Misty’s room was empty, save for her bed and shelf. Those were spares that Opaline had found long ago in the castle basement, an area long-since rendered uninhabitable by an infestation of pernicious varnaques. The room was barren and dark. Then, with a flash of light and a magical pop, a pony appeared from elsewhere.

Misty dropped to the floor, spreading her legs to brace herself from the sudden shock of teleportation, only to be forced to promptly catch her books before they splatted to the floor. She took several breaths, filling her lungs with realspace air, and then balanced her books before she gently set them down and checked herself.

“Oh wow,” she said, trying not to cheer. “It actually worked! And I didn’t even phase halfway into the bed this time! Thanks, Glim-Glam, whoever you were, this makes sneaking in so much easier!”

The spell had not been at all straightforward to learn—but once she had gotten it, Misty found it relatively easy to accomplish. In fact, ever since getting the use of her magic, she found performing spells was becoming easier and easier.

Still, Opaline was not actually aware that Misty had any ability at all to use magic. Or that she had developed a cutie mark as a consequence of said magic. Or that she spent at least half of every day with the ponies that Opaline was actively plotting against. Opaline herself was obviously an extremely dangerous and highly competent villain—just not a very observant one.

As such, Misty hid her more powerful books and powdered her cutie mark to hide it.

With this done, she shook out her hair and steeled herself for acting like a submissive doormat for Opaline—lest she suspect she had a double agent in her midst. A mindset she needed to quickly return herself to, a process that was disturbingly quick for her. After a few breaths, when she was ready, Misty exited the room and trotted down the hallway in the lonely fragment of a once-great castle.

Although it was night, Opaline did not tend to sleep like mortal ponies did. Misty was not sure if she even slept at all, or if she just sort of waited. Sometimes she would be up all night plotting. Usually Misty would be there to help her—or at least to make sure she ate.

Coming around a corner, though, Misty let out a horrified shreik as she came face to face with something she had not at all expected—a pony. Or some simulacrum thereof.

Opaline did not sneak. It was beneath her, like most things. So Misty had thought she was alone—because she was always alone. Nopony came to visit Opaline, or even knew she existed—but Misty suddenly found her face inches away from the face of another pony. A gray mare with a short, limpid mane and empty, colorless eyes.

At first, Misty thought it was some sort of ghost—only to realize the much worse situation that the mare was, indeed, solid. Solid and utterly expressionless, her pupils dilated unnaturally and the space behind them gray instead of black.

“EEK! I—who—I’m sorry, I—”

She felt pressure against her skin—pressure that tightened as a set of translucent chains formed around her body, as well as a tight collar. She was pulled forward by the gossamer twisted cables that linked her to this pony.

“Identified curly-short-point-horse, inquiry: are authorized occupy established borders of this premise?”

“W...what?”

Misty had no idea what she was saying, and when she spoke, it was with a strange accent that seemed to place too much emphasis on the wrong syllables of half her words. It made her sound harsh and mechanical—but more than that, Misty was overcome by an impression that this mare was horribly ill.

The mare tilted her head slightly. Her eyes tilted slightly as well, so that they remained vertical. “Detection of odor consistent with diluted ultramarine and cornstarch. Detecting iso-consistent field. Hypothesizing that this curly-short-point-horse could break my technostruct-constraint chains. Indicate why you do not. With haste.”

“Oh, she’s actually very weak,” sighed Opaline, coming around the corner. “Squishy, like an ugly-colored marshmallow. MISTY! Where have you been all day? I’ve been yelling for you to come down stairs so I can yell at you...” She frowned. “Although honestly it is something of an improvement not having to look at you. You are...very ugly. Although you won’t impress me by hiding. Blank, she lives here, you can release her.”

The chains shifted and loosened—then evaporated into clouds of acrid smoke that itself faded into nothingness. The pony who had cast them, Misty realized, was not a unicorn—but also not a pegasus. That should have left earth-pony as the last viable option, but somehow, she did not even seem to be that either.

“Your name is...Blank?”

“Correction: the name of my identity was rendered erased due to cataclysmic memoric damage. ‘Blank’ is a viable proper noun applicable to this form, yes.” She frowned—slightly. “You are named after a fog.”

“Mist and fog are technically two different—”

“MISTY! Don’t correct her!”

“Yes! Sorry Opaline, I didn’t mean—it’s just...um...who is she?” Misty paused. “I...never took you for one who would make friends.”

Opaline grimaced, horrified at the implication. “This thing is not a ‘friend’. I do NOT make friends. I do not need friends. I despise, no, LOATHE the very IDEA of friendship. Pointless waste of time. Blank is simply an ally. And my new employee. And she’s already proving more competent than you. You need to work harder, Misty. My tolerance of you isn’t free.”

“Yes, Opaline.” She turned to Blank, whose overall expression had not changed. Nor had she moved. She was standing there, creepily staring. “Nice to meet you...Ms. Blank.”

“Indication of salutations, Fog-Horse. Of note, I do not share your wife’s consistencies regarding the concept of friendship.”

Opaline gasped and sputtered in horror, and Misty deepened several shades.

“Shes—shees—”

“We are NOT married!” boomed Opaline. “I—I do not DO emotional intimacy, and besides, she’s so ugly—and essentially my weird, sad adopted daughter, I—”

“Wait, you think of me like a daughter?”

Opaline winced. “Well your parents hated you enough to abandon you, so I am the closest thing you will ever have to—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe they just lost track of me—”

Opaline bristled, her wings instinctively extending with a pronounced but ultimately flightless floof.

“You do NOT TALK BACK TO ME! When I say something, it’s TRUE! Even if it’s NOT!”

Misty squeaked and shrunk down to the floor. “Yes, Opaline! I’m sorry, Opaline! You’re right! My parents hated me and you’re the only pony who ever cared! Even if I'm not worthy!”

Opaline smirked, turning her gaze toward Blank—who apparently had not otherwise been paying attention to the exchange at all.

“Misty is my student. To the extent that she even could be. She is unfortunately too inferior to use magic, even at her age.”

Blank’s eyes nictitated. “Female-dominant tall-horse and female-submissive short-horse are not bound. Noted. Does this meant Fog-Horse is maybe available?”

Misty darkened from blue to a dark purple, almost matching Opaline in shade—and Opaline seemed to take deep and grave offense to this.

She lowered her head close to Blank. “I will pretend—for your sake, and for the sake that I am a VERY merciful and VERY sexy queen and god-empress—that I did not hear what I think you just said.”

“I’m also...you know...I prefer stallions?” said Misty.

Blank turned toward her, confused. “Identify term: stallions, search-term undefined.”

Misty blinked. “You know...stallions? Like colts, when they grow up?”

“Colt equals small stallion and stallion equals large colt is uninformative tautology.”

“Like mares but...you know...bigger, and sometimes stronger, and they smell nice, and they have...you know...”

“Misty!”

“I do not know,” insisted Blank. She seemed to be thinking hard. “Corollary by...comparison...” She frowned, if only slightly. “The Six Archetypes are female. Such is defined: definitional. The concept of male ponies escaped my consideration. I indicate a level of disgust, although comprehension by you abominations cannot compare to my sensation. Such defiance directed upon the will of the Progenitors is hideous indeed...”

“So you’ve never met one?”

Blank stared at Misty. It seemed to be all she was capable of.

“No,” she replied simply, although with a delay that made her seem to be needing to search deeply for the word in her mind.

“We will discuss this later, Misty,” snapped Opaline. “If I remember. I clearly need to attend to might nightly routine of brushing, plotting, secondary brushing, and applying eye shadow. While plotting. Considering that Blank is my new hechmare, you can show her where the library is.” Opaline paused. “Or do I need to do that as well? You surely don’t use it. I highly doubt you can actually read.”

“I’ll learn eventually, though!”

“Yes. You will.” Opaline leaned close. “When I teach you. Remember.” She pointed at Blank. “You have to compete for my attention now. You had better measure up if you want me to ever give you that cutie mark you so dearly covet.”

Blank seemed confused by this, looking from Opaline to Misty—and Misty realized that, despite her sickly appearance and seemingly blank eyes, she very likely somehow knew. Despite it, Blank kept her mouth shut and masked her confusion by returning to her default impassive state.

Opaline harrumphed, and then departed with a flick of her mane, directing it perfectly to slap Misty in the face. Misty winced, but did not respond. Attempting to argue with Opaline was both impossible and extremely hazardous to one’s health. Even with the spells she had been learning so diligently, Misty would still surely be no match for an alicorn. Or probably even for whatever Blank was.

She turned back to the other pony, who had with utter silence invaded her personal space, holding her faces inches from Misty’s face.

“Library is the house where books built nests,” she said. “Yes. Such is productive, implicit.”

“It...it is this way?”

Blank nodded, slowly. “Let us see if my deformity enables text-to-thought conversion. Lead progress forward toward.”

Opaline’s library was buried deep in the lower levels of her castle—very likely below ground, at a point where the ancient stonework of the tower had almost wholly been replaced by the roots of the vast tree that made up most of its superstructure. Opaline herself barely went down there—supposedly. Misty suspected from the way the dust on the tomes changed that she did read, but never when Misty was watching. Or something was coming up from the cracks in the walls and reading on its own.

The collection was extensive. Misty was unsure how old Opaline actually was, but assumed from the way she spoke or told half-remembered stories that she was at least as old as Twilight Sparkle. The only problem with that assumption was that nopony knew how old Twilight Sparkle was—the time period she had presided over was somewhere in the mythic past. That period was long ago but inherently indeterminate—and Opaline’s own memories were too badly scattered and broken to make her a truly reliable source.

Misty stepped down the last step into the book-basement and took a deep breath. She had grown to like the smell of old books. They were one of her only companions for most of her life, and certainly the only one that never screamed at her. Despite this, the dust and mold made her sneeze.

“You sneeze like kitten,” said Blank, emotionlessly pushing past her. She looked around. “Yes. These are the nests of books. Inefficient. Cannot direct-load. Adequate, possibly. Inquiry: directives locating centralized card-catalogue?”

“There isn’t one.”

Blank seemed insulted by this. “How uncouth. Disorganization is loathe toward production of valid materials.”

“You talk strange, don’t you?”

“From my perspective, the antipode.” She turned back to the shelves. “Fog-Horse, inquiry, deriving request: text concerning interdimensional energy draw, outer-realm inhabitant. History of implied planet, history of Opaline Arcana, recent works of technological progress, index of available plant and mineral bio-toxins, book containing pictures of landscapes.”

“That’s a lot, but...yeah, I know where some of those are.”

Blank did not otherwise respond. She moved silently to the back of the library. Her gait was strong but awkward, as if she had learned to walk in an entirely different way than ponies normally did. Misty did not stare for too long, although she was taking mental notes. This was a new development. Opaline was totally solitary, and in fact utterly incapable of leaving the bounds of her magical prison—no one in Misty’s life had ever come to this place, apart from her friends relatively recently in their attempt to retrieve the dragon Sparky from Opaline’s clutches.

This could have been another step forward in Opaline’s plan to conquer all of Equestria and claim its magic as her own—and as such would need to be reported to Sunny as soon as possible. But simply stating that Opaline had gained a somewhat creepy, pale accomplice was not enough. Misty needed to know more.

She took down the books she could find on the subject and carried them carefully over to a table where the pale pony was waiting, staring into space at seemingly nothing. Her dull, dilated eyes slowly turned to face Misty, though, as the younger—at least ostensibly younger—mare approached.

“Texts for absorption?”

“The first batch, sure. Some of those were...obscure subjects.” Misty looked over her shoulder. “And Opaline never organizes her books well. So I need to look. Especially one for landscapes. Is that…?”

“Important, no. But I think...my home may have been classified as green. I wish to remember. As current corruption makes such untenable to derive.”

“You...don’t remember your home?”

“I cannot, no. As delineated: core memories corrupted. Autobiographical data has been ablated. Non-retrievable.”

“I was the same,” admitted Misty. “When Opaline found me. I was just a filly...”

“I was never a filly.” Something like metal but made of orange light flickered behind the books, separating and re-condensing as ornate, florid book-holders attached with well-made holographic screws and practical hinges. They grasped the books and lifted them, opening them to their first pages and moving them to surround Blank. Although she did not look at any of them in particular, her projected devices began to turn the pages on each. As if she were slowly reading all the books present at once.

Misty paused, hanging by the table—and slowly, Blank’s eyes tilted toward her. Her pupils suddenly narrowed as her full attention was pulled toward Misty, and her books stopped flipping pages.

“What request does the Fog-Horse issue?”

“My name is Misty.”

“Yes. That knowledge has been intercalated. In my language, you are i.e.ai’e-Ai’i. Your name in your own language renders nearly inpronounceable by this form. Fog-Horse is what you are thus.”

Misty sighed. “I need...to be honest with you.”

“The Archetype of Fidelity is based on such a concept. I may have once been that. Proceed, Fog-Horse, but with haste.” Her head tilted. “Grave pain awaits all abominations. Soon enough, without my actions.”

Misty shivered, even though she had little idea what Blank meant. “Opaline isn’t...the nicest pony. To work with, I mean.”

“Observed. Yes. Such is denoted.”

Misty paused again, trying to be careful. She was caught between the need to warn Blank of the danger she may have found herself in—or if Blank would just take everything she said back to Opaline and bring the whole double-agent act to a violent and unpleasant end.

“Did she promise you anything? Like a cutie mark, or magic...although you already have...” Misty did not finish the statement. She had a sense that the constructs that Blank projected were not exactly magic. In fact, there was something more than the physical impression of sickness to her. A kind of mental void that left Misty feeling nauseous. The look of a pony without magic. Like Misty herself had once been not so long ago.

Blank stared back, then motioned to her rear. A cutie mark was already ingrained on her flank. It resembled a compass, but with cog-like teeth surrounding its outer edge.

“Oh, you already...have one...”

“Yes. If only memories existed relaying its purpose.”

Misty nodded. “Did she...promise you your memory back? If you helped her?”

Blank stared at her as if she were an idiot. “They are corrupted. Irretrievable. Magic cannot restore those functions. Severed from myself...a remnant of a pony.” She sighed. “Pain,” she said, returning to the books. “But better, perhaps. More effort can be supdivided for the upfront task-processes.”

“Oh...” Misty paused, then realized a possible alternate route. “You said that where you came from, friendship is still important.”

Blank paused suddenly, her gaze growing distant.

“Yes,” she relayed. “I...recall that.”

“Did you have friends, then?”

A tear formed at the edge of one of Blank’s eyes and slowly dripped down her cheek. Even as her expression otherwise remained empty.

“Not...anymore.”

“What happened?”

She slowly turned, and Misty suddenly comprehended her pain. “Not enough of me left.”

“But we can—”

“Equestria,” she said. “My Equestria. Is a confederation of sub-units. Nations of independent cultures. From the frontiers to old-systems. On Equiformed worlds, in prehistoric megastructures, in fleets or domes on the edge of Subwarp. Thus, from many, one. Six archetypes. Images of the Progenitors. Comprehension, Provision, Dedication, Tenderness, Fidelity, Pinkness. All archetypes, our sisters. All nations, our friends. From all, Harmony.” She sniffled, then gestured to herself. “I am apart. Separated. Damaged. No Archetype. I am alone now. Left to one, singular task.” She turned back to the books. “The dominant one is loud. You, though, bring me so much pain. Such a being of cruel intent...”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Why?”

“I—I was trying to warn you, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do the Fog-Horse’s words hurt?” Blank’s expression had faded to utter neutrality. “This is of interest. More so than considerations of sentimentality.” She looked back to Misty. She held up a book. “Why can this be decoded? Why this language? Why do I speak it?”

“Because...” Misty considered it, but she could only frown at the realization that it had never occurred to her that ponies would speak different languages at all. Pegasi, unicorns, and earth-ponies all spoke the same language. Equestrian. Even Opaline spoke it, and she had probably spoken it for a very long time. Misty doubted Opaline would be one to learn a new language just because her original one had died.

“Primakk,” said Blank. “None speak Primakk. None have, for hundreds of kiloyears. Dead language. A remnant encoded to defunct crystal-drives on empty Equestriformed planets. Excessively rare...and yet I perceive it. Why?” She turned back to her books but did not turn the pages. “What was I, that I perceive a language none living yet speak?”

“We speak it...”

“Your structure advanced further than any known subject. With ponies...what is this place? Why is it? How old, that the ponies here speak the language of the Unnamed?”

“You said...crystals?”

Blank nodded. She made an expression with her hooves. “Three, generally. Sometimes more. Unfathomed engines. Powering the process. Simple plants, simple animals. Air. Water. Simple magic. None found operational, fully. Creator unknown. Unnamed. Prior to extant records. Unattested by Progenitor texts.”

“I see,” said Misty, fully recalling almost exactly what the mare was describing—exactly in the center of the Brighthouse. And exactly what Opaline wanted to consume to give herself limitless alicorn power.

“Derived to penetrate Subwarp,” continued Blank, dismissively. “Weak. Technological decadence from eons past.”

“Maybe you were an explorer.”

Blank looked up. “I...what?”

“It’s a compass, isn’t it? Your cutie mark, I mean. Maybe you were an explorer. Like Daring Do.”

Blank paused. “That is...a perhaps.” She paused again. “What is...yours?”

“M..me? Oh, I don’t—”

“I posses eyes. Even uncolored, they function.”

Misty blushed. “Sorry. It’s...a butterfly.”

“Not fog?”

“No, not fog. It’s a butterfly.” Misty turned herself, wiping away the powder from her flank. “It symbolizes the fact that I can change, and grow.”

Blank stared at it, then looked back to Misty’s face and produced the thinnest of smiles.

“How nice,” she said, before being wracked by a sudden seizure that sent her head slamming into the table before she slid violently to the floor.

“Blank!” cried Misty, running forward but being driven back by a sudden hail of falling books and broken holographic machine components.

Something seemed to slither under Blank’s skin, and black fluid leaked from her ears, eyes, and nose. She twisted, turning violently, and then dropped limply to the table, breathing hard.

“Wait, let me—”

A holographic wall stopped Misty as Blank forced herself back up, breathing hard and wiping away the black liquid from her face.

“My apologies,” she said. “It has progressed more rapidly than expected.”

“What...what was that?”

“My body remains incomplete. Unfinished. Celluarly immature, so long as the Archetype is uninstalled. Without an Archetype, my body will degenerate.”

“What does that mean?”

Blank sighed. “I am presented with great fortune. I shall not reside, deformed, upon this world for long.”

Misty gasped. “You’re...”

“Fog-Horse. I already met that fate. Do not grieve for my remains.” She coughed hard, wiping black material on the back of her hoof. She pulled a book toward her, struggling to turn the page with her hoof. “I will use what time I remain solidified to complete my final task. It will be upon this world.” She shivered. “From beyond, where physical law remains inapplicable. The form cannot render in this realm reliably. It will degrade as well...or it shall learn. Draw magic and render.”

“Wh...what will?”

“A monster from beyond comprehension. When I crashed...it came through.”

Misty gasped. “I think I saw that.”

Blank looked at her, her white eyes tinged with black—and filled with horror. “Where did it land?”

“East, I think. One went off toward Zephyr Heights, the other...” Misty gasped. She knew where—but did not want to say. Not yet. “Went a different direction.”

“Unidentified: form, it will take. Unclear. Unknown, what it is.”

“From...beyond? Like the place I go when I teleport?”

Blank nodded. “Subwarp. Yes. My alliance. With the tall-horse. To stop it. To protect.” She turned to the books. “To find a way.”

Misty nodded—and was asking the question before she could stop herself.

“Would it look like a skull?”

Blank stopped, then frowned. “Skull? Why?”

“It’s um...very compact, and, um...could be very dense, if it were hollow...”

Blank did not reply. “Skull,” she said. “I almost...recollect something. Of grave importance but beyond my grasp. Critical, but only to the old me. Likely of minimal consequence now.”

“Sure,” said Misty. Her horn flickered as she lit the torches nearby. “Let me get those books. You’re sick and need to take it easy. I’ll help you, but only for an hour or so. Then you really gave to go to bed.”

“But...the dreams.”

Misty stopped. “What dreams?”

Blank looked up. “Even now. I keep reliving it. The...that moment. Over and over...I think I always will.”

Misty shivered. She did not want to know what the blank mare meant.

Author's Note

Of all the Gen-5 ponies (aside from Opaline), I find that Misty is the easiest to write. Probably because she has a dark backstory (getting stole by a wizard).

I think that may be part of why the Gen-5 characters are more difficult to write. They lack that little bit of weight that lends staying power to their characters.