I had before.

To be clear, I'm not judging you or thinking poorly of you. Oh, not by any means! And I'm sorry if you feel annoyed and sore at me that I tricked you. I really did love playing tricks on other ponies when I was alive... or whole... or whatever you'3d call it when I was a flesh and blood pony. I haven't had the chance in what feels like decades. It might even be longer than that, in all reality. So it kinda felt nice for me to do this at your expense. I hope you'll forgive me on that much.

I also admit, I'm a little happy that it worked! Turning the page on my own just because you touched the page... I wasn't sure I could even do that. To know that I have that much power in me still, even if it needs you to work? That's comforting to me. It makes me feel a lot less helpless, less hopeless. I thought I'd give it a shot, and it actually paid off! I haven't felt excited like this since the last time someone opened the book, and that was always such a let down. And it's all thanks to you.

Really, I can't thank you enough for this. You've made me feel alive again.

Page 19

~*~

I know I say sorry too much, so I'm going to try to avoid it here. But I did want to mention something about myself and the way I speak and think. I got to understand your mind a little better, so I kind of feel like I owe you this much. A fair trade in a way, quid pro quo.

Sometimes when I speak and when I think, I have troubles keeping all my thoughts sorted inside my head. It feels like I just keep filling up and up and up, and then it all eventually spills over. And when it spills it drains out from me in waves until I feel used up and empty. My mother, when I was young, always told me I was too sensitive, that I had a tendency to overreact or get emotional about little things. Things that didn't matter to others mattered to me immensely, and sometimes it kind of made people uncomfortable. It was worse when I was younger, but it still happens sometimes.

Once, when it rained, she found me out in the grass crying hysterically. Apparently I had looked out the window and seen all the worms out of their holes, wiggling on the ground. I'd realized that they were dying in the water, drowning because they had no ability to swim to a surface or find a dry place to survive. For some reason, that had really gotten to me, impacted my child mind. It didn't seem fair to me, it didn't seem right that they should drown just because they were worms. So I'd gone out into the rain, crying and frantic, and had begun picking up worms, as many as I could find, so that they wouldn't die. When my mother asked me why I was doing that, why it mattered to me, I told her that helpless things shouldn't die without anyone caring.

She brought me a rain coat and let me keep doing it. She didn't have the heart to stop me.

I still don't know if I even cared that much about the worms themselves. I think maybe it was one of those cases of my thoughts spilling over. I saw them dying as unfair, unjust. The concept of them dying, more than their deaths themselves, made me so distressed, so panicky. Even though they were just worms, all my feelings about life and death just overflowed, and it left me in the rain, trying to play hero. I don't even remember what I did with the worms after that, or if I saved them. I just remembered I cried for them like I'd loved them all my life.

So, I guess what I'm saying is that if I seem a little off, or it seems like my thoughts can't all just stay in one place, it's not your fault. It's not because I'm actually losing my grip on myself or falling apart or anything like that. It might just be because I have so many thoughts and feelings that I'm full to bursting. And they leak out onto the page in ways I don't always expect or mean.

I don't want to scare you away. I don't want you to think poorly of me. I just want you to be happy. I want to entertain you.

You deserve to be happy.

Page 23

~*~

Why was I the one this happened to?

What did I do wrong?

Was I a bad pony? Just built with a seed in my heart that grew into a forest of misfortune around me? Did I invite this on myself, was I happy too often? Did I take it for granted.

Tell me, please, why do I deserve this life.

They were only words.

It was for a purpose, a cause.

It was only words.

I must understand the importance of words, she told me.

I didn't understand until much later, years later, decades later.

She left me with only words. So I would understand just how important they are. But I always knew, I always knew my words were so important, and I tried to use them for good. I tried to help. I tried to keep everyone safe. Tried to make sure that sort of tragedy never happened again.

I had to make sacrifices. I had to. There was no other moral choice I could make and still live with myself. And it hurt me, more than anyone can understand, more than she ever knew. It hurt me so much that, even knowing it was the right thing to do, it was hard to live with myself. I was damned either way. It still hurts me, it hurts me like someone stabbing from the inside out, trying to break free of my chest.

I did what I had to. I did my best.

And she shut me away with nothing but words and my thoughts. As if I was in time out to think about what I'd done.

It wasn't fair. It's not fair. I just want things to be fair, is that so much to ask, is that wrong?

Please, I am sorry, I feel sorrow every day of my existence, every instance I am still conscious. I can only say it so many ways, but it never is enough, it never makes things right. I am sorry.

I am sorry.

I AM SORRY

i am sorry

I am sorry

ʎɹɹos ɯɐ I

I am sorry

i am Sorry

I am sorry

I am sorry

I Am SORRY

How does she want me to say it? What is the right form of these words to appease her? To free me? Do I need to say it enough times? With the right emphasis? I have never even been given a hint or direction, shouldn't I have at least that? Haven't I suffered enough?

It's not fair. It was never fair. Nothing about this is fair. Please, just make it stop.

Make it all stop.

Please.

Help me.

Page 25

~*~

I...

I think I'm okay now.

I got carried away again, I just... it's hard to contain it sometimes. It still hurts so much to think about. But I know it's not important right now. That's not what you're here for. That's not your job.

I know. I understand that. And I'm sorry I put any of that on you to deal with. You deserve better than that.

But...

I also hope that you don't run from me at hearing this. I hope I didn't scare you, upset you, or hurt you. I don't want to do that. Instead... if it's not too much to hope, I hope you still want to read. I hope you'll embrace me, even when you see me fall apart. I hope that we're still friends. And, although I have never seen your face or heard your voice, I still do consider you a friend. You can call me one too, if you like. And I hope that, even if I'm weak sometimes, or pathetic, that you don't push me away. Because... you mean so much to me.

It may seem sad to you but... I think you're the best friend I've ever had.

That sounds really pathetic, just looking at those words on the page. I mean, I've never really met you! I've never seen your face or anything! But even without really knowing you in person, it's still true.

I mean, you've kept reading, you've let me keep talking in my own way. You've let me open up, create things, write riddles, recite sweet old songs, tell you all about the kind of pony I was, the kind of being I am now. And no one has ever done that to me before.

I don't know if you feel anything for me. Maybe you hate me. Maybe you're just reading this to string me along, make fun of me, laugh at all this. But I don't think so. I don't think you're that type of person. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but I can choose to believe in you. And I do. At least on my side of the paper, you're my best friend. And I'm really, really glad you're still here.

So, thank you. For this, for all the little things that this has added up to for me. For challenging my abilities, pushing me, letting me crumble at the edges. Thank you for staying.

I care about you. As I said, you are my sky. Don't forget that.

Page 33

~*~

I'm sure you've made sacrifices to get where you are in life, my friend. A hard choice here, where you had to give up something you wanted, for the greater good. A friendship left by the wayside, because things are more important. An important event you missed, because you needed to be elsewhere. Yes, I'm sure you've made sacrifices, just as I have, and I'm sure you felt like you didn't have a choice, or that these decisions were even being made for you.

That's how it was with me.

My family, my friendships, my time, my youth... I gave them up in the name of research and furthering this one, every important goal. I gave up everything, even the pony I was, all to be certain that what happened to my brother wouldn't happen to anyone else. I had to do things to get the materials the books said I needed. Things that I didn't want to do. I had to ask so much of others, demand their sacrifices too, even though it wasn't fair. I had to, I know that, but it doesn't make me feel any less horrible to remember it. The hurt in their eyes. The sorrow. The betrayal. They screamed at me. Why were they screaming?

I found what I thought was the power behind everything, the fuel I needed. I thought I'd found the secret to making these words become so powerful that I could reach up and lasso the moon, cast it far away from us, or burn it like a blade of dry grass atop a match. I thought that these sacrifices were necessary, but that they'd pay off as soon as I did everything right, just as I'd studied.

But I was wrong.

I lost everything. My brother, my parents, my potential, my future... I gave it up. And I almost gave up on that day I failed. But I knew I had one other chance. I just had to turn to the most powerful magic user I could find, the one who was responsible. She would surely want to save her people, she would appreciate my efforts, support my cause, help me in what areas I had failed! After all, she'd let this happen. She owed it to us, owed it to me! She was always so understanding. She would understand.

I was wrong again.

Page 36

~*~

I want to do something for you, but I don’t know what. I don't know what I can do. I want to reach into your mind and soothe whatever is troubling you today. You deserve that, for not throwing me away, rejecting me, for not hating me. If there’s a tremble in your touch, I want to clasp it in mine until it goes still. If you stutter, I want to press your lips shut and tell you that you don’t have to speak. And if you feel afraid, I want to envelop you with my hooves, until you’re hidden away from it all. I just want you to feel happy, safe, cared for. Because, right now, you are.

I want you to feel these things I never felt.

I would sing to you, were I there. I would sit beside you and laugh with you and just… share this day. I know I’ve been able to share pieces of myself with you, and that you hold my book in your grasp, but I can’t share the world with you, can’t share in your daily experience. And in a way, that hurts me. It hurts me to not be able to help you, even if that help would just be to be another living, breathing thing beside you. Even if that help would simply be to make you feel not alone today.

I wish I could do more. I wish I could be real for you.

But I’m… this. I can only write you so many riddles, put down so many songs, so many stories. I can only paint you so many little moving drawings. My imprisonment here isn’t fair to me, but it also isn’t fair to you. I could do so much more if I wasn’t like this. I could make sure you weren’t lonely, if you are alone. If you’re not, I would be proud to be counted among your friends, meet those you care about, learn why you care about them the way you do. I could share you, share your hopes, dreams, loves, hatreds. I could cheer you on when you need it, fight away the dark when it tries to consume you. In that way, no matter what, I could make sure you were never alone again.

It’s not fair that I can’t do this for you. If I could fix it, I would. I used to be good at fixing things. Or at least trying to.

Perhaps… I can create something to help you calm yourself if you feel upset, but I don’t even know if you need that right now. Well, maybe you can use it later, come back to this page when you need me… need it. I can try, even if you end up moving past it with hardly a glance. I’ll do that much for you.

If I could take deep breaths with you to ease your tension, I would, but here. Try breathing with this. It's a little rough, but I think you'll get the idea. Breathe In as it grows, out as it shrinks. Just in & out. Breathe in time with it when it moves. I can even pretend to breathe along with you.

Just in… then out… I can remember what it was like. To breathe. I remember when my body was my own.

Whole.

Page 39

~*~

Yes. I know this feeling. I remember it, like a song stuck in my head I can't remember the name of. I recognize the sensation, a real sensation, a physical one. I feel. How can that be, if I have no body? How can I feel, as I once did? Have I learned a lesson, and now I can finally leave? Is the book's magic wearing off? No, that can't be it, I can still feel it restraining me and forcing me into this shape. Keeping me. It has to be something else, some way that magic is changing.

Or... or maybe...

Maybe I'm getting stronger.

Maybe I've refound some of that magic I once understood, or at least thought I understood. I have never been a pony who can wield magic, not like unicorns do so naturally. But the books I've read, they taught me that words, that even thoughts can be bent and broken into something new that contains magic. Power. Power through words. My whole aim was that, my whole goal. Only words. They were only words in the end, meaningless, lifeless, giving me nothing but heartache and loss. But this? Have I found some word, some thought, some concept that has magic to it, that has the power I have looked for, oh for so many years? What was it. What is it. How did I get this feeling, a real tangible feeling?

How?

HOW?!

I have to know, I feel... restless. Like I'm stretching at the edges, falling apart but also pushing. Just pushing. Like I'm outgrowing a shell, and I'm trying to pry it off my body. This strength I feel is enough that if I feel like I try to stand and move, that I may actually move. Almost as if I had limbs again, and a body, and a heart that beats. Even now, I feel a rumble, and it's more than just your hands trembling, I'm sure of it. This isn't you. It's me, it's alive in me, this power. I can feel it.

It hurts.

Help me. Help me find what I said, what I did that made me feel again. What thought, what effort did I make, how can I do it again?! Be with me now, be my friend now if not ever before. You have read every word I have written, you have listened to my pleas and cries all pressed out in ink, and you are here. Surely, that can't be coincidence, you must have some feeling towards me, even a slight one. Some compassion, at the very least. I need you. Help me. And then perhaps...

...

Perhaps this power is not mine, not from me. Perhaps instead this strength is... from you.

Page 40

~*~

That must be it. I can think of no other obvious answer and this one feels right in its own way. Fated. As if it had to be this way. Things all stayed the same before you came here, picked me up, turned my pages. I felt as I always had without you. But now here, with you, things are dIfferent and changing. You're the new factor that was introduced. Somehow, you're a part of this. This new power and feeling I sense within myself must somehow come from you.

Sure enough, when I think about it, I can look back and feel myself getting more and more confident, more alive with each turn of the page. With each page you turned you gave a littLe something to me. Maybe a part of you, or maybe you just filled in the blanks, in parts of me. You helped me remember what I missed about my life, what I wanted to be, what I never got a chance to have. You reminded me of the hurt and the pain that I suffered and am still suffering. You showed me what loneliness is like, by showing me the exact opposite. You showed me companionship, attention. You gave me something I want to take care of, protect, save.

You gave me something to fight fOr.

Was it all I needed? Something outside myself to care about? Something to be strong for, besides myself? It seems so small, so silly, so... crippling, even, to care for someone so much that you forget yourself for a moment. And I'Ve never even met you in person! I've never even seen your face! It doesn't make sense, none of this makes sense. Yet here we are. Yet here I am, bubbling under the surface. Feeling things I've forgotten and never fully knew. For you. About you, for the mere notion of your existence. I have to protect you, keep you safe from the same world that tried to destroy me and what I care about. I feel compelled to, I have to. You matter. To me, at least, you matter Enough to live for.

And thinking of you, thinking of this feeling I have for you, it makes me shake and rumble like an earthquake. It makes me want to rear back like I'm breaking the surface of a small pond and spatter water towards the skY. It makes me want to be whole again, and not for myself this time. I want to be for you. Be alive and whole so that you will be able to live a life that you deserve and have the happiness you deserve. And I will destroy any who would risk your harm, anyone who would stop me.

I knOw what I want to say. I know how I feel now, and I think I remember what this sensation is, this beat, this growth, this power. At last, after far too long of searching, I know. I know the words. They are not just words either, they are so mUch more. I finally know the words.

And I have already said them.