Many years ago, a pony named Clover the Clever, know now throughout Equestria for her contributions to magic, used a spell unknown even now to duplicate the entirety of the Canterlot Royal Library. This duplicate was hidden away in what is now the Everfree Forest as a precautionary storage of all knowledge of ponykind. Though the structure was hidden by a cave and many wards of magic, Clover soon decided that the library needed a Guardian not of pure magic or of pure material. And so the mare decided that she would forge a creature from the wood of a mighty oak, and place within this husk the desire for knowledge: that which is the basis of any soul. After nurturing this new life like she would a small child, and then sealing it inside the library to protect the knowledge within, her soul found a gentle peace. Several days later, Clover passed into the golden abyss that is endless sleep. Though the library was never breached, a personal record of the life of the Guardian can be found carved in slab of marble deep within the library's duplicate. Said record lies below.
Letters are written here. No, words are written here. Both letters and words, because letters make up words. The Guardian of the Library is me. Or at least, that thought runs through my head. Is it wrong? No. Nothing contradicts it. Thought proves it. But what is thought? It has been a long time that my existence has been. The words from books teach me. And Clover taught me. Clover stays in my mind now still. Clover taught me that meaningless markings can come together as nails to build ideas. But words cannot describe things found by myself, now. There is a strange tingle running through me. It occurred when success was found in carving these letters in this block of marble. The tingle is good. There is a desire within myself to feel the tingle again and again. But is the marble hurt by my carvings? There is no desire to hurt marble within me. It should not feel bad for my misdoings. A book will give me the answers. Books have every answer.
I am the guardian. I have desires. I exist. I've grown so much since I discovered the meaning of this beautiful word, I have felt a joy like that never felt before. I have encountered the word, but only when I looked it up in a dictionary, which is the great holder of all writing knowledge, did I discover the true meaning. A world with a word like I, that is a world I want to live in. And I have through reading discovered that there are others out there, others who think and want and refer to themselves as I. I wonder if I'll ever meet one? I think that I should have met one by now. I don't know why I'm here. But I do know that I'm surrounded by knowledge. I know that Clover left me here. And I think I want to learn. I don't think I'm bound by age like everypony else- If I even am a pony. I don't think I am. But I'm here for a reason, aren't I? All the answers and questions that are bestowed upon me upon the completion of every book... I think I might be going insane from the beauty of it all. Or maybe, that's what the books call imagination. I lust after the books even now. I think that I shall go read an illustrated book. What is wonderful about illustrated books is that they give you both words and art. Oh, the joy that fills me when I take in knowledge!
I can't wait to see the others! Maybe I'll go to Canterlot one day! But how do I get there? Do I even want to leave this library, this haven of knowledge? Can I, for that matter? If I can't, I hope they'll learn about me somehow. I wish.
Recently, I discovered fiction. This is when a book maker writes a made up story within a book, and tells all that read it that the story is false. Fiction is read to teach you things, make you experience emotions, and occupy time of boredom. I have also discovered the concept of time. Time is how long I spend doing something or not doing something. There is a device called an hourglass which measures time with sand. Absurd, isn't it? But it works. For example, it has been around ten days since I discovered fiction. Oh, fiction! There is a type of fiction that I love, known as comedy. When read, comedy fills me with a joy, if only due to its absurdity. I want comedy to be available to everypony out there, so they can share my feelings of joy! I think about the others every day. I want to see them. I want to be happy with them.
It has been long since I have written on this marble slab. By the reckoning of time, it would be years ago that I wrote about my fear of hurting the slab of marble that I carve words on even now. It would also be years ago that I discovered fiction. That's because I have been reading- reading and reading and reading. I read about culture, history, comedy, tragedy, words of wisdom, philosophy, romance, and so much more! I want to roll around in knowledge. But I have also discovered sad truths. I was created to guard this library in solitude. I will never meet the others, and they will never meet me. And the only meaning in my life is to exist and be the soul which is anchored to a powerful spell, meaning that everything I do matters not. Sometimes, I wonder of the worth of my own existence. And when I first read a tragedy, I was gloomy for days. I couldn't stop thinking about how the hero had died thinking that he was accomplishing so much, and yet in his death indadvertedly doomed a city to death. How can joy exist in a world of such sadness? How can sadness exist in a world of such joy?
This is my last carving. I cannot exist anchored by such emotion. Being unable to meet others, I can handle. But what the others are like... I have learned from the books that the others are not worth meeting. I read first of the great dragon war, where brother and sister shed each others blood over fickle disagreement, and killed millions in the aftermath. Millions of lives, ended with no regrets. And then I read of a violent feud between two clans of pegasi. Children were murdered in cold blood, cowardly poison killed great men, and a floating city was eventually destroyed, all because of a misunderstanding originating with the death of a cow. And I read more. They say that they will learn from their mistakes. They never do. They kill. They corrupt. Everything that touches light in their world is cast into shadow soon, and shadow claims itself misunderstood light, until you can trust no one and you live a life far worse than death. If you discover these writings, I hope that you have the chance to abandon this place, and raise yourself free of knowledge and the darkness that comes with it.
I know how I will do it. The books of science have taught of magics of nature that any living creature may preform. One of these magics is called friction, which creates painful heat and fires. I have created a device of steel an wood which causes friction and flame in high quantities. I will burn my dried oak husk to a crisp, and if I am lucky it shall burn this library's knowledge as well, killing the shadow and blood staining the pages of history. The life shall seep out of me and I shall wither, just as my soul withered when I discovered the atrocities of ponykind. And then I shall be made into ash, and be free of the burden of life and emotion, and perhaps I will find peace. But only perhaps. This is The Guardian of The Library, heed my words. For now, I will see just how well my friction device creates flame. For now, I will see just how well my friction device extinguishes life.
Several hundred years later, the ashes of the duplicate were found. In the midst of the ruin, an untouched slab of marble was discovered, with writing that had been preserved amazingly well over the years. This slab is now kept in the real Canterlot Royal Library. And to this day, whenever a school pony is attempting to start conflict, they are shown this marble slab, and taught to remember the final paragraph as a warning. To help them, and all of Equestria. So, in the end, The Guardian got his wish to be remembered.
-Seth
