"Im gonna down myself..."

Lost River.

Black and deep as night, winding beneath the town like a thought too dangerous to be spoken.

The inevitable curse.

Not water.
Not entirely.

What spilled was different. Not salt, not fresh. In between.

A memory of rivers never formed.

Lifeless flow.

Where the drowned not to rest but dissolve.

Inside.
Apart.
One.

Inland. In the hills that crumbled to the cold green slopes.

Slipping.

Jagged disdain. For the tide to come.

Ran under the cottages.

Threading. Beneath cobblestones and the sagging buildings. Beneath the church and the library, a secret vain pumping its pulse into the heart.

But no lifeline.

Taking things, sounds that followed, shadows thats should follow, a lingering in unwantdness. Unraveled before the finisher.

"A river without light." Her voice thin against the library's silence.

She felt the words, their syllables cold and heavy. Pressing against her chest like a weight of a dream constructed too thick to wake from. Celestia sat across from her, hooves folded. Her gaze sharp but distant, like she wasn't seeing the library anymore but beyond, beneath it.

"Do you think it's real?" Celestia asked,

Twilight hesitated, the words in the book resonated, as though they weren't being read but somehow remembered. Manifested.

"It doesn't matter if its real" Twilight said, her voice trembling against the air, jaw shaking. "It matters that it's there"

I walk down to the rain.

Her hoof went to the page, brushing the edge. Labyrinth. Spiraling.

Fate and soul. Fused.

No incantation to speak.

Words bled. Blue.

One word breaking into two, two words breaking into none.

The unseen.

Current tugging at the bones.

A pull.

Tension sat there and witnessed the winter days finish their short-spanned lives. Pallid. One by one. A russet fog that creeps up the river, when the sky hangs thick on summer nights, thick with stifled color. And stars shine small and shyly. I think I like it best on these summer nights. Flicker golden and oily under the regiment.

In the wan, lingering light of winter afternoon, the town stands deserted, sluggishly drowsing, so it seems. In spacious and distant muffled grayness, unclean yellow, amid the heavy ugly patches of dank and rotting bracken. A little mare picked her way noiselessly in the clasp. Vague listless rhythm of the creaking saddle. White ethereal glow. Yellow at a glance.

Poof.

Shroud of ghostly mist enveloped the earth, up from that vaporous distance crept slowly the evening darkness, sullen glow throbbing overhead. Golden will-o'-the-wisps are threading their shadowy ribbons above the golden trees. Distant rumor of a feverish nightmare waits in the still air of the crowd huddled together. Shame the dingy stars. across the east and west of the estorteric flares of a sky-sign, a gaudy arabesque feign. All air draped in the mysterious sumptuous splendor of a murky Equestrian night.

Im gonna down myself in the lost river of Equestria.
I am gonna drown myself in the lost river of Equestria.

Author's Note