His ears prick at a slight crackle of magic from within the wards, before there's the sound of air being displaced.

Sombra turns his head to look at what is happening, and within his view, a bowl pops into existence.

Steam lazily rises from the contents, and he can just about see the colour.

Curiosity takes hold. Sombra sniffs at the air, finding that it smells like carrots. Perhaps some sort of carrot broth?

He drags himself over, kicking the air with one of his back legs. Theoretically, he might be able to walk on three legs.

Ears perking forward, he looks at the bowl, pushing himself up into a proper sitting position and hissing at the feeling of aggravating the pins and needles in one of his back legs.

He holds the bottom of the bowl with his hooves, inspecting the contents inside. Broth, with small carrot chunks in it, should be easily digestible for his insides, and it's tinted orange thanks to the carrots.

The bowl is warm, and he remembers cold nights with a mug of hot chocolate in his hooves.

His ears lower. A small sliver of comfort, even now.

(He doesn't deserve any form of comfort, and he knows this.)

He doesn't see or smell any indication that the broth is poisoned. Sombra dips his head lower and licks at the liquid, feeling a little silly at doing this, but figuring that this would be ideal for testing the temperature of it.

The broth is hot against his tongue, almost burning it, and he grumbles slightly, but begins to lap some of the broth up. The liquid helps to soothe his throat.

Slowly, his ears perk forward.

It isn't long until he's finished the meal, and he finds himself to be pleasantly warm on the inside, with both his undercoat and his regular coat of fur trapping the heat. It makes a stark difference from the cold tiles.

...Since when did he lay down again?

His brain feels fuzzy, and despite his usual stubbornness, he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open, just to watch for any threats or danger.

Ah, he's on his side now.

(Reduces the chance of aspirating in case his body decides to work against him when it comes to nutrient intake - the last thing he needs is pneumonia.)

Why is he so tired? It's not like he's even doing anything, and there's only so much comfort he can derive from something as simple as a warm meal of carrot broth.

He needs to stay awake.

I'm as quiet as a mouse, as I laze in the grass, feeling the sun soak through my fur and into my undercoat.

I like to pretend to be dead.

Miss Chestnut Falls always gives me a couple of days off when it comes to studying after the Crystal Faire.

She's taken me to all sorts of medical staff within the Empire, and they don't have a clue as to why I keep getting sick on the day of the Crystal Faire.

She's told me that the only option at this point is to try and ask any travellers that come by to the Empire, ask them if they have some kind of solution.

...It's not fair.

Neither me or Radiant Hope have been able to go, we save up our pocket money every year and it's like I have some sort of seasonal allergy!

This time milder symptoms came up on the days before, and I had to tell Hope that I had a headache.

I don't get the sniffles or sneezes when I'm around flowers, so what gives?!

...At this point I might as well just tell Hope to go without me and maybe bring me some spun crystal floss.

I don't know why my horn is starting to curve. Hope's horn is completely ramrod straight.

I'm something called an orphan, so I don't know my family and if they had this same feature.

It's distinctive, but the bullies say it makes me an even easier target. I overheard that when hiding near some discarded stuff.

I don't see why I should bother with ignoring them. If might makes right, then I might as well go all-out on beating them to a pulp.

...I never thought that when I was younger.

I'm snapped back into my own body, something shifting in the scene, before I turn my head and come face to face with Princess Luna.

"Were you always a monster?" She asks.

"...I don't think I was." And that is as truthful as I can say it. "I didn't want to act on thoughts of violence. Always reminded myself that I was better than them because I didn't." I pause. "And I didn't want to make more work for Chestnut Falls by being a problem child."

Luna's face briefly seems to soften, before hardening. I don't miss the way her eyes still seem like velvet.

"Hell are you doing here, anyways? My memories are all I have left, and even those are fading. Are you here to take those, too?" My eyebrows furrow as I speak these words, turning my head to look at Luna properly.

"No. Merely browsing." She answers, her lips curving upwards. Always so jovial, despite being in the shadow of her older sister, and smug about the privelege she wields in being able to traverse dreams.

"Typical. Invading my privacy again." I roll my eyes. "Don't you have more pressing matters to attend to, you little dictator?"

"Ironic, coming from a jailed ex-tyrant."

"Touché." I scratch at some stubble that's growing on my chin. "I was a filly once."

"Yes, you were a fine young lad. Shame that you grew up to become a bastard." Since when did Princess Luna employ the usage of such crass and lower-class language?

"Mm, no, I don't mean in terms of age."

"And why reveal this to me? You realize this can be used against you?"

"...You look at my physique, that I spent quite a good chunk of time honing, and tell me I look like a damn mare." I practically bite her head off with this statement, the muscles in my ears driving them to point behind myself. Still raised, but pinned back. I sigh afterwards, rubbing at one of my temples with my hoof as I try and figure out how to explain this to her.

"You didn't have much in terms of getting your endocrine system to produce the correct hormones back then, did you?"

"...No. We did not." My head lowers as I look at the scene, which has warped to orange skies filled with smoke and black-purple-obsidian crystals. "The most I could do back before I awakened myself from living in the delusions of being a crystal pony was training my voice to be deeper."

"I am still unsure what to do with this information or what to even say."

"As am I. You posed a valid inquiry, why the hell am I telling you this?"

"..." Princess Luna promptly exits my dream.

I'm left there, staring at the spot in the ruined grasses that she just occupied, pondering a question that she initially asked and one that I have not found a single answer for.

What a pointless conversation.

My gaze turns to the skies, blasphemed with smog and dark crystals, before I notice the moon staring at me.

"...Don't tell me."

Luna promptly comes back into my dream again.

"I forgot something."

And then, my vision blackens.

Sombra awakes with a jolt, limbs still feeling burdened with the element of lead, and the last vestiges of sleep invading his system, begging him to shut his eyes and escape the world for a little longer.

...He still fails to understand why he bothered telling Luna about certain biological matters relating to hormones. Quite frankly, he really shouldn't have done that.

It's unlikely anyone's going to believe her, given the fact that he has sideburns, but a look at his hormonal levels and genitalia will prove otherwise.

...Did Twilight actually remake his genitalia-

Stop that.

Sombra is filled with the need to wash himself specifically to get rid of that disgusting thought.

He settles for thwacking his tail against the floor tiles with immense disapproval, simply because he really doesn't feel like bothering with moving his limbs to get into a standing position and shaking himself to try and get rid of the bad thoughts.

The shape of his tail should be slightly less defined. He lifts his head to look at it for a moment.

It no longer flows with excess dark magic and shadow, instead being merely hair.

His head drops back to the floor with a displeased thud, stirring up some dust from the cracks between the floor tiles. He makes an effort to not breathe it in, but still ends up coughing and sneezing to try and rid his airways of the irritant.

The warmth from the soup-nourishment-food has long since dried up, and even in his sedative-fogged brain, he can tell that it's rather chilly.

Maybe he ought to try asking for some blankets.

And, for that matter, a damn pillow.

The life-giving wards sure as hell won't let him die from either starvation or hypothermia, even if he can come close to it.

It will, however, allow him to feel the immense discomfort of his stomach acids eating his organs, before they slowly regenerate, or the discomfort of little pinpricks of cold in his bones and joints.

Actually, wait, don't prisoners in the Canterlot County Jail get a blanket and a pillow?

Then again, he's in a dungeon.

His ear flicks, then perks, straining to hear any sound. Anything. Anything that might be another pony. Somebody.

There is no noise aside from his own breathing, beginning to shake and falter, and the ambient humming of the wards as they work to keep him alive.

There is no comfort to be found here. The wards keep him alive so he can endure the discomfort of being alone and being alive.

Everything is uncomfortable.

The floor, his own body, the cold, the fact that he likely won't ever see the light of day again, his own overflowing emotions, his privacy being invaded.

The list continues into the overwhelming feeling of being alone.

The fur along his spine bristles, and he curls up, covering his face with his front hooves.

Author's Note

whoops. died for a hot fuckin second.

anyways decretum upd8 LOL

wamted to show some more memories from sombra, and also how he's slowly being broken down into socializing through isolation - even the umbrum were somewhat communal in nature.