INSANITY

Celestia felt more and more hopeless as the days stretched into weeks, and Twilight showed no signs of genuine recovery. The faint glimmers of progress she had once clung to had faded into mere illusions. Twilight occasionally spoke, but the words were hollow, stripped of meaning. Often, they were just echoes of Celestia or Luna’s own conversations about her—a bleak mimicry that only deepened the despair.

“She spoke today,” Celestia whispered to Luna one evening, her voice trembling with a mixture of forced optimism and despair. “She said, ‘She won’t recover.’”

Luna, standing on the balcony and staring at the moon she had raised, didn’t turn to face her sister. “Did she say it like she understood the meaning? Or did she just parrot your words back to you?”

Celestia hesitated. That pause was answer enough.

Luna sighed, closing her eyes as a breeze rolled through the castle. “Sister, I’ve tried. I’ve ventured into her dreams over and over, but… the things I see there are…” She trailed off, shivering at the memory. “It’s like walking into Tartarus itself. The screams, the void, the disjointed memories. She doesn’t want me there, Celestia. It’s as if she’s pushing me out.”

“Then what do we do?” Celestia asked, her voice breaking. “If we can’t reach her through her dreams, if she won’t speak to us, what else can we try? Luna, there has to be a way.”

Luna turned to her sister, her expression heavy with sorrow. “I don’t think there is. Some wounds cannot heal. Some minds… cannot be saved.”

Celestia refused to believe it. She had to refuse.

I am so close.

The memories flood back like a river bursting through a dam, overwhelming and intoxicating. I remember everything now. Every agonizing month, every agonizing year, every agonizing century. I remember them.

Fluttershy’s wide, tear-filled eyes as she pleaded with me. The tremor in her voice when she said she forgave me. Oh, how sweet that mercy was, right before I extinguished it.

Rainbow Dash’s defiance. Her screams of betrayal as she fought me until her last breath. Her loyalty to her friends… to me… it made her taste of despair all the richer.

Pinkie Pie. Poor, pitiful Pinkie Pie. She tried to make me laugh one last time. A desperate attempt to bring back the Twilight she once knew. I laughed. Oh, how I laughed. And then I silenced her forever.

Applejack. Stubborn, steady Applejack. She didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She just looked at me with those eyes—those sad, accepting eyes. She knew I wouldn’t stop. She accepted it. Her strength tasted bitter.

Rarity, though. Rarity was different. She didn’t cry. She didn’t accept. She fought. She hated me. She cursed my name, cursed everything I’d become. That hatred was almost admirable. Almost.

I remember all of them.

And now, as the memories flood my mind, I feel… free. Their faces no longer haunt me. Their screams no longer pierce my soul. In fact, I relish them. They were my stepping stones to a greater understanding, my foundation for power. Their sacrifices were necessary, and I have no regrets.

It feels good to… remember.

Now I lie in wait. I watch her—the one who pretends to care. Celestia. I see her sorrow, her guilt. It amuses me. She’s so blind, so foolish, thinking she can save me. She doesn’t realize I’ve already saved myself.

She’s like a mother hen hovering over a broken egg, trying desperately to nurture something that’s long dead. It’s pathetic, really. But useful. Her guilt keeps her blind to the truth. She doesn’t notice how much I’ve changed. How much I’ve grown.

I’m not the same Twilight Sparkle who once looked up to her, who once sought her approval, who once called her “mentor.” That Twilight is dead. I killed her the day I realized the truth: I don’t need Celestia. I never did.

Something deep in my old soul whispers that what I’m doing is wrong. That Celestia only wants to help me, that she loves me. I laugh at that voice. It’s a relic of the past, a ghost of the weak, naive pony I used to be.

No. The new me knows the truth. Celestia’s “help” is a lie. Her love is a lie. She’s a coward, hiding behind her mask of benevolence while she manipulates and controls. She thought she could shape me into her perfect little weapon, her faithful student, her lapdog. But she failed.

And now? Now, I’m the one pulling the strings. I’m the one who decides what happens next. Celestia is no longer the puppeteer.

And soon, she will know. Soon, she will see the truth. Soon, she will pay for everything.

For now, I’ll let her believe she’s still in control. I’ll let her believe she has a chance to save me. Let her cling to her pathetic hope for a little while longer. It will make her fall all the sweeter.

The time is nearing. The moment I’ve been waiting for.

Celestia, you’ll see. You’ll see the real me. And when you do… you’ll regret ever trying to save me.