Salt-laden air heavy with an enchantment.

Whispers of ships dashed against the rocks.

The Wind carries them inland, a gentle slip through the cracks in the dirt.

Wretched faces.

A library stood like a forgotten hymn, half sunk into the earth, its facade had been weathered to a gray-green sheen by the brine and rain which bore a heavy wooden door carved with sigils now smoothed out and illegible by passing eyes. Few came here, fewer still with a purpose, those who entered did so as if compelled by the vague pull towards its darkened stacks, the faint smell of mildew and dusty parchment lingered like a ghost in the lungs.

Inside, the library was a labyrinth of quiet shadows, rows of shelves sagging under the dense neglected tomes, the light filtered through high dust-furred windows, catching on the motes that floated in suspended animation as though a bubble of time had decided to pause right here, unwilling to commit to the world outside. The air carried a camp chill, which was thick with the decay of the words, that slow decomposition of knowledge and somewhere deep within was a faint scratching sound like of pen on paper, it was deliberate, rhythmic, the heartbeat of the place.

Celestia sat at the long scarred desk near the back of the library, where the vaulted ceiling curved low. Her hooves were pale and deft, moved quickly over a sheaf of notes, a quill scratching arcane symbols with practiced precision. Her pink hair loose and fallen over her broad shoulders, her features were sharp and royal but they wore the quiet exhaustion of someone who had long rejected the weight of such titles. This was her sanctuary, her sabbatical, her secret.

Daughter of a dying. king, heir to a throne she despised, shed had fled to this remote edge of the kingdom under the guise of scholarship, to escape those awful suffocating expectations at the court of fools. Her exile was a quiet defiance of the royal family who had branded her ungrateful, unworthy because what princess, hid herself hide herself away among forgotten texts and dust? But here, Celestia could breathe. Here among the deteriorating spines of books on alchemy and esoterica, she was able to lose herself in questions older and deeper then her own lineage. The dissolution of matter, the transmutation of the soul, the forbidden hidden in the margins of the world.

She heard the door creak open but didn't look up, few entered and rarely lingered, but this time, the hoofsteps did not wander aimlessly. They had moved with a purpose, a soft padding that passed just before her desk, Celestia glanced up.

The mare standing before her was slight, her dark purple hair with a pink strip in the middle, her eyes sharp and glittering with curiosity, a cloak behind her tied at the neck which made her mysterious, she held a book to her chest, its cover was faded and cracked.

"You're the archivist" the mare said. Her voice low but steady as if speaking too loudly might disturb the silence that clung to the place.

"I am" Celestia replied, studying her. "And you are?"

A stillness.

"Twilight." The name settled in the air between them, simple and unadorned. "I saw the sigils on the entrance, hard to make out but I saw them, I believe you have what I'm looking for you."

Celestia raised an eyebrow, setting her quill down. "And what is that?"

Twilight's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Secrets." She slid the book across the desk, her hoof lingering on its cover. "And how to unlock them."

The book was old, older than most in the library, its binding was held together by what seemed like sheer will. Celestia brushed a hoof across the leather, her heart quickening, a shiver through her body, she recognized the sigil on its spine. A symbol from her own studies, a mark of alchemical transformation.

"You've read this?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity in its tone.

"Enough to know I need more," Twilight said, her gaze unwavering. "Enough to know that you can help"

Celestia hesitated. She had spent nearly a year guarding this place, her refuge, keeping the demands of the world at bay. But there was something in Twilight's eyes. Those eyes, sparkling. A reflection. A hunger.

"The library is rarely visited," Celestia said finally, gesturing to the empty stacks around them. "You must have traveled far."

Twilight shrugged, her smile sharpening. "I go where the books are."

For the first time since she came here, Celestia felt the stillness of the library shift, disturbance, the air around her crackling faintly with possibility. She opened the book and began to read.

Look into its eyes

It will look into your eyes

Author's Note