To
be
Truly alone
and
Yet
Still feel the bead of an eye
The thrill
The false
joyful glory.
The sun was setting in Ponyville on the eve of Nightmare-Night. As every creature settled down to find its peace, and as each resident began dawning their masks and capes and cardboard wings, preparations for the festivities of the night, Twilight was sorting through old books.
Achu! She sneezed as she sat one particularly dusty pile of scrolls and manuscript aside.
She looked up towards stacks and stacks of lore still to dig through–towers and towers of endless possibilities. She sighed.
“Spike, Spike, do you think you could grab that book on the dusting and proper organizing of mountainous manuscripts… the one by Strux Lumma I think…
Spike?”
She glanced through the titles.
A History Of Equestria
Garraíodóireacht déanta Éasca
Cé Tusa
The Princes and The Frog
Amhrán Oighir Agus Tine
Oh… that's right… Spike was visiting Rarity tonight… helping her with her costume… oh well.
Twilight chuckled at the situation. Applejack saw no reason why the gaudy fabric couldn't just be left to its own devices. Rarity thought the train of her fabulous dress, the la touche finale of her French culture costume, couldn’t be allowed to trail on the ground. And Spike, being the charming gentleman he was, couldn't help but offer to carry it for her.
As Twilight thought about this, she continued browsing.
Leabhar Cócaireachta Gorm
Knitting for young Unicorns
26 Riddles to Make You Think
Cé Tusa
Hopeful Argonian Maid
It was alright in the end. Spike loved helping Rarity. He had been working so hard, sorting through the shipments of new books. Part of the reason the old ones needed to be sorted through, but all was good. Twilight loved old books. The smell of old covers, the feeling of old parchment under her hooves, the ages and ages of forgotten knowledge waiting to be found.
Cé Tusa
The Great Winny
Cé Tusa
Black Beauty
Hold on…
Something wasn't right.
Cé Tusa
Cé Tusa
Cé Tusa
Cé Tusa
Every other manuscript contained the same title.
Cé Tusa
She looked back over the titles she had already gone through.
Leabhar Cócaireachta Gorm
Knitting for young Unicorns
26 Riddles to Make You Think
The Great Winny
Black Beauty
Hopeful Argonian Maid
Amhrán Oighir Agus Tine
Cé Tusa
There was only one copy. But why did it stand out to her so much… Why did it keep coming back?
There had to be a logical explanation for it all...
Hadn't there?
She levitated the ancient manuscript over to her desk and lit a fresh candle.
What was this odd writing that preoccupied her mind so?
She looked back at the stacks and stacks of books that still needed sorting. They would have to wait.
She looked down at the document before her.
Proto Ponish… but not impossible to decipher.
Cé Tusa
Who Are You
Cé Tusa
Scríobhaim é seo anois agus tá mo sháith fós agam. Nuair a tiocfaidh Oíche, fillfidh sé.
I write this now while I still have my sanity. When Night comes, he will return.
When he returns I don’t know who will be writing this, me… or… Or him.
The sun is setting and I do not have much time.
Whatever you do don’t-
“Who are you?”
Who are you.”
Chains rattled in the darkness, and whispers of a breeze rustled through the woods. It wasn't a question. The graveled, unearthly voice grated against my mind.
A statement.
I closed my eyes, and exhaled. I will not be afraid. I was terrified, I could feel my blood pumping from the bottom of my hooves to the tip of my ears, and I could hear it.
Thump, bthump bthump buthump. My heart ebbed and blood shot through every limb in my body. Every fiber of my coat stood on end. And I couldn't breathe. I gasped my lungs, afraid to take in air.
Who are you.
Who are you.
Who are you.
Who are you.
Who are you!
Who are you!
Who are you.
Each step feels heavier as I tread back, counting each second, I am still here as I keep feeling something replacing my shadow.
I closed my eyes, and exhaled.
“It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who I am, just leave me; her...Alone! “
As I get closer to my haven, I feel as if I feel the claws of the Spector reaching at me as their haunting whisper fills my head with a silent scream,
"Just give into the madness of the darkness. What is there to be so afraid of? For you truly are alone. Aren't you."
And then it was me berating into the darkness, me reaching with my claws toward my own frightened form. It was my own haunting whisper screaming silent taunts.
Claws in what bucked up reality would I have claws!
And I was truly alone.
The darkness touched my heart, a dagger of ice against my spine.
Who are you.
I am Who I Am.
Who I was became strangled in Darkness.
I fill my lungs once more with shards of air, the pain reminds me that I am in fact still alive.
I exhale the last of who I was.
. . .
What am I now of what I was
. . .
Who are you
. . .
A question that cripples my mind to my very being.
Only the question, the statement, filled my mind.
Who are you.
A song with a single repeated note.
And the darkness settled in, the world muffled as if drafts of black snow encompassed all.
There was silence in it. A peace to it.
In the unending noise of the question was an eternal ambience akin to the void and I was alone but not alone.
Who are you? I whispered.
Who are you.
And a blackness touched my soul.
A frantic knocking rattled the door.
Twilight startled awake, breathing furiously, shivering.
She looked around–the now dark room, the candle long charred away.
The banging on the wood continued, somewhat quieter than before. Or perhaps it had simply faded from perception as Twilight tried to clear her foggy head.
And she spoke aloud the only phrase that filled her mind.
Her voice rasping-
“Who are you.”
“Cé Tusa ”
