Author's Note
These Empty Words
Another book passes to me.
The scribbling of the quill fills my ears.
A hollow smile stretches my cheeks as I hoof the book to one of my fans.
A young colt who smiles up at me with a twinkle in his eye, before rushing off, no doubt to show his mother nearby his new prized possession, one he'll cherish for a time.
It'll probably get lost over the years, old and withered, maybe even ruined.
But there'll always be copies of my books, Daring Do's fame pretty much cemented that.
Another book is hoofed to me.
I look down at the book cover when I open it. I sign my name, A.K. Yearling on the inside, just below the author's notes.
I close it and slide it back to the pony in front of me - they say thanks and utter their praise before moving on, squealing in delight.
I just keep smiling through it all. Everything hurts inside me, my stomach is twisted up into a knot and my mouth feels dry.
I can hear the thumping of my heart echoing in my ears, threatening to deafen me.
Anxiety creeps up like a wolf stalking its prey, and there's nothing I can do except suffer through it.
The crowd is here for A.K. Yearling and her new book, they're here to get their copy signed so they can sell it for far more then what it's actually worth, or to shove it onto their shelf to collect dust and look back on this day.
Little do they know I'm trying not to break down and cry.
I don't want to be here, but I have to be, for them - the masses who crowd the convention. The cosplayers who put painstaking hours into their costumes. The fan-goers who want a chance to have a sit down with me after spending who knows how many bits for the VIP ticket, all because of my agent.
I'm trying not to panic, trying not to let the nerves creep up on me but it's so hard.
Even with a decade's worth of battles under my belt against dozens of countless eldritch horrors and monsters, things don't get any easier on me or my body.
My emotions are a mess, my heart filled with pain. My mind is a maelstrom of agony, a feeble wall about to break under the pressure of self doubt and loathing.
A.K. Yearling isn't a pony, she doesn't exist. She's like Daring Do in the books, fictional, brought to life because I willed her to. She's nothing more then a disguise, a fake pony's skin I wear on top of my own to hide who I am.
She has a normal life, I don't.
I lost my chance at a normal life when I got my cutie mark. I lost my chance when I wrote that journal, and some poor fool thought it was a story I wrote.
That's all these books are - my journals, recordings of my adventures with only the slightest bit changed for everyone, because my editor wants to make them family friendly.
What really happens out there is buried under the guise of happy endings and thrilling adventures alongside Daring Do, a mare who's thrill-seeking and bravery is world renowned for being life changing for a lot of ponies.
Her adventures inspire others to go out and have their own!
Another book, my name signed, back into their hooves it goes.
Yet no one knows how I really feel about these adventures of mine - the gut wrenching pain of losing comrades to a trap I missed, the aftermath of a doomsday device, the horror of fighting off monsters and creatures alone.
The crippling loneliness I feel day by day.
Everything in my books is changed to appeal to younger audiences, marketing schemes.
Rainbow Dash and the others are my friends, they said so, right? So why should I feel lonely when I know they're here for me?
That's what friendship means right? To be there for those you care about?
I haven't felt more lonely in my entire life.
If anything this makes me feel even more alone, neglected, shunned.
Maybe I could leave, put down my quill and go for a quick bathroom break, sneak out through a window and run for it.
No one would be any the wiser.
I could escape from these shackles I placed on myself. I could hide from the responsibilities of having to save the world so many times!
How many times have I thwarted my enemies? How many times was I almost too late to stop some ridiculous doomsday device from going off and destroying the world?
When was the last time I had any time to myself?
I can feel it - the tightening of my chest, my breathing picking up. I feel lightheaded.
I don't know how much more of this I can take. How many of these adventures will it take before I'm injured or even defeated for the last time?
An uneasy feeling creeps through me, escaping this was one option, giving in was another.
It's crossed my mind several times, maybe a little slip up during a battle and letting a sword slip through my ribs. Falling down a ravine and crashing against the ground. Being cast from a ship and thrown against the rocks on the shoreline.
Slow, quick, it didn't matter to me in the end - the pain was welcome, it made me feel something other then this hollow feeling in my stomach - a ball of lead settling in.
It would mean passing on to the next life, heading to Elysium - the afterlife.
I could just end it myself - go to my hotel room and drown myself in the bathtub, tie my wings down and drop from the penthouse floor to the ground.
At least that's what I'd like to think.
I won't ever do it, I'm too scared to attempt anything.
I'm always scared. Maybe that is what is keeping me going, the fear of knowing there's nothing there.
I know there's nothing on the other side, nothing except a pitch black void and crippling silence.
Another book is given to me.
I pause.
I can't do this anymore.
I don't have a choice in the matter, however.
Nothing is waiting for me, no paradise, no afterlife.
It was pointless.
The words I've written in my latest book. I skim through the first couple of pages.
They feel empty to me. Almost as hollow as how I feel.
Yet, these ponies enjoy my work. They flock to me and sing praise.
The starstruck look in their eyes, the hugs and cries of happiness. I wallow in self pity while my adventures bring them joy and glee - altered as they were.
"Uhm... Ms. Yearling?"
I look up from the book and to the young colt in front of me - a teenager. "Yes?"
"Why are you crying?"
I brought a hoof to my cheek and felt the dampness.
I was crying.
I gave him a smile, hiding the pain in my voice. "I'm just so happy all of you came out today to see me." I told him, sharing my look with the others in the line.
Their heartfelt smiles mended the pain in my chest, but only slightly and a few looked ready to cry themselves.
I signed the book and hoofed it back to him, smiling and grabbing a tissue.
No...
I know why I keep going.
I look up to the crowd surrounding my booth and give them a pained smile.
I keep going for them.
They can't know my pain, I won't let them see through the cracks.
I'll keep going for them, if only for one more day.
One more day...
