Fragility

by Azure-Spark

Chapters

Chapter 1: From Another Era
Chapter 2: Back to Business
Chapter 3: Refracted
Chapter 4: Monsters
Chapter 5: The Royal We
Chapter 6: Carry On
Chapter 7: Alpha

Chapter 1: From Another Era

Chapter 1

From Another Era

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[Grimdark][Tragedy]

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Day 1 —

Dear Heart Stream,

Obviously talking this over with you face to face wasn’t enough to make my point clear. So, since you seem so fond of learning about me through writing this pointless exercise, I’ll reiterate for the last time here, nice and clearly:

Sod. Off.

I don’t need help. I don’t need this therapy. I’m not “going through classic signs of grief”. Just leave me be, and let me carry on with my daily life.

—Crystal Shard

Day 2 —

Dear Heart Stream,

Ask, and ye shall receive:

"About my thoughts and feelings, what’s going on in my head, etc."

You’re welcome,
Crystal Shard

P.S. “Feelings”? I’m sorry, but this is a bit of a juvenile term, considering you are a university therapist. Let’s not kid ourselves. We all know you mean “emotions”. And again, I am not emotionally unstable.

Day 3 —

I must apologize to future readers, including myself. Needless to say, some conflict arose in trying to get me started on something like this. However, we have come to an agreement, the terms of which I shall specify here, in-writing, as a form of contract.

First, my therapist Heart Stream’s terms.
1. He gets to see the journal at least once per week. I may choose the day.
2. I must write about at least some of my emotions of the day in each entry. His word was “feelings” again, but I won’t budge on this.
3. If I don’t at least touch on the recent death that has brought me to therapy in the first place, by university’s rules I will have to talk about it within an actual session.
4. I must be honest in my entries.
5. I am not allowed to remove any pages from the journal for any reason.

Secondly, my terms.
1. I may skip up to two days per week.
2. I may be as brief about my emotions as possible, just so long as I am clear enough that Heart Stream may understand. If I’m to be perfectly honest in my writing, this may still prove to be the greatest challenge.
3. Most importantly, I am allowed to treat this journal partly as a scientific journal to aid in my research at the university. This point I insisted upon. I’ve been meaning to start one anyway as a means of organizing my otherwise impossibly cluttered notes.
4. In relation to my third term, I also insist upon the right to publish part or all of this journal, should I need to in order to properly establish my discoveries and research.

Now then, in keeping with these terms, I must of course establish a baseline. A “time zero” observation of myself, if you will. If I think about it, I would have to say that for the past few days how I’ve felt may best be described as “dead”. Not literally, of course, but emotionally. The usual trifles I deal with on a daily basis have seemed distant to me. My fellow students haven’t been speaking to me, besides the occasional “are you okay?” or “I’m so sorry”, which may be a contributing factor. I’m sure it will pass in a matter of days, but that’s part of what this observation period is for I suppose.

That should be descriptive enough. Should it not be, all that can really happen at this point is an honest discussion over how I “didn’t know any better”.

One thing that strikes me as a missing factor that some readers, excluding myself and my therapist, may need to understand future entries is the “recent death” mentioned in the agreement. I would like to explain this for clarity’s sake, but the honest fact of the matter is that I feel uncomfortable even thinking about it. Before anypony calls me out on this, I do realize that this, combined with the first few entries, is clearly indicative of my transitioning from the first to the second stage of grieving, denial and anger respectively. I am also aware that the field of psychology is one of if not the most inexact sciences in existence; these stages have been known to show themselves in individuals in seemingly random orders, to revert back randomly, and sometimes never to complete the cycle. As such, don’t be surprised if I never end up “bargaining” for anything before getting over this.

Oh, I apologize once more. I seem to have reverted to emotional content for a moment. In the interest of honesty I may at least say that it was less painful than expected. Heart Stream, as you smile and chuckle to yourself from that line, look up; I’ll be seated, so both of my forelegs should be available for the proper gesture. You’ll be familiar with it: bras d'honneur, remember? It’s not the first time my use of it has gotten me in trouble.

In any case, I have another baseline to establish still, this time for the scientific portion of the journal. First, it would be proper to establish what my research is about.

“At the Royal University of the Moon, we are dedicated to research in the hopes of solving the problems of the nighttime.”

That might not be the exact mantra, but it should be close enough to understand. For reference, the school was established in memory of Princess Luna, or “Nightmare Moon” as she seems to like to go by now. Coincidentally, today marks the four-month anniversary of her banishment. I’m still torn as to whether or not that was a good idea.

Ah, but back to my point. The research. The science.

Many of my fellow students seem to take the criteria of the school’s research quite leniently. To be fair, there are plenty of students that have been quite sensible. For example, I believe I’ve heard of somepony who is looking to breed crops that use moonlight to grow instead of sunlight.

I for one am trying to develop something that may aid everypony in the new city, and possibly any future city to be developed across Equestria. I’m simply looking for a more reliable and, to be blunt, less flickery light source than simple torches. Of course, magical light is the simple solution, but typically it requires constant focus and attention by some unicorn, or otherwise just expends too much energy to be reliable.

The most recent headway I’ve made with my research has been through use of glass prisms. I hypothesize that, given the proper construction and initial light frequency, a very minimal amount of magical energy would need to be devoted to lighting an entire street! Some call this outlandish and silly, but even they cannot argue with the flaws of our current lighting system. Between the poor light quality and the threat of fire damage, especially in such tight quarters as a city, advancing beyond torches and braziers is a must for Equestrian society.

I was planning on transcribing some of my notes into this day’s entry, but I’ve already worked my way well past how much I had planned on writing. I shall pick up with this tomorrow.

—Crystal Shard

Day 6 —

I may have taken some liberty with the skipped days rule. I was a bit shortsighted, obviously, as I now am forced to write in this journal for each of the next two days. Sure, it will be a good way to light a fire under myself and force me to stop procrastinating on rewriting my notes, but unfortunately I still need to include the emotional portion.

However, to understand today’s emotional problems I need to establish a bit of context, in the interest of future readers more so than peers.

I am not by any means what one might call “social." I’m sure my attitude towards my fellow students has generally implied this already. However I have made one friend during my stay here. Her name is Honey Comb, and her area of study is that of beekeeping. Odd, yes, but it does give her a rather interesting standpoint on several issues. I believe when we first met we had a lengthy discussion over geometry. Everypony knows that, structurally, the triangle is mathematically the strongest polygon at its root; Honey Comb insisted it was, in actuality, the hexagon. I believe with any other pony the conversation would’ve ended once I brought up the proof, but she insisted we eschew the mathematics. I was appalled, yet intrigued by her argument. She insisted, and to this day still does, that the flexibility of the hexagon, as she’s seen in her work, is a sure sign of its superiority. Technically, I agree with her, and as her friend I’ll support this point; honestly, the only reason I hadn’t torn her argument apart at first was a mixture of sympathy and the fact that a perfect hexagon can be composed of perfect triangles anyway.

Just being around her is enough to make me smile now. Well, under normal circumstances. She’s a good enough friend to help me forget the troubles of the day, and is in fact one of about three things that can pull me from my work. The others include life-threatening circumstances and any legal or university mandate that would require me to stop. I believe I’m Honey Comb’s only friend, at least at the University. She doesn’t like to talk about her time before she came here. I can respect that. All I was before moving to attend the University was an avid student preparing to attend someplace like the University.

I haven’t spoken to her in a week as of today. No, we’re not fighting, she just needs time to herself. The “recent death?” That was her father. I never knew him, though from Honey Comb’s reaction, I might count that a blessing. I’m sorry, that must sound incredibly cold; I only mean that I might be so overwhelmed as she is right now had I ever met the stallion. I know my work could wait for a few days, in theory, but I find it hard to get back into my rhythm after more than one day of rest. I can’t imagine what’s happening to Honey’s hives right now. To be fair, I believe she considers her bees friends also, if not close pets, so I don’t think she’d outright neglect them; still, sometimes a pony can’t help but worry.

On a more pleasant note, I managed to do some more tests with the standard prisms today. Unfortunately I didn’t make much headway into discovering the proper combination. Triangular prisms seem to only want to make rainbows or just angle the light. Rectangular prisms are out of the question simply due to the mathematics involved, obviously. Today I tested combinations of several triangular prisms, but the most I managed to do was re-angle the light by about five degrees from the starting direction.

That’s about all I’ve accomplished today of note. I must say, compared to yesterday, I’m getting the hang of controlling my rambling thoughts.

—Crystal Shard

Day 7 —

There will be no scientific content today. The weight of the incident has finally hit me full force. I’m struggling to hold the quill still, even with magic. To put it in psychological terms, I’ve skipped straight past “bargaining”, as predicted.

I woke up in tears this morning. I had a dream in which I, rather than Honey Comb’s father, had died that day. On the bright side, if I didn’t believe the myth was ridiculous beforehand, the fact that I am still alive after clearly dying in my subconscious outright disproves the idea.

I think that one of the things that really hit me was the manner in which he actually died. I didn’t have the heart to explain yesterday, and I’m probably in no better shape to try today, but it’s necessary before I go on.

He was a construction worker. I believe he was working on one of the towers for the new castle.

Pardon me, retelling this story is a bit difficult. Emotionally, not that I can’t remember. I couldn’t forget.

Supposedly he was helping align one of the walls as it was being placed by magic. I’ve seen the construction process personally. It typically takes a team of at least six unicorns to move a standard-sized wall segment. I imagine there were perhaps forty moving this piece of stone and marble. From what I’ve heard, he had just given the clear to lower the wall. Normally, he would’ve been adjacent to the section, but because it wasn’t aligning properly he had to step underneath. For twenty minutes after they struggled to get the piece into position before he gave the go-ahead to lower it. Twenty minutes of straining themselves made the short-term memory of the lift team rather faulty.

There was no gradual drop.

That wasn’t the worst of it though. He tried to dive out of the way, but the wall was too wide. And nopony expected it to be dropped so quickly after the word “Go!” He was crushed, yes, but still alive through some “miracle”. I believe my experience in his position made me truly realize what pain he must have been in before passing. He was completely immobilized by the wall on top of him, and no one heard his cries over the rejoice of having theoretically finally finished the task. All that anypony noticed was that the wall didn’t quite line up with the other segments at the top. So of course the assisting pegasi pushed the segment “into place” from the top. It wasn’t until the dust settled from the impact and they found the blood seeping out of the crack between the segments that they even took roll call to figure out who it was.

At least they cleaned up the blood stains. Probably got at least some of the tomato paste that used to be him mopped up too, and just hid the rest. I’m sure they’d all be out of a job should anypony important have found out.

There were two upsides to this, however minute. For one, they stopped construction for a day and a half afterwards. Secondly, they’ve agreed to carve his name into the wall, as something of a grave site intended as a memorial. I don’t know who “they” is. It might be the Princess, but I somehow doubt it. There was never any mention of the incident outside of the University as far as I’ve seen. Of course, the University makes up perhaps eighty percent of the finished portion of Canterlot as of this entry, so there aren’t many active citizens available for gossip anyway. Besides, as I’ve already written, widespread news of this would be bad for his former co-workers.

Let it never be said that Canterlot was built in a day. I’m sure with all her planned majesty that’s how the legend will go. This couldn’t be further from the truth. No amount of unicorns and no amount of magic can properly build up “the new royal city” that fast. The current plan is to finish within three months. That sounds awfully ambitious to me at the current rate.

Frankly this city is cursed to me anyway. That at least one pony lies dead within the foundation is proof enough of that for me.

But I digress.

Today I finally went to visit Honey Comb. Her eyes were red and sore, and her mane a mess. I had to bring in a package she had received a day ago. She didn’t talk for almost an hour after I got there. I offered to prepare lunch for the two of us; that was the first time she acknowledged my being there at all.

We had a simple meal: honey-smeared toast. She knows how to make honey herself, thankfully, or at the least she knows much more of it than I ever bothered to learn. I think she needed the food just so she could produce more tears. Something about the meal together got her to open up though. Her voice was raspy and painful to listen to. She talked about her father, what he meant to her. I found myself crying with her, and frankly I think I may this evening look something like how she had when I arrived.

I wanted to tell her about the dream, but it didn’t seem appropriate. This may be a secret I take to my own grave.

I managed to convince her to come back to class tomorrow. I’ll be keeping an eye on her throughout the day. Sure, my own education may suffer, but I don’t believe I’ll miss much. Even if I do, making sure she’s alright would make it worth it.

Honestly, my worst fear at the moment is that she’ll have a breakdown in class. I’d be the only one to blame for what happens to her because of it.

—Crystal Shard

Chapter 2: Back to Business

Chapter 2

Back to Business

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[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 8 —

The first thing I’d like to address is my worry from the previous entry. For that, I have good news and bad news to mention.

The good news is that Honey Comb made it through the day in one piece.

The bad news is that we both missed about half of our classes in the process.

I should probably get more specific. We have the same schedules of classes, by design. Our first class went by fine. It was a simple lecture, something about chemistry. Honestly I was too focused on watching Honey Comb to care. I don’t think she was paying attention either, but at least she made an effort to look like she was.

I understand the purpose of asking questions in a lecture, but to ask them for the purpose of “humiliation” rather than expanding the discussion is simply a waste of everypony’s time. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fake an answer, it just means I get annoyed by having to do so.

In any case, it was our second class that I finally started to notice particularly bad signs from Honey. I know her. The sight of other ponies is comforting to her. So when she abandons this, shutting her eyes and hiding her head under the desk, I can safely assume that something’s troubling her.

I offered to take her out of class, but she refused. She probably shouldn’t have. I won’t claim I’m great at predictions, but I did see her breakdown coming. It didn’t particularly help that we were talking about physics.

This was the quote that finally did it: “It is natural for us to look for imperfections and fix them, regardless of unforeseen consequences.”

Poorer taste I have never heard.

Honey Comb burst into a loud sobbing from this. I escorted her outside the classroom without another word. It took a few minutes for the professor to start her lecture up again, or so I could hear from the hall.

We spent more time talking than crying. To be clear, I wasn’t crying in the slightest, and Honey was trying to hold back out of courtesy. Her “heart” tends to be in the right place, even if it would be unhealthy. I know I disapprove of the validity of psychology, but I will at the least concede there are such valid points as “healthy” and “unhealthy” emotional states.

In any event, our discussion revolved around the events following her father’s death. Most importantly, how she had found out. That little piece of information somehow managed to elude me for weeks. Fortunately, it wasn’t anything else dramatic or unsettling like the death itself. She simply was brought out of class and informed of the accident by her father’s supervisor. Or ex-supervisor, as I guess it technically was by that time.

She told me that she was told that leaving was up to her that day. She also told me that she couldn’t give them an answer right away because her mouth was suddenly so dry.

Then she asked me what I would’ve done. And the honest truth is that I believe that to be an unfair question. I mean, certainly I would be devastated by the loss of one of my parents, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a very different kind of pony. Even with a more distanced relation to the deceased in the real case, I only dug myself deeper into my research. A “defense mechanism” as psychologists might call it.

Blah. Blegh. Bleh. [Expression of disgust]. Pardon my poor handling of onomatopoeia. I’m a scientist, not a poet.

The point of that being that I’m falling too far into a trap through this journal. What happened today was significant enough to stay in my head since it occurred, but that doesn’t mean it needs to dominate my note-taking. My sincerest apologies to any future readers. I’ll start cutting back tomorrow so as not to bore you to death.

To finish, however, and I’ll be brief, just know that the conversation was followed by a good deal of silence. I tracked time by the passing of students, and I believe we were there for two more classes before we finally moved. We received a few looks from passerby, but I’ve mastered the art of wordless glare that manages to still say “Fuck off.” Heart Stream, you should know exactly what I’m talking about.

She thanked me for what I did today. And I wish the emotion associated with this would no longer be called “that warm and fuzzy ‘feeling’”. The emotion is happiness, mixed with relief. I’ll point out the associated regions of the brain if you insist on the point any further, Heart.

I’ll add today’s notes on the prisms to tomorrow’s entry.

—Crystal Shard

Day 9 —

First, yesterday’s research. Not much of a breakthrough, but the data are actually relevant for a change.

“Previous arrangements of the triangular prisms were operating under the assumption that I would have to angle them against each other in unnatural manners to produce unnatural results. Today I said “screw it” and tried a simple arrangement: three prisms lined up horizontally, with faces touching, to form an overall trapezoid of the triangular faces.

Upon testing, I managed to get a small improvement on the conductivity of magic. Further tests will be required to prove that this is significant to the arrangement and not, say, the atmosphere. In all honesty, some days I wonder if the extra energy I fuel my telekinetic magic with out of frustration doesn’t radiate through the room and skew the results.”

That was yesterday. Today I repeated the tests and managed similar, yet less intense results. Just below the threshold of statistical significance. This leaves me at a standstill. I don’t know whether to proceed along this same train of thought, or not. So, as any good scientist, that leaves me with the inevitable third option: another iteration.

And now for the emotional content. Those of you disinterested, you might as well skip to the following entry now.

Today’s classes were much more of a successful venture for me and Honey. Most of the topics were reviews anyway. There’s a small part of me that wants to think that this was done on purpose. Maybe it was from how the professors looked at Honey Comb. Maybe I’m just delusional. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell without an outside perspective on the matter, and my therapist refuses to use the word “crazy” or any synonym of it.

Besides, Honey didn’t cry today. I believe this to mark the first day since her father’s passing that one could honestly say this. She’s moving on. I’m a little impressed. She never struck me as being that emotionally “strong”. I mean no offense to her, but that’s just how it seemed to work. She’s sensitive, but caring. I’m just an emotional rock wall. We balance each other out that way. Not to mention our varying approaches to our studies, of course.

Actually, the height of her recovery seemed to come in our third class. A fly landed on one of my books— actually it might have been this one. The point is, I hate flies. I hate insects, arachnids, and most animals. Sometimes I even have trouble dealing with earth ponies, but that’s beside the point.

This is perhaps the one rule that Honey has ever enforced upon me without any hint of a reluctant action. I am not allowed to kill any living thing in her presence. So no matter how much I want to, I can’t even step on a helpless beetle. I must walk around.

She halted my hoof with her magic when I tried to smash the fly in class. I looked at her, and she smiled back at me. I stopped caring about the fly. Today I can say that Honey Comb has finally started to look like herself again.

I’m glad, and yet I do wonder what this means about the journal. It’s barely been a week, yet it’s become a habitual part of my life. I think I’ll just have to talk with Heart Stream about ending these therapy sessions just to revoke his terms permanently. Not that I’ll abandon writing of my day, but it’d be a mite nicer not to have to.

—Crystal Shard

Day 11 —

I skipped yesterday out of how sheerly uneventful it was. Today wasn’t much better, but I’d like to think ahead and save that last skipping day.

Yesterday I got little research done. I ran a few scheduled tests, but got mixed, unexciting results. Today was better, even though it marked the fourth consecutive day of uncertainty on this side-matching theory with the prisms. I tried extending the line of prisms to see if I could get a more pronounced effect, but this proved to be a simple failure. This could limit the potential causes of the phenomenon, but unfortunately it brings me no closer to an actual answer.

Barring the science of the day, I figure I may as well bring up another of my daily irritations to fill up some space on the page.

Her name is Limelight. Her area of study is something along the lines of nighttime wear for the aristocracy. I honestly couldn’t care less about the specifics anymore.

From the moment we first met she was the greatest pain in my side. And then head, from the moment she first spoke. She is shallow, short-sighted, and disrespectful. And nopony does anything about it. But of course not.

I would’ve hoped that I could avoid individuals like her at the University. I was wrong. I was so very wrong.

To be fair, she doesn’t flaunt her attitudes in my face. At least not anymore. She respects our mutual disdain. That much I can be pleased with. And this is how she has become but a minor annoyance through my days. Still, the way she and the select few she surrounds herself with wear the results of her “research”— during the day I might add, to emphasize the point— is enough to make me want to scream. If it’s not that, it’s the stallions that approach her, whimpering and shaking like a puppy with its hamstrings cut.

Yes, Heart Stream, I know that image is a little disturbing. I’m sure I could’ve come up with something better, but I hate animals almost as much as I hate her, so the fact that I relate the two is surely a coincidence.

My point? Besides a fraud and a defacement to the field of science, there is but one thing I’ll willingly call her.

Whore.

To be fair, variations count as one and the same here. But watch our passings in the halls carefully. I’m sure you might learn a few new words to insult a mare.

And to think she has the gall to call my field of study irrelevant and pointless. If there was one thing that’d make me willing to slash her hamstrings—

Please don’t take this literally. I’ve never acted out on violent thought patterns before. Admittedly, I imagine I’ll read some of this later and be disturbed with myself, but for the moment I experience the emotion of anger, and these are simply my honest thoughts put to paper. And Limelight is just so infuriating.

I should stop now before I land myself in prison, shouldn’t I?

—Crystal Shard

Day 12 —

My apologies for my overreaction at the end of yesterday’s entry. I discussed the issue with Honey Comb today, and she agrees. Although I didn’t quite mention the “imagery” I used. Again, Honey is sensitive. I’ll spare her the violent picture.

In other news, on a scientific front, I’m actually working through what I believe to be an equation for deriving the differences in used magical energy between a straight lamp and my prism series. Well, what little difference there is at least. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that it’s beginning to appear that the number of prisms it would take to light the city would be both economically and spaciously unfeasible.

Frustrating as this may be, it has opened my mind to other possibilities again. Later tonight I plan on attempting to stack prisms into a larger triangular prism. My hope is that the repeating shapes will be able to amplify the effect. In the worst case, this will produce a rather “pretty” rainbow on the wall once I shine light into it.

The last thing I want is a dead end to my research. Not just out of personal pride, but that it would prove Limelight right.

I’ll at least take comfort in the fact that it’d be a first for her.

Unfortunately that thought isn’t helping much.

—Crystal Shard

Day 13 —

I’ve heard the phrase “save the best for last” throughout my life. I’ve also been rather impatient, so I’ve never had a chance to try it until now.

First, the not-so-interesting events of the day.

Honey Comb was fully functional in our classes today. No crying, no head-hanging, and about as much talking as usual. That is to say, minimal to none, but she’s never been a talker to begin with.

Classes were, for once, not a bore either. We were actually taught new, useful information! A small moment of philosophy actually led me to today’s breakthrough once I arrived at home, but I’ll cover that later.

Our lunch break was peaceful and uninterrupted. The weather was overcast, with a few soft rain showers. Exactly how I prefer it. Honey Comb and I shared a loaf of sweetbread. It was superb. Or at least that’s how I’ll choose to remember it. I’ll be marking this day as one of celebration, after all.

Enough about my day, however. Today I managed to break out of the dry spell of test results, and all thanks to whichever professor brought up the subject of creativity today.

This is what he said, to the best of my memory:

“The path of least resistance is always the most tempting. It’’s simple pony nature. It’s simple nature in general. Look at water flow, or molecules, or even air. A pegasus moving a cloud against the wind is more likely to end up with fluff in her face than a change in weather. Her hooves simply cannot match the surface area of the wind, and thus pose the path of least resistance. Even if it is the wrong way.

A common mistake is to take the direct opposite to the path of least resistance in an effort to circumvent this problem. Sometimes the answer really is quite so simple as to take a chance with your first instinct. But as we already know, sometimes it’s not.

Truly elevated thinkers know that the best option is never predefined. Options with merit will rarely be alone. Weighing the strengths and weaknesses of each against each other is the only real way to succeed.”

Consider the following analogy. If I started by assuming I needed to avoid the “path of least resistance” due to its inherent failures for my first tests, then I worked backwards toward the “path” by stacking the prisms on matching sides.

I believe what the professor was implying was that there are solutions often overlooked. So today, I tried a combination of both strategies.

That’s not what has me excited.

Today, on my way home, I came across a jewelry salespony. He seemed to know absolutely nothing of the value of his products, as expected. He was apparently going for the “mystical artifacts” route. Nopony was biting.

The one thing he did have was something of a geometric marvel. From what I could estimate, it was a nearly perfect hexagonal crystal, probably quartz. Out of boredom, I asked what tale he thought went along with the crystal. He started on some rambling tale about a prince and a princess, a desert and a cavern.

He shut his mouth promptly on seeing my cutie mark.

Terrified that I was some sort of appraisal specialist, he offered to pay me to keep quiet. I struck a deal, then took the crystal as payment. The poor old sod deserved it I suppose. The moment I left, I saw him trying to swindle a couple of poor young colts.

The point is, this crystal was the breakthrough. I set it down next to the prisms when I arrived home. The sunlight, low in the sky by then, shone through the row. The concentrated light beam managed to actual heat up my side enough to make me jump. Not quite as hot as sunlight through a magnifying lens, but reminiscent of it nonetheless.

Tomorrow I’ll have the crystal officially appraised to determine the material it is composed of, then place an order for prisms of the same material. Whatever it is, its crystals form a naturally perfect polygon. I figure that will be much more reliable than glass.

—Crystal Shard

Chapter 3: Refracted

Chapter 3

Refracted

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[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 15 —

I wrote it once, and I’ll write it again now; I’m a scientist, not a poet. That being said, I insist it is still “irony” that despite my best efforts, Heart Stream said a resounding “No” to ending my therapy for at least another week. Not because of any grieving. No, that ship has sailed.

One crack about harming animals and he’s forced by university policy to put me on some kind of psychopath watch.

Did I write that he said “No”? I’m sorry, that was incorrect.

His exact words were along the lines of “No fucking way.”

In fact I’m a little impressed with Heart Stream’s vocabulary. It seems I’ve been able to teach him something after all. Or at least I’ve driven him to agree that I shouldn’t be under his “care” in therapy. Either way is fine with me.

In more important news, I managed to place the order for the crystals today. According to the colt I saw yesterday, during my well-deserved break from writing this thing, the rock is some form of “frosted quartz” or something similar. I just wrote down the name so that I could place an order, then left. He was one of those ponies that cared well too much about their menial work, or at least believed well too much that others give a damn about rocks.

In addition, a thought occurred to me about the crystal. Not only is its main body a hexagonal prism, but the ends are hexagonal pyramid shapes. This poses a host of new potential postures and arrangements to shine magical light through, with countless potential results.

I don’t like to be too optimistic, however. I’m merely saying that even if I don’t have another breakthrough thanks to these, I’ll at least be kept busy for many months to come. Sorry, weeks, if I’m to be realistic. Still, it will make for an excellent time-waster in which I have the chance to garner some false hope about the situation.

—Crystal Shard

Day 16 —

Today is going to be an unusual entry. Talk with Honey Comb brought up an interesting and valid point: I haven’t spoke or written to my parents in a year and a half. Given recent events, Honey was shocked that I hadn’t broken this streak.

There are many things I may be apathetic towards, but I acknowledge that I owe a debt to the couple that brought me into this world, even if it is repaid only in “sentimental value”.

Below I have transcribed the letter I managed to write for them today. This will conclude today’s entry, as I’d much rather not spend any more time writing today.

Dear Mother and Father,

May I assume you are doing well? I am, for the most part.

Life at the university is at least as limited as I had expected. I’m grateful for the space and time to conduct research, but that doesn’t mean I have all the time in the world to myself. Classes are mandatory, else one risks eviction from her residence. Of course, I imagine you knew this already. It’s no different than a simple boarding school, except for the greater independence. And that is by far my favorite part of this venture to date. I’m on my own.

Not that you should worry, however. I remembered your request, and have made a “friend”. Her name is Honey Comb. She works with bees. Through this, she offers quite the interesting perspective on many issues. Unfortunately I seem to be the only one at the university who can appreciate this. Most will pass her off as the odd mare who’s taken a liking to insects. Had I not gotten to talking to her myself, I may have done the same thing, admittedly.

My research is going smoothly. Sure I’ve had a few setbacks, but it’s nothing I haven’t been able to recover from. But I’m sure you could’ve predicted that on your own.

I believe it only fair to mention the tragedy of late. I don’t wish to bring any sadness upon you, but I’d rather not withhold information.

Honey Comb’s father recently passed away in a construction accident. I wish I could say it was an honorable death. I wish I could say it was remotely dignified. Instead, he was crushed like an insect under a giant slab.

Believe me, that is the gentler way of breaking the news.

As a result of my “closeness” with the stallion, I’ve been placed under mandatory therapy or “grief counseling” by the university. As I stated before, I am alright, and there is no need to worry over me. Besides, even Honey Comb herself is over the death by now. Why shouldn’t I be?

In any event, I send my best regards. I wish you luck in your future endeavors.

Sincerely,

Crystal

Day 17 —

Great news! The Royal University of the Moon has announced its first annual...

Full Moon Ball

In case I haven’t implied it strongly enough, “Great news!” was sarcastic.

I hate such gatherings, typically. What more is it than an exchange of social customs and proving to each and every other pony in the room that you’re as much of a blowhard as the next? Worse still, there’s a dress code. Whoever invented the ballroom dress better have been burned at the stake like she deserved. Most clothing is completely unnatural to a pony. A dress is a relative anathema.

I’m not biased unfairly either. I’ve had this utter disdain since well before meeting Limelight. That’s not to say she’s helped my opinion in any way, shape, or form, however.

The one upside to this ball is that it is an opportunity for a select few volunteers to present their findings. This, in turn, leads to two more problems for me. For one, if I were to present, I’d need something presentable by the end of the week. Secondly, attendance is mandatory. Whether I go there for science or social stigma, I may very well end up outright humiliating myself.

I don’t like to lie about something such as this, but if I have to, I have to. And if the school officials become sticklers for details, I’m sure there’s something non-lethal I’d be willing to catch by licking it off of a petri dish in the Medical Studies wing.

—Crystal Shard

Day 18 —

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I have no choice in the matter, now. I’ve been called out on my honor. I’ll give you three guesses as to by who.

That bloody whore knows nothing of the pressures of actual science. She believes she can just stitch together a few pieces of cloth, wrap them around a pony and call it “science”. Blasphemy. No prior knowledge, no hypothesis, no experimentation— She makes me sick.

And then today she managed to somehow garner more hatred from me.

We passed in the hall, and at first it seemed like any other day. We exchanged our usual greetings...

“Freak.”

“Slut.”

...and were to proceed on our way. Except she decided to break tradition.

“Oh, Crystal,” she said. “I can’t wait to see your presentation at the ball.”

“Under what delusion did you come to believe I was presenting?” I responded.

“So you aren’t presenting? Pity,” she said. “I guess everypony will just have to make due with my findings...”

I don’t remember the details of the exchange that followed. More names were exchanged, but in the end, I was forced to take the bait. Pardon me, for a moment. Yelling this doesn’t seem to be relieving enough stress, so I’m going to try to write my expression of fury instead.

Fucking. Whore.

Ah, that does feel better. But I should get to working instead of dawdling with this silly book. At least Honey Comb has agreed to help me. I don’t know who owes who at this point.

—Crystal Shard

Day 21 —

This entry may very will trod all over Heart Stream’s rules but I don’t honestly fucking care right about now. Too much has happened this evening to go undocumented. This is so exciting it borders on terrifying. In fact it may just be terrifying, if for other reasons.

I’m sorry, I need to slow down and present an adequate amount of context for this entry to make the least bit of sense. I must remember that there are readers besides myself to consider for the future.

First, me and Honey Comb have spent the last two to three days trying to work with an algorithm I devised to generate prism combinations to test. We managed to split up the work into a sort of assembly line. She would arrange the crystals, I would shine light through and record the results. Rinse, repeat, etc.

This evening was the night that the ball was to take place. I believe we had both worked ourselves to a stupor. I myself remember tears, just not having any time to feel the stress. This was how we went about the process. Testing, testing, testing. I at one point honestly believed it would be the death of us. This was more of a relief than anything. It was an out, the promise of an end. As I see it now, it is rather fortunate that neither of us died. Or so I hope.

The sun was nearing the horizon. This marked approximately one hour remaining until the ball. The algorithm wasn’t anywhere close to having run its course. I decided we needed a new approach, but was unable to provide one. For this, I am a little ashamed. One of my biggest problems with other ponies is their constant willingness to complain, but never the ability or potential to solve the problems they complain about. Luckily, Honey Comb once again proved the perfect mare to balance my flaws.

“Honey bees, like many other insects, have much different eyes than the average living creature,” she began. I was dumbfounded, but too exhausted to argue or question.

“Rather than having one, rounded lens per eye, they have large, multi-faceted lenses that allow them to see and process light from a much wider radius than a larger organism could ever manage.”

It took me a minute, but what she was saying did hit me. It was a longshot, but of course after fourty-eight hours and then some time anypony would be desperate.

We arranged the crystals in a dome shape, matching edges to sides to form a perfect hemisphere. Well, it was somewhere in the mass. I had a diagram somewhere, but it’s since been lost on my desk.

It worked. It finally worked.

Honey steadied the dome while I prepared the spell. A simple shot of white light, with no other effects besides appearance, right into the point of one of the outermost crystals.

What we witnessed after this can only be described as harmonious resonance of light.

Through one prism to the next the light broke apart, came back together, broke apart again, and so on. The dome showered the walls of my home in a cascade of every color imaginable, each wavering through the crystals’ edges as from underneath rippling water.

The strangest part, at least at the time, was that I was doing nothing to maintain the light.

It was autonomous. Somehow, despite the speed of the light, there was always some trapped within these crystals. Well, for a few minutes anyway.

But it wasn’t the light that was trapped, I realized. It was the magic. I tested the hypothesis with another shot of the spell, this time in a purple spectrum. The colors in the room became dominated by purple hues, ranging from that of a bruise to that of a violet.

Honey Comb was speechless, awestruck. I had to literally shake her just to get her to look at me.

“We’ve done it!” I proclaimed.

There were still no words from her. Only a half-collapse half-hug. Once again, I was too tired to argue, despite being uncomfortable with the gesture. Oh well. It was called for.

But all this was only the first discovery of the night.

We had little time to waste. We got dressed for the ball: Honey wore a simple dress. It reminded me of a protective beekeeping suit, appropriately enough, between the thicker white cloth and mesh... somethings. Damn clothing, I’ll never understand the “intricacies” of it all. All I know is that she has her face veiled, something nopony could blame her for, despite recent optimism.

In any event, I managed to find something simple, yet dark, from her closet. She’s a little smaller than me, but it fit just the same. The important part was the necklace I fashioned. I took the keystone crystal, I believe the first one I acquired from the swindling salespony, and attached it to a necklace. The plan was that I’d surprise everyone by presenting the magical resonance of the crystal.

Never rely on the integrity of a plan.

I’ll skip ahead to the important part. We arrived at the ball with but a minute or two to spare before the opening ceremony. Most had already filed into their seats. We managed to slip in the door and find an empty spot towards the back of the room. I believe the others at the table were a couple of professors. Or possibly their grandparents. They were old enough that I worried about reporting their deaths every time one set his head down.

The headmaster gave a speech, and everypony listened as best they could. It took him a few tries to get an amplification spell working on his voice. I’d point out how sad that is if I didn’t think that would just waste time between now and my point.

It was after the speech that the next important event occurred. Food was served in a form of buffet. Me and Honey had just helped ourselves to an extensive amount of food, a form of make-up-meal if you will.

I could barely see over a loaf of bread, and I almost walked into none other than Limelight. Now, under most circumstances— Sorry, I don’t want to ruin the ending just yet.

As per usual, there were our greetings. Honey looked uncomfortable, but at the time I wasn’t too worried. Honey Comb never liked Limelight, but she still gets uncomfortable when me and Limelight become so confrontational. It’s a pity, but I can understand that fighting these battles is my job.

There was a crack about my presentation, which I was confident I’d make her look the fool over for. She made some joke about our dresses, and I called her a whore. Nothing unusual. But then she crossed a line that I never would’ve dreamed she would.

“So, Honey Comb,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want any vegetables? Squash perhaps?”

I’d like to hope I don’t have to explain that one.

Honey dropped her plate. It shattered on the floor. I set mine down to focus on comforting her as she broke down sobbing. Honestly, that wasn’t my true focus. If looks could kill, Limelight would’ve dropped before Honey Comb’s plate.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” said Limelight, or something to that effect. I probably remember it as being more condescending than it was, but it might as well have been just as bitter.

I believe she left the main hall to look for the lavatory a few minutes later. By then me and Honey had cleaned up and relocated to our seats. She was beginning to calm down. I wasn’t. I saw my opportunity in Limelight’s leaving. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

What happened in that hallway is hard to define without explaining the exchange proper. I’ll do my best to recall what was said, but I can’t vouch for its total accuracy.

“Don’t you walk away you miserable little cunt!” I yelled.

Limelight barely glanced one eye back towards me. “What was that?” she mocked. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“Strike a nerve, brainless,” I retorted. “That was too far and you know it.”

“It’s not my fault that she’s so pathetic.”

I gasped. “What did you say?”

“She’s pathetic,” she offered. “How many times can one pony break down before they get over it? Come on, Crystal, even you have to understand that!” By now she had turned around all the way.

“I understand that the sanctity of mourning seems to be a little beyond your mental capacity.”

“What, do you still cry yourself to sleep about it?” she scoffed.

I ignored her. “You’re going back in there and apologizing. To her and to me.”

She laughed haughtily. “And you’re going to make me? How? Are you going to impress me with your ‘real magic’?”

I stomped my hoof. “Why are you so impossible to talk sense with?!”

“Why are you so sensitive all of a sudden?”

“Say you’re sorry,” I demanded.

“Never!”

“Say it!”

“I’m not going to!”

“Say it!!” I could feel the blood boiling in my face by now.

“Get away from m—” She cut off mid word. Her facial expression gradually settled to a blank stare. She assumed a natural, upright posture, as opposed to her usually dramatic “flair”. Then she said in the most expressionless tone of voice I’ve ever heard, “Yes, Crystal.”

I was puzzled. I waved a hoof in front of her face. Her eyes didn’t budge. I glanced up and down the hall; we were completely alone. It was in this awkward silence that I finally noticed an unnatural white noise: a low humming. It was coming from below me.

As I found out, it was coming from just below me. Below my head, rather. The crystal on my necklace was glowing a cool light blue. The same color with which my magic has always manifested. In fact, at that moment, I caught my horn bearing the same glow.

“Say you’re sorry,” I repeated on a hunch.

“I’m sorry,” she said, again in that disconcertingly flat tone.

This barely assisted my understanding. I backtracked through my thoughts; first I was angry, then I was furious and demanding. I was desperate. There was a brief moment, as I had last yelled...

I had tried to cast a spell on her. Nothing major, just enough to control her mouth for a moment. I believe I had planned to follow it up with “Was that so hard?”

Something went wrong, clearly. This wasn’t just her mouth controlled. There was no way to know for certain the extent of the problem, and any potential solution, without testing, however.

“Sit,” I commanded. She sat on her haunches, crumpling her dress.

“Yes, Crystal,” she repeated.

“Stand back up.” She did so, repeating her mantra.

“Stand on two legs,” I tried.

She reared up and tried to balance, despite shaking hooves. “Yes, Crystal,” she said once more.

“Stop.” She fell back into that perfect posture.

Total mental domination. She was as a charmed slave. Somehow, I had managed to turn a simple spell into what was thought impossible: perfect mind control. The crystal was the only explanation. If I accidentally directed a wild amount of energy into the spell, it could’ve been picked up in the crystal. From there, it resonated, becoming amplified beyond what I could ever manage on my own. To my knowledge, this was a first for any pony, not just myself.

But in all theories of mind control spells, there is always one flaw. Something that no pony under anypony else’s control would ever do. I couldn’t help myself. I had to test it right there.

I glanced over toward a large nearby window. I took a deep breath, then double-checked the hall to either side. No one was in this part of the university besides us.

“Walk over to the window,” I directed her. She confirmed the command, then did so. “Now,” I continued, “break it.”

I never expected her to listen. At first I thought it was just abject stupidity that prevented her from resisting, but as she went on... even I have to admit that she couldn’t be that irresponsible toward her own well-being.

She bucked the glass. It was too thick; it barely reacted to her. She continued kicking until a crack showed up. She turned around and used her front hooves, throwing all of her weight into the kicks. In this motion I saw her face. Despite her violent behavior, her expression was as blank as before.

It only took a few more kicks. The window shattered, letting her front half through. I stopped her from falling with magic. I’ll note that what I attributed to adrenaline at the time was in actuality probably the crystal’s doing, as she took about as much effort to move as a standard wood door.

“Face me,” I commanded.

“Yes, Crystal,” she responded. Seeing her from the front was disturbing. Jagged shards of glass punctured her skin and dress. One piece was not two inches from her left eye. And every hole was running bright red with blood flowing to the floor.

And she stood at unmoving attention nonetheless.

This was my second discovery. It took until I arrived at home tonight for it to truly sink in. Understand, I panicked in the hallway. I called for help. Medical staff came to take her to the Hospital Wing.

I managed to fabricate some story of a fight between the two of us gone out-of-hoof. Not the best choice, given the near-expulsion that netted me, but at least it was believable after how I stormed out after her. To clarify, the only reason I wasn’t expelled was my exact wording; according to my “account”, some grapple had us both thrown towards the window, and had we not been spinning around trying to get a better grip on each other’s hair, I would’ve hit the window first.

The blood on my dress explained any doubt of that one away. Imbeciles.

Only Honey Comb got the real story. And I get the sense that she’s uncomfortable with it.

Streetlamps be damned. I’ve come upon a true discovery here with these crystals. Not just light, but any magic can be enhanced perhaps tenfold through proper focus. That is my prediction. Tomorrow I begin my new research. There is no doubt, this will be able to benefit every semi-competent unicorn in Equestria.

All I have to do is wait for my new “assistant” to make her way home. Then the testing can truly begin.

—Crystal Shard.

Chapter 4: Monsters

Chapter 4

Monsters

~~~~~~~~~~

[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 22 —

This morning I awoke with a bit of a start. I had no idea just how strong her will to follow orders was.

“At first chance, after arriving at your home, come to my home and knock on the door.”

Apparently this had her arriving before the crack of dawn. Frankly, I wasn’t sure if it was her or somepony else breaking and entering. Either way, I answered the door with a heavy prism held behind my back.

She just stood there, once more, with nothing more than a blank expression on her face and almost-perfect posture. I write “almost-perfect” to correct myself from yesterday. In fact I should say this is “almost-perfect” mind control. Perfection is impossible in most scenarios. It is certainly impossible in such vague, subjective areas as posture and control.

That is my goal today. To further test the extent of mental domination. I’m not convinced that willingness to cause self-harm is so much a sign of total control so much as blatant charisma mixed with the subject’s natural stupidity.

I digress, however. As you may have guessed, I am writing this entry in the morning. I won’t be attending classes today, and I expect all of my day will be consumed with testing her limitations.

And no, I don’t expect this to be all revenge. At most, I’ll destroy her dignity, but only before me, not in public. That is a test for another day.

— Crystal Shard

Day 23 —

Today marks a rather noteworthy milestone. And I shall make it clear, so that I and any readers may understand.

Starting today, I am free of all of the terms set out by my therapist, Heart Stream.

Unfortunately, the circumstances surrounding this make it more of a confusing than joyous occasion.

It all started when I was pulled aside by Heart Stream. No, I don’t mean he asked me. Literally, he dragged me into his office by my tail. Of all the indignities I’ve suffered— I’m sorry, that’s not the point. He was furious that I hadn’t shown up yesterday, especially after the incident at the Ball. I had Limelight wait in the hall. Somehow, he didn’t question this at the time.

He demanded that I let him see my journal. I’ll admit, I almost gave it to him, before I remembered the more recent entries. I dodged the question, kept it away from his hooves, and all of that.

Of course he managed to slip it out of my hooves with magic anyway. Not my mistake, in this case, but his.

He skimmed over the newest entries, as usual. He asked a few short questions over my opinions of Limelight. I was honest, of course. I believe he’s just used to my language by now. Honestly, he didn’t seem to give a damn anymore.

It was the last entry of the prior week that made him stop and actually read the material. As you can imagine, his reaction was less than favorable.

“You have to end it,” he said. “Right now. Whatever you’re doing to her, you—”

“I’m not going to abandon a groundbreaking area of study just because you tell me to.”

“It’s not groundbreaking, it’s cruel!” he retorted.

“More cruel than if I had let her fall out the window?”

“Oh, we’ll be discussing that later. But yes, I believe it is a fate worse than death.”

“Enlighten me,” I insisted.

“She can’t move, she can’t speak... can she even think for herself right now?!”

“Could she do that beforehand?” I scoffed.

“This is serious, Crystal. Let her go. Now.”

I simply shook my head.

“Crystal!”

And then came the moment that finally shocked me.

I leaned up to his face, glared into his eyes, and simply said, “Stop talking.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes staring out into empty space. “Yes, Crystal.”

Just like that, I had accidentally managed to garner a new test subject. And believe me, I checked for myself. Limelight was still waiting patiently at the door, probably confusing all of the passersby with her blank stare.

The strangest thing about this was that this time, I hadn’t tried to cast a spell. It was automatic. Both the crystal on my necklace, which I’ve refused to take off since enslaving Limelight, and my horn were glowing. The crystal hummed, just as it had a few nights before. But even with two entirely separate ponies under my control, I felt no weariness from the effort. Rather, I felt well-rested. Of course compared to the night before, getting any prior sleep would’ve made me feel well-rested.

I brought Limelight inside to test. Sure enough, I had as much control over both as I ever could’ve wanted.

“Sit down,” I said.

Both sat down across the table from me, and repeated in near-perfect unison, “Yes, Crystal.”

I paused to think, then said, “Limelight, stand up.”

Only she did. Heart Stream remained on the ground.

Asymmetric control, as well as perfect obedience. The only troubling fact of this was that they remembered their names. Although this is probably okay. If I ever release them, should I find a means to, then I won’t have to re-teach them everything.

The one remaining mystery became the exact cause. Clearly it was magic, clearly it happened during stressful situations. The only real connection was that I, the caster, wanted somepony else, the target, to do something that they weren’t doing, and that the crystal seemed to assist the spell.

Further testing is required. However, I do believe that I should determine the extent of my control, when split between two subjects, before worrying about the exact cause. Just in case I should lose that control prematurely.

— Crystal Shard

Day 24 —

Not much to report today. Two days ago, Limelight’s test proved successful obedience across the board. Today, both her and Heart Stream’s tests proved identical results. Eerily identical results I might add. Their actions mirrored even each other, notwithstanding differences in their builds. Although to be perfectly honest, Heart Stream does have a relatively feminine build.

I’ve come to the conclusion that, given that the crystal necklace is still glowing while my horn isn’t, the crystal has taken the burden of managing the energy necessary to maintain control. However, I do have one further test to determine if this is, in fact, the case. It is late tonight as I write this. The new test will have to wait until morning.

Oh, and some of the staff from the University have started asking around about the two. I’ll be staying on “leave” and hiding the two until I’m ready to come forward with my discoveries, as I’m sure the professors couldn’t possibly appreciate these breakthrough discoveries as much as a fresh mind. Or they might want to take credit in some manner. Either way, I must keep this hidden.

— Crystal Shard

Day 25 —

The new test has proven results I would never have predicted in eons. This is good news that I am reporting. Very, very good news.

I was a little wary at first. I tested my personal crystal’s resonance this morning by determining the relative strength increase on my telekinetic magic. Assuming that me and Heart Stream had approximately the same mental strength unaided by high emotions or resonance, I directed him to lift a prism across the room, then place it back. I’ve learned through observation that no time is spared in completing objectives that the thralls have been given, and this was no exception.

Total time to complete the task: approximately twelve seconds.

I moved myself into the same location and attempted to repeat his results. The prism ended up flying towards us. In a panic, I released it mid-flight. I should’ve instructed one of them to catch it, but instead it slammed into Heart Stream’s chest. He barely recoiled from the blow.

To be safe, I instructed him to replace the prism, rather than do it myself. This time I anticipated the speed. I had to react slightly faster than I believe I should’ve, but I managed to slow the prism down before it hit anypony on the second attempt.

Total time for me to complete the task: approximately three seconds.

Tenfold may have been an exaggeration before, but I can’t be sure. There exists no proper unit of measure for magical strength, and I doubt that if it did exist it would have a direct relationship to speed of telekinesis.

In any event, this left me with two potential hypotheses for the test I had already planned on conducting today.

Neither were proven correct.

The original idea was that I could similarly “attach” crystals to the other subjects in order to transfer the burden of their maintaining control over them to a more obvious and less-stressed source.

After today, I had an alternative hypothesis. Giving subjects their own crystals would amplify their magical ability, which they clearly still had full use of, to similar states as my own. The only difference would be that they could more easily manage the difference in power without worry of self-harm.

So, I once again used extra cord to fashion a necklace with a crystal. Just to be on the safe side, I picked a smaller one than my own. I gave the necklace to Heart Stream, then instructed him to perform the prism-lifting test from before.

Total time to complete the task: approximately eleven seconds, optimistically.

I was puzzled. I had him repeat the test with and without the crystal at least seven times. Every time, he had no real improvement due to the crystal. At first I thought it might’ve been due to an improper “spark” to “light” the crystal. But then I tried to lift the crystal off of his neck.

It shot upward, scraping his jaw sharply, and almost smashed to the ceiling. I carefully replaced it.

The crystal was glowing cool blue.

Of course, I performed the prism-lift myself a few more times.

Total time, on average, to complete the task: approximately one second.

Multi-resonance, just like in the dome on the night of the ball. Of course, it only made sense. I blame being overwhelmed by all of this discovery of late for my stupidity in missing this simple answer.

And yes, I have since applied a crystal to Limelight as well. So long as I may control this additional reserve of power, there is no use in not making use of it.

— Crystal Shard

P.S. Today’s visiting royal guards were morons. I swear I didn’t even have to say “no I haven’t seen them” with a straight face for them to take me for my word.

Day 26 —

I don’t know if it has to do with the increased capacity or not, but I’ve proven that two is far from my limit. I’m now up to four ponies under my control, and I don’t notice any mental strain on my behalf.

I decided to experiment in the field today. And by “field” I of course mean any social setting, not a grassy plain with flowers. In this case, the University. Risky, yes, but I managed to keep enough of a distance between me, Limelight, and Heart Stream to avoid suspicion. Combined with an order to “act natural, yet busy”, nopony had a fucking clue as they just got passed off as somepony else’s problem by the two. It’d almost be hilarious if not for the glory of this discovery.
First, the moment that left me in utter disbelief. I thought Limelight was a moron. I was mistaken. Her friends were and are morons.

Now, I’m not one for overt practical jokes, but I saw the opportunity as too easy. Two of her “cult” as I like to refer to them as were waiting outside of a classroom. Heart Stream was directed to pass by into his office and wait. Limelight was directed to approach her friends. I watched from around a corner, a simple voice-throwing spell ready to direct Limelight further.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Oh, good morning, Limelight!”

“Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!”

There is no proper way to express in writing just how insincere their concern sounded. Perhaps if I were to infer their thoughts, I may be able to. But I’m controlling minds, not reading them.

“Nowhere important,” she replied.

“W-what happened to your dress?” asked one of the simpletons.

Oh that’s right, I forgot to mention this. I left her in the same garb since the night I first captured her. Including the holes torn by the shattered window.

“I made some stylistic changes.”

To be perfectly honest, I never expected them to believe that line. How they did is completely beyond me. It would only seem to further support the moron hypothesis. I even humored them by faking a conversation through Limelight for a good few minutes. The exact details began to disgust me. No wonder they couldn’t see that she was mindless. The conversation had less real meaning to it than Limelight’s voice had emotion to it.

“I really like your dress, by the way!” one of them said.

I had enough. By now it wasn’t fun anymore. It was just mind-numbing. Perhaps I could forgive Limelight for her stupidity, had it not been likely her fault that the conversation went this way to begin with.

I passed around the corner, leaving Limelight to stand at attention. As usual, these friends gave me their practiced condescending stares.

“Oh, look who it is, Limelight!” one of them insisted.

Of course there was no answer. The fool.

“Yes, Limelight, do look at me, if you would. And you may resume standard acknowledgement.”

“Yes, Crystal,” she said, obeying just so.

Her friends’ jaws might as well have hit the floor. I couldn’t help but scoff at their ignorance.

“What are you doing?!” one of them asked Limelight in a sharp whisper. Again, I couldn’t resist the laugh. She tried to nudge Limelight, but I pushed her aside effortlessly with magic. I noted a particularly strong hum from my crystal at the time. It only made sense, though. A full grown pony took about as much effort to move as a book would normally, thanks to the resonance.

“Give it up,” I said. “Your old ‘friend’ is with me now.”

“How could you possibly—” She fumbled with her words. The other was merely dumbstruck.

I was too, for the moment. Somehow, I hadn’t triggered the spell as I meant to. Either that meant that I would be limited to just two, which was unexpected, or I hadn’t met every prerequisite for a successful takeover. I ended up with a lucky hunch.

“Limelight,” I directed, “tell her she’s worthless.”

“You’re worthless,” she said.

Her friend’s expression broke immediately. In keeping with my hunch, I waited to see the glint of a tear in her eye before making my next move.

“How could you say that...” she muttered pathetically.

“Now, listen to me,” I insisted. I even grabbed her head in magic and forced her to face me. “Give it up. Now.”

The hunch was more than right. Her eyes went from miserable to flat and blank in all of half of a second.

But accompanying this was the strangest thing. I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Not only were my horn and the crystal on my necklace glowing from the spell, but so were Limelight’s. Specifically, Limelight had leaned back, shut her eyes, and the glow came across as a hexagonal pattern manifest in the air from the center of her forehead. And it was in the color of my magic, not hers.

“Yes, Crystal,” said her friend. I believe it was about now that the other students began to crowd around at a distance to watch. There was some kind of disturbed murmur beginning amongst them.

“Heart Stream!” I called. “Get out here!”

When he came out of his office, he had the residual signs of magic use, including the glowing crystal and a faint version of the pattern lingering around his face. He acknowledged the command once he took his position behind me.

Tears flowed freely from the panicked friend remaining. “What’s going on?! How are you— How is she—”

I believe this was the best line I could’ve come up with to trigger it in this case.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t be scared.”

So there you have it. I’m up to four “recruits”, with no apparent repercussions. Well, none to my personal being at least. After the crowd screamed and dispersed, University officials personally escorted me and my “victims” off of the grounds in a hurry. And by “escorted” I mean physically thrown out, along with a desperately-toned and -phrased informal expulsion with threat of arrest by the royal guard. I’m not sure if that actually counts as a real expulsion or not, or if that applies to those I have under my control. They might’ve actually said something about releasing them, come to think of it.

Either way, I’m sure I could find a way to teleport myself or any of the others inside should I need to. Plenty of energy to go around between a five-crystal resonance pattern.

Note to self: determine a single word to use in reference to those I have mental control over.

— Crystal Shard

Day 27 —

Today’s word for them shall be “thralls”, to test its use in conversation and the journal.

I decided that I should have a period of time between yesterday and when I do attempt to return to the University, if for nothing else than to allow for the idea of this school of magic to grow on the higher-ups. Not that a break would necessarily be a bad thing. I have enough thralls for now to act as both lab assistants and test subjects.

Today’s tests consisted of measuring pain tolerance among the thralls.

As with Limelight, there appears to be no limit. Nothing made any of the subjects respond in any manner whatsoever besides physically accommodating the movement of the hot iron or the knife. All these accomplished were blue-black burns and some deep cut wounds across their legs and sides. The best I could manage to fix the wounds was a hasty stitching job. At least it stopped the bleeding.

I also had a chance to play around with what I like to call the “joint casting”, the phenomenon that occurred yesterday with Limelight and Heart Stream upon enthralling the others. So far I’ve determined a few key features. For one, it never occurs in reaction to telekinesis, but does occur for almost every other spell unless I forcibly minimize that spell’s potency. In addition, the color is always that of my magic, nopony else’s. To that fact, only I may trigger a joint cast. If I instruct one of the others to cast a spell, it is limited to their ability only.

I’ve devised a new protocol in relation to the day’s events. I shall generate the illusory image of every given thrall over top of their true image, possibly masking their true image in the process. This illusory copy will prevent me from having to see injuries or other, similar occurrences inflicted during testing.

Also, out of boredom, I believe I will start this practice on myself as well. Any imperfections or other problems I have with my appearance should be masked automatically that way.

Not that I’m the kind of pony to constantly fret over her appearance, mind you.

— Crystal Shard

Day 28 —

Why?

For four hours I’ve been asking myself that simple question. Why?

I finally picked this journal up to organize my thoughts. Heart Stream’s methods be damned if they don’t work most of the time. But right now I don’t think even this will make me feel any more secure.

Honey Comb passed by my home today. I should’ve noticed. I should’ve dropped what I was doing. I should’ve even answered the door. Instead all I did was shout “Busy!” and continue on. I am but an imbecile.

Later I decided to take the others to visit Honey Comb. I believe to make up for earlier in the day.

I forget myself sometimes. I promise no perfect accuracy, but I feel it best to tell the events exactly as they occurred. I can promise as much as that I will not forget what happened for some time. The events have not stopped repeating themselves in my head for four hours.

“Honey Comb?” I called when I arrived. “Are you here?” Receiving no response, I ventured further inside. Once the door had shut behind us I realized just how dark it was in the house. It was— and still is, an overcast day. Inside it felt like night had already fallen.

The entryway was simple. Something easy to afford. The entire abode was. I imagine it was whatever she could manage after costs for the university.

There was something unnerving about the old furniture in the darkness. It was almost as if every creak from every chair and wood cabinet was made by something trying to hide from yet watch me. I didn’t spend much time in the living room.

I finally found Honey Comb in the kitchen. She was standing before the sink, silhouetted by the light shining in through pulled curtains.

“Oh there you are,” I said. “I apologize for before, I was simply preoccupied—”

“You were busy,” she finished for me. “You were caught up in this new research.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Well I’m finished for today, and I thought I’d check in on you,” I explained. “Here, watch: Limelight, fetch us some cups for tea.”

“Yes, Crystal.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Honey muttered.

“Nonsense, it’ll be like having our own little serv—”

“Please!” she yelled suddenly. I caught glimpse of her eye: bloodshot, wide open.

“Honey Comb, are you alright?” I asked. “And Limelight, hold on.”

A tear fell from Honey’s eye. “Look at yourself,” she said. “What are you even doing?”

“I’m sorry?” I tilted my head. “Well I’m standing, and talking to you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Crystal!” she yelled again, slamming her hoof to the ground. “Open your fucking eyes already!”

I had never heard Honey Comb swear before. I calmed my tone of voice as best I could. “I’m sorry, Honey Comb. I still don’t know what you mean."

She hid her face from me. “I don’t even know you anymore,” she muttered. “I thought you were better than this.”

“Honey—”

“I thought you weren’t like they said you were!”

“I really don’t—”

“Crystal, you’ve become a... a complete monster!” she screamed. “Why are you doing this to them?!”

“It’s just an experiment. I’ll let them go when it’s over.”

“Liar,” she accused. “This won’t be over until you’ve proven you can kill them. I know you. I know your ‘limits’. You don’t have any. So long as you get results, it’s all perfectly fine for you, isn’t it?”

“This is differe—”

“No it isn’t!” she yelled. “I’ve seen you. They’re just puppets to you. Slaves. Worthless bags of flesh. They’re your playthings. Crystal, nopony cuts open a live pony for any justifiable reason. And you know that!”

“This is a form of magic never before effectively utilized in the history of magic—”

“You know why? Because it’s cruel. It’s evil. It’s sick.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering.”

“Honey Comb, you know I wouldn’t waste my time if I didn’t have a purpose to my research.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she muttered. “You only spend time on important things.”

“Precisely.”

“That’s why you forgot about me so easily.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

Honey Comb smiled as another tear dropped from her face. “My father’s dead. I miss him. I really miss him. And for a while, I didn’t think it was worth it.”

“What was worth what?” I asked softly. She outright ignored me.

“I got some encouragement from Heart Stream, you know. To move on. He advised me to seek shelter in the loved ones I still had. Friends, family,” she explained. With a sigh, she added the lynchpin to her story. “I had confided in you for comfort.”

“Well I’m sorry that I was busy for a short while, but you seemed to have moved on! How was I to know—”

“You walked out on me that night at the Ball,” she mumbled. “And you never came back.”

“I was trying to defend you,” I insisted.

“Not just that night. I never saw Crystal again.”

“Honey, I’m Crystal. I’m right here.”

“You’re not Crystal. You’re not my friend.”

I shook my head. In a raised voice, I demanded, “And what makes you say that?!”

“You’re not the same,” she muttered. “You’re hurting these ponies. And you won’t stop.” She shut her eyes and sighed. Suddenly her eyes snapped open again. She yelled, “You took away the only comfort I had left!”

“Honey, I—”

“Enough!” she screamed. She buckled over, sobbing. “I’m done. I know I won’t be able to reason with you.”

“What is there to reason with? You’re clearly overreacting.”

“I’m alone,” she muttered between tears. “And I’m scared.”

And finally I saw the knife. A butcher’s cleaver, hovering by way of her magic. And Honey had it held up to her throat.

“Honey Comb, wait, I’m sorry, I—” I blurted out everything I could think of at once.

“Goodbye, Crystal,” she said flatly. “Or whatever monster you are now.”

I tried to stop it. I truly did. I will never stop telling myself that. But I forgot my magic in the moment. I forgot about the crystals, I forgot about my victims. I forgot common fucking sense.

My hoof slammed to the counter just as the knife whisked by. Her blood splashed across my face. Some even hit me in the eye. It didn’t keep the sight from being as vivid as it remains now. I could see through the blood. The slashed muscles flailing within her neck as she gargled and choked on the spit, blood, and probably vomit. Her eyes rolled back while more tears gushed out. I was frozen. There was absolutely nothing I could do but watch. Watch as my best friend succeeded in ending her own life.

All because of me.

I started crying uncontrollably. For the record, I haven’t stopped yet. I held onto her as she collapsed, her blood running over me. Mixed with my tears, it must have looked like a red river running into a pool on the floor.

I buckled over her and shut my eyes, trying to fight the tears. There was a part of me that wanted to grab the knife and join her. But again, I forgot my magic.

“No!” I choked out. I heard a faint voice behind me.

“What... where...” Limelight muttered.

My eyes widened. Control had been broken. The spell was gone. I was losing them. I had no choice but to act quickly. Rashly.

“No!” I screamed and whipped around to face her. The hum that accompanied the scream was nothing short of the most unnatural noise ever to cross my ears. Just from that, I felt a migraine as it started. I’m not sure, but I may have even triggered a nosebleed in the action. Either way, what happened next dwarfed all before it in my memory.

Limelight coughed once. Then a second time, spitting up blood onto the floor. She looked at her stomach, then me.

I realized my horn was glowing, as well as both of our crystals.

She screamed. And she didn’t stop. She coughed up another spattering of blood, then fell to the floor. Blood began to run out of her eye sockets. Blood mixed with tears, likely, as seems to be the theme of the day. Soon from her nose and ears, too. The blood started to give off steam. Her right eye rolled back into her head, then quite literally melted into a shivering bloody blob. I imagine it had the consistency of an egg prepared for breakfast. She convulsed on the floor as she entered shock. Her mouth fell open, releasing a cloud of steam and another stream of blood.

The final straw was when her second eye rolled out of her head and melted on the floor. I leaned on the counter and vomited profusely into the sink. I dared another glance at Limelight.

Her body was shriveled up into a pale mass. Her coat had simply dropped off of her in places. She looked more like a wilted skeleton than a pony anymore, laying in a four foot diameter puddle of blood, hair, and flesh.

The rest doesn’t matter in so much detail. I left Limelight’s corpse in that house. Honey Comb, on the other hoof, I could never leave. But I haven’t spoken a word since “Please take Honey Comb’s body home with us.”

Why?

She is on heavy refrigeration at the moment. As best as I could manage at least. It involves a sealed area and magically chilled prisms. I don’t feel like explaining the details. And I shut her eyes and cleaned off her coat, of course.

I have much to think about. Everything she said. What happened to Limelight. What to do about Honey Comb from here.

If I am already a monster, I should have no reservations. And I owe it to her. She deserves so much better than this.

I need this journal now more than ever. My brain is losing its grip. Overwhelmed by emotions. I can barely stand it.

Tomorrow I will explain new policies. Tonight, I must try to stop crying so that I may sleep. Whether I deserve it or not.

Why?

— C

Chapter 5: The Royal We

Chapter 5

The Royal We

~~~~~~~~~~

[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 29 —

Well, today I figured that I could sink no lower no matter what I would try to do. Besides, I am a firm believer in the ends justifying the means.

Yes, Crystal, keep telling yourself that.

I sent Heart Stream and one of Limelight’s friends. Ex-friends, now. I sent them to the university’s library. Of course this was not without resistance, what with all the staff and students trying to ask questions about their respective absences. I expected as much, of course, what with the ever-present investigations I had to hide from with just Limelight. Still, a few instructed grunts and “I’m fine”’s alleviated half the problem with little effort.

In any event, using a few spells I managed to use Heart Stream as a substitute to my being there. One for his eyes, that I could see, and another two embedded in his ears. One let me speak instructions such as the aforementioned, the other let me hear his surroundings. The disorientation took a few minutes to adapt to, but afterward it worked perfectly.

To anypony who asked, the other was there purely to assist Heart Stream, as some punishment or other. I believe only one pony bothered to question the ruse, as they were to enter a back section of the library. As much as I regret it now, I ended up distracting the colt via seduction through the mare. It’s lucky he didn’t get to touch her, however. I haven’t perfected using an illusion to cover for all senses, and I distinctly remember her having crusted-over scarring from previous testing.

Heart Stream seemed to account for enough clearance to get to the section I needed from that point. One book, with a worn leather cover and the illustration of a skull on the front. A spellbook, to be precise. Locked up for a reason.

Necromancy: the school of magic centered around reanimating and manipulating the bodies and souls of the dead.

As I implied before, why not? It’s not like I could possibly fuck up Honey Comb’s life any further.

I read up on the details of a basic reanimation spell. Apparently my presumptions had been correct. The body must be preserved for best results, and kept isolated for the actual casting of the spell. Most of the other details were surprisingly mundane casting methods. I really am shocked. I expected something more along the lines of swearing away an unborn child or the like.

This reminds me of something I probably should’ve mentioned at the beginning. My magic is fueled mostly by the crystals by now, but this has a major downside. The crystals can be overloaded by intense emotion. Apparently this fuels the crystals just the same as magic. So, as a precaution, I am going to enact a new personal policy: stop all emotions.

As such, be forewarned. I may begin to sound “cold-hearted” within the following entries. It is not worth the risk that any further spells may wear off or occur sporadically. Especially now that Honey Comb’s back.

The execution of the spell itself was something of an unnecessarily showy affair. Flashes of light, mostly of my own color with some sanguine mixed in for good measure, filled the room for a few moments until I was near blinded from the brightness. Of course part of the problem could’ve been my transfixed stare on the subject. I admit, I had my doubts. It wasn’t until the fog cleared from my eyes that I even could identify what I was seeing. Before my eyes, a corpse— Honey Comb’s corpse, was standing up on its own four hooves.

Let me clarify something before one were to get too excited. This was reanimation, not resurrection. This will become more important later, but just know that there was no healing at all here. Her neck remained, and remains, slashed wide open.

So when I rushed forward to embrace her in a wild emotional blur, I soon discovered what the innards of a pony feel like against my chest. That wasn’t yet the worst part, however.

While I was clinging to my once-friend, she tried to speak. Instead of words coming out of her mouth, blood dribbled forth from her wound. The squelching sound when I backed away in horror finally did it. I damn near vomited on the spot. Hours later, I’m still not sure how I held that back.

“Please, Honey,” I said, “don’t speak.”

Again she attempted to say something. This time I saw her lips. I’m not one to profess to the field of medicine, but I believe that if it is possible to have, my heart stopped for a full six seconds.

“Honey?” I asked tentatively.

Now I bothered to actually read her lips, if only to prove my nightmarish conclusion correct. What she was trying to say, or at least the only thing she seemed capable of saying, was “Yes, Crystal.”

She’s no more alive than when I started today. She is as mindless as the rest, if not more so. I’ve not only effectively murdered my only friend, but I’ve brought her back as a mockery of her former self. And yet, as per precaution, I feel nothing. Nothing but scientific intrigue. There is a small part of me that would seek to test her physical limitations in this state, if only to see if the mythical ability of the undead to carry on with but a head is true.

But I won’t. To be fair, I still do have respect for her. I’ve ordered her to stop talking, and I dare not cover her with an illusion. I can’t run away from this particular event. No, instead I managed to tear apart my dress from the other night and fashion it into a thick scarf to soak up the various fluids. Since then, I’ve trained her in the strangely alien art of nodding “Yes” or “No”.

I’m unsure how to proceed on this front. Sleep helps the mind focus on what is really important, or so I’ve heard, so I believe I will try this. Honey Comb, too, will get a bed. Unlike the others.

I don’t even know what to call them now. I dare not offend Honey.

— Crystal Shard

Day 31 —

I had something of a dream last night. Not quite a real dream, but a hazy vision. I’m not sure that I actually slept, come to think of it. But this vision was so clear, so sure, I just had to act upon it. Contradictions aside, my actions today have proven a number of hypotheses, justifying what must otherwise sound like a ludicrous notion: today I set out to take over the University by force.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I hadn’t already. The staff were clearly incompetent, what with my half-assed yet successful attempts at evading their searches, and the students rarely cared. The grounds were going to complete waste, and nopony outside of the area even knew it existed. What’s more, I can only conduct so many tests on the same small group of subjects for so long before they are too “worn out”. And yes, I do mean that in the same sense that a wagon is “worn out” when the wheels fall off.

I figured that staging a coup would have a greater effect if I was present, rather than just sneaking Heart Stream in the back entrance or something, so I gathered up everyone and led something of a small parade up to the front gate. Apparently the missing spellbook must have finally set off something in the head of security’s brain; today the guards actually were seriously questioning my presence. And when I write “questioning”, I mean threatening me at spearpoint.

Honey Comb accompanying me was initially a fault, if one I would make again even given the chance to fix it. Without any illusory spells on her, the smell of death lingered over the lot of us.

Yes, even for a simplistic guard pony, the combination of missing necromancy spellbook, recognized supposedly-dead student, and stench of rot can add up to the correct conclusion. Not that it mattered. Combined with the new crystal I fashioned into Honey Comb’s scarf, the resonant amplification of my magic was enough to stop the guard’s spear subconsciously.

A small note for my future notes: there was no clear indication of anything stopping the weapon. Only a brief shimmer of a deep red color. What this has to do with, I have yet to determine.

In any case, all it took was a simple order (I believe “Stop that”) to trigger the charm magic on the guard. One down, two hundred to go by that point. Daunting to some, but this takeover was the entirety of my plans for the day. I could be patient, whether I had to or not.

The second front-gate guard fell shortly after. I don’t even think I was aware of what I said to him. His eyes merely locked up like the others. I left the two at their post until the end of it all.

From there, the front yard was something of a joke. All I even had to do was shout once to gain their attention, then demand they follow. Just like that, add another fifteen ponies to the group. Horde, perhaps, would be an appropriate term. At least they were during the takeover. That’s what some ponies were screaming after a while.

Alas, I must admit that most of the University’s residents did manage to at least run themselves into a corner before I caught them. I had a contingency plan in place on the chance that they would try to run instead of fight. Some did try to fight, but were held back by a relatively present sensation of physical limits compared to their enthralled colleagues. That’s about when the panic started; Heart Stream threw some colt through a window. He fell about two stories.

Personal note: collect his corpse for reanimation tests in the morning.

One might wonder what became of those who fled. In short, they were already as good as gone. I already had the front gate guarded, so it was little further effort to seize the rest with a few extra ponies while I worked. There was nowhere to run without being captured or cornered. And cornered they were, literally.

For a brief moment I almost regretted the decision. Exactly one class, I believe one for social sciences, made it as far as the end. I even gave the class’s professor a chance to say last words. None of them could speak. It looked like a mass of quivering foals come to think of it. All staring to me in horror while the other students slowly encroached upon them.

Under the assumption that enthrallment left them without a further awareness of the world around them, I entranced them out of their misery shortly before the other thralls fell upon them.

The one thing I did not plan for was securing the premises afterward. I continue to receive “reports” of stragglers hiding in closets or whatnot, even as the sun sets this evening. Reports of course meaning they are dragged to me, often whimpering or kicking and screaming. Pitiable, but pathetic nonetheless.

In any event, while I should perhaps work on establishing some form of subtle protection to either seal us within the grounds or hide us, my mind is periodically overwhelmed by pulses of the newfound energy. Not to mention that I seem to have a subconscious awareness of every thrall’s location at any given time. It’s to the point that I can’t quite see in a straight line. Double-vision does not help me write.

Yes, this is by far too much to work around. I’ll end the entry now. Oh, and Honey Comb, I didn’t forget you. You’re still here. I won’t be forgetting you again.

— Crystal

Day 35 —

Interesting. It’s a simple, overused word, yet it can be meant to carry so much meaning.
I believe some readers may find this thought to be just so.

Interesting doesn’t even begin to describe what it is like to redirect your senses through another. I came to reach a new level of boredom in the last couple of days, and decided to attempt a few more redundant tests of my magic. I’m not even sure it can still be called magic. I’ve lost the sense of “effort” it used to bring with its use. To be more specific, I’ve practiced looking through the eyes and hearing through the ears of the others, and not always the same pony at once. I’m not sure, but I think I can now say I know how a blink sounds.

But that was yesterday. Today something of actual value happened, and against my expectations, I only noticed it due to my own senses rather than a thrall’s.

I was lying in the central courtyard, finally given the chance between hiding from pesky patrols and inspections for the last few days, and was enjoying the half-sunlight of a cloudy day— if for nothing else than to appease boredom through the sensations associated with letting bugs to have their way with my skin, if only to pick the occasional one off for a brief and crude magical “dissection”— when another’s voice caught my ear. To be perfectly honest, somepony saying anything other than “Yes, Crystal” would’ve probably caught my attention from a mile away.

“I’m not so sure about this,” whined some young filly’s voice from across an open walkway. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

“But aren’t you curious?!” a colt exclaimed. “You know the rumors. ‘The Blue Witch who haunts the old school—”

“Stop it! Stop it!” his friend cried. She seemed to try to whisper it, as much as that failed.

The colt continued, “And eats up anypony who doesn’t do what she tells them to!” He made some noise after this that, and from the filly’s screams, I can only imagine was meant to imitate the sounds one makes while “eating”.

Genuinely curious and intrigued for the first time in ages, I managed to sneak my way closer to the children’s voices. Honestly there was a part of me thinking that the guard was starting to hire foals since they could squeeze into small places. I spotted the two out of the corner of my eye, just around the corner of where I had been laying. I can’t imagine either one was older than five. Quickly, I ducked beneath a hedge. Years of practice in the art of going unnoticed at the academy made this a silent motion, luckily. This was a delicate observation, such as attempting to stalk a squirrel.

The colt was playfully wrestling the filly into the ground. I pitied her for a moment, until I realized how it was only possibly her fault for coming with him to the University.

“Please, stop,” she whimpered. “I wanna go home...”

“Aww, where’s your sense of adventure?” he pouted. Reluctantly, he finally got off of her. She shook the grass loose of her mane.

“What if she’s real?” she whispered. “I don’t wanna get eaten!”

He scoffed. “You believe in gho-osts, you believe in gho-osts.”

“No I don’t!” she retorted, in all the typical grace and dignity of a five-year-old.

“Prove it!” he demanded. He pointed toward the dining hall which, like the other buildings, was fashioned with all the blinds drawn and braziers snuffed. “Go knock on the door!”

Now I couldn’t help but smile at the foolishness. From my perspective, as you’d have to understand: This was where I had the thralls wait when I didn’t want to see any of them, at least since the inspections stopped and the grounds were deemed “condemned” a day or two ago. Except Honey Comb of course, who waited in my personal quarters in the principal’s office.

But I quickly realized the flaw in this. Should they find a way inside, or even to see inside, the sight would be not only outlandish, but original. If they told the tale to others, it wouldn’t be as if they saw what they wanted to, but as if there really could be something wrong. And I couldn’t handle an extensive investigation on my own.

And anypony with half a brain would think to tell the damned guards about several hundred missing ponies found standing near lifeless right where they used to be.

So I did the only thing I could do to divert the disaster. I played along.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I said, drifting up and out of the bushes. They froze in place, clinging to each other.

“I-It’s her!” the filly squealed. “The B-b-b—”

“The Blue Witch!” the colt yelled to finish for her.

“Perhaps,” I began. It took me a moment to choose a merciful wording, but I eventually came to, “You might consider running away now.”

I barely even followed their fleeing with my own eyes.

This “myth” today has taught me a few things. For one, children are gullible and imaginative, yet I still haven’t suppressed the emotions necessary to capture some for study. In addition, there are lapses in security to be attended to. Somehow, children can make it onto the grounds without my notice, despite locked and barred gates. I may have to resort to magic, if I can find a way to make it less conspicuous.

But the most interesting thing of it all is that I have been seen personally. I could see how, what with my mindless strolls from place to place during the day. What I can’t see is from where I’m being seen. All I could think of is carelessness around the gates. Or Pegasi. Honestly the latter may be the better alternative, what with being too inherently stupid to process what they are really seeing.

The Blue Witch. What an interesting name, and an interesting tale. Perhaps I may appease my boredom by playing the part for a while.

And isn’t it funny? This city really is cursed. I am the curse.

— The Blue Witch

Day 37? —

I have no idea how many days it’s really been and nor do I care. I may be driving myself insane. Sure, there are the children to terrorize, still coming around the University grounds like it’s theirs!

Oh, and another guard that showed up today. Apparently he believes in children’s ghost stories. But more on him later.
It is not theirs. It is mine. It belongs to me, Honey Comb, and the rest. Well mostly my consciousness but I’d rather be more polite than that.

Ah, yes, the children. Oh, the children. Still telling stories. On the grounds, too. Not much has changed. I pick and choose which to show myself to, just to keep things interesting. I even decided on a schedule. Every prime-numbered visit I make an appearance, while every even-numbered visit I stalk in the shadows. Oh, the second visit was wonderfully fun. I swear, I thought that colt’s heart really did stop. There was a part of me that wanted to actually eat him for good measure. But I haven’t been hungry in days.

Then on the seventh, I got creative. I lured them into the groundskeeper’s shed, then sealed the door behind them. I made them do a little dance for me. Almost enslaved one, too, but that wouldn’t be any fun. Can’t have worried parents. Worse than the royal guard. Luckily both are too concerned with their respective flocks to worry about little old witch-y me.

And then some side effect of I-don’t-even-care-what made it all the better. My magic, upon lifting and spinning a colt around, turned purely red, or what was the word I used— sanguine! Yes, that! Oh, how they thought I was using his own blood to fuel me. But I’m no vampire or parasite or whatnot. No, I have dignity.

But yes, the testing. Science. Conscience. Prescience. I always knew science was wondrous. It really is everywhere, even where it shouldn’t be!

Anyway, anyway, I prepared a poem to construct my notes of today. I do believe it is my best attempt yet.

No amount of wings snapped or
Unicorns' horns entrapped will
Compare to six skull cracks or
Twenty-seven bone fractures
In ending a pony's firm stature

I am no poet, but this will help me remember. Physical limitations. There is a breaking point for everypony, even those without minds anymore. It took these numbers of hits to get them to stop moving. And even then, all I had to do was reanimate them and they were fine for a secondary round of testing. Strangely enough, the limitations pre- and post-mortem were consistently about the same.

I’m not a sadist. Of course not! I’m a scientist. They only happen to have four letters in common.

Oh, and I did some theorizing. About the power of magic, to be precise. No idea if any of this has any merit, but I’ll be sure to run the thralls through more gauntlets tomorrow to test it.

The unit of measure I have devised is the “Soleme”. “Where does this come from?” you might ask. From the base of measure, of course! Princess Celestia, measured at a level of exactly 1 Soleme, or “sm” for short. She is theoretically the most powerful pony one will ever come across, if she even still counts as a pony, so this makes sure the measurement never goes to some absurdly high quantity.

Some more estimates: Princess Luna, 0.8 sm; Nightmare Moon, however, 1.24 sm. The Elements of Harmony are of course a variable, but I imagine their enhancement, being a last resort, to be something absurd. Perhaps an entire additional Soleme of power? If not merely doubled or something. I imagine their enhancement to have something to do with the embedded crystals, just as the ones my thralls are given.

I need to order more. I need to get more, somehow. I need to send children to fetch more. Yes, yes, that works.

The average Unicorn would only measure to about 0.02-0.03 sm. Particularly stupid ones, such as how Limelight once was, might only reach 0.01. I have no idea how far I’ve come, but realistically I would estimate 0.36 sm. Oh, and it’s a non-linear comparative unit: 1 sm is not one hundred times stronger than 0.01.

Oh, but how amazing 0.36 feels. If I wanted to, I could levitate myself throughout the grounds without batting an eye. Not due to the speed of flight, mind you, but due to the lack of required effort. I always knew that phrase was stupid.

And on top of it all, I am not only maintaining hundreds of instances of mind control, but thirty four cases of reanimation. Honey Comb, you get your special little mention here, as usual.

The magic feels great. The everything-else does not. I still haven’t slept yet, and that doesn’t help the boredom. Oh, the boredom. Why else would I still be keeping this journal? Future readers? For all I know, I’ll be the only one near enough to the journal to ever read it again. So hello, future Crystal! Did you miss me? I thought not.

I shall now proceed to beat my skull against a stone wall until I think clearly enough to regret writing that.

— Crystal

P.S. I almost forgot about the guard. See, he wandered too close to the dining hall, and I may have slightly panicked.

I’m considering using his blood for ink and his helmet for a container. Either way, he seemed unhappy when I let him into the hall. Perhaps because I shut the door behind him and issued a generic “kill” command to anypony I could within range.

One might worry over the repercussions of such an act.

Oh sweet fuck the Princess. She might get a clue now. This is a bad thing.

New idea, let’s cut that down a bit: “Fuck the Princess.” I can handle this. Just more illusions. More hiding. Yes. Good.

Day 43 —

Today I “awoke” from non-sleep to a peculiar feeling in my mouth. Some mass was there, taking up almost the entire space, but I couldn’t quite determine what at first. I wasn’t too concerned until I felt it slip to the back of my throat. On reflex, I flung myself forward and coughed.

What dropped out of my mouth turned out to be about three to four ounces of putrefied flesh. It took a moment to strike me that the blob didn’t even appear until it landed and smattered a thick green substance on the floor.

I took the opportunity for a personal inventory, disregarding the illusion of myself. Once it was gone, I was surprised to learn that not only was my mouth numb to the touch, but my vision was foggy and my hearing muffled. I had long since numbed the olfactory sense due to the smell of Honey Comb’s rot, but that didn’t seem to want to come back to being either. I’m still not sure whether I feel anything by touch or not.

Curious, I wondered what could be hidden underneath the self-centric illusion I had cast weeks ago. Walking proved to be a little off at first, but I passed this off as nothing more than “sleeping funny”.

Yet as I found a mirror I began to understand just why nothing worked as it should. Without the illusion, I wasn’t even capable of looking at myself. Pardon, my reflection was incapable of looking at me.

In detail, this is what I saw: One eye was missing from its socket, in its place a small family of maggots; the other eye was milky white and cocked to one side. One of my ears had, or has, holes in it, while the other lays limp against my skull. Somehow my horn remains perfectly intact and of the proper color, unlike the rest of my coat and my hair. I’m pretty sure more than half of my mane has fallen out, mostly on the right side, while what remains is disheveled and dripping with something off of a hole in my skin.

My coat is paler than it once was, and would appear to be crusty in places. Again, from some fluid I know nothing of. A large portion has fallen off, but mostly only around the missing pieces, if that is a consolation. My back leg seems to be bent the wrong way, but I believe this is just a bone fracture. My rib cage is exposed on the right side, while the left side is only not because it got lucky with the locations of the chewed-through holes.

I would go on, but that is all I bothered to remember. The rest bored me, at least once I realized how little it mattered. With or without the illusion active, my senses and motor skills are at their peak and simply do not diminish.

I did, however, look up this phenomenon in the available textbooks from the school’s library.

“An undead being sustained indefinitely by its own magic or the magic and life of others.”

That is the definition listed of a lich. So, that is what I am. No longer a pony, no longer a unicorn, but a lich. Or perhaps still all three. The book was vague on the technicalities.

But this second part of the definition intrigues me. I’ve seen what can be done and still maintain the thralls, yet I do not know the turning point between alive and undead. Perhaps this is for the better. I failed to notice it in myself, after all.

I am their master. They obey without question, without fear or possibility of death. They work to my end, to sustain my needs.

Honey Comb, I understand now. The University, it is our hive. The thralls, they are the workers and the drones. Even our minds are connected as one, through my magic. A hive mind.

So then I am their Queen.

They obey. They follow. They will follow. They will listen. This is perfect beyond my wildest dreams. Thank you, Honey Comb. If it weren’t beyond tradition, I might honor you with the title of Princess.

— Her Putrefied Majesty, Crystal Shard

Chapter 6: Carry On

Chapter 6

Carry On

~~~~~~~~~~

[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 46 —

Tests today served to do little of what they were meant to accomplish. I’m just as bored as ever, and I know little more about my subjects or their skeletal structures. Perhaps documenting the actual course of testing will appease one or the other. I don’t fucking know.

First, I did a quick scan over the available test subjects. Dropped the cover illusion and all that. As it turns out, many of them are severely degraded from how they started. There were at least fifty-seven cases of exposed back-right femurs alone, not to mention numerous and various entomological wonders in the various cavities of their skulls. Both the original and artificially impacted, as in those that I’ve thrown off of upper stories in the last few days. Or nights, probably. The dark one.

I think I just stopped caring what happened when I realized I’ve gotten to a telekinetic strength to spin two adult ponies twelve feet in the air without even feeling the repercussions. Whether that is due to the strength or my general numbness has yet to be determined.

I’ve hypothesized that this degradation has something to do with their mental domination mixed with my current state. My magic is somehow corrupt, at least by this theory. Alternatively, I could just be mixing the domination spell with the reanimation spell, and possibly something more malicious or destructive.

That reminds me, I looked up the spell I had accidentally cast upon Limelight. Turns out I boiled the bitch from the inside out alright. Honestly I would’ve probably done it sooner or later. I’m about to that point of trying that with the damned children. It was fun at first, but I swear they must think it’s actually just a game.

Actually, I might take the children under my control anyway. Maybe send them through rounds of testing. Sure, they won’t scream anymore, but I’ll know they’re getting what they deserve. A good dozen splinterings of their bones ought to do them good.

They’ve kept me distracted from my purposes for too long. Science. Hypothesizing, testing, results. Rinse, repeat, learn.

That’s just how it fucking works. That’s how the entire world works. That’s what science is. It’s how we know what we do about the world.

Second testing round, before I get too off-track: Pitting two subjects against each other in a “fight to the death” as the command went. I probably should’ve kept a little more control over the specifics of that command, but it didn’t seem to matter much. The results were unanimous. A draw, every single bloody time. And I mean bloody.

This leads me to the second conclusion that I didn’t need to learn today. My magic— the same that seems to be dominating and reanimating everypony here— sustains them well past their usual limits.

Now, not that it wasn’t entertaining to watch masses of bloody stumps try to end each other, but this was hardly scientific by the end. “Negative results are still results” my right hoof. Or that piece that’s still left of it.

Maybe it’s the subjects’ fault. They are the ones completing the tests. Yes, of course it’s their fault. It’s their fault that I’m getting nowhere. It’s their fault that I’m stuck without any real results. And I could end them all, had I the mind to!

But I can’t, not with my power drawn from them. And with them relying on my power in return, we share a sort of symbiosis. I feed them, and they provide me the power I need. As is a proper queen-populace relationship.

Oh, except Honey Comb. I don’t want to even look at what’s become of her. But I can fix her. I have to. And she’s different, after all. She’s an anomaly. None of the other observations mean a thing with regards to her.

Oh, Honey Comb. Princess Honey Comb? No, that still doesn’t sound right aloud.

I wonder if she might be re-reanimated. As in I would let her cease her current state of unlife for just a moment, then revive her as something more intelligent. Perhaps she might be as me, a lich. Or something similar at the least. Then she might be a true Princess, if not my fellow Queen. That is what she deserves. Royalty.

Royalty. The damned University.

That’s what’s causing all of this. The University attracted such low-quality candidates— Myself and Honey Comb excluded— that their use in testing is rendered a moot point. It’s like trying to test the endurance of steel by using the rusty, worn plate armor of the last century.

But no, that’s too many variables. One exclusion, maybe, but two? Too improbable. Possible, but not probable. At least not enough to rely on.

Maybe it’s the University itself. Maybe something is skewing the data, like an unforeseen ward of some sort. But it would have to have been put in place by someone not currently at the University, as I would have terminated it the moment I took over their brain.

It is the University named after Princess Luna... Sorry, Nightmare Moon. That was quite the interesting change to account for when I first heard of it— actually, I frankly don’t give a damn. Nightmare, Luna, they’re the same pony. The same pony that lost her bloody mind and took on the more powerful being. Corrupt by jealousy. A little pitiable, but nonetheless pathetic.

And then the answer reveals itself. Or should I say, herself. The reason for Nightmare Moon. The reason this University was created in Luna’s honor.

The remaining royalty: Princess Celestia.

Of course it’s her fault. Everything’s her fault. The University, yes, but even this damned city! Canterlot was her vision. The new royal city. Yes, everything.

Without the city’s construction, Honey Comb’s father would not have died. Honey Comb would not have spiraled into depression, and she would never have had to die in the first place. I wouldn’t have picked up this journal either, but that’s beside the point.

Without the University, I never would’ve discovered the crystals, or their power, either. So in a way I should be grateful, yes? Wrong. Despite this power, I am simply lost. Day-to-day, made all the longer by the fact that I am utterly incapable of sleeping any longer, is a painful dragging-on of pointlessness. I’m just glad that I can feel the pain of boredom! That’s about all I can feel anymore!

No, no, I can’t change what’s happened. But I can rectify the current situation to the best of my ability. Or the best of my potential ability.

I am Queen, after all. I outrank her. What rightful ruler would ignore her coming doom over mourning her own actions?

— Crystal

Day 48 —

Fifty seems like a nice, round number. Two days from now, at dawn—no, dusk—we will strike.

The plans are simple. We need to strike first at the surrounding populace, while keeping it subtle for about an hour. Obviously the royal guard will be in for a rude surprise when they hear about something paramount to genocide slipping past their fuck-all persistent patrols.

The populace, yes. It’s something of scale, if you will. As her support goes down, mine goes up. Literally on my behalf. I need as many bodies as I can get. And crystals. Those arrive tomorrow. The rest at least. There’s a stockpile in the dining hall the size of chandelier. Or the size of twelve ponies, for those unfamiliar with the layout.

Once the outsides are taken, the rest should be pathetically easy. For the record, I tested it on some foal today. Domination through the words of one of my subjects. It’s not as immediate, but it gets the job done.

Side note for myself: the foal’s friend seemed to be enthralled without me needing a second addressing even in his direction. Either he thought the command “Stay right where you are” was aimed at him too, or the mere fact that he was terrified let his mind slip. Test this further.

Oh, what am I saying? Well, writing. I’m sort of dictating now. In any case, I’ll have plenty of testing to do in the upcoming days.

See, I don’t plan on stopping at just Canterlot. No, with Celestia out of the way, I do believe the rest of Equestria will be perfectly fair game. And if my calculations are correct, I’ll need it. Day by day I feel a little more “empty” inside, and I attribute this with a sort of literal meaning, what with my decaying body and all.

I believe that with enough energy to leech off of, I may restore myself to some semblance of being truly “alive”. I might even consider this time to release mental control over those still alive themselves. Not that it would matter for my seat of power. The amount of magical and life energies it would take to re-form a working and stable body would be somewhere in the range of five or six solemes.

I include “life” energy in this due to something of an admitted error in my past judgment. As the pegasus colt I so graciously recruited yesterday shows, even non-unicorns have some value in the world. Much less than a unicorn would, but it’s still something.

Estimating for difference in age, the breakdown works as follows:
Earth Pony or Pegasus adult: 0.01 sm
Dumbass Unicorn adult: 0.01
Unicorn adult: 0.02-0.03
Princess Luna: 0.8
Princess Celestia: 1.0

1.0 is my target to beat. Not counting the Elements of Harmony, but I have a contingency plan for them. Guards fighting guards should provide enough of a distraction to steal them away with a few sneaky pegasi, provided their wings work.

Assuming I stand at approximately 0.36—let’s just say 0.4 to be optimistic—that leaves a huge margin of error.

Or it would, if my brain had actually rotted out.

It’s simple math. I control 200 subjects at the moment, not to mention my own crystal. The surrounding countryside, just the immediate area that includes construction workers and future residents of the city, includes perhaps another thousand, children not included.

I think I’ll be pretty well-set, especially considering not even death can save them from being added to my ranks. Death can’t even remove them from powering me, via the resonance of the crystals. I still have no idea how exactly that works, especially not between walls, but such is the ways of magic.

Perhaps the Princess may answer that question before it’s all over. If not answer the question of "where may I find a throne or two more suited to the size of a normal pony?" Massive freak that she is, it’s a pity her sister is gone. The two would make an excellent pair of test subjects for the strengths of royalty.

Again I’ll try it: Princess Honey Comb.

Queen Honey Comb? Queen Honey?

Oh, I’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

— Queen Crystal

Chapter 7: Alpha

Chapter 7

Alpha

~~~~~~~~~~

[Grimdark][Tragedy]

~~~~~~~~~~

Day 50 —

Glorious. That is the only way I can describe our progress. And such a rush. A rush of new power. With my spells in place, too, new sensation. I feel more alive now than I ever was before.

But I must stay focused. Yes, focused. It’s not about me, is it? I can’t quite remember.

The outskirts fell in about two hours’ time. I’m in the city now, “charging” uphill toward the castle. One of the first finished structures, of course. My target resides there, but I’m in no rush. See, when I say “charging”, I mean casually strolling along. If I go too fast, there might be stragglers. Or the Elements will go unsecured. No, no, I can’t have that.

But as to why I’ve brought out my journal in the middle of the battlefield: I need to collect my racing thoughts outside of my own mind. It’s admittedly a tad overwhelming, what with several hundred new sources of information already reporting to my head, and more on the way.

I think I’ll start by simply describing some of my favorite events so far, that I may worry about enjoying them later.

The first ones to fall were the concerned children and their parents who wondered what happened to the two from a few days ago. They’d been coming to the gate for a few days now, calling and shouting out for their lost. I was tempted to smash the gate down on the lot of them just to shut them up. And ironically crush them with the locks and signage reminding them just how “condemned” the grounds are.

But patience paid off, as it were. No need to draw unnecessary attention to my operations. At least not until today. After today, I dare anypony foolish enough to come and try to stop me. They’d be within my ranks in a matter of seconds.

That’s how it went with these seven. I found it fitting to send in the two colts they were shouting for. It quieted them for a moment, at least. That is until they started asking questions. The boys’ silence seemed to make them even more upset.

I’ll never understand parents. What’s wrong with a silent child? Certainly better than how they normally are.

Nevertheless, the first words out of the colt were the first to come to my mind: “Shut up.”

That alone snatched the minds of every child there, and almost one of the parents. I was done with playing around by this point. A little impatient and cranky still, you see. So I went with attempting the terror route. Personally.

Turns out I was completely correct. One look at the desiccated corpse I’m still attached to and every one of the parents tried to scream outright. They didn’t last that long. Well, at the least, I removed their tongues before proceeding. Extra precautions and all that.

I’m sure the blood will add to their own terrifying image.

By now I’ve been using the “terror” method much more frequently. It’s just simpler. No need to cleverly word some kind of command. Just trigger the emotionally heightened state inherent to all creatures with a survival instinct. I believe I’m coming to be excited by the sight or scent of tears. Not that I can smell them, mind you, but I can’t imagine sight alone would cause this much of a response.

Second story now. This one might just be my favorite of the few I have to tell for the moment.

By this time, I had moved onto one of the homes outside the main center of the city. Well, one is an understatement. It was the last in the little village. And there was only one resident, so I probably exerted a bit more effort than I needed to. Still, every body helps.

I sent in a few of the students for the job. Illusions off for the day. These three in particular looked like they’d seen some abuse, to say the least. Just for example, at least one was missing an eye. Maybe I identified with him or something.

The owner of the home, a mare, saw us coming from her front porch. Or maybe smelled us. I swear I could almost see the stench of rot in the air myself.

In any event, she ran, and the three students followed. She went upstairs, and the three hobbled after. I didn’t know what she was running to, frankly. I was just a little irritated that she was wasting so much energy fighting the inevitable.

All that was there in the attic was a stuck window. An escape route for the desperate, perhaps, but she didn’t even think to try that. Figures. Fucking Earth Ponies. Dumb as their namesake dirt.

No, instead she was muttering some nonsense to herself.

“Please, Celestia. Save us. Save us from this evil.”

She repeated this to herself ad nauseum. There is nothing more frustrating than trying to scare somepony, only to have her shrug off the touch of three rotting corpses at once with but a smile.

Of course, being able to evidently cast spells through my subjects, I managed to come to the final alternative: just kill her. So when she ignored the terror, I instructed two of the three to start pulling on either of her front hooves in opposite directions. And not to stop. The third was just there to try to capture the view for me.

And so marked the first of my subjects to be left to “stay home” while still feeding me the power I need. In all honesty, I could fix her legs, but why bother?

Ah, yes. That last group brings me up to around... 0.68 solemes. I won’t bore you with whatever math I’m using to calculate this. By now it’s sort of intuitive for me. It is my power, after all. I don’t care how vague the measurement is.

Forget the story I had planned. This last group’s story ought to be much better to laugh over later.

Inside the city now, I spotted a group of three shortly inside the main gate. Two adults and one child. Perfect. Parental instinct was sure to make them do something stupid sooner rather than later.

I only needed to send two this time, what with the plan I had in mind. Two with intact legs, at least. I believe two of the parents from the University’s gate.

The family turned and ran the instant they saw the horde behind me, of course. The child was allowed to take the lead until they realized how this slowed their pace. Looking back, I’m a little grateful for this. The chase would’ve been well too abrupt if they hadn’t, no matter how much I was toying with them by telling my subjects to ease up on their running speed.

The family’s first mistake was to flee inside. I think they simply assumed that they would be able to hide, or go to an upper floor or something. As if the unfeeling can’t simply climb up walls given the time.

But no, I chose the more dramatic approach. My subjects followed through the front door after the family, and managed to enter the upper room they had chosen as a haven just in time to see the father close the door.

“If you want them, you’re going to have to get past me!” he challenged.

“Stand aside,” I ordered through both thralls at once. And so he did without question.

He stood before a closed door. By the layout of the house I assumed it was a closet, though it turned out to be the smallest bedroom I’d ever seen. Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. See, it was only appropriate to send the father in to collect his family for me.

I almost pity his wife. The gleeful look on her face when he opened the door was something I hadn’t seen since Honey Comb first started her second beehive. But alas, this faded to despair after looking at his eyes. No amount of ordering on my behalf seems to be able to recreate the look of sentience. She knew her fate the second he looked through her.

Ah, but the child was the most interesting to capture. She hid her face, mumbling something about it being a “dream”. So I indulged her.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” the mother whispered. “It was just a nightmare. Wake up. It’s all over now.”

Oh, the look on her face when she turned back around.

And look at that. 0.79 sm. My, my, we are picking up the pace, aren’t we. But of course, given the concept. I recruit more, I gain more power and numbers, and those numbers recruit even more than the last batch. Not to mention that the old continue to gather followers. It’s a simple exponential equation.

In theory, I could move the moon by now. Yes, Princess Luna, you have become redundant. Even moreso, considering your own sister has proven more than capable of doing your job for quite some time now.

My mind is becoming increasingly cluttered it would seem. I just caught myself standing still for at least thirteen minutes, just to process what’s going on. So many stories, so many subjects, and so much bloodshed. I dare say this is beyond scientific intrigue by now. Sign of blood proves that a given pony may fuel my needs.

But this journal is becoming more of a distraction than a help. I don’t wish to let this day go undocumented, but I simply cannot manage a coup and bother myself to write at the same time. I think it’s time that I give some credit to my technical inspiration for this plan.

~~~~~~~

“Honey Comb, take this journal. Use your own thoughts, your own words. Write down what’s happening around us. I wish to be able to look back upon this day with fondness and accuracy. Understood?”

Yes, Crystal.

“And I mean your own thoughts. There’s no need to just copy down what I say. I want your take on events, dear.”

Yes, Crys

Oh sweet Celestia what’s happening. I can’t feel my face. I can’t feel anything.

Wait, it’s coming to me— Why am I writing this? Is this that journal Heart Stream gave me?

No, I didn’t write this. Oh, no, I never wrote this. I would never write this. Never. Never. What’s going on? Why can’t I stop writing things down? Why can’t I speak?

It hurts to speak. And nothing comes out. My neck hurts. I feel like... Like I should remember why it hurts. It’s a blur. Like a bad dream. No, no, what’s happening now is like a bad dream. Like a nightmare.

Crystal Shard, my Que— What? She’s my friend. She’s not a queen.

But she is. I keep wanting to call her “Queen Crystal” instead of just by her name. And I can’t control my legs. I’m following her. I can’t stop. And I want to. Please, somepony, take me away from here. Far, far away.

What is that?! No, no, Crystal— That’s not her. That’s not the pony I know. She’s dead. I can see it, she’s dead and walking around! I’m going to be sick. Something just dripped off of her. I can see her bones! Her ribs, I think. But why—

These ponies are all around us. Screaming, flailing. But the second they get too close, they just stop. I hear it now. There’s a low humming sound. Like a giant drone, somewhere I can’t see. And every time somepony stops, it gets louder for a second. Like a rumbling, like the air itself is telling them to stop.

No, it can’t be— Crystal, stop it! Your horn— it’s still glowing! There’s barely any skin left on you, and you’re still using that spell! That spell you took Limelight over with. And— now I remember, Heart Stream too.

I remember more. My house, the dark— But before the dark, what happened?! Agh, stop it! I can’t find it! It’s like a blank spot, a black out. And I know it’s important, but what is it?

Oh sweet Celestia... what happened since then...

It’s a blur, but I remember. The children. And the school. Hundreds of ponies. Stopped, enslaved. Their free will is gone. And I...

I’m one of them.

Celestia save us all. Or somepony, I don’t even care. I’m scared. Crystal’s lost it. No, she’s not Crystal. She’s out of her mind. She’s dead and she’s still doing this. Why, Crystal, why?!

I get it now, Limelight went too far! But you got so wrapped up in it all, in revenge in the name of your stupid “science”, that... that...

It’s my fault. I did it to myself. I wanted to escape. But that wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get away, no, you wouldn’t let me! I’m stuck, your slave. Your “thrall”. Your “subject”.

Your Princess?

You kept me separate. You didn’t want me gone. You still thought I was alive.

We’ve reached the outer castle gate. Guards are standing ready, spears raised. Crystal’s subjects are— Why am I writing thi—

Yes, Crystal.

These guards, they can save us, right? No, no, no... stop fighting! Run, you fools! You see what happens!

One guard charged forward to meet the horde. He ran his spear through somepony... but they didn’t stop. With the spear still inside them, they threw the guard to the ground and started biting at his neck. I heard a crunch, and then— then the guard stood back up. And he faced the others. His friends. His old friends.

No, stop. Please. Stop it, all of you. I— I can’t help them. I’m stuck, obeying every one of Crystal’s orders.

There’s one guard. In the back. I can see his tears from here. Please, Crystal, at least spare him the sight!

The hordes around me are just swarming over the walls and toward the guards. Not even the skies are safe. Pegasi— I recognize some of them. Daddy’s co-workers. They’re just as mindless as the rest. They just grab on, then drag the others to the ground.

Blood. I’m stepping through the blood. None of the guards are listening to Crystal’s shouting. They’re just dying. Massacred. And the blood stains our hoofprints. All over the stone road. And flowing between the cobblestone.

She’s not even shouting anything intelligible now. It’s not words, it’s more like moaning and growling. And the rumble, the hum of her magic. When she speaks, it follows her tongue. And when she— Oh sweet Celestia, she’s breaking them herself. One by one, the last few guards are being tossed aside in a crimson glow, snapped in two over the columns and walls.

Crystal, stop it. Please.

Please, I’m begging you. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m sorry for what you’ve become. But have mercy.

Please.

Yes, Crystal.

~~~~~~~

Queen Crystal now trudges through the castle. It’s started raining. It’s just a light drizzle.

And I’m grateful. Maybe this is the start of the cleansing. Maybe the smell of rain will bring her to her senses. I remember, one day, we spent our time listening to the rain from the courtyard. We both love the rain. It’s calming to me. And I thought it was to her.

No, she’s borne of some fury now. I can’t stop her, no matter how hard I try. She’s spoken to me now, without orders. “This is for you,” she tells me. Why, Crystal. Why would I ever want this?

Is that— Yes, Princess Celestia. She is rightfully furious. And yet Crystal isn’t backing down.

I’m trying to mouth “Help me”. My lips won’t move. I can’t even scream. All that happens is a dribble of something down my neck. I don’t even want to think about what it is.

No, Crystal I

I won’t, I can’t, I

Yes, Crystal.

“Princess, your throne is invalid. Step down and beseiged. I’ve won my castle day.”

Celestia is taken aback. “Monster! You dare take my people’s minds, their lives, and demand that I step aside?!”

“Sister. You’re alone to speak. The moon, banished. And to die. By your leave, explain.”

And then the Princess’ gaze intensified. “I did what was necessary to protect all of Equestria. And I intend to do the same on this day.”

Crystal hovered into the air, limbs hanging limp. She is radiating a sickly crimson from her magic. All her subjects have their heads raised, the gems on their individual necklaces glowing the same color. Even the unicorns’ horns glow of blood.

“Try perhaps. I bother not. I outrank. I devour. I shall tear you to the ground.”

Celestia paused, then responded in her own rite.

This light, oh the light. I feel the burn of fire inside my own body. The pain— I can barrely writee.

Celestia

Crystal’s falling

~~~~~~~

I can feel everything. It’s come back. I’m bleeding. I— Without the scarf, I see it. Where I ended my own life. And it’s ending again, without her power.

Crystals, thousands, hover into the air around the castle. They glisten with the raindrops clinging to their sides. And the clouds are parting. Sunlight shines down across the city. It’s about damn time.

Crystal Shard, she lies screaming. Half of the ponies around me scream in pain, too. But their eyes show life. They’re alive, but burning. Like me.

We made it. We’ve been saved. But Crystal is to pay the price. Celestia... I can’t make out what she’s saying. I’m fading too fast.

Please, have mercy.

On me, on her, on the rest.

I’m sorry.

— Honey Comb

Final Thoughts —

I was an idiot. A fucking idiot, deluded in dreams of power and false vengeance. Celestia was not to blame. This was my fault. Every ounce of it.

I can see clearly, ironically, now that my life is being stripped of me.

Mathematics be damned. What should have been a sure thing turned into a complete reversal. My power crumbled to hers. Nothing worked. I couldn’t move anything but myself, and the others stopped obeying.

As it turns out, the only power I ever drew from the crystals was that of a focal point for leeching the life off of everyone. Including myself. In that moment, I began to kill myself.

Every lich has a phylactery. Mine was my crystal. And it has been shattered under Celestia’s hoof.

But that was not enough for her. I represented the purest of abominations that still could exist among the ponies of Equestria. I showed an oversight in her attempt to protect us all.

And in her power, combined with the now-recovered Elements, I am being rewritten. That is to say, written out.

I am to be erased from history. That is how I know it is all my fault. Without me, this travesty would never have happened, and, perhaps, something would’ve gone right within the last month or two.

Me, and every ounce of dark magic and foul reaches of reality that I represent. Gone, to be left for a more peaceful, pleasant substitute in the world, if any.

But she announced this. I can’t help but hold onto my hubris. And survival instinct. I can save myself, but just barely.

One crystal remains within hoof’s reach. Honey Comb’s.

Between this and what remains of my own ability— possibly my life, too— I’m protecting the journal. No amount of shutting this day out of history will invalidate the message stored here. As I’m sure a future reader may determine: These are mistakes not to be repeated.

I am out of time. Even my vision is failing now. Farewell, I write for the last time.

My last request is that I never be repeated. Reader, remember my faults. And strive to save yourself. Like I failed to do.

I’m sorry, Hc