I've been having dreams again, recently. Nonsensical fantasies. I'm still young, and I'm working on a translation on the Nightmare Ruins crash site fragments. Working as if a basis of work already exists on the lost language, as if I'm trying to piece together something with clear meaning.

I don't know why I feel so drawn to them. I have been since I started working here, that was decades ago at this point. Some days when the place is closed and I'm cleaning around I'll just sit and stare at them for a few minutes. There's certainly an order to them, but then again so is there in all architecture. Perhaps it's just the magic imbued in them.

I saw a strange visitor today. She stood a little taller than those around her. I shouldn't call her strange. That's not polite of me. Still, something about her appearance sparked something in me, though I can't figure out what. It's like a puzzle is clicking into place, yet I can't see the pieces.

Maybe I should take a break. A nice vacation to Canterlot sounds good.

Author's Note

Dear Diary;

I saw your elder sibling today.

It came bereft of translation.

Ever the petulant brats, I have to assume they are keeping it from being understood.

It's a mockery, really. I imagine their own writings are more than freely circulated.

No matter. Another tally on the list.

It saddens me I have to write you in their commoner tongue, but your materials couldn't withstand a language worthy of your author.

Perhaps I'll rewrite you one day.

For now, there is still much to see, this side of the sea.