The night has fallen again. Like clockwork the moon comes out to show its face to her. She doesn't know really how to feel or even what to think. in her mind so many things race and her soul feels burdened with the melancholy that these thoughts bring. Some of these thoughts are self-destructive while others are scathing and cruel. She bears no external scars that match the ones she's made on her mind.
She walks away from the large window sighing as she slips past her still made bed. The night sky had never held answers for her. In her mind a verse begins to form, just a fragment of line here, a rhyme there. It moves quickly though, playing off of the pain that she is hiding, turning into something that truly reflects how she is feeling.
She was never one for arts. Always seeking some answer or other in a book or old scroll that might have some magical way of answering a question she had or a creative itch she might have felt. But there were nights, like this one, where something gripped her, gripped and squeezed so hard she could barely breathe. She had been a brilliant child most had said. Able to decipher any text or understand any concept that was put before her. She had even made it to the prodigious school for gifted unicorns, a high honor indeed for those who earned it. She had spent her whole life working for an unforeseen conclusion and along that path had only ever made five friends. Five of the most wonderful and caring friends any pony could ever ask for and she would never wish to abandon them for any reason.
She moves over to a desk that is situated not too far from her bed. She flicks on the desk lamp. The lamp is bright enough to write by but not so bright as to wake her friend who still slumbers away peacefully in his basket. She quietly opens a drawer and pulls out a small purple book with a clasp on the cover. She did not often visit her diary, it was a place where only her sorrow was stored, but it would help to settle this pain that had settled upon her these past few days.
The pages flipped open magically, a skill she had mastered so long ago, as she searched for a blank page to put her new poem. The quill clinked quietly on the bottom of the inkwell. The tip met the parchment and she let go of her thoughts and let the prose come freely, unfettered by anything but emotion.
Why was it me you honored so?
Now I have answers I didn't want to know
Am I eternal now, when will I die?
But I can't ask you princess, why?
Am I immortal just like you?
Will I see lifetimes all the way through?
I've looked in all the books and scrolls
I've tried my best to pay my debts and the coming tolls
I earned my friendship, is that not enough?
Must I forget all of this stuff?
I wish to go back to the way things were
But I'll wish quietly to avoid causing a stir
If they go before me I don't know what I'll do
I'll weep, I'll scream, my sorrow will brew
I'll worship, I'll submit, I'll want to die
Just to stay with my friends on whom I rely
I'm begging, I'm pleading let me see them again
You don't know how I feel or what's setting in
I don't want to lose them, it's all I ask
And for you, oh princess, I'll do any task
As the words were written in her immaculate script she feels some of the weight lift. Her heart unclenches by a notch and the knot in her throat unties itself somewhat. She thinks about the other entries in her diary. She tells herself that she would never flip through those pages again. She had made that mistake once and it had filled her with a dread that she felt she still could not shake. The past was the past, but it could haunt ones being for all of their life.
You need to make some friends. The words echo in her mind, those same words she heard so long ago as Spike had read them to her off of the letter from the princess. Now she had friends, the truest of friends and she didn't even know if she would get to keep them.
She sighs as she looks over her most recent work. The timing was off, the word choice somewhat obscure; it was imperfect. She feels anger come up at her mediocrity. She readies the quill to strike out her latest work, blacking it from existence. She stops herself though as she thinks to the other entries and poems that she has penned in her diary. Some of those poems are even worse than this one and some of her entries were just rants and tirades. She cleans the quill and places it back in its place and begins to organize the desk like the thousands of times before. She shuffles her wings and sighs as the book is magically placed back into its drawer.
The sadness is gone, drained away with her words. Now all she felt was a void and she had nothing to put into it. She turns and stares out into her large, empty home. All that was there were the hundreds of books, most of which she had already read and dissected mentally. Stupid, useless books. These ancient Tomes could do little for her anymore. They would never laugh with her, they would never ask for any help. She sighed. They would never hug her and tell her everything would be okay. Especially when it felt like the weight of the world was upon her shoulders.
She moves away from her desk and the horrible little diary it contains. She shuffles her wings around some feeling her feathers brush against her fur. She dreads the implications of this new gift. She stops to look at the wings. These are no gift, they are a curse. She doesn't cry, princesses are not supposed to cry.
She slowly makes her way back to the large window and stares at the sky once again. She quietly wishes to return to the way things were. So few questions and so much time. A rather odd problem that few will ever have. These questions though, who could really answer them?