You know, I love books very much. No, not the way others like them. I live by books.
It must have started as a child. Before I was five years old, I managed to break out the entire home library (by the way, one of the largest family libraries in Canterlot!). Even then I experienced on my own skin, which means thirst. When I was sent to some famous institution - natural attraction has grown into some kind of fun drug addiction.
Knowledge was flowing through my veins like blood and, like any living thing, I needed it desperately. But every year the dosage grew, and the books did not grow. To be honest, this unfortunate fact has partly influenced my decision to stay in a huge oak tree in the middle of Ponyville, luckily turned out not only to be my new home, but also the city library.
In fact, there was not enough of it for a long time - soon boredom mixed with withdrawal began to kill me again. In this city no one read. Absolutely! The little writing that came across here was financial accounts and simple advertising for rural stalls. And it wasn’t always used properly...
I had to content myself with what I had read, refreshing my memory of my time-dulled memories. And as my days were full of other worries, your humble servant began to indulge in sweet torments at night.
In one of these, terribly cold and rainy, I, as always, sat behind a neatly carved table from the bark, in the light of a lantern standing on the side, a scrolling scribbled time-worn manuscript 'About the deeds of the past and future' of a certain Ramble the Quiet. The researches of the historian of the deep antiquity were very interesting, but not when you reread the intricacies translated into modern Equestrian thoughts for the third time. Especially if the translation is frankly lame. But even so, perverted by the self-delusion of negligent translators, better than the author knew the material he wrote, it still far exceeded the vast majority of modern research, which raised serious concerns about the fate of future generations.
There was a knock on the door. At first, muted, as if unsure of his own strength - a sharp contrast with the drum stroke that went on. After a long moan, which was a clear sign of unwillingness to lift the lazy croup from the chair, I went to meet the night guest.
A dark figure standing on the doorstep looked at me from the inside. A flash of lightning illuminated the mare in a thick cloak, covered with green wool. Before I could say a word, the guest leaned forward, slamming the passage behind her and dropping the hood from her head.
"Lyra Hearthstrings?" with a slight bewilderment, it flew out of my mouth as I looked at the unicorn, which was shaking with white and blue hair, which had been flooded with water on the forecourt rug.
"I saw a light in your windows. I hope I didn’t disturb too much" she said with a light huddle, apparently embarrassed by her surprise visit "I seem to have made a real discovery...and a better science expert than you in the whole neighborhood is hard to come by."
I had an epiphany - here it is, something new, finally coming back into my life. It was like...I felt a thirst again.
"That’s how. What do you want to ask me?"
"Don’t laugh. Promise you won’t?" with hope in her eyes, she asked.
"I promise."
Lyra came closer. Our faces were almost close.
"People are real."
These words puzzled me. People. Who are people?
"Mmm..."
"Well, remember, those two-legged creatures I told you about a couple of weeks ago. Completely naked - without wool! And instead of hooves, they have...what are these appendages called...a! Fi-i-ingers."
It is true that this unicorn recently gave me an earful of schizophrenic fantasies, always backed by sound scientific judgments, facts, and most of all - opinion by experts like her. The horror of the situation was that she also led the local cell.
"And?" said I less enthusiastically.
"The day has come when everyone can finally join the intimate knowledge given to us as a brew."
"Less pathos, more sense."
"Ahem, I think I got carried away...during the last 'campaign', I managed to get this - look" a purple-skinned talmud appeared in her hooves. I didn’t like that thing at first sight. Not only was the skull engraved in the center of it cover (clearly did not belong to pony - an oval, with a neat rounded jaw) but her skin was also DRACONIAN.
"Did you think with your head when you dragged this stuff in here?.." I hissed with disgust as I pulled my hoof from the book "What if Spike hadn’t fallen asleep yet? How do you think..."
"Oh, that was awkward..." the unicorn looked confused for a moment, a second later, giggling involuntarily "Anyway, it’s from the Castle."
"Is the word 'camping', means a simple pillaging?" my skepticism has gone somewhere in the stratosphere.
"You’re always embellishing, Twilie..."
"Twilight" I cut off the clubs, releasing a pair from the nostrils (at least trying) "Even small colts know that the Castle is not just called abandoned. There was a very good reason for that, one of which you’re probably holding in your dirty hooves right now."
"Hey, hey! Easy! Do you know how many archives I had to dig before I stumbled upon the brief mention of this thing? You, nerd, should be ashamed...''
Lyra tripped, hoofed her mouth.
"Will you come out by yourself or you a proud bird?" the murderous lights flickered in my eyes. Only two things could drive me mad. The first was pseudo-science. The second is anyone who dares to question my love of the archives.
"Wait, you’ve got it all wrong!" the Lyra’s hooves were swirling violently "Wait!" already levitated by the tail and hanging out from the door that started to close "I appreciate your work! Please don’t expel me! If you don’t try, you can’t know for sure! Is that how science works?"
There was a rumbling bang of a croup that had landed on the ground. The door opened wide.
"It’s called the experiential method" a heavy sigh came out of me, and the hoof was crumpled into the chest of a unicorn who throws a hug "No. Just no."
"Ugum" she said, not upset, with her happy eyes. If cutiness have been a disease, I would die of diabetes.
"Let’s finish this here and now" I whispered wearily, hoping to get the unexpected guest out the door as soon as possible.
After we finished the fight in the hallway, we moved our 'warm' relationships into the living room. The Lyra never let out the vile book - I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor dragon whose brother had suffered such a terrible, but in some ways poetic, fate. Fortunately, I put those thoughts aside when I settled down with Lyra at the kitchen table.
The book was in its center - in direct contact with each of us.
"A-a-and?" I stretched out, not knowing where to start.
"You’ll be interested in page number ten!" the unicorn chipped cheerfully, clutching the spine of the manuscript and unwrapping it with a fountain of yellowed from time, or from the dampness (most likely because of both) pages formed on each other as a command.
Having found the right one, Lyra turned the book to me, giving me a full 'enjoy' look of the black letters written in the most curved, most unreadable font possible. Their lines passed over the surface of the book, only occasionally interrupted by small and seemingly meaningless images. Some were distantly like ponies, others were strange, artistic creatures, frozen in many different positions - together and separately.
- Hm...looks like ancient equestrian.
''I was, I am, I will be''.
That was the beginning of the first paragraph. That was the end of my quiet life.
Lyra firstly noticed the changes.
"Look...book...it glows!" it was the only thing that could scream a unicorn when the ink began to sparkle with green lights. Without any help, the book began to soar. And then...the phantom light struck my guest’s eyes.
Her body shook in disgusting convulsions. I thought I heard the crunch of her bones. It was ugly and long, and it was sinking into the deepest recesses of her soul. I can still hear that chilling scream in my head. My scream.
But the voice...oh, I remember it even more clearly. It muted even screams. Formidable, as if emanating from the Underworld itself. Belonging to Lyra.
"You, the one who dared to utter these words. Who do you think you are?"
My voice fluttered as I muttered.
"I am, uh..."
"You, the one who dared to take this book. What did you want to know?"
"I wanted to..."
"You, the one that is like a miserable worm. What do you expect to hear?"
This started to crossing the line of reason. Not only because the book talked, but because it imagined itself like something important. It’s like every ancient thing is allowed to talk like that to Twilight Sparkle, Celestia’s best student, blah, blah, blah. Whether it was pride or terror, I took an attitude.
Who am I? I’m your new mistress, whatever you are.
The laughter was answer to me.
"The mistress that does not control even her own body."
"Damn." I wasn’t even trying to hide the shiver I got.
"You are a slave. Of your thoughts. Of your words."
I swallowed in confusion.
"But I will free you from the shackles. I will let you see the truth."
The pages were clicking, beginning to alternate chaotically. An unknown force pulled me to the table, forcing me to stare incessantly at the scrolling text, the letters of which twisted and merged, forming silhouettes alive before my eyes - all who could have been begotten by the mind of a madman who dared to write this cursed book...
Your kind is weak. Its love is sometimes indistinguishable from lust...
A leaden downpour poured down the streets of the drowsy city, like the life of everyone who lived in it, streaming senselessly down the parapets and pipes onto the once-clean sidewalk, mixing earth and garbage into a single mud stream through which the few lost souls who were forced to wander at this late hour under the impassive gazes of the gray houses, their pointed roofs propping the blackening sky.
Swarms of rats digging in the alleyways, devouring the scraps that former live had left them. Headlights occasionally dispersed their shoals, which ran from one side of the street to the other, while spinning wheels poured ice-cold water on the bodies, already asleep in narcotic oblivion, leaning against the walls.
Very soon the last passersby would leave the streets. The night would finally begin. And with it another life will begin to take its place, full of vice and devoid of all the shortcomings of the day.
One by one the neon lights cut through the gloom. Soon the city was illuminated by a myriad of colorful signs, offering and inviting to all kinds of places, invariably pursuing only one goal: the fulfillment of all their visitors desires.
The rays of light seeped through the red glass of the giant window, falling on the muzzle of the lonely sitting filly. From the mirror, broken in half, blue eyes stared at her - сhildren's, that had not yet lost the elusive sincerity of their gaze. But the black mascara, painstakingly applied to her lashes, blemished the innocent beauty.
The hour she had so long awaited was approaching.
The car that had been rushing along the deserted road would stop at the very entrance to the wide-open doors, which would be reached by a carpeted path. Having opened, the mechanism will unleash the legs, numb from a long seance, carrying its owner into the bosom of the open maw of the house of earthly and unearthly pleasures.
Knocking with his legs in unison, his body will plead for sweet pleasure, subjugating his mind to its implacable will. But the cold reigning in his heart will prove to be much stronger. Only it would allow it not to fail at the sight of the luxurious torsos of the pole-wiggling mares, whose eyes glittered like rubies in the mysterious twilight of the central hall, whose departing corridors led those who suffered to secluded rooms where every beginning found its end.
Finished with ink, she will rise from her chair, allowing herself to stretch out to her full foal size. A hairpin will plunge into her previously loose mane, gathering it into a tight tangle of tar-black hair. The translucent veil falls loosely to the gray hair, finding no place for it except in the places the stallions covet.
With an indifferent glance around the open expanse, he will pass by the caressing seductresses and stop only at the expensive wood carved counter, the madam waiting behind which will smirk and open the door to all the secrets of the night to him. His hooves will rattle down the metal staircase, taking him to the stars that sparkle in the dark skies.
As she counts the minutes, she will look at the antique clock, unable to postpone the inevitable moment. Regretting, she will not dare ask for it, for it was, and so it must be. A knock will touch her wary ears, heralding the arrival of the much awaited guest.
The appearance of the pony before her would not be a revelation to the filly, for she knew nothing of squeamishness. They would be on the velvet bed, pressed close to each other, overcoming the awkwardness of the first seconds. Leaving foreplay to others, their lips will merge in a passionate kiss.
Her hoof would slide over his withdrawn knee, touching the instrument that had risen in anticipation. When the intertwined tongues parted, he felt the heavy breath on his neck. The heat from below would be mirrored by the cold on his chin, an extension of the beauty licking him.
He would close his eyes, losing all control over his euphoric mind. The madness would overwhelm him, preventing him from realizing that the cold was flowing from the fangs embedded in his aorta. A sudden movement would drop him onto his back, and the pain would stab him in the head with a dagger blade. Only then would he cast a startled glance at his partner, whose muzzle would be drenched in his bard's blood. Chewing the torn lump, she will lunge at her lover with unprecedented force, gnawing at the agonizing flesh and scattering chunks of it over the sprinkled blanket.
The convulsing body will not soon go quiet, senselessly resisting the tearing fangs that will rip its belly open and release its attractive-smelling entrails, forcing her to devour the organs that oozed secret juices with an excited howl.
When the feast was over, the soft fur would be replaced by a hard shell, and once beautiful legs would be marred by the holes that pierced through them. Shaking her dragonfly wings uneasily, she turns her pointed, cobalt face toward the bag lying on the floor, predatorily sticking out a wriggling snake tongue. A brief examination of that one will reveal much about the desiccated corpse set aside.
A tear rolls down her trembling cheek.
And the stallion, as if nothing had happened, will leave the humble chambers, going on his not so humble business.
As it was and as it should be.
