Chapters The Dreams of Twilight Sparkle
Prelude: Behind the Longcase Clock
Beside a well-worn copy of 'An intermediate guide to spellcasting' flickered the flame of a candle. Little of it was still left, really just a stump adorned with the tiniest flick of a wick, but it illuminated the pages nether the less. Tired, sleepy eyes traced familiar paths over equally familiar sentences. Yet no matter how much this studious filly had read, her horn seemed capable of only the most mundane of magics. Granted, Twilight knew that she was by far the best spellcaster in her class (once she had even overheard the Headmistress saying as much), but she was hardly Starswirl the Bearded.
Talking of Starswirl the Bearded, Twilight now found herself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again - only it wasn't quite the same sentence each time. What had started as "With this spell Starswirl transformed his rug into a mug" soon became "his pug into a bug" and then even "his bile into a mile", now that didn't even rhyme! At last, it seemed to settle as "his beer into his cheer", which seemed not nearly so impressive, as Twilight had seen her own father performing the same trick only the night before.
Tick tock went the clock, as the second hand went its merry way round. It was a terribly pointless life thought little Twilight, stuck going round and round in the same circle day after day and year after year, but the second hand enjoyed it well enough, for it never seemed to slacken in its pace. "How tiring must it be" thought the filly, her thoughts having drifted far from their usual scientific rationalism as sleep was slowly creeping upon her. It was irritating having to listen to the ceaseless ticking of that insufferable thing. Had she not had been caught staying up long past her bedtime, she would still be enjoying the quiet tranquility of reading in her bedroom. Yet as they had taken all her books away from her room as to put an end to her naughtiness, she had been forced to sneak downstairs to fit in her hours of night-time reading. Fortunately, the Drawing room was ever empty at night. Though unfortunately, it was home to the incessant noise of that infernal grandfather clock.
"How dizzy it makes one to look at that thing" she thought to herself, finding her eyes quite fixed upon the repetitive motion of the second hand, still upon its endless quest. "Now if only I could take a closer look at it. I don't doubt that the glass front piece might be opened... perhaps by this handle set here!"
Yet try as she might the longcase would not open, for it was locked tight. "A clock with a lock? How funny". Clever as our little filly was, she soon found the simple solution - how hadn't she thought of it before? Upon the piano stood a sheet of music, with a key at the start of the first bar. Key in hoof, the lock opened easily, and Twilight soon found herself gobbled up whole by the ravenous contraption. You may have expected the inside of a grandfather clock to be frightfully claustrophobic, but that was not at all the case. Rather, it seemed to Twilight to be much larger than the Drawing Room she had just left. Before her continued a long passage, bending ever so slightly to the right. Well, it made no sense to turn back, for she already knew what lay that way (a boring old Drawing Room), so our inquisitive mare-in-waiting took the only rational path, which was of course to carry on ahead.
The Dreams of Twilight Sparkle
Chapter 1: A strange new game of chess
Above her stretched a featureless blue sky, before her stretched a narrow passageway bordered by tall brick walls on either side. After perhaps fifteen minutes of walking Twilight began to think she ought to turn back home, but at once the walls gave way to a wonderous garden. Tall hedges lined both walls, but between them were hundreds of meticulously maintained beds, filled with every flower Twilight had ever seen – and many she had never seen before.
As she wandered past flawless flowerbed after flawless flowerbed, she wondered how any garden could be kept so free of weeds. She struggled to imagine how many mares and stallions it should take to tidy such a grand garden, yet as she trotted her way along the winding paths, she saw not a soul. Nor was there any decay in this garden, or so it seemed. Not one flower was withered. Not one flower was dead. No. Each and every flower was a proper as a postcard. Neither did they sway in the wind, but that at least made sense, for there was no wind that day (nor was there ever in this land, but Twilight had no reason to know that yet).
Pacing the length of one particularly large bed of primulas, Twilight pondered the mysteries of the garden. Though now the puzzle had become quite simple – the flowers must be made of glass. Yes, that had to be it. She had seen such mimicries before in the wealthier manors of Canterlot. Yet as she looked closer, they appeared as real as you or me! This didn’t make one bit of sense, but then again nothing had as of late.
As she thought back to the night before, it occurred to her that her stunt with the music key had made remarkably little sense either. How had she believed her eyes back then? Surely, she must have been dreaming, and her current lucidity was evidence of her return to consciousness. That was clearly the case. Yet poor little Twilight couldn’t help but question where she might be, for as long as she could remember the Drawing Room had never led to any garden – big or small. Anyway, she doubted that Canterlot could fit such an extensive garden, or at least if it did, she would certainly have known about it. Fancy having missed so large a place as this?! No, she could not be in Canterlot. That idea was purely illogical. She had to be inside the clock.
Higher and higher climbed the Sun in the sky. Twilight found herself watching its motions closely, now dependent upon it for telling the time. So she watched as it rose still higher and higher until it reached its zenith at noon. “Why it’s midday already!” thought Twilight, “I should have sworn that it was only 9 o'clock an hour ago”, but it was difficult to keep track of time in this place, where everything sat perfectly still save the filly herself.
Previously I had mentioned that the passage bent ever so slightly to the right, well this had remained the case. As a matter of fact, Twilight had effectively turned a very gentle corner, a whole 90 degrees since she had fell through the Longcase Clock, but as the path had turned so very gently, she had never noticed that she was walking a slow circle.
When noon finally came, she found the gardens came to an abrupt end. Before her the hedges, which had lined the walls formerly, formed an almost impenetrable barrier. I say almost for there was a tight passageway leading beyond the garden walls. Facing no need to head back home (for she wasn’t the slightest bit hungry) Twilight crept through the gap between the hedges, until they came to a square opening, lined on all sides with hedgerows growing well above one’s head. Within this grove sat a stallion, before him stood a table and an empty chair. With a friendly smile, the stallion beckoned Twilight to take the empty seat across from him, which - being a polite pony - she accepted. Upon the table lay a chessboard, with pieces of amber and glass. So high above was the sun in the sky, that the pieces cast no shadow, except when lifted in play.
“Hello there dear. Do you fancy a game of chess?” spoke the stallion, head cocked to one side.
“I should like nothing better” Twilight replied, quite honestly. In truth she was quite glad to see another pony, and seeing as this room had only one exit – the one through which she had come – there was little reason to turn down his offer.
“Why, who are you?” questioned the filly, wondering what a stallion was doing inside the Drawing Room Clock.
“Me? My full name is Rhom, but my friends call me Rastabobblerhomboloid for short” answered Rhom (as I shall from hereon take to calling him, as to save parchment).
“Well, Mr Rhom, who is to take the first turn? Neither of the armies is white”
“Why I should suppose Amber is to go first.”
“Can you do that? Decide the rules as you go along.”
“Why of course I can! It is still my minute you see.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Why you haven’t done anything.”
“Sorry, I mean to say that I don’t understand.”
“Foolish girl, have you never played chess before? As it is still my minute, I decide the rules. Once it is yours, you shall do the same.”
This seemed a rather strange way of playing chess to Twilight, but as it would be her turn to decide in just a minute’s time, she hardly thought it worth complaining.
“How shall we keep track of time?” Asked the filly, to which the Stallion produced a watch from his jacket pocket (had I mentioned that he was wearing a jacket?). Though this was no ordinary watch, for the minute hand never seemed to move. “I should like a clock without a tick back at home” thought Twilight to herself, remembering her night before. The lack of movement didn’t surprise her, for you could hardly expect a minute hand to move when there was no second hand to keep time with.
“Very well, on the first turn, pawns can move three spaces” spoke the stallion, as he moved one of his pawns to the middle of the board. Twilight responded in like, but her opponent informed her that that rule had only been for the first move. Now pawns could only move one square at a time.
“This whole game seems terribly unfair” moaned Twilight.
“Why it will be your turn to make the rules once this minute is up.”
"Bishops may only move in zigzags.”
"Knights must take two lefts before each right.”
"Pawns move backwards and the Queen is scared of horses.”
"Castles are swapped with pawns, and the King is immobile.”
"Why, you can't move that there!"
"Why ever not?!" Argued Twilight
"Because that move would place your Queen right next to a horse"
"So? The rules have changed since.”
"The rules may have changed, but that doesn't mean that the Queen has gotten over her fear of horses."
"Oh, for goodness’ sake!"
That last part had been too much for Twilight, who had now been put in check for the fourth time.
"How am I ever meant to win this game, when the rules are always against me! What move can I even make at this point?"
"Well, there are plenty of moves you can make.”
"Like what? Your castle is after my bishop, but if I should move him then he's open for your queen.”
"That's only if you move him diagonal."
"But I have to move him diagonal! That's in the rules!"
"I don't recall having made that a rule at any point."
"Then why have you been playing as such?"
"Why, I was only trying to give you a chance darling?"
"Very well then, I'll move my bishop here, my knight here, and there! Checkmate!"
"Exceptionally well played. I thought I’d won it for a minute then.”
Twilight blushed, for she was a little guilty for the manner in which she had won. Though now that the game was over, she thought it time to ask a question which had been plaguing her. "How come we have played for so long without any time passing?"
"Why should it have passed? We haven't gone anywhere.”
"Time doesn’t work like that!"
"Of course it does! Time goes with you - you accept?"
"Of course, time goes with you everywhere.”
"And as you go forwards it goes forwards with you - correct?"
"Yes, you'd be right in saying that.”
"So surely it must also rest with you, and go backwards when you go backwards - am I making sense?"
"In a way I suppose you are... Wait no! That makes no sense whatsoever!"
"Which bit?"
"All from it! From its nonsensical start to its ridiculous end"
"Suit yourself, but you won't be getting very far with that attitude.”
"It doesn't seem like I'll be getting far at all."
"Allow me to help dear.”
With a whistle, he set the chess pieces to work. Armed with miniature secateurs, they soon cut a way through the hedgerow.
"Why, that was incredible!"
"Why you are far too kind. Hop along now, they shall be expecting their wages soon I don't doubt.”
Twilight thanked the kindly stallion many, many times as she left through the tunnel of leaves.
The Dreams of Twilight Sparkle
Chapter 2: Meetings with a Mayfly
Beyond the garden was a world still stranger than that she had left behind. Flanking the left, a wall of fine masonry - far too tall for a filly to scale safely. To the right was much the same. Off ahead ran a silly little path, which wanted to take the least efficient route whenever possible. Over hills and under dales, with the bridges over the grass and the cobbles under the rivers. So topsy-turvy at points, that the handrail would cut across the path entirely, forcing you to walk a good way off the path if you were to get upon it again. And get upon it again you would, for the alternative was to walk amongst the grasses, which you wouldn't want to be doing anytime soon. The grass had all been plaited into tightly coiled rope, which would hook and snare the legs of anypony fool enough to try it. Nevertheless, onwards trotted our Twily, as the sun began its leisurely descent.
It was about Mid-Afternoon when Twilight found herself to be very hungry. This was no normal creeping hunger, which waxes and waxes until at last you admit defeat and break your fast. No. Rather it was a rather different type of hunger, one which leapt upon you and at a moment’s notice had you scrounging about for anything to eat. This was the sorry state Twilight was in when she came upon the cottage on the moors.
Twilight pondered whether the same pony who had designed the path had designed the house as well, for it was equally perplexing. Windows where there should be doors, doors where there should be windows, and as an ordinary house has a great deal more windows than doors, the end result was a home very open to visitors, while simultaneously being very sheltered from the sun. 'What a racket it must make in the wind' thought the thoughtful filly, looking it up and down - then down then up - but making no more sense of it either way.
As if by magic (which I suppose it likely was), Twilight found the cure to her ailment. Upon the windowsill sat a steaming hot Apple Pie, fresh out of the oven no doubt. Of course this was a backwards house, so the windowsill was on the outside, which made it exceptionally easy to steal away with the thing.
"I shall only have a little bit" Twilight said to herself, hoping that whoever cooked it wouldn't mind a small piece missing. "Perhaps just a corner will do", but as there was no corner, she soon found herself having eaten the whole thing. "Why, I hadn't meant to have quite so much as that. I only hope that it doesn't upset my stomach".
Though now it seemed that a disgruntled digestion would be the least of her worries, for from the cottage came a chef, so red and puffed up in the face that Twilight first though him a chicken. At a breakneck gallop, Twilight ran back along the path which had taken her there, though with no mind where she thought to run to. Over the cobbles she sped, the cook hot on her heel, until the path took a turn so sharp she found herself facing back towards the cottage again. "Why that path has tricked me!" cried the filly, who was still young you see.
I understand that you may be a little confused how Twilight had been spun around by the path, but it is really quite simple. As the path wind and wound this way and that, at one point it wound itself too far in one direction and tied itself in a knot. So it was that Twilight now stood face to face with the Pie's chef himself.
"You little rascal! Taking what isn't yours!"
"I swear, I'm innocent!" protested Twilight, believing it herself to be true.
"Why you have the evidence in your hooves!" pointing at the pie dish " Wait until the constable hears about this, I'll drag you to him myself!"
Twilight looked about in desperation, and her eyes fell upon the sun, who had been merrily plodding along on his way back to noon throughout the filly's flight.
"Just think of it, I couldn't possibly have stolen the pie. It is purely illogical to claim as much, and I shall prove it to you.”
"And just how will you do that missy? I don't want no back talking from a stinkin' thief.”
"Think for a moment. I haven't even reached your cottage yet, and if my reckoning is correct, I shouldn't have until half past two. So how could I have robbed your home if I haven't even made it there yet?"
This made the chef pause and think, which it evidently wasn't in his habit to do. After a considerable pause (I would say a long pause, if it were not for the fact that no time had passed at all - them being stood perfectly still), the cook grinned and rubbed her mane affectionately.
"You make a good case little lady. I'm sorry for bothering you.”
"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad to have come by a fellow rational pony for once.”
"You won't get that here very often! Us sensible sorts ought to stick together, them's an odd lot out there.”
This last phrase he uttered whilst waving his hoof in a duskwards direction. After that little exchange, they kept up small talk before parting ways. They tried to talk about the weather and the usual things, but as there was nothing of the sort to comment upon, they mostly went in silence.
Trotting on her merry way, Twilight soon found the country to become much more favourable. The tangled and knotted grass gave way to a soft blanket of moss, within which small pools would sit while fed by bubbling brooks. Clearly, she had entered a bog of sorts. Cobbles turned to woodchip, and woodchip to plankways, such was the state of this country that a simple stone pathway would hardly suffice. About her buzzed the occasional swarm of midges, which fortunately did not seem to possess their usual habit of nibbling away at any poor soul unlucky enough to have met them. As there was no wind, the pools sat perfectly still, and the reeds swayed not one inch.
By one of these still pools Twilight rested for a while, gazing at her own reflection, which smiled back at her. Strange, as she wasn't smiling herself - but Twilight thought such a minor oddity irrelevant once weighed against the bizarreries she had experienced already. While beside the pool, out came a particularly large and fat fly, who seemed hardly fit to fly by his size. Beside him walked the grasshopper, whom must have been a friend of sorts.
"Hello little fly" started Twilight, trying her best to be polite as to avoid offence.
"Little? There's nothing little about him!" snapped the Grasshopper, rather cruelly thought Twilight.
"Hush hush, can't you keep quiet for one moment?!" snapped back the Fly. Now Twilight doubted whether they really were friends...
"Nice weather today" Twilight added, attempting to steer the conversation.
"Much the same as ever I dare say. I can't remember the last time we had any rain showers.”
Disheartened somewhat by this sombre response (for so it was delivered), Twilight steered the conversation elsewhere once again,
"Well, what about you tell me something about yourself?"
"Me? Why, let's have a think... For one I am a mayfly, for two I am a poet, and for four I am twelve hours old.”
"Why did you skip from two to four?" asked Twilight, having been left more confused after the question as she had been before.
"Now I can't go telling you everything now can I!" said the Mayfly, sounding rather offended.
Twilight hoped to please the Mayfly, so she ventured to compliment, "A poet at your age! Now that is impressive!"
"At a whole twelve hours! That's nothing at all I'm afraid! I'm practically middle-aged!"
"Middle aged at twelve hours? Goodness, you must be a mayfly.”
"Quite right. The Mayfly in fact, or at least I haven't heard of any others.”
"There are plenty where I come from, but not one of them knows any poetry."
"Huh! I dread to think of my kinsmen as so terribly uncultured. Pray, tell me no more.”
Twilight had seemingly offended him once more. She had never before met such an easily offended creature - save perhaps the nobility of Canterlot.
"Could you perform one of your poems for me please? I'd love to hear one" she knew that that at least would please the poet, for poets love nothing more than having an excuse to recite their verses.
"Very well. Accompaniment!" At this, the grasshopper began to rub together his legs, which made a noise not far from that of a violin.
'Whatever would Lyra think?' wondered Twilight, imaging her friend’s reaction to such to such a miniscule display of musical talent. The mayfly began,
"Hey fiddle fiddle,
"Well that poem was nonsense."
"I'll have you know that there is a great deal of sense in that poem!"
"It is pure nonsense from start to finish. Take the first line; since when could you talk to a fiddle?"
"Since fiddles were first invented of course. It is exceptionally easy to talk to a fiddle - the hard part is getting a response.”
Twilight only sighed a tired sigh in response. Getting a lick of sense or meaning from these creatures was akin to drawing water from a stone. Or was it from a well? She couldn't remember much of anything from the outside world... except for the tick tock of the Drawing Room Clock that was.
