10:30 AM, 11th day of the Third Month of Autumn, 1002 years since Nightmare Moon was banished.
“Isn’t this exciting?!” squealed Pinkie Pie. “I’ve never been to a modern art museum before, especially in Canterlot! Ooh, I hope there are some super-duper fun activities once we get there! And then we can explore around Canterlot in the evening, and…” Pinkie Pie went on and on about how she was looking forward to that day’s events, earning curious glances from some of the other ponies in their compartment. Rarity turned to Twilight Sparkle, who was busy poring over the magazine advertisements and pamphlets she had received from Princess Celestia. Apparently, she and Spike had been notified of the grand opening of a special exhibition that day at the Canterlot Gallery of Modern Art featuring the late artist White Palette, and given that this was one of the more intriguing artists in modern Equestrian history that she had read about in her studies, she decided to take a research trip to learn more about the full scale of his life’s work. Since the opening fell on a Sunday, the one day of the week when admission to the gallery was free, she had decided to take all her friends along on this trip so that they could also enjoy Canterlot.
“Say Twilight, I’ve seen many of White Palette’s artworks before and I must say they are particularly marvelous! Who knew that this pony had so much talent? I mean, the paintings, the sculptures, ingenious!”
“I know, Rarity, some of Palette’s better-known pieces have been central to the main exhibits at the museum, but this will be the first time a whole compendium of his artwork will all be in one place! I can’t wait to check this out!”
The train kept on rumbling over the mountain paths as the mares eagerly talked among themselves about what they would do once at Canterlot, sometimes passing around some of Twilight’s pamphlets to get an idea of what they were getting to see or just simply gazing out of the windows, watching the scenery whiz by. “Say Twilight, how’s Shining Armor and Princess Cadence doing up at the Crystal Empire?” Rarity asked.
Twilight smiled as she looked upon her friends. “They’re doing very well! In fact they sent me a postcard the other day.”
“That’s very nice,” replied Rarity. “And Spike, how’s luck on your new gem cake?”
Spike, who hadn’t really been paying attention up to this point gave a startled yelp at this and stammered “oh, um… cake, uh, oh yeah! Heh heh, third time’s the charm I guess. Twilight gave me some great advice for this one!”
“As in, looking over his shoulder to keep him from eating the jewels before mixing them into the batter,” Twilight said with a laugh, earning a blush from the baby dragon’s cheeks.
It would take another half-hour for the train to finally arrive at the station, and fifteen minutes more for the group to navigate the streets to the Gallery itself.
“You got everything, Twilight?” asked Spike as he rode upon her back.
“Yup! Quills, parchment, notepad, bottled water, and the like. Hey pals, you want some water or some chocolate before we get inside?”
“No thanks!” exclaimed Rainbow Dash as she zoomed up ahead of them, while her friends likewise said they could wait. “Hey Twilight, remember when we played I spy with my little eye last Hearth’s Warming Eve? You wanna try that, girls?”
“Oh yes!” replied Fluttershy. “Um… who would like to go first?”
“Ooh! Pick me! Pick me!” bubbled Pinkie Pie as she hopped along the path. Twilight sighed. “It’s alright, I’ll go first. I spy… oh! That’s Derpy Hooves!” she pointed out a grey blond-maned pegasus who seemed to be hovering around aimlessly. “And there’s Emmett too,” indicating her companion, the brown bow-tied earth stallion with an hourglass cutie mark. He turned and tapped Derpy on the haunches before they waved at the girls, who waved back as they headed towards the main gates of the art gallery.
“Come to think of it, there are a lot of Ponyvillians today. Quick! Let’s get to the main exhibit before the crowds become too big.”
Twilight Sparkle’s words would prove quite prudent soon. When they got inside, they stood around in awe at the sheer scale of the brightly-lit lobby, almost as if foreshadowing the sheer amount of White Palette’s artwork they would be seeing today. Her friends kept up the excited chatter of their game, occasionally pointing out other visitors to the exhibit. This compendium of White Palette’s artwork was unrivaled in its expanse and its eclectic selection of styles, and the herd of visitors somewhat reflected this diversity, as did the emotions sometimes felt by the crowd in response to the art. Mixed in along with the high-class Canterlot residents were a fair proportion of ponies from other towns: Applejack recognized some of her relatives from Manehattan, the Oranges, along with Babs Seed, while nearby were Cheerilee and her students on a field trip. As they proceeded, they met other, more exotic lot, including Crystal Ponies, a delegation of zebras surrounding a modern art sculpture, and even a few thestrals, so distinguishable by their slender frames, batlike wings, long dark cloaks and full-body makeup. It was quite interesting to see this artistic genius’ works draw so many different folk together.
After the girls tired of their little game and decided to appreciate much of the artwork for its own sake, Fluttershy spoke up. “Um, Twilight? I just wonder… how come White Palette used red so much?” Indeed, almost every painting and/or sculpture had reddish tones somewhere in its colors. “Well, the story goes that White Palette suffered from a congenital blood disorder; maybe this is his way of expressing the burden that he had suffered throughout his lifetime.” “Well he can’t have been much of a happy pony then…” Rarity was looking away at some of the large stone sculptures lined up against the wall, an exception to the crimson-hued art seen thus far. Twilight and the others turned to look as well and inspected the group, which was attracting quite a number of interested ponies at their plinths.
At least they seemed interested; half of them had expressions of unease, discomfort or sudden alienation. As Twilight looked around, some of the others were either nervously backing away or averting their eyes as they passed by this area, while many continued to stare in morbid curiosity. Near the doorway, Cheerilee was dragging some of her fillies away by the ear in embarrassment, and upon close inspection of the sculptures it became clear why. “Yeah… he had some problems, that’s for sure.” “Oh, but what are these sculptures? Why do they look like… eep…” Fluttershy had sunk to the floor as if afraid the sculptures would attack her at any moment, leading Twilight to reassure her that they were perfectly harmless.
Twilight went on to relate the background behind these statues, so memorably featured in her art history research from ages past. Supposedly, much of the works at the Canterlot Sculpture Garden were commissioned by him (which would explain the style), but he then made some additional artworks that embodied less… innocent traits. Their titles aptly explored harsher, darker aspects of Equestrian culture: states of mind such as Guilt, Horror, Wrath; sinful acts such as Greed, Lust or Deceit; even representations of less-fortunate ponies such as The Orphan or The Unfaithful. Apparently, White Palette reasoned that if a sculpture of Discord was present in the gardens, it should be natural that other such disharmonious aspects be expressed; all the same, these were mostly rejected and eventually hidden away at the Canterlot Archives or sent off to museums or private collections worldwide, at least until they were all loaned back to the museum for the current exhibition. Whether or not he meant them to be unnerving, the sculptures certainly did their job well, though this did not detract from their macabre popularity.
After much coaxing upon Fluttershy to move onwards, they wandered about the first floor corridors, pushing their way through throngs of visitors and trying not to get themselves separated. Spike would sometimes sneak off while Twilight excitedly explained about various bits of artwork and how they related to the overall artistic climate of the times, greatly annoying Twilight as he was the one writing and compiling notes about what they found. Once, Rarity caught him attempting to pry open a glass case containing various jeweled brooches, earning him reproachful looks from the others while Twilight apologized profusely to the guard on duty. Eventually, they looped back to the lobby; by this time the crowds were substantially thinner, and visitors were leaving the gallery en masse, some of them heading to the lower levels and others exiting through the main doors. “My, my, is it that time already?” Rarity glanced at the clock above the registration desk; sure enough, it was a quarter till noon. Applejack’s brow furrowed at this.
“Hmmm… ah sure feel hungry. Wanna head out for lunch?”
“Sure! How about we take a break and head down to the café? I hear there’s pizza,” replied Rainbow Dash.
“Ooh! Pizza! I wonder what toppings I’ll put on my slice… so many choices!”
“Um, how about you, Twilight? You want to have lunch with us before we head to the upper levels?” asked Fluttershy while Pinkie rambled on about what she would put on her pizza.
“You go on ahead, Spike and I will look around a bit more and then we’ll join you for lunch.”
“Aww, Twi! Can we go now?” complained Spike. Unlike Twilight, he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast and he was not too happy about the prospect of being separated from Rarity (she took it upon herself to carry some gems on this trip).
“Spike”—Twilight sighed in exasperation—“it’ll only be a minute. There’s this painting I’ve been really looking forward to. We’ll take a look and head downstairs right after.”
“You’re still mad about the glass case, right?”
“… well, catch you later, girls!”
“Oh! Should we wait for you before we order our lunch?” asked Rarity.
“That’s alright, you can order first. Besides, you know what I like on my pizzas.”
“Well then, don’t take too long now!”
Once her friends had left the area, Twilight Sparkle took a good look around throughout the lobby area. The sunlit rotunda, flanked by various columns and doorways, always seemed quite impressive, even to frequent visitors like Twilight. There were overhanging theater-like balconies from the third and fourth levels that held benches, desks, and the occasional student. Some of the upper-level visitors were looking down at the populace, admiring the spectacular view. Above her, the sky shone through a glass skylight; some of its panels had been propped open to encourage fresh air (and for the occasional pegasus to fly through).
Twilight sighed. Looking at the grandeur of it all brought back memories of her earlier visits here throughout her education at Canterlot. She still remembered the feeling of serenity she felt whenever she set foot within these hallways, especially at the rotunda. Sometimes after a hard day’s studying, she would just come here to enjoy the openness of it all and take some time for herself, away from the hectic everyday life of school. No matter how many times she would come here, she always felt calmer and more at ease, and she would see something new and interesting with each trip.
However, the tiled floor of the lobby was what intrigued Twilight the most today. A rectangular area had been cordoned off by velvet ropes, as well as a virtual wall of curious ponies. Everypony was bunched up at one side of the ropes, not bothering to examine the painting from any other angle, apparently. Puzzled at this behavior, Twilight Sparkle squeezed past this audience to see what merited this awkward view, only to be greeted by a very perplexing sight. Within this area, pieces of the floor had apparently collapsed into a jagged sinkhole, some of the tiles still falling into the cavity below; upon closer inspection of the artwork, it seemed as if a new subterranean space had been revealed underneath the lobby, a red-lined gallery. Of course it was all an illusion on canvas, rolled over the ground to give this impression. All the same, it was quite an impressive one, blending so seamlessly with the surrounding tile pattern. When Twilight went to the opposite side though, facing the transfixed ponies, the artwork seemed strangely distorted, the illusion broken.
“Hmm… we saw this at the beginning of the trip. Spike, there are pamphlets over there, can you grab me one?”
Grumbling as he took a brochure from one of the roped posts, he passed it on to Twilight, who levitated and unfolded it with her magic. On one side was a top-view photo of the painting in front of them, and on the other was a description:
Labyrinth of the Mind (939)
“The realm beneath our outward persona defines who we really are. Fascinated by this, I decided to realize this world within the canvas by metaphorically crumbling away the public façade, thereby revealing the subconscious worlds below.” –White Palette
It continued on with the explanation and interpretation of the artwork and why he made this painting. It seemed that the Gallery had commissioned White Palette for some central Gallery-exclusive artworks, this being one of them. However, Twilight couldn’t really remember the last time she’d seen this work up close, but then again, this was the first time it had been returned to display after several years’ worth of restoration. Twilight folded up the brochure and stowed it away as she and Spike looked at the floor mural.
“Okay”—Spike acknowledged—“this is rather cool… now can we please go to lunch?”
“This wasn’t the painting I was talking about, Spike. That is up ahead through this hallway. Come on, Spike.”
“I still can’t believe you’re insisting on roping me into this. Why can’t we wait until after pizza?”
“Because that painting represents one of the pivotal turning points in his career, hay, even a whole art movement! This is the one time for us to examine it closely, before the crowds return and it will be far more difficult. The notes we get from this will prove invaluable in adding to the material on modern art back at Golden Oaks.
And yes, I didn’t like what happened back with the case of jewels. Seriously, Spike?”
With a groan, he trudged along as they entered through the entrance of an area titled “Foundations: White Palette’s early years”. This was not as crowded as the rest of the gallery, which was lucky for the two; it was a narrow white corridor lined with graphite drawings, unfinished paintings and the occasional explanatory plaque or brochure set lining the wall. Their objective, though, was at the end of the hallway, a landscape titled “The Red House”. According to the free maps they took, the area actually looped around itself; two adjacent corners had doorways leading to the rotunda and their destination was diagonally opposite to where they stood.
As Twilight took a right at the end of her hallway, she suddenly jumped in excitement. Up ahead were the last two ponies she expected to be here in Canterlot, especially so soon after the postcard she received.
“Shining Armor? Cadence?!”
Shining Armor gave a start as he and his wife looked to their left. “Twily!” he exclaimed, as the siblings hugged one another. Cadence laughed as they let go.
“Hey Twilight!”
Facing one another now, they immediately started trotting in some synchronous rhythm. It was a little greeting they would do ever since they were fillies.
“Sunshine sunshine, ladybugs awake, Clap your hooves and do a little shake!”
The others smiled at this. “Well, at least the fate of Equestria isn't hanging in the balance today,” Shining Armor chuckled.
“I know, but… I thought you were back at the Crystal Empire! How are things up there?”
“Pretty well, actually.”
“So you’re here for the new White Palette exhibition too, Cadence?”
Cadence sighed and giggled. “Yes, but dear lords, have you seen the crowds today?”
“Yeah, seems like this exhibit’s pretty popular, and not to mention the free public admission this time of the week. Guess it can’t be avoided.
“By the way, I noticed a couple of Crystal Ponies in the exhibits. They must be surprised to see you here,” Twilight continued.
“Um, not really,” Shining Armor replied. “We took them along to Canterlot.”
“What do you mean?” asked Twilight.
“Prospective exchange students, Twily,” chimed Cadence. “For most of them, this is their first time here and when word got out about the new exhibit and that we were interested in seeing it, they wanted to come along.”
“Exchange students? That would be wonderful!”
Spike cleared his throat impatiently, prompting looks from the others. “Can we get to the painting soon? Don’t want to keep the others waiting.”
Cadence and Shining Armor turned to look at Twilight.
“Ah, you brought your friends along?”
“Yup, they’re ordering pizza at the café downstairs.”
“That sounds lovely! Hey Cadence, maybe we can call it a morning and take our Crystal friends down to lunch. Give the others a pleasant surprise.”
“I agree, Shining Armor. Well, we won’t delay you any longer, see you downstairs!”
“Bye Cadence! Bye Shining Armor!”
As the couple left, Twilight and Spike went swiftly to the painting in question.
“Ah, here it is, Spike!”
In front of them was a medium-sized canvas depicting a quaint oil painting of a red house on some Canterlot corner under azure skies. Spike took one look and frowned.
“You took us all the way here for this?”
“Spike, this isn’t just any painting. This was one of his most famous of his early works; through this, he pioneered a whole new genre of modern painting! Just look at the style of the brushstrokes, and…”
Spike rolled his eyes at this. When she was looking at anything related to her research, whether it be invisibility spells or Canterlot history, she tended to get excited and go into detail about various aspects of it all.
As he looked around, though, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. To his right, an unmarked doorway stood ajar. There was something off about it, if its apparent grubbiness compared to the rest of the hallway was any indication. He looked back at Twilight; she was too absorbed in the painting to really notice if he just snuck off, so he tiptoed towards the doorway. “Just a few more feet…”
“and the way he used contrasting colors in his artwork, quite shocking compared to the orthodox harmony of traditional painting, was later adopted by greats such as Manet and van Hoof, who in turn–Spike, where are you going?”
She turned to look and saw the baby dragon enter through the doorway. “Spike!” She ran to the doorway, hoping to catch him. “You’re not supposed to go in there!” she urgently whispered. “What if the guard sees you?”
“There’s nopony watching. Besides, this looks really interesting!”
“Spike, you can’t just go in areas like that! What if it’s restricted or under renovation?” Indeed, he’d crossed underneath yellow tape and moved aside the caution sign propped up against the door.
“I’m only just… oh wow Twi, check this out! I think you’ll like this!”
Twilight gritted her teeth in frustration. Still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that wherever Spike was headed to deserved a closer look. Partly out of this nagging sensation and partly to just get Spike and move on, she stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her.
“Alright… we definitely shouldn’t be here.”
The area was quite different from the hall they were just in. It appeared to be a dimly-lit hallway, though… Twilight felt that “storeroom” or even “attic” would describe the area better. Everywhere was covered in dust and cobwebs, including the wooden floor, the walls and the swinging flickering worklamps hanging from the ceiling. There were rags just thrown into corners or bins, and the whole environment just screamed neglect. Lining the walls were what appeared to be paintings, only these were just propped up against the sides and covered with canvas dropcloths. Spike had been looking under these one by one, until he found one that he liked in particular.
“Twi, look at this!”
“No! Spike!”
Too late; with a small shower of dust, he pulled off one of the dropcloths to reveal the oil painting underneath. Twilight sighed in annoyance, but as she was about to magic the cloth back in place, she paused, examining what she was seeing.
“Is that… the original? The original of Depths?”
In front of her was a rather simple painting. Upon the white canvas, lines had been drawn in an unnerving shade of red, forming into an illusory spiral pattern that seemed to draw the viewer in. On the lower left corner was White Palette’s signature and the year it was painted. Twilight found her eyes drifting into the pattern before she shook her head quickly in confusion.
“Now what would the original artwork be doing here? I thought it went missing soon before he died!”
In her research before the trip, some particularly unusual points in the artist’s history stood out; for instance, it was known that soon after he had become famous, replicas were made by either White Palette or other artists and sold to museums or private collectors throughout Equestria. Though none of these had the original signature, they were appreciated as memorabilia of the artistic movements he inspired and there was some demand. However, it wasn’t before long that, in a fit of madness, he set about methodically destroying several of his own original artworks before his untimely death. Nopony knew why he snapped like this; also, this meant that some of his artworks are only known through copies and/or photos of the paintings.
And, unless this was some very sophisticated forgery, here was one of the originals thought lost!
Now more curious than ever, Twilight and Spike uncovered more paintings. Some were portraits, others landscapes, each with some recurring theme.
“Spike, these are all lost originals. But then… why would the museum keep them here?”
“Maybe they’re being restored, and they didn’t finish in time for the exhibit?”
“That still doesn’t explain the dust covering the whole place,” Twilight said as she rubbed the grey film off a nearby stool. “It’s as if… these paintings have been sitting here for years and nopony bothered to check this area. Then again, how–”
squish.
They froze in place; the only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the worklamp up above. Apprehensively, Twilight turned her head to the source of the wet noise; somehow, she had placed her hoof right upon the canvas of one of the artworks. She drew it back to take a look – her left hoof was stained with red. In front of her, a perfect hoofprint was left upon the canvas she had just been touching seconds before.
“GAAK!”
She jumped back a few feet, landing on her haunches. Spike noticed this and rushed over to Twilight’s aid. “Twilight? Are you okay? What happened? Wait… your hoof’s all red.”
“Oh no. Oh NonononononoNO! This is NOT good.”
“How? You can just go to the mare’s room and wash up, it’s alright.”
“Alright? ALRIGHT? Of course it's not!” Twilight was now hurriedly getting to her hooves, trying not to trail paint all over the floorboards. “Look at this mess here! You know what happens to ponies who vandalize the art gallery? How are we supposed to pay for all this?! Aw hay, we shouldn’t have come in here after all.”
“Oh wow… but well… chill out Twilight! maybe if we put all the covers back, nopony’ll notice anything.”
Twilight Sparkle considered this for a bit. On the one hand they would be in so much trouble if they were caught, but on the other hand, this place looked so dilapidated that by the time anypony figured out it had been broken into, which might not be for days…
“Okay then; let’s just… let’s just straighten this place up, get out of here, and hope no one notices us. Hop on, Spike!”
She levitated the covers back in order before wiping her hoof upon one of the haphazard rags and heading to the doorway. Gingerly she turned the doorknob with her magic, and after peeking out to check if the coast was clear, she and Spike left, closing the door behind them and propping up the CAUTION sign as before. She headed down the opposite corridor and out of the exhibit area, through other halls and into the main rotunda.
“Phew, nopony saw us. Spike, what does that map say about the café?”
He unfolded the map and examined the lobby floor plan. “Let’s see… well we just need to head past the registration desk, through the hallway behind, then make a right down those stairs. The café should be up ahead.”
“Right!”
They trotted swiftly through the entrance hall before Spike tapped her neck. “Hey Twi?”
“What?”
“There doesn’t seem to be anypony there.”
Twilight stopped in her tracks as she passed the desk. She looked around; sure enough, it was devoid of ponies, and an “Out to Lunch” sign was propped upon its counters.
“Maybe they also went off to lunch Twi? After all, it is Sunday; the one day anypony could come in as they wish and the clerks wouldn't care, well, as long as no one was making a ruckus.”
“Maybe… come on, Spike, let’s get to the others quick!”
They continued down the path to the café. “That is strange, though. When I would come here on Sundays I didn’t recall the guards or clerks just leaving their desk empty like this. Usually it would be just a change in shifts; has their policy changed recently?” Shaking away these thoughts, Twilight finally reached the doorway leading to the café.
“…WHAT!?”
The café door was locked, with a sign saying “CLOSED FOR TODAY” plastered to it. She looked through the windows, expecting to see her friends or some other ponies, but the chairs had been propped up on the empty tables, the stalls had been gated shut, and the only light was from the foggy windows outside.
“…Spike? How long did we spend at that room?”
“I don’t know, a couple of minutes perhaps?”
“Yeah, it felt like it. Did we lose track of time? What if our friends are waiting upstairs for us? We have to check and see.”
They returned to the lobby, expecting the other mares to be waiting there. Not seeing them, Twilight tried to open the main entrance…
…
“It’s locked?!” She pushed against the door, hammering the mahogany with her hooves when it didn’t give way. “Hey! Hey! Applejack? Rainbow Dash? Rarity?! Is anypony out there?”
No response.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid! Getting locked inside the museum, what will my friends think? They’re probably looking for me all over Canterlot right now!”
“Um… maybe you could write to Princess Celestia? We can tell her where we are and she can let the officials know and get us out of here.”
Twilight immediately calmed down at this suggestion. If all else failed…
She levitated a quill and a parchment his way. “Okay Spike, take a letter.”
They walked underneath the skylight, now revealing a grey, foggy sky. Spike finished his note, sealed it, and prepared to deliver it to the Princess with his fire breath. He took one breath and exhaled… only to incinerate the letter in the green fire.
He and Twilight watched in shock as the ashes drifted down to the floor. “Impossible! You sure you sent it right?”
“I swear I did! I just… this has never happened before.”
“But how? Look, just… we’ll just find a way out of this place.”
They wandered into a deserted hallway, attempting to find a backdoor or window out of the museum. “Twilight! Look!”
There was a window up ahead of them, just as fogged up as the skylight. Twilight reared up, unlatched the strangely cold frame and attempted to push against it.
She pushed with all her might, but it didn’t budge. “Alright, Plan B; Spike, stand back a bit.” They did so and Twilight focused on her magic, her horn glowing magenta. It seemed much more difficult, more taxing than usual, and she found herself sweating and gritting her teeth as she tried to budge the window glass. Still nothing. Then she tried bucking it like Applejack, but for her efforts, she only hurt her back legs while the window remained tauntingly shut.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?!! It’s not locked but for some reason, it just won’t open! Spike, help me up here! HNNGG!!”
They heaved and groaned as they tried to pull and push the window, trying out from different sides, prying at the frame, even throwing themselves at the glass. Just as Twilight felt as if her muscles were going to burst, though…
THUD THUD THUD
Twilight and Spike shrieked in shock and fell to the ground, scrambling away from the window. A hoof had just been banging on the glass from the other side and now it was sliding down with a squeak.
“What… was… that?!”
She then rushed up to the window, shouting onto the surface. “Hello? Somepony? Anypony?! Could you let us out please?” There was no response at first. But then, the hoof returned to that window with a soft tap, and started writing upon it with that same squeaking noise. It was now tracing an arrow pointing to the right before it disappeared. Twilight froze, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Somewhere in a distant hallway, she could hear a door lock shut.
They had suddenly realized just how alone they were in the big gallery.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for taking a look at my first fanfiction! Much effort has been placed into this to make sure it was good, including peer review among at least my local friends. Be that as it may, none of them are full hardcore bronies, though Tom has been very helpful in establishing the psychological dynamic based on his experience in MLP and general horror literature. That's where you come in. So folks, feel free to suggest any changes to make this a better fic (grammar, format, details I might have missed, etc.).
My main motive for establishing this fanfiction was out of sheer interest in kouri's game. Having played it myself and achieved all the alternate endings possible, I realized that this could make a great dark mindrape fic, enabling me to explore elements that were glossed over in both Ib and MLP. But ah, who am I kidding; the ultimate clincher came with *Sonikku001's "Twi" artwork over on dA, portraying TS and SA as Ib's main characters. Once I got the ball rolling, it was only a matter of time before other influences bled in, including the Adventure exhibit at COSI, Fummy's "The Witch's House", and the ideas of dream descent explored in Inception. Overall, I'm really excited for this, so best cross my fingers and pray :) 
Note: if you do so choose to favorite, please do let me know in the comments what you thought of the fanfic thus far. I would love to hear constructive critiques along with possible thoughts, ideas, predictions, and other elements you might have found humorous or cool.
12:10 PM, Canterlot Gallery of Modern Art
At one point a few months after she started coming to the Gallery as a filly, Twilight Sparkle found herself locked in by mistake one afternoon. She had dozed off on one of the benches deep within the exhibit halls, and by sheer bad luck none of the watchmen had noticed her presence or bothered to wake her up. At first she relished at the thought of having the gallery to herself, so that she could enjoy any artwork as long as she pleased. When evening fell and the lights went out, though, she’d begun to worry. In the darkness, everything felt so much more menacing; statues and portraits that looked innocent during the daytime now seemed to be watching her with malice at night. She found herself trying to find a way out through various exits, none of which gave way. She became scared, hungry, tired and lonely; the young filly wandered the vast hallways until she finally fell asleep in exhaustion upon the carpeted floor. Of course, as she got older, she discounted her experience as simply a product of childish fear, of seeing monsters and nightmares where there were none.
So why then did she feel that same dread, a déjà vu-like sensation that prickled the coat on the back of her neck? It didn’t make sense! After all, it was daytime and the gallery was still lit as far as she was concerned. Also, during her visits soon before moving to Ponyville, she would be hard-pressed to find other ponies, except of course on Sundays like today; this solitude suited her well, and gave her time to think. She thought she had accustomed herself to the emptiness by now, that it was nothing to worry about; why then did her instincts scream otherwise?
Snap out of it, she thought. All right, so perhaps she was locked in again; perhaps that hoof from earlier belonged to somepony passing nearby who had heard her attempts to escape, so it would only be a matter of time before someone from the outside provided her a way out, back to her friends. Still, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Twilight could not shake away the whole strangeness of the situation. First, she could have sworn she’d seen her friends go downstairs, not outside. Unless Pinkie got out of hand again (which happened the last time they visited Canterlot), they wouldn’t have been kicked out through the lower-level emergency exits. As for the rest of the crowd, it was highly improbable that they’d all go out for lunch at the same time. Back in her days at Canterlot, she’d often end up eating out by half-past two. Right now, it was still 10 after noon.
Also, why did her magic fail her all of a sudden? After trying to escape by force, she had realized she hadn’t tried to teleport out of the gallery (as Spike pointed out) and so she’d made her attempt. However, it didn’t work… it was almost as if there was no outside; whenever she tried it, she would find herself thrown back upon the floor. Intra-teleportation didn’t work so well either; even a few feet’s distance left her panting and sweating in exhaustion. Come to think of it, anything involving her horn seemed significantly harder now, save for basic telekinesis. It was as if something was blocking her magic and keeping her here. What was going on?
She and Spike trotted back into the sculpture room, where Fluttershy had recoiled in fear an hour before. Now that she was here she was able to get a really good look at them, but then… just as before, something was off, though she couldn’t quite put her hoof on it. It was that night at the museum all over again. She knew White Palette had intentionally made these sculptures as disturbing and demented as possible, but now they were emanating a sense of hatred that she hadn’t noticed before. Their stone eyes, once seemingly emotionless when Twilight and Spike were here with her friends, now looked down upon them with cold, baleful glares. The actions they depicted also felt more real, more visceral. Twilight could really sense the sorrow of the petrified ponies curled up in agony and the violent lusts of the crude, sinful acts depicted upon the plinths; it all just felt too real. Perhaps this was why Fluttershy had cowered at the statues when they had come here for the first time.
They came to one sculpture near a distant corner of the room, one with no title at its base. As horribly twisted as the others had been, this was by far the worst. Upon the round pedestal, two ponies stood, one on top of the other. The bottom pegasus was staring up at his aggressor in abject fear and helplessness, his wings broken and useless and his hooves raised above his face in a feeble attempt to defend himself. The top pony, a unicorn, had his hind hooves firmly upon the pegasus’ tail, his back bent over his victim, and his muzzle open in a bellow of primal wrath. His left foreleg was pointing off to one side, while his right foreleg was raised upward, ready to strike. In its hoof was a stone dagger.
Spike and Twilight found themselves clinging to one another without thinking; they were transfixed at the scene before them, though they tried not to stare at it for too long. Those hateful eyes, fixed in their vile expression within the marble, were quite fearful to behold. It was almost as if the statue would come to life and turn its knife upon them next. But nothing happened. “Twilight, you’re being silly. It’s only a statue, it can’t hurt us,” she thought, before calling off to Spike, “Come on Spike, let’s go somewhere else.” He got on Twilight’s back again as they trotted out, their hoofsteps echoing throughout the hallways. Overall, it felt eerily quiet… though Twilight could have sworn she heard a slight scraping of rock as she and Spike hurried out of that room.
They felt no relief from the overall sensation as they wandered through the hallways. Even abstract artwork or paintings depicting still life were harder to watch, and they would often find themselves suddenly looking back to see whether there was someone following them. “Umm… Twilight, maybe we should check that room again?”
Twilight paused for a moment. It had just occurred to her that everything felt fine up until the moment they went to that hall. “That’s a good idea, Spike. Maybe then we can get to the bottom of this. Let’s go.” So they decided to return to the Foundations area, since that was where the entrance had been discovered. Trotting through the rotunda, they made their way to the doorways leading into the exhibit. They came up to the closed doorways, but to their surprise, both entrances were locked. “Wait…” Twilight said as she paused to examine this. A sticky-note had been hastily placed upon one of the doorways; another arrow, seemingly leading into the adjacent hallway. Who could have put it there? Was there someone else in the galleries? Setting that worry aside for the time being, and seeing that it couldn’t hurt to try it out, they decided to follow the mysterious directions.
It was slow progress. They managed to pass by the windowed area where Twilight had attempted to force her way out without much effect, but when she took a couple of steps forward, her ears perked at a tinkling noise behind them. Looking around, they noticed that a bottle had fallen onto the floor and shattered, its contents seeping into the carpet. It had fallen off a shelf of an installation comprising of a group of similar bottles a few yards back, obviously out of reach for either of them.
Spike was clinging to Twilight’s mane now as they tried to process this sight. “You think it’s… ghosts?”
“Not likely…”
“but possible, right?”
“Of course not, Spike.”
But deep down, Twilight didn’t seem so sure. On the one hoof, she knew there was no such thing as ghosts. They were as make-believe as zombies, old zebra curses, and other such supernatural nonsense. Then again, she had seen stranger things throughout her travels with her friends. Only recently in her studies did she realize just how multifaceted and unexpected magic really was. You never knew whether or not this tale or that fable was somewhat based on reality, and by now she had come to the conclusion that most if not all old mare’s stories had started out from at least some kernel of truth. Of course, she still ultimately refused to accept some explanation unless she knew without a doubt it was true, but considering all the strange stuff that she felt, it did seem as if she was being followed by a–
*cough*
She spun around, sure that somepony had just sneaked up behind her. However, there was nothing there. Just an empty hall lined with portraits and geometric sculptures. She felt Spike tug her mane gently.
“Come on Twi! I don’t like this place.”
They moved along the hallway, passing by the various paintings; Twilight tried to avert her eyes from the artwork and focus on her destination, but for some reason she found it hard. It was as if they were actively drawing her in, tempting her. At the same time, though, if something was really watching her from behind the paintings, she didn’t want to attract their attention. “Okay, Twi, now you’re just getting paranoid, you don’t see anypony around, there’s nothing there…” she thought to herself.
Suddenly, she paused; she was sure that, from the corner of her eye, something moved. Turning her head to one side, she found herself staring at an unusual landscape painting. Trotting forward, she took a closer look: this was another of White Palette’s artworks. It was an oil painting, an evening panorama of Canterlot, thrown into high contrast with his choice of colors. When Twilight had been with her friends, they had passed by this artwork earlier and Twilight had explained about its overall significance. Titled “Homeland”, it depicted the city he lived in, complete with the finely-stroked waterfalls that graced the borders of the capital…
… waterfalls that were now flowing.
Twilight blinked, and then quickly rubbed her eyes. No way could the painting be moving… could it? The sight that greeted her did nothing to reassure her, though it was strangely mesmerizing and looked so much more realistic than before.
“Twilight?”
Spike was now a few feet ahead of her, having stopped and called back to Twilight when he noticed that she had fallen behind. She started at his voice, as if waking from a trance, then began to follow him. She couldn’t help but take a last glance at the painting; this time, the waterfalls were now static, frozen within the brushstrokes upon the canvas.
Perhaps she was just getting tired and confused as a result. Yes, that would explain why she was feeling strange all this time. As for the bottle from earlier, it could have been knocked over by a random draft. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that such coincidences could be discounted so easily; after all, she’d been wrong about the Pinkie Sense. Oh, Pinkie would not be able to stop twitching if she were here…
They went their way through more rooms, deeper into the gallery, Twilight being extra cautious now for any further strangeness. Throughout this, Twilight could hear soft hoofsteps nearby and was now beginning to doubt that those were coming from the staff on site, or from some other disoriented visitor. They walked quietly into a room filled with still life portraits. It was here that Twilight saw it; there up ahead was another door that resembled the one Spike had wandered off to, right next to a painting depicting an over-filled fruit basket. Unlike the one back at the Foundations exhibit, this door was not cordoned off by bright yellow tape. It must lead to the opposite end of where they had come through last time. She hastened her pace, cantering quickly at the door, but just as she was within a few paces from it, an orange fell out of the fruit basket painting.
Twilight’s sudden cry of fear echoed throughout the room; Spike yelped in surprise as she scurried backwards several yards, almost colliding with him, but instead hitting a sculpture stand that wobbled slightly upon impact.
“Twilight! What’s wrong?!”
“Spike!! Did… did you just see that?!”
“See what?”
“The orange just…” She was staring at the painting really hard now; where the orange had once sat within the painting, there was now a colorful gap, as if the artist had never painted it in the first place. Also, it had rolled out of sight at any rate, so there was no way she could piece together what she was certain she had just saw.
“Twilight, what are you talking about? I don’t see any orange around here. Are you sure you’re not seeing things?”
Twilight remained motionless where she sat. “nononono that did not just seriously happen…” She had now shut her eyes, pounding her head and tousling her mane with her forehooves as she repeatedly murmured to herself. “it’s only a dream, it’s only a dream, wake up, wake up Twi!” She was still at it when there was an unlocking sound ahead of them. She and Spike looked up as the door ahead of them swung open into the darkness.
“Twilight? Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Spike had returned to where Twilight had sat, still staring at the scene ahead of them. Whatever feelings of uncertainty she had before, she was clearly freaked out now. “Twilight!” Spike was shaking her gently now as she continued to stare. “Look, the door’s open now; you said you wanted to check out that room, right?” There was a moment’s pause before she blinked and turned to look at Spike. She got up and straightened out her saddlebags. “You’re right… let’s go.” Maybe Spike was right; maybe there had been no orange at all. At any rate, the less she tried to wrap her mind around this strangeness, the better she felt, and besides, maybe that room held all the answers. With one last apprehensive look at the painting, Twilight followed Spike through the doorway; they quickly found themselves back in the storeroom they had come through earlier.
Clouds of dust were still hanging in the air from when they last entered this place, and it mostly looked as it was before, except from the opposite side. That was the only similarity, though. Twilight was shuddering all over, that prickling feeling of being watched increasing tenfold. She found herself treading very carefully and constantly looking around as if something would leap out at her. She felt thankful that she had taken the time to cover up the artworks before leaving the hall through the opposite door back then; whatever was going on back at the hallways, she was sure these paintings would drive her mad.
Maybe this was where all of this stemmed from? It was not unheard of (though pretty rare) for unicorn artists like White Palette to embed enchantments into their artwork for extra effect, but whatever was going on, it involved magic quite unlike anything she had ever seen, and surely beyond the capabilities of a weak, starving artist. Even Twilight Sparkle, one of Princess Celestia’s most talented students, had to exert significant effort to accomplish simple transmutations such as apple-to-orange, and here she was seeing painted images come to life and peel straight off the canvas. Could this have been why these artworks were locked away, out of sight and out of mind from the populace? She then shuddered at another possibility; what if, in Spike’s and subsequently Twilight’s actions concerning their first visit to this room, they had accidentally released this magic throughout the whole museum?
But then… now that she thought about it further, Spike didn’t seem to notice any of the strange things happening so far. Why? All right, maybe he didn’t look in time to see the weirdness, but whatever the case, they all seemed so real to her. Now that she thought about it, though, it seemed easier to believe that these occurrences could just as well have been figments of her imagination, hence Spike’s apparent inability to see what was going on. Was she going crazy? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.
She had barely shaken her head to clear her thoughts when one of the cloths fell to the floor.
They stood motionless for a whole minute, afraid of what could happen next; however, there was nothing but silence apart from their slow breathing and the creak of the lamp swinging above. Apprehensively, they then stepped in to take a closer look at the subject matter of the newly-revealed painting. It was the same one Twilight had touched earlier, with a fresh hoofprint still in place. She felt guilty at this faux pas, but at least it did not detract from the overall image of the artwork. It was quite strange, an abstract representation, barely recognizable as some town and its inhabitants (perhaps it depicted Ponyville?). The image was difficult to discern clearly due to its bright colors and seemingly wild brush work and in all fairness it was probably the least realistic in style of all of White Palette’s artwork, at least of all his pieces that were meant to depict a real place or some portrait, rather than mere abstract, ephemeral concepts. Despite her paranoid hesitation, Twilight’s academic curiosity overruled her initial instincts and she examined the miniature brass plaque attached to the frame.
“Allegory of the Cave. Spike, this was one of White Palette’s later artworks, also thought destroyed. When he first made this, he apparently meant it as a form of satire on the mainstream artistic temperament of the time.”
“Satire?”
“Making fun of and laughing at the way normal ponies thought. It’s like… well, it’s like his own form of revenge on a society who saw him as ugly, as a freak. But when I look at this, why do I sense so much pain? It’s like... looking at this makes me feel so sad for him. I can almost feel just how miserable and lonely he felt throughout his life.”
Finding no reasonable explanation for this emotional pull, she began to pick up the cloth with her magic, but something caught her eye upon the canvas. She wasn’t too sure about it, but it seemed like the hoofprint appeared darker now. She drew a little closer…
Without warning, a red liquid began to ooze down from the hoofprint. It dripped down all the way to the bottom of the frame, and soon enough, the borders began to leak the substance into the wood and the cloth, staining them red.
Twilight’s face turned pale as she backed away from this sight. She was too horrified to even scream, and could only choke out brief gasps of horror while the liquid began to pool around the floor.
“Twilight?”
She felt the spreading puddle touch her hooves and she instinctively glanced at her forelegs, white-faced. The paint felt warm and slimy…
… as if her hooves were stained in somepony’s blood.
She let out a high wail of terror, startling Spike, and jumped up onto the wooden stool, her back arched, her eyes fixed upon the floor in front of the now-bleeding painting.
“Twilight!!!” Spike was now panicking, scared by Twilight’s fit.
“Spike! Get… away… get away from the puddle!”
“What puddle?”
“That red… stuff! Look out, it’s at your feet!”
Spike looked down in confusion. The puddle had now indeed reached him and was already covering his feet.
“Twilight? What are you talking about? There’s nothing on the floor.”
“Spike!! Can’t you see–”
She choked mid-sentence as she finally realized what Spike’s words meant. Now she knew why it appeared that only she saw any of the paintings come to life as they wandered the halls. It wasn’t that he didn’t see.
It was that he couldn’t see.
Twilight kept whimpering as Spike stared at her, looking at her as if he’d just realized she was a changeling. He backed away, trailing small prints upon the floor; he didn’t know what to think, what to do! Twilight was no better off either. No matter what was going on, she knew… somewhere deep down in the corners of her mind, she’d finally lost it.
Just as Twilight thought that things couldn’t get any worse, she heard hoofsteps coming closer. Her head turned, afraid of what was coming, certain it would be nothing good. As she watched, she heard the succession of splashes as something stepped in the red puddle. First one, then two hoofprints appeared upon the floor. More appeared until a trail formed, slowly making its way towards the far door. As she gazed in fear at the prints, she saw the prints pause at the threshold; a moment later, the door opened, leading back to the Foundations exhibit, just as the door they had entered through locked with an audible click.
They stared back, not knowing what to do. It seemed obvious what the next step was, to go through the now-open doorway and find some other path out. Neither of them wanted to stay in this dank room any longer than they had, but Twilight didn’t like the prospect of facing… whatever was probably outside. She tried to take some calming breaths to steady herself; it was a trick Princess Cadence had taught her as a filly and it had worked during the preparation for the Winter Games.
When she finally calmed down enough, she gingerly stepped off her stool, giving the pool a wide berth as she and Spike made their way out to the white-halled exhibits. Looking ahead, Twilight saw that the prints extended all the way down one end of the loop; was this presence heading back to the lobby? Just as she pondered this, she heard a distant crashing noise, seemingly confirming her suspicions. Meanwhile, Spike flinched back upon seeing her reaction, possibly afraid of another nervous breakdown. “Well, best investigate that noise first. If I’m right, then I can tell Spike what I think’s going on,” Twilight thought. He could always laugh at her jumpiness later, or something.
They proceeded in silence back to the rotunda, Twilight not being sure what to expect. She was sure that whatever was slowly trailing paint all over the floors was headed to the “Labyrinth” painting; after all, it must’ve knocked over one of the posts surrounding the canvas. But before she could contemplate this any further, they had walked through the threshold leading to the lobby, and Twilight gasped.
Red hoofprints were indeed headed into the painting, past the ropes cordoning off the artwork, except… one of the posts was missing, while the velvet ropes it had been connected to swung limply from a recent disturbance. But if the invisible presence had knocked over the post, then where was it? As Twilight stepped closer to the boundary, she saw something that she would not forget for a long time. Instead of a mere illusion on canvas, there was a real, tangible sinkhole, lined with precariously-placed tiles that would probably fall into the floor below if touched. Below was a total mess upon the carpeted floor. Among the marble and plaster debris lay the missing post, while brochures that were originally placed upon it were strewn everywhere. However, the most interesting change was that there was no longer any anamorphic trickery apparent. Every angle showed a coherent undistorted view of some underground location, including the still-falling tiles, some of which had rapidly-fading hoofprints. Twilight's mind was now buzzing with various thoughts as to what this could imply.
“Okay, don’t be a coward, Twi, so you’re supposed to go down there, maybe that’s the way forward…”
“Are you talking to... yourself? Twilight?”
“Huh?”
Twilight started in surprise. Was she so scared out of her wits that she was beginning to think out loud, just like what happened back in Ponyville the one time she forgot to write her reports to the Princess?
“Twilight, I'm really worried. I mean, I don’t know what’s getting to you here but you’ve been freaking out a lot. Twilight, what is going on?”
Twilight sighed. Might as well break it to Spike what was going on in the museum. Let him know now what they had to do next. “Very well, Spike,” and she told him about everything she’d seen, especially the pool of blood back at the storeroom and what they were seeing now. When he heard about that, he automatically looked around him, then at the soles of his feet despite himself.
“So Spike, I guess we now have to step into that painting. It seems as if whoever’s been pacing around went down there, and–”
“Hold on a sec. Down there? It’s just a flat painting; we saw it after the others went to lunch. And what do you mean ‘whoever’s been pacing around’?”
“You mean you didn’t hear anyone else? No hoofsteps, nothing?”
“Of course not! I mean, it’s weird, the gallery being empty on a Sunday. And that bottle that fell earlier. But now you’re telling me about moving, bleeding paintings… it’s not like you Twi.”
“Alright, so what do you think is going on?”
Spike scratched his chin a bit before replying. “Well,” he pondered, “maybe you’ve been so anxious all week about this exhibit that you’re just so tired; I mean, it’s messing up your mind, so you start seeing things.”
“And feeling red sticky paint on my hooves?”
“Look, Twi”– Spike sighed in exasperation – “I know it’s not much to go on, but what else could be happening? Here. Maybe if I stepped onto the canvas–”
“Spike! NO!”
“Relax, Twi! I’m not gonna fall.”
“But Spike–”
“Just trust me, Twi! Maybe this’ll prove it’s just an illusion.”
Despite Twilight’s half-articulated protests, Spike determinedly walked up to the border, ducked underneath a velvet rope, and looked at the edge of the canvas he was standing on. Spike took one step into the painting…
“See, there’s nothing there but paint and–”
The next thing Twilight saw was Spike slipping and disappearing into the canvas with a series of loud thumps. “Spike!!” she gasped, as she rushed up against the edge of the floor and looked down. He was now lying unconscious among the debris upon the maroon carpet, a cloud of dust still settling around him. This was it. She felt that nothing could dissuade her now from the evidence of what was clearly going on, no matter how much it flew in the face of all things logical and sensible. Everything really was coming to life; there was an underground realm beneath that painting.
And now there was only one option left: to step through the opening and into the lower gallery.
Author's Note
And so it begins... this'll be GOOD :D
