PROLOGUE

"These two things must be cut away: fear of the future, and the memory of past sufferings. The latter no longer concerns me, and the future does not concern me yet." -- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“You know you don’t belong here,” growled the deep, scratchy voice from within the darkness. The man’s feverish mind tried to find some kind of reason, some pattern or logic within the floating dank of his dreamscape. His psyche took the nothingness before it and began contorting it into shapes, patterns, fractals.

He could sense, barely feel something hidden just beyond his insensible grasp. It was there, he knew it - and he continued to fight hard to achieve this seemingly forbidden knowledge. The creature hiding in his subconscious cackled. “Ah, so you feel it, too. You know it’s there. I wonder what your colorful friends would think … if they knew what you’d done?”

‘Fuck you,’ he growled defiantly.

The banshee of his nightmare guffawed obscenely, mocking his braggadocio. “If they had an inkling of the deeds you’ve yet to be held accountable for? Do you think you they would love you still, you pathetic louse?” it accused.

‘They don’t love me, you shit,’ the sleeper growled in spite. ‘I don’t understand what they have to do with this anyway,’ the angry man haltingly ended his reply.

“Oh, you understand. You just haven’t allowed yourself to … break that wall ... “

‘Wall … what wall. Where is this?’

“Where?” the malignancy hissed. “It is who, when … and what …” it tapered off with an obscene, moist chuckle.

‘No, not again,’ the dreamer trembled. It was the same, each night. The darkness, the formlessness of his imagination. Devoid of all save for the noise … those voices. Always that teasing, that gut feeling that he knew who they were. And yet the void denied him any closure, any solace - if indeed solace lay beyond his noncomprehension.

“No?” mocked the demon within his mind. “But this hidden tragedy is you … it is your calling … were you only following orders? … Was there any … reluctance on your part?” He could feel the wet fingers of the demon stroking his mind, as one would caress a pet or a plaything. Those greedy, hate-filled demonic fingers digging into his mind between the gyri of his consciousness. The fingers greasy, all-hideous and pestilential.

‘No! I can’t hear it again!’

A dark, gurgling laughter echoed through the darkness that his sleeping world confronted him with. He knew it was going to happen again. It always happened - and he was always powerless to stop it. The torment, the teasing. As if the phantasm was dragging him towards his fate, yet again. He struggled harder … fought to awaken … and yet the waking world fled further from him, the harder he tried.

“You pathetic, treacherous, disgusting fool,” growled the hideous thing in his dream.

Through the cold darkness came a slow roar. Distant at first, but slowly rising in volume, climbing to a crescendo that lingered threateningly close to his threshold for pain. He knew it was coming - that scream. It came to him each night. He tried to paw his way back somehow, to distance himself from what was now all too familiar to him.

Over the top of the ceaseless roar, there came a singular voice that seemed to be overcome with terror, “Andras! Please, not HERE!”

A terrified gasp shook him awake, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the gentle light entering his room from a small opening in a curtain over a nearby window, he panted and continued to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.

It was another nightmare. The same one that had been haunting his sleeping hours now since his arrival. He followed through with the tasks given to him by his physicians and tried to recall as much of the dream as he could, even while his chest fought for air and the fear of the night terror still flowed coldly through his veins.

“Wha- … what the fuck?” Andras whispered in vain to himself. “I know it’s there, it has to be. The voice … I know that voice!” he growled angrily, again to the empty room he lay in. He struggled to force his labored mind to reach for those missing details.

Andras had been here in this place, this town, for what he was told was twenty-one days, while this morning marked his twenty-second. He’d had to take their word for it - these creatures he seemed to be sharing this reality with. As his breathing slowed, he gave up finally on his attempt to recall what he could from the dream. There had been nothing new - just the same theme. The voice, the taunting, the knowledge of where he had come from seemingly hidden from his view, just outside the reach of his mind. He slapped his gnarled hand over his forehead, and slowly slid his hand down to cover his eyes. The frustration he felt at again being so tantalizingly close to being able to determine what had happened to him made him smirk bleakly.

Pointless. As it was night followed night: futile.

He took stock of what he did know. He was all too keenly aware that his name was Andras, or Andras Dyrnwyn specifically. He knew he was human, he knew he didn’t belong wherever the hell he was, and he knew his dreams were the key to filling in his history. As far as he could tell, his entire existence up to that moment had consisted of these past few weeks. Any part of his life prior to that and his time spent in the hospital remained a complete mystery.

He slid his hand down over his face and cupped his chin firmly. “She’s going to be really pissed off at you about this again,” he noted. She had made it a point to see him each weekday, at precisely ten in the morning - the intense pony that called herself Princess Twilight Sparkle. He frowned in puzzlement at the ceiling and remembered the two of them being introduced.

She had entered his room while he had been in a state of psychosis on one of the wards in the medical center - following another of his fetid dreams. He’d demanded to know where he was, what was wrong with him, and why he was surrounded by ponies. She’d been the first one of them to actually comprehend that he was a human being, a fact that he’d latched onto. She’d at least been able to impart to him that she was familiar with humans. It may have been a small mercy, but it at least gave his madness a fleeting chance to stand upon the solid ground of reason. Prior to that moment, he’d had to be chemically restrained several times as he had fought between terror and rage … but for what reasons he felt such extremes of emotion he could not ascertain.

Fear, deep and profound … horror and an intense stab of regret that threatened to shatter his uneasy sanity at any instant … and yet he had no idea why.

His arm flopped back to his side and a smile chased the frown off his face. “Welp … you’re in deep shit, sonny. She will be forced to write in her journal today with a rapidity that shall be blinding to thy vision! That damn quill of hers is going to set the paper on fire, my friend, mark me on it.”

He turned his head to the window, or what he could see of it. The ponies of this place he found himself trapped in had been exceptionally generous. After the medical staff at the hospital had cleared him and he had agreed to a stringent routine with the rather astonishing Princess Celestia, Twilight had taken up his plight and made him a research subject.

On his first night in this small house, he had discovered a desperate need to be defensive. He found that he was incapable of sleeping with the window open, or the door to his back. He’d managed to seal the window closed, at least enough for his tired brain to allow him to sleep - but that he was still unable to do so without being free to move at will. He had also required silence to rest, but he had determined the silence was necessary only for him to hear any activity around him as he rested. Any rustling of the curtain, any creak of a floorboard and he would find himself on his feet, his fists clenched and his heart racing.

And a need to reach for something other-worldly, which only left him after he’d quietly checked his surroundings.

Yet he could not wake himself from the dreams. Once they began, he was a prisoner of his own mind. Knowing that during his dream sequences he was effectively paralyzed - that he was incapable of being on his guard in the waking world - was another source of fear. This hypervigilance did not seem like it was a new thing to him - it felt old somehow. It was something that had followed him around, he supposed. It was something he needed.

More to the point, it felt … practiced.

He sat up from under the sole sheet that lay over him and turned himself around to sit on the side of his bed facing the window. He let his gaze pass around the room with what objectivity he could muster. The room was sparse - basic and devoid of decoration where possible. This was another of those odd things that he’d noticed when he moved in. He found himself unable to tolerate anything decorative or furnishings that did not speak to him solely of practical use. To that end, he had removed all pictures from the walls and had only been stopped from tearing off the delicately carved trimming within the house by a horrified Twilight. A simple chest of drawers sat near his bed, and a book sat on the top of it, with a quill positioned next to it.

He leaned forward and stood up from the bed, crossing to the chest and opening the top drawer. It contained a few basic items of clothing - the ones that he had been wearing on his arrival here. This consisted of what seemed to be a uniform of some kind. He drew out the shirt - it was a ripstop weave and he could make out the few places that it been patched by a rather dramatic seamstress - Rarity. She’d been another of Twilight’s ‘team’ he supposed, although ‘friends’ was a more apt term. The confusing set of garments was all he really had in this world. Having retrieved his clothes, he steeped down to collect a pair of boots from under his bed.

He crossed the room to a mirror that stood fixed to the far wall. He slid his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, pulled on his underwear, trousers, and fixed his belt. He sat back onto the bed and pulled on the tan colored boots, then sat there motionless for a while. His elbows rested on his knees with his hands under his jaw, and he stared down at the curious footwear. 'These things are certainly tough, and very practical … what was I doing before … well, here, that necessitated clothes like this? This … uniform.’ Another of his curious yet automatic recollections was how he’d been able to thread the laces in his boots - a vertical and diagonal pattern.

He stood and returned to the mirror to tidy his uniform and to make minor adjustments. It felt important and again held that sense of a well-practiced activity. Though precisely why anyone would care how he bloused his pants into his boots or the particular pattern of the laces that held them seemed utterly mystifying.

Finally dressed and feeling that his uniform was at least in an adequate state, he looked at his reflection in the mirror with his dark, tired eyes. He was exceptionally tall, given that the main residents of Ponyville were rather compact equines. The Doctors had measured him at six foot three inches tall, and he had a lean build. He was not especially muscular, but his musculature was tight. Veins protruded strongly from his firm arms. His hair was long and dark yet well kept, and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee festooned his gnarled face. His face also held a few scars, his arms still more. He’d taken note of several old and well-healed wounds on his legs each morning as he dressed. His hands were firm, strong, calloused and likewise sported the signs of old injuries and abrasions. He brought his right hand up to his face and clenched it into a fist, staring at it … wondering what tasks it had fulfilled wherever it was he came from. What had he been doing in his ‘previous life’ to have gained so much trauma? He wondered if he really wanted to find out.

Turning from the mirror, he faced the journal and quill that were still sitting there and exuding an odd combination of menace and hope.

One of the requirements of his release from Ponyville Hospital was that he keep a record of his thoughts through each day, and in particular any details he could recall from his nightmares. He had attempted to enter as much detail as possible but found that there was very little to report on. Any recollection of his former life, of who he was beyond his name, remained closed to him. Twilight had given up after he’d finished fourteen days worth of reports, starting each day with an entry that simply read ‘another day dawns’.

He’d meant the habit to be comical, but Twilight hadn’t quite understood the joke. She had greeted this first reference to being in prison with a ‘tsk-tsk’ and suggested he should try harder since it was in his best interest that she learn more about his presence there. He had shrugged and told her again of the same nightmare - and the same outcome, his bolting awake but being utterly unable to fathom what was hiding inside his skull.

That scream. Always the same scream. Always the same inner demon that dragged him forcefully toward that conclusion and his being utterly unable to stop it.

He had taken to referring to her as his therapist - something that had made her frown at him in exacerbation. That she’d only had to raise one eyebrow while doing so was something he’d found truly endearing. She was academic, stoic, analytical, and these were traits he thoroughly enjoyed - traits he would even have found attractive had he not been engaged in discourse with a pony. That she lacked humor or had difficulty allowing for it made her the more interesting to him.

On her third visit, and finding he had yet again entered the same banal statement in his journal, she had actually just covered her face with one hoof and growled. He’d spent the remainder of that morning just smiling at her, an act that had only served to increase her frustration.

The memory of that moment hung in the air, as he nonchalantly crossed once more from the mirror to the drawers and to the waiting journal. He opened the leather cover with an exaggerated flourish and in the neatest cursive script that he could muster, added his first entry for the day.

Day 22 07:30, local time

Another day dawns.

He could tell that he’d been a man of habit, for he spent each morning making a check of his humble home, room to room. Looking and feeling for anything that may have been changed, for signs of anyone having made an attempt to break in. Satisfied that his abode was indeed as he had left it before his slumber - what little time he seemed to be able to spend in Elysium in between the nightmares - he would make a round of the outside of his dwelling.

He would carefully trace his way around the outer walls, looking for any suggestion that anyone, anything … anypony, he corrected himself, had been sneaking around the residence during the night. He paid close attention to leaves, the grass, sticks, patterns in the dew on the ground, signs of anything having been moved. Even a slight change in the direction of an ant trail would catch his attention.

He felt driven to perform these checks each day. It was an odd, unsettling compulsion that pushed from within his mind. There had been one day where he had tried to force himself not to make these ‘rounds’ as he called them and that had proven to be a disaster. When Twilight had arrived to meet with him, he had spent the entire encounter in a state of high anxiety. In the end, he’d had to beg her to allow him to check the property. She had been confused, but acquiesced to his frightened request, and then proceeded to drive him half mad with a plethora of impertinent questions as he tried his best to scratch the compulsive itch that sat within his tortured mind.

Stopping to examine the dirt, grasses and dew patterns directly under his bedroom window, he had squatted silently and carefully, allowing a smile to stretch his mouth as he imagined just how confused his adorable therapist must have been.

“What is it you’re looking for?” she had asked in a flat, academic voice.

He had rolled his eyes, something he’d felt safe to do as he had his back to her at that moment. “I’m looking for mushrooms, Twilight.”

“Why would you be looking for mushrooms, Andras? If you’re hungry, we’d be happy to …”

“Twilight!” he’d exclaimed, the exacerbation naked in his voice as he turned to face her. “I … have no idea why I’m doing this! It’s like everything else, the windows, the doors, the … the … decorated furniture, the way I keep reacting when the … the sugar fiend turns up … “

“You mean Pinkie.”

“Yes! She exploded out of the ice box a few days ago and I very nearly lost my Goddamn mind!”

“She’s … energetic, Andras, but she means well!”

“Twilight … I have an urge to make absolutely certain that I am safe here. I cannot … I can’t … I just … “ he spluttered as the frustration he had tried thus far to curtail began to take free rein. “It’s something I have to do, Twilight! I wake up in the morning after yet another of those bloody nightmares, and I just cannot begin to allow myself to do anything else until I am satisfied that nobody has … “ he managed, stopping mid-sentence as the words he was reaching for flew from his grasp, leaving him looking bewildered.

Twilight had taken a few steps forward at that moment. “Satisfied that nobody has what, Andras?”

He cocked his head at her, all his annoyance in plain view on his face as his hands shot up to rest on his hips. “My toothpaste, Twilight. My boots. My mustache.”

“Andras, please, you don’t need to … “

“My teeth, my breakfast, the shirt off my back, my life savings.”

“Andras, there is no call for you to … “

“Or! It could be something far more sinister,” he implied. He’d leaned forward a little and fixed eye contact with the now nervous Twilight. “It’s my vocabulary you want, isn’t it? You want to hang my words on your laboratory wall, to amuse your guests and improve the value of your property!” Unable to keep up the facade, he’d smiled crookedly at her.

She’d just closed her eyes and growled in that adorable way that she did. “Andras … augh. Why can’t you take these things seriously?”

He was able to shake himself from his reverie of that day to the present time. He completed his rounds of the house for that morning in solitude and walked back up to the front door. He unlocked it and made his way indoors, making sure to lean over far enough so as to avoid striking his forehead on the door frame yet again. This appeared to be the only new skill he’d acquired since getting there.

He turned back to the street, watching as the town folk began their day’s activities. One or two of the ponies who passed by would notice as he cautiously watched them, before nervously moving a little further from his door. A few would stop and greet him, to which Andras would respond with a nod and a smile. He was still unsure how best to handle interactions with other ponies, at least beyond the few he’d been able to spend time with so far. Having completed his meager greetings, he closed his door and locked it, checking the lock mechanism twice for good measure.

He made his way to his simple kitchenette. It was tricky to do anything in this small space, but he did find that sitting on a chair alongside the cooking facilities allowed him easy access to the crockery and stove without the constant need to bend over to avoid striking his head on the roof. He reached into the icebox and produced a bowl of eggs that the rather delicate one calling herself Fluttershy had offered to him. He’d been grateful and tried to extend his appreciation … but she’d been terrified. She’d stepped away from him, hidden her face behind her astonishing mane and squeaked a few words he’d not been able to interpret. Somewhat mortified, he had turned back to Twilight Sparkle who had explained that this particular pony was shy and had trouble talking to newcomers or strangers.

Still staring at the eggs, he broke his remembrances with a shrug. He cracked some eggs into a bowl, added some spices and some other herbs that had been recommended to him by that rather effervescent ‘Pinkie Pie’, and proceeded to cook himself an omelet of sorts on the stove. He found that his mind wandered off and latched onto obscure observations as he continued to cook up some protein. Whilst the ponies were obviously sapient - very much so - he was puzzled as to why the chickens in this … reality? Universe? Prison? Why were the fowl less enlightened than the other animals?

He completed his breakfast and washed the handful of dishes he’d used as he was presently not well stocked with cooking implements. Drying them casually, he’d stacked them neatly on the kitchen bench and returned to the living room. He glanced at his clock. “Five minutes to ten,” he noted. He looked back to the fresh cup of tea he’d made. He could tell that tea was not a drink he preferred, but since these ponies did not seem to consume coffee, it was the next best thing. Sitting back in the lone chair he had, he’d stared up at the bare wall in front of him, raising the cup again to his lips and taking another small sip of the steaming hot brew.

His journal rested on the arm of his chair. He gave it a comical pat, smiled again to himself and continued to imbibe his tea.

He turned his gaze once more at his clock.

“And the festival of fun continues in four … three … two … one!” He directed a long pointer finger from his free hand directly at the door. At exactly that moment, a determined sounding three knocks echoed through the front entryway. ‘Always exactly three knocks, and always on the precise strike of ten o'clock,’ he laughed. ‘I suspect if she missed a meeting she would quite probably lose her mind!’

He placed his cup back onto the single table in the living room next to the teapot and rose from his chair to cross to the front door.

“Yes? Who is it? Who could possibly be paying the humble subject of a protracted clinical study a visit at such a time!” he called melodramatically. There was a slapping noise from the other side of the door, one that he knew very well. It was the slap of a hoof over a pony's face. Suppressing a laugh, he creaked the door open and peered through the crack. Looking down in mock consternation, he threw the door open. “My goodness, Princess Twilight Sparkle! What brings you here to visit one such as I? Forgive my uncouthness! Please, enter my house and dispose of us as you will!”

She slapped her hoof onto her face yet again.

After further silly dramatics from Andras, he had finally brought Twilight and her rather impressive dragon friend Spike into the living room. He seated himself into his chair once more and offered tea to his ‘therapist’ and to Spike.

“Would you care for some tea, my dear Twilight? Or you, dear Spike? It has the taste of freshly mown grass, but it is green and hot and as such, it can at least offer succor to the soul?” he chimed, raising the teapot and smiling as pleasantly as he could.

“Andras … I know you don’t like having to do this, but it’s very important! If we’re to ever find out where the two of you came from, it’s very important that we … “

‘The two of us?’ he wondered. “Twilight … what do you mean ‘the two of’ us?” He caught what seemed to be an expression of self-annoyance which flashed across her face. It was there but briefly and gone again. Spike threw Twilight a worried look. Andras didn’t know what had just transpired. ‘There’s something here she’s not telling me,’ he thought nervously.

“No,” she stumbled. “I mean, you, Andras. If … well, you and I are ever going to find out where you came from, you must start to take these things seriously. There is nothing any of us can to help you in your situation unless you can try to be as forthcoming as you can.”

He returned the teapot to the table, picked up his own cup and leaned forward in his chair. “So … sharing my somewhat eclectic sense of humor with you isn’t providing you that insight into my psyche that you seek.”

“Andras, it’s important that you tell us as much as you can. Any small detail could prove to be extremely important.”

His shoulders slumped a little. He swirled the remainder of his tea, before lifting the cup to his mouth and draining the remainder of the now lukewarm drink. He reached out and firmly rapped the cup onto the top of the table. “Twilight, we’ve had the same discussion now every damn morning, at exactly this time, since I got out of the hospital. Nothing changes, it’s the same thing every night.”

“Do you remember any further details? I asked you to write down in your journal describing anything … “

“No, Twilight. I keep telling you, it’s the same thing every night. The darkness, the sounds, the voices in my dream that … sound like I know them. It’s always so painfully tantalizing. I know the voices, I know them, but I cannot … I cannot reach for the source. It’s like it’s just outside of my grasp. And that same demonic voice that torments me. It’s always there, it’s always provoking me, humiliating me. Hinting at things I’ve supposedly done, or places I have come from, and yet recollection of any kind remains just … agonizingly close, but utterly unobtainable,” he finished, as his brow furrowed and he concentrated as hard as he could. To try and bring forth anything he could from his revolting nighttime hellscapes had begun to bring on painful tension headaches.

Spike watched Andras and noted how tired and how embittered he sounded. “Ah, Twilight? Why don’t you try going a bit easy on him? I mean, he sounds like he’s trying as hard as he can.”

“Spike, anything at all he can tell us could solve all of our problems. Andras, the voice you heard, where have you … “

“I’ve told you, Twilight! My mind tells me I’ve heard it before, but … but I’ve told you, I have no idea who it is, or where it’s from!”

“Maybe there’s something in the tone of his … “

Andras lifted his eyes from staring at the table and met Twilight's own gaze. “Again, Twilight, I have told you. It’s always the same tone. The scream that jolts me awake is always the same one.”

“Did the scream sound any clearer ...“

His head began to throb. A voice at the back of his mind chuckled. ‘You fool, you have no idea,’ it smirked. He flinched a little. “Twilight, I … it’s the scream. The same scream! Every night! It … does … not … change!!”

“Andras, please try and think back, was there any part of … “

“NO, Twilight!!! I keep telling you it’s …. “ His mind felt as if something within it had exploded. His vision flickered, his hands seized the side of his head, and he curled forwards, growling in pain. The throbbing continued apace and grew in intensity, and he fought back an urge to void the contents of his stomach over the living room floor.

“Andras?? What’s wrong, what’s happened?” called Twilight, the concern profound in her voice.

“I ... Fuck! It’s … “ he managed, rocking gently back and forth on his chair, his hands clasping his throbbing skull like a vice.

“Andras? Do … do you need to lie down or go to the hospital?” asked Spike, likewise taken aback by Andras’ obvious pain.

“No … I just need … a moment … “ he grimaced. The throbbing slowly subsided, and he could no longer feel his pulse seemingly inside his own ears. He ceased rocking in his chair, opened his eyes and sat back gently, letting his breathing slow once more.

“Andras … what was that? That’s not happened since I’ve been coming to visit you?” asked Twilight.

He sighed. “I don’t know, Twilight. I was trying to recall anything new from my nightmares, and the harder I tried to think back ... the more I concentrated on it … it’s just tension, I guess. My head started pounding, it hurt to have my eyes open.”

Twilight frowned at him. He could sense her concern within her expression but suspected it was vying with her unending quest for intelligence on his situation. “Andras … “ she began, breaking off with a sigh. “I am a little afraid to ask, but did you make any observations from this morning in your journal?”

“Actually, Twilight, yes I did,” he admitted. “I trust you will find my notes enlightening in your quest to ‘solve’ me,” he quipped. ‘Solve? Am I a parlor game to these ponies?’

He handed his journal with solemnity to Twilight. “Oh! Thank you, Andras! I told you that these things can help, it’s great to see that you’ve … “ she stopped, arriving at his entry from that morning. She flopped forward, hiding her face once more in her hoof and emitted a low, guttural growl of despondency. “Auuuugh. Andras … “

“I knew you’d be pleased!” he managed, sarcastically. “I made sure to use my neatest cursive script and everything.”

“Andras … “ she started, a hint of anger in her voice as she trotted closer to him. “I know this has all been very frustrating for you. But please listen to me. It’s important we know anything at all, no matter how trivial, if we are ever going to find out where you came from and who you are.”

"You sound like a broken record this morning, Twilight."

"A broken what, Andras?"

“Twilight, my dear analyst,” he joked, noting how her frown deepened. “If I could remember any further details from my dreams, you can rest assured I would share them with you.” He lapsed back into a serious train of thought. “I keep waking and doing what you’ve requested. I try very hard to notice any small thing at all in my recurring night terrors but … there’s just nothing. Nothing more than what I have already spoken to you of.” He remembered that morning’s episode when a curious thought came to him. “Although … it’s not directly related to the dream, but I know this morning when I awoke, I had these … feelings.”

In a flash, Twilight drew her quill and brought her own journal immediately to her side with the magic that he still found fascinating. The ability to levitate objects did not strike him as unusual - an acknowledgment that was in itself a puzzle. His reason ought to inform him that being a witness to telekinesis should be a source of amazement. Yet it wasn’t, it had that queasy feeling of familiarity.

“What sort of feelings, Andras?”

He thought back to the moment his clarity of thought returned to him earlier that morning. “When I awoke, I had these … feelings of … “ he paused and looked up at Twilight. “It was, I could swear, an intense feeling of fear. Fear about something that I needed to do, but what I cannot tell. There was a sensation of horror, horror about … I don’t know! It was horror, but … it felt … personal. Again, I have no idea why. But the worst of them was this … gut-wrenching sense of … “ He looked back to Twilight, meeting her eyes again in a fixed, frightened stare. “It was guilt, Twilight.”

Twilight looked genuinely surprised. “Guilt, Andras?”

He sat forward once more, raised both hands into the air in a perplexed shrug. “Guilt. As if I’d done something unforgivable, a deep-seeded, powerful, all-consuming guilt … but again, for what reason, I just don’t know. I just remember feeling so guilty, so … so dirty. Like I’d done something that was … disgraceful. But … again, I just could not determine why.”

Twilight began madly scribbling into her journal, her quill little more than a blur over the pages.

He motioned at her journal and turned to Spike. He at least seemed gifted with a sense of humor and he’d learned to find Spike’s company reassuring more than once. “Has she ever set a book on fire before?”

Spike looked up at Andras. “Um … set a book on fire?”

“Yes. The way she scrawls across the paper so quickly, has she ever done so at a speed that has caused the paper to ignite?”

Spike giggled to himself. “There’s always a first time, Andras. The way you’ve been going, I thought it would be her face that would ignite first.”

Andras shared a brief chuckle with Spike until Twilight looked back up at him. “Andras,” she began. “How have you been handling it? I mean, when you wake in the mornings after these nightmares … I know the first few days were especially hard on you, but have you been … well, feeling any better, when the nightmares finish?”

He let himself slump gently back into his chair. “Twilight. In the dream, I keep trying so hard to just break free and wake up before that … that hideous scream, but I can’t. I know each night, I’m not going to wake until that creature, that whatever ... has forced me to hear it. I’ve become accustomed to it now, but it still hurts. These other feelings … they’re somewhat new. I hadn’t really noticed them before. But the past few days it’s been draining. Like swimming with lead weights hanging off my feet.”

Twilight gave him a look that was very nearly sad. “Andras, have you thought about maybe taking a look around town? Going out, getting some fresh air, maybe even meeting a few other ponies? Who knows, you might even make a friend?”

“Friend?” spat Andras. “Twilight, I have nothing beyond my name! What am I going to do, spend hours holding a solid discourse with another equine about … what? The fucking weather?”

She winced. “Andras, it’s up to you, but you could try not being so profane all the time? Please don’t be angry at me, I’m doing everything I can do try and help your situation. The least you could do is … well, try and curse a little less?”

Andras’ shoulders sank and a deep sigh escaped him. “God, Twilight. You’re right, I know. I don’t have an excuse for my behavior it’s true,” he mumbled, tiredly. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “But cut me some slack here, Princess. At this point, I have nothing to my life, beyond odd sensations devoid of sources, and … well, an intense paranoia that I can’t explain. I have a small army of medics checking up on me, I have you writing down … “ and he gesticulated towards Twilight’s journal, “... whatever it is you’re writing about me.” He managed a small smile. “I wonder if you’re just drawing silly cartoons of me in that tome of yours.”

Twilight tilted her head to one side. “Andras, you know full well that I … “

“You are, aren’t you? Cartoons of me, drooling, foaming at the mouth.”

“Augh. Andras!”

“You’re not denying it?”

“Because you keep changing the subject!”

He smiled at her and gently shook his head. “I know, Twilight. I just … worry. I worry about going out there, amongst the lovely folk of Ponyville and making either an idiot or a nuisance of myself. I keep discovering odd things I know how to do, without understanding how I learned those skills. What happens if I end up doing something … well, dangerous? What do you think Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are going to think about that?”

Twilight herself managed a small smile, a smile that carried a certain amount of empathy. “Andras, I know you have this strange sense of humor.”

“I do, indeed. All of the fun I have in this … this universe, Twilight, extends from my using it on you!”

She fixed her eyes on him with a mixture of compassion and sadness and took a step closer to him. “Andras, I think you do that as a means to hide.”

Andras was taken aback, it was not an observation he’d been expecting. “Hiding, Twilight?”

“I think you’re afraid to push too hard, for fear that you’ll find out more about what you can do, more about yourself … and that you’re scared you won’t like what you find.”

The silence in the room was now almost total.

“You are sharp, aren’t you, Twilight,” he whispered finally.

“You’re changing the subject again.”

“You’re also persistent.”

“Andras … “

“And patient,” he said softly. He leaned back again, thrust his arms into the air and all but yelled. “So what if I AM afraid of finding out who the f- …. Who the hell I am?? Have you considered that I could very well be exceptionally dangerous?”

Twilight raised her voice a little to meet Andras' own volume, but there was no animosity in her tone. “Because I’ve seen many creatures with dark backgrounds find their way to redemption, Andras! Even if you turn out to BE a monster, I cannot believe you are incapable of being saved!”

The subject and the therapist looked at one another. There was a connection there, for a brief moment, that neither of them had expected to find. “Well,” whispered Andras. “You can add philosophy to your list of virtues, Twilight.”

She smiled warmly at him, walked over and gently rested a hoof on his knee. “Andras, please try to remember - we are all here to help you. I’ve met many humans in my travels, and I am certain there is a way to help you. Just … please be patient? Please try and open up to me, in any way you can? Whatever you may think, Andras, we all care.”

He smiled sweetly down at her. “All of you, Twilight?”

She rolled her eyes. “Andras, it’s just her nature to … “

“She called me a monster.”

“She’s been known to … “

“A suggestion about being placed in prison was made. She wanted to carry me to a vast height and release me, allowing gravity to become my executioner!”

“It was an overreaction, Andras, Rainbow Dash gets very protective of … “

“She nearly broke my ribs, because I startled the … the quiet one.”

“Fluttershy, yes. She wasn’t expecting an explosion and then a mysterious human standing at the back of her cottage.”

“Twilight, if I head out there, what are the chances of any of the others taking a similar action?”

‘He has a point, I guess,’ thought Twilight to herself. “How about I accompany you? If they see you with me they’re more likely to be accepting. Besides, Andras … there’s somebody I would like you to meet. Somebody you might share a little more in common with than we ponies.”

“Another prison inmate?” he asked, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“No, Andras. I think you’ll find this particular somebody to be interesting. I’ve been avoiding introducing the two of you until I was sure you would be at least a little more amenable.”

“Amenable. That's a funny way to say 'polite'. It’s not another Doctor, is it?”

“No, Andras. If you want to find out, if you really do have any faith in me, please join us.”

Andras, having spent a brief moment considering this odd puzzle, finally acquiesced. “Fine! Fine. Lead on, my gentle therapist.”

“Augh.”

Author's Note

This prologue took a few days to write, and whilst I appreciate it is not a good literary piece? I had a great time getting it down. It's been a long time since I enjoyed writing, and I'm going to make the most of it!!

Music I spent time listening to whilst authoring this one:

• Ministry - NWO
• Sgt MacKenzie - We Were Soldiers Soundtrack
• Tool - Parabol + Parabola
• Mozart - Confutatis Maledictis

I wish to dedicate this particular chapter to two people, both of whom I had in mind whilst writing.

• Beetlebootboot - whose story "A Time To Think" first encouraged me to write again.
• Lady Q. For better of worse, you have taught me more about life and about myself these past two years. I will always love you, even if you've forgotten who the hell I am.