Surviving The Void

by Voidwalker

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Horror, Profanity, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 5518

You may ask yourself: Well, how do I survive the void? The TL;DR-version? You don’t.

Dreamwalker's tale is told. For the time being, that is done. Chapter closed. Time for somepony else to take center stage and tell their side of the story. It will be shorter. Precise. And crass. Because manners don't matter much when nopony is around anyway.

The cover art is still pending.

A couple of warnings before you start reading:
This story is rated mature to keep it in line with my previous works and because, depending on how you read it, the subject matter can be quite dark and there's a couple of cusses. Reading my previous work is not required for this one, but I'd obviously appreciate it nonetheless.
This story is written in English (duh), which is a foreign language for me. Sadly, I could not secure a proofreader thus far.

Published 2023-12-27 13:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-12-27 13:40:00 UTC

Only One Needed

You may ask yourself: Well, how do I survive the void?

The TL;DR-version?

You don’t.

All who have a natural inclination towards impatience, all who lead busy lives and have important or ‘important’ stuff to do – you may leave now. Shush, off you go.

Still here?

Well. For my remaining captive audience, I might as well go into the long, windy explanation. But before we do, there’s a couple of things I should set straight. Regulate expectations and all that. So let me start with a preamble:

I am not half as smart as Twilight. Never been. I occasionally fake being smart well enough to convince some ponies. But I am the flickering candle to her ever-brightening star. Neither do I have the indomitable, insurmountable, unbreakable force of will that Applejack calls her own. I am no expert. On anything. I am not a professional. At anything. I survived the void for over twenty years now, I think. And that might give me some measure of expertise. But at the end of the day, I’m just observing. And here, now, sharing those observations and what my twisted mind made of them. If you ever find yourself in this place, well. First off, sucks to be you, haha. Second… don’t rely entirely on what I’m about to tell you. Make your own observations. There’s a reasonable chance that this bastard place works differently for each and every creature that falls prey to it.

The Dreamscape

With all that out of the way, let’s start in earnest. Nah, just kidding. We can’t just jump straight into it. You wouldn’t believe or understand anything.

To learn about the void, one must first understand the dreamscape. The dreamlands. The astral plane. The place where sleepyheads go. Doesn’t matter what you call it, I sure don’t care. I call it the ‘dreamscape’ because that sounds nice and fancy. And it really is a nice and fancy place.

The first thing you must understand is that in this place, there is no place. No concept of ‘time’ or ‘space’, no ups, no downs, no sideways, no left, right, center, no gravity, no distance, no matter. And I literally mean ‘no matter’ as in ‘there is nothing substantial’. The entire place is probably infinite. It’s filled with some sort of hazy white fog, a very, very thin one, because you can see for ages.

Because of those first few discoveries, we get into some funny shenanigans. You don’t fall in the dreamscape. You just float. But you see: There is one thing that governs this entire realm. One thing, and one thing only, that has power in this place.

Your mind.

Well, not yours specifically, the dreamscape doesn’t give two shits about you specifically. But the entire place vibrates, resonates, eager to please. It reads your mind in much the same way you project your thoughts onto this blank canvas.

Sounds too artsy? Let’s break it down, then. If I tell you ‘don’t think about pink elephants’, you’re-… well, you’re probably going to ask me what an elephant is. Fair enough. Don’t think about pink mules, then. And voila, you thought about it. Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Don’t worry. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s just how our minds work. How our brains are wired.

But how your mind works is something that interacts with the dreamscape in a wonderful and direct manner. You think of pink mules and voila, there will probably be a pink mule somewhere close by. Not just any pink mule, nah. Exactly the one you imagined. Because you imagined it.

The ramifications are incredible.

Most creatures that somehow manage to visit the dreamscape struggle a little, float around like balloons and then just… walk. There’s no ground. Nothing solid to walk on. There’s no gravity either. But they walk on, well, something. Because their mind tries desperately to make sense of this place. And in its struggle, it grasps for known concepts. Like, for example, gravity.

You imagine gravity working. And suddenly, it does. And you walk on the dreamscape.

Now, if there were another creature and that creature doesn’t want you to walk? That’s an entirely different matter. Suddenly two minds in close proximity give the dreamscape conflicting input. It’s not you painting the canvas anymore. It’s you swinging your brush full of red paint with abandon versus the other one with their blue paint. See who wins, who gets more of the canvas to adhere to their color.

A battle of wits? Less so. The dreamscape is not about cleverness or witty combat, it’s about towering force of will. Sure, it’s absolutely possible to outmaneuver your opponent by manipulation. If you can communicate with them.

Because we’re running into two more issues here.

First off, I hope you didn’t think only ponies were roaming this place, eh? It’s not a luxury VIP-club. VIP standing for ‘very important ponies’, obviously. No. The dreamscape doesn’t care. It takes them all. It has enough space in this non-space. Every. Single. Creature. Everyone who is halfway sentient and can dream ends up here. You? Here. Your grandma? Here. Probably. If she’s still breathing. Your dog? Also here.

Most dreamers are unconscious when they arrive. And being unconscious in the dreamscape has some funny consequences as well. You get your own soap bubble. It’s some sort of protective sphere. Looks really fragile and most of them are. Destroying such a bubble does nothing much, just wakes the dreamer up. Ever shot up in bed and had no idea why? You weren’t having a bad dream or anything, just… woke up out of nowhere? Yeah, something on the dreamscape popped your bubble. It happens. There’s trillions and bajillions of dream spheres at any given moment. Most just float around. Wobble a little to the left, a little to the right, twirl in place, such nonsense. They ‘dance’, as Dreamwalker called it. Some move enough to collide with others. In impossibly rare cases, that leads to shared dreams. Usually it just means both wake up because their protective spheres burst. So next time you wake up with no apparent reason, seek solace in the thought that the idiot who woke you up is probably awake as well now. Or hey, maybe you were the idiot and your dreamsphere drove around like a drunken pig on a cart.

Anyway.

Communicating with dreamers is almost impossible. If you’re careful, you can enter these spheres and talk to the dreamer while they are sleeping, but that’s difficult and they usually accept you as part of their dreams and dreams have weird logic (read: none) and it’s a hassle. Not worth it.

So not only are most creatures on the dreamscape in a state of protected, unresponsive illogic, they might not even be ponies speaking your language to begin with. What’s the second problem? Ah, nothing much really. Just the absence of the concept of distance. I already told you: There is no space here. Hard to wrap your brains around that, isn’t it?

There could be a dream sphere right in front of your muzzle. Would you be able to touch it? Well. Depends. Do you want to? Do you really want to? How much do you want that? If you want it enough, maybe you can.

There’s this place over there. You want to go there? Well, you can use your legs and walk and you’d never get anywhere. Walking is an illusion. Your brain sells you the idea of ‘I can walk over there’, but the reality of the dreamscape demands that you really want to be over there. And if you do, you will be. Could even skip the whole ‘using your legs’-thing. It’s entirely superfluous. You could just stand still and hover around, zipping from place to place.

As such, we’re faced with an infinite realm full of nothingness where distance means nothing and you can be wherever you want with a single thought. See the second issue here? Another creature needs to be in close proximity to influence your ability to manifest your thoughts in the dreamscape. But what does ‘close proximity’ even mean under such circumstances?

Beats me, honestly.

I told you your lovely pink mule would appear ‘close by’. And it would. It totally would. How the dreamscape decides how far from you it would appear? In which direction? Behind you? Above you? Thirty-two degrees to your left? No idea. I’m no scholar.

Maybe Luna would know.

This is her domain, after all. I don’t think she built - designed, created or however you want to call it – this place. She is its steward. She guards the dreamers. Keeps order. As much as one can keep order in a place like this. There are native creatures here. Some prey on the dreamers sleeping in their little bubbles, others prey on each other. They feed on thoughts and emotions. Some are parasites. Predators. Some form symbiotic bonds. It’s a complex ecosystem. And these creatures too, they don’t exist in a true material form. They usually appear like shapes of light. Our brains desperately try to understand their nature. Works well enough to associate them with creatures we know. There’s a being that hunts for love and devours it entirely once found. It will drain you of all you got. Clearly a predator. As such, what is the predator you fear the most? A bear, maybe? Manticore? Hydra? Your brain, right now, is terrified of that thing because it realizes something your conscious mind hasn’t caught up to yet. And your brain manipulates your visual input to make you see a glowing, light-based manticore. So you finally understand: Oh shit, that’s not a nice creature, I should get going.

I could go on. I could talk about the dreamscape for ages. And here, it wouldn’t even matter much. Maybe someday, I will. Just for shits and giggles. Because I can. Because I have time, harrharr. Because I don’t have anything better to do.

But I think we laid enough solid foundation (get it?) to continue. So, with the starter out of the way, let’s dig into the main course.

The Void

I’m not going to mince words here. I hate this fucking place. I would go as far as to say ‘it ruined my life’, but truth be told, I can’t say for sure if it did. Because I don’t remember a time before I was here. To me, it feels like I’ve always been here. Trapped.

So.

How does one get into the void? And who goes into the void?

First question can be answered quickly and with wit: Quite easily. A more substantial answer would be: If you lose your way. It’s the best I have to tell you. Since I’ve always been here, I can’t say much about ‘how you get in’. You lose your dreams? Your passions. Your wishes and desires and hopes. And you end up here. Those dreamers outside, safe and sound in their bubbles, they don’t understand. Pray to Celestia they never will. One night, you’ll go to sleep. You wake up not in your bed, you don’t come to the dreamscape, you don’t get your protective bubble, your nice dreams, your personal little playground to imagine things, no. You are thrust into this dreadful place. Welcome to eternity. It’s all you got now.

Or at least that’s how I imagine it. How I think it goes down.

There’s only ever been one creature – to my knowledge – that managed to find this place, penetrate it and leave it. Oddly enough, that would be Princess Celestia.

There was a… a bad time. Maybe I’m jumping ahead too far. Let’s roll back.

What is the void?

It’s a place within the dreamscape. It’s a section isolated from the rest and governed by mostly different laws. Don’t get cocky with me – no, the stuff we learned about the dreamscape wasn’t for naught.

Within the void, you won’t materialize shit. Your subconscious still seems to be strong enough to passively manipulate your surroundings to enable forces like gravity. Because Celestia knows, I’m walking. It’s how I got my name. No, I wasn’t born with it, dumbass. No parents gave it to me. I gave it myself. I already said: I cannot remember a time before this place. I’m in the void, I’m constantly walking, voila, Voidwalker. Yeah, very creative, I know. Why do you think Dreamwalker calls himself that, eh?

To tell you the truth: I don’t even know if this place is called ‘the void’. I call it that. I named it. Maybe there’s some creature out there that named it already, way before I did. But I deemed this label rather fitting. See, since the dreamscape is Luna’s domain and she really has a thing for the night sky and painting and stars, she uses the dreamscape as her canvas. Sort of. There would probably be a lot of nothing out there if it weren’t for her. But due to her stewardship, the dreamscape always appears pleasant. A nice, comfy stroll through the night sky. It’s incredibly pretty.

What does that make the void, then? Empty canvas? A forgotten corner? A place outside her domain, somehow? I don’t know. It’s dark here. But this is no regular ‘I can’t see’-darkness. I can look down and see my own hooves perfectly fine. But when I raise my head and look around? A whooole lot of nothing. Inky blackness. No stars. No bubbles. No dreamers. No dreamscape creatures. Nothing. Just nothing upon nothing with extra nothing.

You may walk here. You may sit. Lie down, if you like. I can’t. I tried. Many times. But I can’t rest in a place like this.

See, the void is eternally cold. Not ‘oh sweet Celestia, I’m gonna die’-cold. Just… cold. Cold enough for you to shiver. For you to be uncomfortable. Continuously. Eternally.

At some point, your dumbass brain finally catches on and realizes: Those comfy blankets you’re hoping for? That cozy little fireplace? Someone to snuggle up to? Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen.

Have you ever heard that one can adapt to torture? If it occurs in regular intervals, if the kind of torture repeats, over and over and over, eventually your brain learns the patterns. It works with expectations. It’s not that you suddenly don’t feel pain anymore. It still fucking hurts. But despite that, it does so… less? Over time?

Similar thing happens here. Yeah, you’re eternally cold. Big deal. Eventually, you just stop caring. The shivers recede. Your body just accepts this eternal cold as the new normal. Your mind adapts for you. You still have certain consequences. For example: Your body will move with a certain stiffness. Your reflexes will be utter trash. But this is the void. What do your reflexes even matter here? Who cares about how flexible your legs are?

You will never get hungry. You will never get thirsty. You will never get tired. You may claim these to be benefits all you want. I tell you: It’s a nightmare. Whoever claims anything else didn’t think this through enough.

All of this means that the purely physical consequences of prolonged existence within the void aren’t terribly dangerous. Nothing is going to haunt you, chase you, hurt you, maim you, kill you. There’s no threat here. No external one, at least.

But the mental side of things? Oof.

I hope you’re not afraid of the dark. I wasn’t and this place still freaked me out. It helps if you look down. If you look at your own hooves and remind yourself that this isn’t real, natural darkness. Just a weird lack of anything else. You just have to remind yourself: This place has no matter. Your eyes aren’t actual eyes. There is no actual light. There are no light sources. You shouldn’t be able to see, hear, or move. It’s all just your subconscious projecting expectations onto a blank canvas, and the canvas readily accepting the input.

The void is feisty, though. You won’t manifest anything here. Maybe it’s a matter of willpower. Wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe Applejack could just marsh into this place, demand there to be a freaking apple orchard and maybe the void would cower and oblige. I honestly love that mental image. Keeps me walking on some days. Puts a smile on my perma-frown.

It’s the isolation that will get you.

It’s not just us ponies. I know a lot of stuff about a lot of things, without knowing where I got that knowledge from. But I have to make due with what I got. And I know of very few creatures who are perfectly fine and content without ever needing any other living being. Predators still need prey. Their brains are hardwired to hunt. Parasites need victims. Shit, even dragons need other dragons to be pushy assholes with. Can’t be a proper dragon without bullying, eh?

But us ponies, we’re hardwired to be social creatures. We roam in herds. We build communities. We bicker and yell and sometimes even wage war, sure. But isolate a pony and things get nasty quickly.

It’s the isolation that will get you. Twist you. Break you apart, piece by piece. If you don’t find a way to stop that? To control that? To steer that? You’re done for. This is your point. You will lose. You will fall apart completely and you’ll be gone. Whatever is left is not you anymore, it’s a shell, a husk, a burnt-out something. A really freaking scary thing.

Twenty years. I’ve roamed this endless place. Maybe I’m not walking at all. Maybe I’m walking, but I’m not moving. Relatively speaking. Maybe the void is endless in itself. Maybe it moves with me. Wouldn’t that be an asshole-move? Whatever the case may be, I can’t leave. I tried. Sweet heavens, I tried. It’s all I did for… I don’t even know how long. Like torture, things come in phases. Routines. Cycles. Sometimes I give up. For a while. I still walk, because my mind just won’t let me rest or stop, ever. But I’ve given up on wanting to find an exit. I’ve given up on believing that there could be a way out. And then, I just… find something. A thought, usually. And I take heart, and I walk again, chin up, proud, with purpose. For a while. Until that flame flickers again. Dims down.

I’m talking to myself. Lots. For obvious reasons. I imagine things a lot. Doesn’t matter that they don’t manifest around me. I think, therefore I am. That's all I have. My conscious thought. My imagination. My ability to make shit up.

How does one survive that? Well. You don’t. I won’t. Not forever. For twenty years, I’ve felt the walls move in while they crumble. At some point, I won’t have enough room to breathe. Figuratively speaking.

The isolation messes with your head in ways I cannot put into words and in ways you couldn’t imagine or understand, even if I were capable of explaining it. It fucks you up. It twists your thoughts. Your desires. It fills you with fear. Of yourself. Of everything else. Even of others. Yeah, you heard that right. Isolation makes you terrified of others. You still want them to be there, though. Celestia knows, it’s sometimes the only thing you can think about. You beg. You pray. You cry out with heartfelt desperation. You wail in sounds no sane pony was meant to produce. But the void, much like the dreamscape, doesn’t care. No one is here. No one hears you. No one listens.

No one comes.

You’re trapped here. Alone. Forever in the dark and cold. You’ll grow accustomed to some of the minor nuisances. While the sledgehammer keeps pounding away at your sanity. And that, my friend, is your last line of defense. In here, it’s your only line. Your sanity. It’s the glue that holds your very being together. And it unravels. Slowly. Over time. The void doesn’t have to threaten you with predators and dangers. It doesn’t have to hurt and maim you.

It just needs to leave you… alone.

Maybe it’s a monster. Maybe it feeds on sanity. I don’t know.

Silver Lining

You will die here. One way or another. But I’ve been able to postpone my inevitable doom for twenty years. The means vary greatly. Most of which I’m not proud of, but you gotta do what you gotta do, right? Sheesh. Survival instinct is one hard bastard to kick.

I already told you, there’s cycles. Repeating patterns. Routines. Things come and go in waves, ebb and flow, the unseen tides of phenomenal forces.

I don’t know why. But for whatever reason, I am connected to this idiot-face Dreamwalker. I can see through his eyes. Hear with his ears. Taste kisses from his lips. Occasionally. Dipping into that connection is tedious and exhausting. And you can’t afford exhaustion in a place like this. Because if you grow too tired, your own mind becomes your enemy and starts to devour itself, to rip and tear itself apart.

Thoughts are dangerous. A single one can make you become undone.

Through him, I experience life. A modicum of it, anyway. I get to hear Twilight laugh and after all I’ve told you, I’m sure you’re not surprised when I tell you: It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I get to feel my – well, his, actually – muscles burn from strenuous work when he helps AJ at the farm. I get to taste her phenomenal apple pie.

I can pluck memories from his mind and revisit them. And when you’re as alone as I am, you start to lose things. Like shame. Decency. Manners. I don’t have the patience to be polite. I don’t give a fuck about anypony’s feelings. Well, mostly. You hone in on what aids you in pure survival. You focus on what keeps you going.

I love him. For what he offers me. What he allows me. Sometimes even willingly. At the same time, I harbor an immeasurable hatred for him. Why does he get to have this life? Why does he get to plow Celestia and I get the scraps? I get the second-hoof memory to feast on. Not that he would ever want to share such memories with me.

Over the many, many years, I’ve come up with numerous theories. Most of them are bullshit. And I know it. Just another means to keep my head busy. Keep it from tearing itself apart. But hey. Maybe I really am just an echo of him. See, Dreamwalker is a wuss. He is nice and polite. He doesn’t cuss. He’s so full of shame that most of the time, he buries his desires deeper than he even realizes. He’s always friendly. Helpful. And might I even dare to say it? Sometimes, he’s even… shudder… optimistic.

I’m not. I’m angry. My walk sometimes equals more of a stomp. I hate. I despise. I lash out. I cuss. I want. I take. And no, I’m not a freaking dragon. I don’t bully. That shit is even beneath me.

But there’s a lot that… that sometimes makes me think that maybe I’m something he left behind here on the dreamscape. A part of himself he didn’t like much. It led to some issues, obviously. I do have a measure of control, sometimes. When he’s distressed and-or sleep-deprived, which both happen with startling frequency, then I can… it’s hard to describe. I can pull through. I can reach over to his side and I can take command. Commandeer his body around like a freaking puppet. It’s creepy. For both of us, I’m pretty sure.

I rarely use this. Yes, I want out. Yes, pretty badly. But that… that’s a trap. I can smell it. Doesn’t feel right. Thus, I only used it to help him. Why would I do that? Because I want him to keep going. And as embarrassing as it might be to admit to it, I might’ve even grown fond of the dumbass over the years.

I do want to help him. And he needs me, to an extent. When the going gets hard, he’s a pushover. He bends and breaks. He gives in. He cowers. I… don’t. Sometimes he asks for my strength. For support, backup. I lend what I can. I give advice, occasionally. He rarely heeds it. I’m too extreme for his tastes. But I saved his life a couple of times. I’m even insolent enough to claim that I saved his marriage at one point.

It’s a fine line to tread. And I’m not good with fine lines.

I killed. Lots. And I don’t feel any remorse. Dreamwalker is surprisingly passionate about changelings. They kidnapped his foals a couple of times and sheesh, he’s protective. Fair enough, I would be too, probably. Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck about those bugs. I don’t care if it's changelings that get in my way, or ponies. Or dragons. Or whatever else. If I’m in control, you step aside or face the music.

He doesn’t like that.

Neither does anypony else. He told them of me. And at some point, I became the antagonist, apparently. At least for a brief time. It got bad enough that Celestia came here. And now, I think, we can discuss that part.

I don’t know much. I don’t know how she knew of this place. How she found it. How she managed to get in. How she navigated it. How she got out. I walked through the void, as per usual. Maybe a little bit more pissed than usual. It was a low-point. Stressful time. No purpose in walking. And I recently had a spat with Dream again. Wasn’t pretty.

And then light pierced the void. As if sunlight fell through a thick layer of clouds, it just sent this one skewed column of light down. And from the radiance emerged her pristine white form.

My hatred for Dreamwalker multiplied hundreds of times over.

I’m not into larger mares. I don’t think he is, either. He just doesn’t care that she’s twice his size. But I could see the appeal. I saw a lot I liked, to be fair. Somepony else to talk to, first and foremost. Another living being. Something new in this empty place. Something to keep me distracted, to feed my brains, to keep me going.

Strange, how that worked, isn’t it?

Escape should’ve been my first thought, no?

But that came second. Because I was already so used to existing here that the opportunity didn’t even occur to me. Not immediately, anyway.

She looked around. Not much to see. Then she came closer. And we talked. It was a… rather brief conversation. Strained by what I had done recently. But I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t know this place. She didn’t recognize any of this. But she understood.

And really, how could she not.

She’s millennia old. She has lived hundreds, thousands of lifetimes. She saw the world turn, she saw the rise of empires, and their fall as well. She saw megalomaniacal villains come and go, she gently steered her people through the ages. She learned. From books. By experience. She saw the void and she understood.

Then she left me.

She said that… I was undeserving of such cruel treatment. Undeserving of such a twisted fate. She said she would return. She never plainly stated that she would get me out of here. Maybe because she’s careful and doesn’t want to overpromise. Can’t say she’ll get me out if she doesn’t know how or if it’s even possible, right? Whatever the reason may be.

She said she would return.

After she left, I was stunned. Elated and devastated. Angry and euphoric. It’s a weird cocktail. Very chaotic. See, when you constantly have to keep your head from devouring itself, when your body grows this numb to anything and everything, you don’t really get much in terms of ‘feelings’. Yes, I’m filled with anger most of the time, but it’s just… it sits over there in the corner and twiddles its hooves. Because what else is there to do for it? Lash out? Against what? There’s nothing here!

Oh believe me, I tried to lash out against myself. I’m walking on something, right? Gotta be able to smash your head against it. Surely you could cut your own throat with the edge of your hoof somehow and maybe get out that way.

No. Believe me. I tried. Many times. The ‘solid ground’ you’re walking on becomes suspiciously malleable the moment your head would impact it. And the edge of your hoof just isn’t sharp enough. You could try to gnaw it into shape – because there’s nothing else to sharpen it. But you won’t ever reach a point where it’s sufficient. But hey, you want to try to gnaw your leg off to the point where you would be able to stab yourself in the throat with your bones? Go for it. Good luck, my friend. You’re gonna need it. Because chances are: You will simply ‘respawn’ in the void, whole and healthy. Well, healthy-ish. There’s no matter here, remember? Your eyes aren’t real. Neither is your hoof, your throat or your bones. Stab yourself all you want. If you die or not is not up to you. You’re a prisoner here. The sooner you realize and accept that, the sooner you can start working on techniques and rhythms that help you stay afloat. Stay ahead of the curve. To learn the patterns of your own, self-destructive mind.

So there I was. Celestia and her prized, cushiony flank was gone and I was left with a promise. Tension was rising high and eventually, the wall broke and I just… I laughed. It scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I hadn’t heard such a noise in… forever. It sounded weird and alien. But I will admit, at the same time, it was freeing.

And I laughed even harder once I came down a little, just enough to realize that I was shivering again. Because I felt cold. Really, uncomfortably cold.

I don’t know. Maybe her entrance was a reset. I did fall back into familiar patterns and rhythms eventually. Really quickly, actually. But the thought lingers. Her voice is something my mind can feed on for a while. The pronunciation of each and every word, few that they were. The choice of words itself. How her left wing rustled at that one, specific point. What that might have meant. How her eyes trailed my body as if she was still gauging my potential threat level. I am under no illusion that she came here to assess a villain. But she found me, instead. What a disappointment that must’ve been. Not worth sending Twilight and the friendship-lasers-crew in. And how would they get them back out anyway, eh?

And now, I’m living in this weird state. I am still connected to Dreamwalker. This bond we share, for better or worse, it keeps me afloat. It keeps me going. I hate the dependency. But I appreciate the opportunity. And whenever the echoes in my mind start to scream again, a shrill wailing in the inky emptiness, I can take a look over there. See how he does. If he’s freaking out again, having a panic attack while hiding in a closet so Twilight doesn’t find him and sees how embarrassingly pathetic he is. Or maybe I’ll see him take Luna on a really nice dinner date. He can be quite thoughtful. Or maybe I’ll find him rut Celestia again. I might even… not watch.

The End

They say hope is hard to kill. In my opinion, that is the understatement of all time. You cannot imagine how many times I wanted to quit. I think about it daily. I imagine how it would go down. I mull over the thought of what might come after. I desire an end to this madness.

Yet here I am, still.

I think of that subtle smile Celestia sent my way shortly before she departed.

I think of Dreamwalker’s sheer incompetence to keep his really pretty life straight without my aid. I even occasionally wonder if he does that on purpose. Maybe out of pity. If I ever find out he kept me around out of pity, I will strangle him.

I’m still cold. I’m still alone. No one’s voice reaches me. No one’s warmth touches me. Left alone with my vicious thoughts that only grow more hostile each day. And yet, I’m still here. Because there’s this freaking candle. It doesn’t burn bright at all. But how bright must a light be in utter and absolute darkness? It flickers all the time. But it just won’t fucking die.

I’m Voidwalker. And I’m still here. And I’m waiting for her return.