Following the Thread

“It is in the pursuit of knowledge that we cast ourselves into the deepest pits of hell.” - The Empress Without an Ending

Twilight could see it. Her. Them. A metallic mockery of her face. It grinned. Her wings broke the breadth of her bedside. Moonlight cast across it.

Was it steel? Titanium? Mithril? Her armor radiated mystique. It commanded fear. It begat the end of all things. This was Twilight Sparkle as sentinel. Tyrant. Spectre in the night.

Her hoof leeched heat from her cheek. Light blazoned from the speaker grille:

“You are worth it,”

It spoke words. In her own voice. Words she heard once in the alleys of the old town. But a wee filly, she was.

“You are the one who was and is and will forever be -- the legate of the fine city upon the mountain. Canterlot.”

Twilight’s mouth grew dry. Her eyes swam in desperation of a drop of moisture.

“It is the birthright of all sparkles to shine under blackened night and sweltering day. Even in the radiance of true love, your determination outstrides all.”

She felt a wetness at her lip. Her hoof brushed at it.

It shone cardinal red.

“I will be so proud of you.”

As Spike raised candlelight to her bedside, he stumbled back.

Twilight Sparkle was dead to the world.

“Twilight! Twilight, wake up! You’re having a nosebleed!”