Aftershock [First Impression Sequel, RGRE, Pred/Prey] (WIP))

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                                                        --[PROLOGUE]--
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>In one single moment your entire mood shifts, serene boredom and momentum morphing instantly into something else, something lively.
>You stare down at your mahogany desk in something akin to shock, the envelope you’d just singled out staring back at you, waiting patiently.
>On instinct, you raise your head and swivel, scanning your quiet study with…
>Suspicion?
>Embarrassment?
>Hard to tell, but the state of your environment is much easier to parse; same burgundy curtains, same bookshelves, same uninspiring paintings, same worn out blue rug.
>You are alone.
>With that thought in mind, you set your sights back upon the letter you’d just found in your care, swallowing a hard lump in your throat as you examine the address scribbled onto it more closely.
>The words are familiar to you.
>You’d paid MUCH attention to the location they presented not a month prior.
>’223 Chocolane Avenue, Ponyville’.
>The uniform slant of the lettering mixed with the ridged, imperfect intensity of the impressions and forming felt like an odd mix of mouth-manual and telekinetic penmanship, physicality and rawness intermingled with poise and focus.
>The style was distinct enough for you to spot it on sight even if you’d only seen it once or twice prior.
>Unsurprisingly, his manner of written communication manages to be just as mysterious and alluring as his spoken one, as if every uniquely-molded character was there just for you to enjoy.
>You lean over without thinking, bringing your snout close to the sealed message.
>It’s faint, but you’re sure you catch notes of him lingering in between the smell of parchment and other, less enamoring subtleties.
>You feel the chilly autumn breeze flow in from outside as you carefully, very carefully, peel the seal at the heart of the envelope open with magic, the window you’d meant to close before your discovery forgotten for more exciting ventures.
>The moment the contents of the letter are opened to the air a much more vibrant and much less complex scent hits your nose.
>Ink of course, but something else, something much better.
>The simple notes of him you noticed before now came together to form a more complete and familiar song, one you’d been sorely missing.
>Maleness and perhaps the faintest hint of cologne tingle in the bridge of your snout, burning your nose as you breathe in the remnants of him still stuck on the page from his diligence.
>Your eyes scan the text for the briefest moment and catch a hint of your name buried within.
>’Celestia’ – your mind whispers, miming not only the haunting quality of his voice perfectly to match your memories, but also the sensation of his breath warming the shell of your ear as he says it.
>You shiver, deciding quickly to ignore your idle and mischievous thoughts for the item that is causing them.
>… for now.
>You hover the filled page away from your face and set it gently on the table, your eyes adjusting much more easily to the words at this distance:
>’Dear Celestia,’ he writes.
>’It’s been a while since I’ve actually written a letter to someone, so I hope my handwriting isn’t too terrible.’
>You scoff to yourself at the ridiculousness of the statement.
>’I also don’t have any idea how I might get this to you, but I’m sure Twilight can figure it out. She’s been a real lifesaver in general to be honest. I haven’t really been out much since I got here. I’m not really sure if’.
>There’s a strange mark here, as if he’d started writing a different word but decided against it at the last second.
>The words that appear after this point look the slightest bit different as well, like he’d dropped the letter and picked up writing again later.
>’if things would be going so well if she wasn’t around. I appreciate you having her and her friends come around to check up on me. Meeting other ponies has been interesting.’
>A smile creeps across your mouth when you read ‘meeting other ponies’, and it grows as he elaborates.
>’I’m still not sure how things are going to turn out, but getting to know some of the locals has been great. They’ve been quite’.
>Another last-second change.
>’friendly to me, which, I admit, I wasn’t expecting. Very friendly. I didn’t think that Rainbow Dash and I were going to be very close when we first met, but after a while of talking we really started hitting it off. Rarity too. I wasn’t expecting Rarity at all. She’s very charming. I was surprised by how much we clicked.’
>Your grin falters here.
>Just a bit.
>’Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just throwing up all these names out of the blue like you’ll know them right off the bat. Twilight has mentioned that you know every pony around, but it was a little weird to just start talking about them huh? Do you know them? I hope so.’
>’Ahhh, I’m rambling. How are you? I hope you’re doing alright. I got your gift by the way. Thank you. I shared it, I hope you don’t mind. It really helped everyone loosen up and enjoy themselves. I wish you were here with us to enjoy it.’
>’I miss you, I hope that doesn’t sound strange after such a short time’.
>Your heart strums at his sentiment, and you lift the page from the desk to examine the choice lines over again.
>’I miss you’.
>’I wish you were here’.
>The hint of his scent on the page hits you again for the perfect double attack of recollection and real life, and you can almost imagine him right next to you saying the words himself.
“Me too,” you whisper sullenly, setting the letter back down.
>’I’m probably still rambling, and I know you’re probably very busy where you are right now. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you after everything you’ve done——’.
>Here a small portion of text is carefully scratched out, one or two words at most, and the following line continues as if the redaction isn’t there.
>‘The reason I started writing this letter is so I could tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Celestia. I know my first impression probably wasn’t all that great, but things could’ve gone much, much worse for me if you weren’t who you are. You’ve protected me from a lot. You’ve shown me a lot, too. I hope I get to see you again so I can tell you all of this in person. I should have done it the night I left but I didn’t. I wish I did. I’m sorry.’
>The small hints up to now alerting you that the wording in his letter had been careful and hesitantly considered vanish almost completely during the last section, as if he wrote it all quickly and cleanly in one burst without any intent of limiting himself.
>The notion that his adulation is utterly sincere and uncensored intensifies the already significant warmth in your fluttering chest.
>Suffice it to say that you read his final lines with rapt interest.
>’God, I’m apologizing a lot too, aren’t I? I guess I’m not very good at this whole letter-writing thing after all. Still, I hope I got my meaning across, and I really hope this letter reaches you.  I’ll talk to Twilight about getting it to you as soon as I can. She should be over soon to talk about Saturday. Rainbow Dash invited me to something at the park and I was thinking about going. I’m really nervous, but I know that you’d want me to get out and try so that’s what I’m going to do.’
>’I hope to hear back from you soon.’
>’Thank you again.’
“Love, Anonymous.” You whisper in disbelief, finishing his final line aloud.
>There’s some smudging at the beginning where the ‘L’ is, as if he briefly fretted over how to sign his message.
>It only made his final choice feel all the more deliberate and meaningful.
>The letter isn’t from him, it’s by him – with love.
>Your lips form a thin line from the implication, face burning as you whip your eyes back to the top of the letter and reread it in its entirety once, twice, and then thrice more, absorbing every sentence over again with new context.
>It doesn’t take long for you to simply get lost in his words altogether, his short description of the days and emotions he’d felt since you’d parted becoming your entire world.
>Even his fumbles become significant as you continue to obsess over his work, each small mistake or errant fleck of ink on the paper cementing in your mind how real and alive the being who wrote it is.
>Now that you were sure you’d seen everything there was to see, your mind had far fewer compunctions about interrupting your reading.
>’I appreciate everything you’ve done for me Celestia’ a figment of the human in your head murmurs, drawing close.
>’I’ve missed you so much’.
>Your daydream is all the more vivid and captivating in the aftermath, his fresh communique powering your imagination with new content.
>You can practically feel his body against yours again, the warmth, the rhythm of his chest, the feel of his lips.
>The sensations were all worn to you from the passage of time and the dimming effect of the alcohol you consumed that night, but now they suddenly felt so raw, so close.
>’I should have done this a long time ago’
>Your brain is twisting his words to better suit your mood, each approximation drawing you deeper in.
>The next breath you take is loud enough to reach your own ears, your head dipping low toward your desk and to his message.
>You catch his scent again, just as your puckered lips graze the paper…
>Just as the door to your study creeks open in your peripheral.
>”Ma’am?” a nasal voice intrudes, followed swiftly by a heavy thud and a flurry of non-distinct movement.
>Something screams within you, and your horn flashes to life for the briefest of moments.
“Yes,” you reply in a measured tone through your teeth, your jaw wired tight in an attempt to suppress the pain of bashing your foreleg into your desk.
>You notice about now that your pile of ‘read’ letters had been toppled onto your most current and special one, your horn practically acting with a will of its own to shield you from further embarrassment.
>A familiar milk-yellow mare apprehensively peeks her head through the crack in your door, her hoof rising to deliver a trio of polite but wholly redundant knocking sounds on the arch.
“What is it, Eggnog?” you say, policing your tone more successfully as the shock from the pain subsides.
>”Are you, uh… busy?” she asks, the face behind her thick glasses shifting in a mixture of confusion and concern.
“Oh – no,” you reply hastily, shaking your head for emphasis.
>You can still feel how hot and ruffled the fur around your cheeks are.
“No, I’m not busy.” You reiterate, hoping dearly that your face was adequately expressing how bored and innocent you wanted her to think you were.
>The flicker of suspicion that crosses her face pits your stomach unmercifully.
>”Okay… well…” she begins, pushing fully inside, her ever-present collection of scrolls and documents hovering by in her canary yellow aura, “I need you to sign these. If you have a moment…”
>”Of course – yes, of course!” you return instantly, upping the volume and energy of your voice in a desperate last attempt at disguising how you felt.
>She definitely saw you kissing it.
>She’s trying to hide it, but you can SEE it in her eyes.
>Her narrow little eyes.
>”Are you okay?” she asks, continuing to squint at you through her spectacles with obvious skepticism as she presents three glowing documents, piling them in a row over your other toppled letters.
>You sigh glumly, hanging your head as the white spire atop it slowly comes back to life and affixes a damp quill into a similarly-hued aura of magic to her own.
”Yes,” you reply, defeated and not totally confident in your answer.
>”I see.”
>The quill in your magical grasp hovers over the first document on the left as your mind scrambles to remember how to be professional.
>You find the line you need to sign but come woefully short of freeing your mind from unrelated thoughts; you didn’t even stop to read what you were affixing your signature to, you were just about to jot your name down on an official document without even knowing what it is.
“Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in this place, Eggnog?” you ask without thinking
>Your little yellow assistant flinches from your sudden and personal aside as you whip your attention back up at her.
>”U-Uhhm—“
”Like you can’t breathe? Like everypony – everyTHING is watching you?” you continue almost instantly, the pace of your words quickening slowly into a rant.
>Eggnog squirms in place and looks around, clearly trying to come up with an answer decent enough to assuage your random interrogation.
>”W-Well, not really?” she comes to, a rushed, placating smile crossing her face.
>”I kinda’… like it here, I guess?”
>The way she ends the answer to your question with another question is curiously maddening to you, as if, with her statement, the unconscious part of your brain had finally compiled enough evidence to prove that she was some kind of pod-pony, and was now frantically asserting this fact to your conscious self.
>You don’t consider for even a moment that you’re her boss, even if the two of you are close.
“Really?” you reply, “This place really makes you—”
>You turn your head up and away as you think of a word to use; the first one that comes to mind is the one that comes out.
“Happy?”
>Your aid’s face becomes stony, eyes hard.
>”I’ve never been happy,” she replies casually.
>You groan and lean far back into your chair, squeezing your eyes shut in distress from what was seemingly a bonding admittance to you.
“Of course, of course you’re not,” you mumble to yourself in an obvious tone.
>”I-I, uhh… ?” Eggnog begins, drawing your eyes back.
>She looks strangely… hurt, and she’s cast her eyes down at the ground, hoof fiddling with her glasses in an obvious sign of discomfort.
>”That was, uh… a joke, ma’am,” she says, now grinning a warped, broken grin into your carpeting, “I was joking.”
>You tense, squeezing your mouth shut as you realize all too late how thoughtlessly you’d probably wounded her just now.
“Oh no, I’m so… so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—“
>”W-Wait… do I LOOK unhappy? Is that – is that what everypony thinks?” Eggnog interrupts, eyes widening in panic.
“Nooo, no no no.” You respond quickly, rising from your chair.
>You free your wings as you stand, you free EVERYTHING as you stand, as much as possible.
>You probably look quite silly right now, stretching out ramrod stiff, your wings and tail hiked and your chest puffed with air.
“No, of course not. It’s me. I’m just, I’m…”
>You sniff your breast fuller and trail off there, unable to form up in your mind what you were, troublingly.
>You relax your muscles and joints, easing yourself but not daring to sit back down.
>You turn your attention instead to the window behind your chair, staring through the cold glass and into the calm night outside.
“I keep opening the windows, but I can’t seem to get them ‘open’ enough,” you say softly, the words flowing honestly from your mouth.
“Does that make sense?”
>”Um… I think so?” Eggnog’s voice responds from behind you, the quality of the sound shifting as she comes closer and, presumably, peers out the same window you are.
>Several introspective moments pass with neither of you speaking, but the quiet is eventually broken once more by her inquisitive voice.
>”You want to go outside,” she posits confidently, as if being hit by eureka.
>Your face sags in defeat, ears drooping slightly.
>”O-Oh, no?” she responds quickly, clearly noticing your change in expression, “Uhh… sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” you return quickly, reaching up to run a fetlock over your face and snout, “none of this is your fault. If anything you’ve been helping…”
>You turn, finding your aid regarding you with a concerned look.
>A charitable thought to reciprocate her loyalty pops up in your head as your eyes meet, and so you turn back toward your desk and lift the quill you’d recently just discarded back into it back into your aura.
“What are they for?” you ask simply, her brow dropping at you in confusion before it jumps in realization and she scuttles to your side, “where do I sign?”
>”Here ma’am, and here.” Eggnog replies, gesturing to a few points on the first page.
>”This is a requisition form from A12 barracks; new bedframes, new storage chests to replace the old ones – approved,” she recites studiously.
>Scratch scratch scratch, done, but you feel your brain go darker.
>”That one there is also from A12. Request for additional funds to procure and maintain an icebox in the common area to preserve ‘adult beverages’,” Eggnog goes on, her face becoming somewhat cold.
>”Denied,” she says with acidy finality.
>Scratch scratch scratch, but your eyelids droop.
>A study on your entire LIFE could probably be encapsulated by the sound of a quill scratching against a piece of paper.
>”Last one, this is from Ponyville, urgent.”
>The point of your pen halts in place at the last words, blobbing a bit of ink on the page where it sat as your mind suddenly returned to form – even if only to jump to a hundred terrible conclusions.
>”It’s from the Mayor,” she continues.
>”There’s a Canterlot-owned statue in the square that’s been damaged severely after a recent incident. She’s requesting funds and permission to repair it with her own contractors.”
>You let out a held breath and scratch, scratch, scratch your name into place like on all of the others.
>”Approved – that’s all for now, ma’am, thank you,” Eggnog says with a nod, her horn flaring briefly and whipping a spell across the scrolls—presumably to calm the wet ink—before using the same instrument to roll them and hover them back to her side to join the other mess of items held there.
>”Uhh… well done,” she commends awkwardly in a, you THINK at least, attempt to lighten your mood by praising you.
>That is to say, praising how well you spelled your name on a piece of paper.
>You can’t help but contrast that dull, sad notion with the spike of fear you felt when his place of residence was mentioned.
>Not even him, just where he lived.
>It’s funny.
>Before you and the human met everything moved so fast, so orderly; like the sun.
>Precision at breakneck speed, a million miles an hour to exactly where you needed to be without a second thought.
>After him has been…
>A decidedly different story.
>You were late to raise the sun for the first time in hundreds of years on the morning of the day he departed, and ever since then, it felt like you were slowing down, snagged on something while everything else around you kept on racing forward like it was supposed to.
>Even now, as you sit to ponder your life and how it’s changed, stare off into to space, your secretary continues to stand before your desk, at your side and at the ready.
>Waiting.
>Waiting for you to catch up.
>You squeeze your eyes shut tight and lift a hoof to cover them, your vision going completely dark.
“Do I do that a lot?” you ask, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.
>”Do what, ma’am?” the darkness answers innocently; she’s lying, you can tell.
>She just doesn’t want to trouble you anymore.
“Nnn… nothing, nothing,” you reply, returning the light to your eyes and turning to seat yourself back into your desk chair.
>”Oh! I nearly forgot,” the little yellow unicorn says with some surprising energy, gaining back your attention, “your appointment for yesterday afternoon? She just arrived.”
>You lounge back in your seat and your eyes intuitively drift past her to your wall clock, narrowing at the ink-ticks on its face as it clicks along; 9:49, not that it matters.
>’Yesterday’ was quite a distance from ‘today’ in planning terms.
”A little late…” you remark, secretly glad that, for once, you weren’t the one being left behind.
>”I agree, very unprofessional,” Eggnog adds, turning up her snout in distaste.
>You flutter your eyes shut for a split second, cutting down your stimulus in an attempt to remember.
>When that fails, you go for the next best thing.
”… which one is she again?” you ask sheepishly.
>Your aid’s eyes turn up and away as she searches her own memory for a moment.
>”She, uh… it’s the mayor of that town near the Crystal Empire, to my recollection,” she returns after a moment.
>Your brain snaps back into the action, offering up a familiar name.
“Starlight Glimmer?” you say, more to yourself than her, “that’s odd.”
>”Why? Do you know her?” Eggnog asks.
“Not well, no… but…” you answer honestly, hanging for a moment.
>You peer down at your toppled stack of old letters, a stack that concealed an older communication somewhere within that, yesterday at least, should have been addressed.
“She seemed quite alarmed in her message, scared, even. I’d have thought she’d be here bright and early to settle things.”
>The light yellow mare hums thoughtfully as she turns and moves toward the door, flashing you a look at her abacus cutie mark as she goes.
>”Well, I suppose it’s hard for SOME ponies to have competent managerial and accounting skills whilst ALSO being effortlessly punctual and prepared for every scheduled date or event; we just need to be patient with them,” she says, the unrestrained self-adulation dripping off of her every word managing to coax a smile onto your face.
“Ohoh, we do, do we?” you reply with some fun in your voice, leaning your head on your hoof, “Well, one of us, maybe…”
>Your assistant halts fast in the arch, turning back in the doorway to hit you with an anxious look.
>The smile already present on your face grows, and you can’t help but shake your head at her instant loss of self-esteem when being contrasted with you.
>It’s actually kind of sweet.
“I was being self-depreciating,” you explain.
>Her posture immediately eases, her expression lightening up, if cautiously.
>A moment later, however, her brow sinks again, this time in stubborn resolve.
>”Certainly not!” she objects suddenly, firmly, “You’re worth ten of any pony, ma’am. At LEAST ten.”
>You chuckle light-heartedly and lean up off of your hoof.
“I don’t know,” you respond skeptically, “sometimes I wonder what might be accomplished with a few more Eggnogs in my place.”
>The steam is practically billowing out of your assistant’s ears now, her hoof obsessively straightening her already perfectly-aligned glasses.
>”I-I, uh, I’m not… Y-You, erm… f-flatter me,” she responds with some difficulty.
>You chuckle again, taking a deep breath as you swipe a fetlock across your eyes in an effort at clearing the drowsiness away.
>You still have one more job to do before the night is over, and you’ll be damned if it isn’t completed and ready for the morning post.
”Is there anything else? If not then you should get some sleep. It’s getting late, and at least ONE of us needs to be on the ball for tomorrow.”
>”You’re… staying up?” Eggnog replies carefully.
“I’m thousands of years old, Miss Cream,” you say with a worn grin, “I can find my own way to my bedroom.”
>She straightens, opening her mouth once to respond before closing it and trying again.
>”Of course, ma’am,” she responds, but she continues to linger in your doorway a moment afterward.
>”Do you, um… do you need anything? The night staff is probably just getting in, I could have them make you some coffee or—“
“I’m fine just the way I am,” you assure her, regaining her eyes from the hallway, “you’re free.”
>Your assistant nods in understanding, and she only lurks in the doorway for another moment before retreating through it fully.
>”Goodnight, ma’am,” a tiny yellow snout whispers through the small crack remaining in your door.
“Goodnight, Eggnog,” you respond just as softly.
>And your door finally shuts.
>A heavy sigh blows through your lips at the return of peace and security to your private studio.
>You find your head falling back against the neck-rest of your chair as you clear away the mound of paper from your desk, sorting the pieces within non-descriptively before piling them back into place on your left.
>Two articles once again stand alone from them, both Anonymous’ letter and the packaging that brought it to you.
>It might have been nice to do this whilst still on the high of receiving it, but now would have to suffice.
>You hated that.
>That is, doing ‘what sufficed’ when it came to him, but the world was moving on regardless of your choices.
>It isn’t unlikely, for instance, that you’ll be dealing with Miss Glimmer’s issue tomorrow ON TOP of everything else you had to do.
>And that’s still just tomorrow.
>It’s almost 10 PM, and you know that you’ll be up for a while yet.
>Fretting, pacing, drafting, grinding your hooves and tearing out your mane in an attempt to find just the right word to use in just the right way to convey things to him.
>Your paper drawer slides open, the same magical force responsible for the action pulling a crisp, clean page out from inside and laying it before you.
>It takes some willpower to drag your head down from its comfortable position, but your magical grip raises your quill with nothing short of stalwart determination, perhaps even an edge of excitement buried under the worry.
>It’s going to be a long night, but in the end, you know it’ll all be worth it.

>’Dearest Anonymous,’
>’I appreciate you taking the time to send me such a kind letter.’
>’Hearing from you so soon eases my heart.’
>’Knowing how well things are going between you and your neighbors is also welcome news.’
>’Please do not fret over your penmanship or your choice of words with me, there isn’t any need.’
>’If I could ask more, it would be that you package any further thanks to Miss Sparkle with my own, as I, too, am very thankful for all of her help and loyalty in this matter, and I hope that she continues to offer it in the future.’
>’As for Miss Rarity and Miss Dash, fear not, I do know them, and quite well.’
>’I’m proud to hear that they’ve received you so well, and I’d be happy to hear about any further pleasant interactions with them you see fit to tell me about, especially your most upcoming one.’
>’I’m glad my little treat could play a role, however small, in aiding your first meeting with them.’
>’As for me, I’m doing quite fine here.’
>’Business as usual, you know.’
>’Of course, I would be lying if I said that your absence hasn’t affected me as well as you.’
>’I hope very much that our parting hasn’t caused any great trouble in your mind.’
>’You can rest assured that, even given our distance, your comfort and security are still at the forefront of my mind.’
>’There is no need to apologize for anything.’
>’The weight of your gratitude, Anonymous, is a valuable gift I hardly deserve.’
>’Still, I accept it gladly, and should there come a time in the future where you wish to repeat your sentiment face to face, then I hope my words on the matter can be just as generous, sweet, and heartfelt as I found yours for me to be, especially in light of the circumstances.’
>’I would be remiss in dwelling on this for too long, so I won’t, but I can hardly imagine the strife you ‘ve gone through in having to adapt to everything our world has to offer so quickly.’
>’The level of fortitude you’ve demonstrated during your stay so far is nothing if not admirable, to me, especially.’
>’Which is why, considering the night of your departure, I feel as though an apology of my own is long overdue.’
>’Though I was quite under the influence at the time, that isn’t any excuse for my behavior, and I hope that my actions haven’t implied anything unkind about my citizens or our way of life.’
>’I only meant to make your departure easier, perhaps for me as much as you, but I fear that in my excitement I took advantage of you while you were in a vulnerable state of mind, and that was wrong of me.’
>’I apologize.’
>’Well, to move away from that, I’d like to wish you good luck during your outing on Saturday.’
>’Miss Dash can be quite excitable at times, but I’m sure that she and her friends will treat you just as well as you deserve, and then some.’
>’I wouldn’t dream of over-encouraging you to do anything you aren’t ready for or comfortable with, but I think you should know that I’m quite happy with the initiative you’ve shown in making new friends, and I’m glad you’ve had such successes already.’
>’Though it may surprise you to hear this, not all ponies are terribly sociable.’
>’It can be hard even for them to do what you’ve managed, even when not sharing your circumstances.’
>’You are a lovely human, Anonymous.’
>’I’m sure that if your friends back home could see you now they would be more than proud of how you’ve carried yourself over the last month.’
>’You’ve more than earned my respect in that regard.’

>’With Love,’
>’Celestia’


--------------------------------------------------------
One Week Later
--------------------------------------------------------


>’Dear Celestia,’
>’You don’t even know how relieved I am that we can still talk like this.’
>’For a while I almost couldn’t imagine us communicating over such long distances in such a tidy way, but I guess I was just being overly anxious.’
>’I got so comfortable with everything back home that I almost forgot that writing letters has been a staple of society for years.’
>’Well, mine at least.’
>’I don’t know who you’ve got delivering your letters, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a reply the very next day after I sent mine!’
>’We can’t even do that back home.’
>’I’m sorry, I’m starting to get the hang of catching my rambling even if it’s a little too late.’
>’I guess I’m just writing off on tangents because I’m still so n-------Excited?’
>’Maybe excited is the right word.’
>’I did it.’
>’I went outside yesterday, to Dash’s tryout I mean.’
>’I didn’t know the way so Rarity and Twilight walked me there, they insisted actually.’
>’They told me that they’ve been telling the p---onies in town about me, about how nice I am.’
>’I’ve even gotten visitors since that night I spent with them.’
>’It’s a little embarrassing to admit this, but I didn’t always answer the door when they knocked.’
>’For a little while, at least.’
>’When I did answer, well, things didn’t go…’
>’—Terribly?’
>’One of them even brought me a gift, some apple fritters her family made for me.’
>’Saying hello was usually the end of things though, even when I invited them inside.’
>’They always said that they had to go afterward, to do some important job, but I think they were just feeling out of their element like I was.’
>’I didn’t push or anything.’
>’Ahh sorry, right, the park.’
>’Well, actually…’
>’I guess the park was the same way…’
>’God I was so nervous.’
>’My hands shook almost the entire time.’
>’They’ve never done that before.’
>’I didn’t look around too much, but I feel like everyone was staring at me.
>’I think I even caused some trouble near the obstacle course.’
>’I don’t know what I would have done if Twilight and her friends weren’t there.’
>’Oh but don’t worry, it wasn’t anything serious.’
>’At least, it didn’t turn into anything serious.’
>’I think Rainbow Dash was about to throw a punch at some pony I didn’t know before her friend stopped her.’
>’I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I think she was defending me.’
>’I feel bad.’
>’I wanted to talk to her about it afterward but she broke away from us for a while after it happened.’
>’Because she was too angry, I think.’
>’That fight wasn’t the start of things, I mean.’
>’She didn’t make her audition.’
>’I thought for sure after seeing her fly that she would be a shoo-in, even if she messed up once or twice.’
>’All of them were so amazing though, I’ve never seen anything like a pegasus flying before.’
>’I didn’t know that this wasn’t her first time trying out.’
>’From the way she talked I must’ve misunderstood things.’
>’I tried to make her feel better about not making the cut on her first go, but I think I just made things worse.’
>’Hopefully she isn’t mad at me.’
>’I’ll apologize the next time I see her.’
>’Christ I didn’t expect this to be so long, I’m running out of space on the page.’
>’I won’t go on for much longer, but I do DEFINITELY want to tell you not to worry about that night.’
>’You were just tr---- we both were having a nice time, you don’t have to feel sorry for anything.’
>’I’m not upset about anything Celestia, really, I hope you know that.’
>’I also really------ --- --------------, ------ --- ---- ---- -----  ---------
>- -----, -------- -- ----- - - ----- ---- --
>’Oh god I’m terrible at this.’
>’Just, please don’t think anything of it.’
>’I really enjoyed myself that night and I hope you did too.’
>’I won’t bog you down with much more, I know you’re probably reading this in between peace negotiations or organizing a food relief effort or something.’
>’Just please don’t worry about anything.’
>’Things at the park were a little iffy at times but for the most part things went really well.’
>’I’m happy I went, and I’m happy to be here.’
>’And please don’t worry about that night.’
>’Thank you for returning my letter.’

>’Love,’
>’Anonymous’

==========

>’Dearest Anonymous,’
>’It certainly seems like you’ve been keeping yourself busy!’
>’I wondered if I might receive a letter from you again soon; I am overjoyed that your outing with Miss Dash and her friends went so well.’
>’Twilight has also written to me about the occasion, but hearing from you on the matter as well has been both enlightening and comforting.’
>’I, of course, find it unfortunate that things didn’t quite go as planned, for her or for you, but I’m sure that, given time and a little sincerity, things will sort themselves out as they always do.’
>’I’m confident in the both of you.’
>’Beyond that, I am still quite happy to hear about your various successes with the townsponies, and hope to hear more about the friendships you decide to kindle with them in the future.’
>’I also feel as though I should mention that your messages to me have assuaged much of my anxiety over many things, including but not limited to the night of your departure.’
>’Your kindness and understanding has lifted much weight from my mind.’
>’At your generous request, I will drop that last topic from my mind and finish with mentioning it.’
>’To move on, I would like very much to tell you stories of my own, but I’m afraid that little I would have to offer would as interesting as your own exploits.’
>’Unlike my secretary, I doubt you would take much interest in how well I jot down my name to a page whilst sitting in my chair, so I will stay things here.’
>’As I’ve said before, should you choose to take it, my time is always yours, and I will read any further mail you decide to send me with great interest.’
>’I hope to hear from you again soon.’

>’With Love,’
>’Celestia’

===========

>The sounds of delicate glass clinking and reserved chatter has never been anything less than music to your ears.
>Every breath you take carries with it the powerful presence of freshly ground coffee and melting cream with hints of warm milk and even sugar.
>The establishment is new, and though the dignified, open-air atmosphere of Creamie’s Café isn’t for everypony, to you there isn’t any better place to be for your lunch hour.
>The company certainly doesn’t hurt, either.
>Unfortunately, as you considered, not all ponies had the preference for such a place, and your company just so happens to be entirely composed of two of them.
>The first sits opposite to you and to the left, eyeing the modest cup of her espresso with a hardened brow like she was staring down an enemy.
>She reaches for the small cup with unpracticed precision, pinning it carefully in between her large and weathered hooves before lifting it for a sample.
>The creamy liquid within laps at her lips for only a moment before she makes a face and returns it to the table with much enthusiasm.
>”Dunno how ya’ll rope me into this place over’n over,” she mumbles.
>You can’t help but smirk behind your own drink, the glass hovering just before your mouth in a baby blue aura.
”Well I’m sorry, darling. I thought you liked coffee.”
>”Hoh yeah, sure. Ah like coffee. Ah like COFFEE a lot,” she remarks with special emphasis, narrowing her eyes at her order, “ah just wish this place sold some, is all.”
>You roll your eyes and drink from your own glass as if spite her, her judgement of its quality lost on you.
“While I appreciate your rustic sensibilities, I must insist that there are flavors beyond ‘black’, Applejack,” you return derisively.
“Here, why don’t you eat your eclair? It’s good, you’ll like it.”
>The pastry on your friend’s plate begins to glow before hovering into the air, its trajectory carefully followed by its owner’s eyes.
“C’mooooon,” your prod, a good-natured grin forming, “if you don’t eat your eclair like a good filly then you can’t have any grits.”
>The farm mare settles a scowl on you as you dab at the side of her mouth with her pastry, your amusement clearly unshared.
”Open. Oooopen. Ahhhhh—“
>”Gimme the friggin’ – thing,” she huffs grouchily, finally snatching the treat out of your magical grasp.
>She doesn’t eat it, though, instead turning away and grumbling something under her breath about how you couldn’t tell her what to do.
>You can only snicker and shake your head, sipping from your glass as your second lunch guest finally rejoins the table with her own order.
>”No go,” the light blue pegasus says with a sigh, flashing a quick look back inside the café, “think he likes colts or something…”
>You turn to where she just glanced and spot a young stallion with a light purple coat and piercings ringing up orders at the front counter.
>You don’t miss the perturbed look he now projects, presumably after interacting with her.
>”Mmm, a LOT of colts you speak to seem to swing the other way, don’t they…?” you remark innocently, flashing AJ a smart look.
>The farm mare, having just ‘decided’ to eat, snorts and then begins to cough around the bit of pastry in her mouth, her smile tested but clear as day.
>”No no, look, I’m totally serious,” Dash returns defensively, turning in her seat to motion to him with her head, “lookit’ that metal – and a spikey collar? He’s totally gay. The guy SCREAMS butch.”
>”Guess he wasn’t ‘screamin’ it all that loud, seein’ as how you were still tryin’ to get up between his legs,” AJ retorts after swallowing.
>The speedster frowns and then bites into her croissant, her words filtered through the food as she chews.
>”Yeah yeah, ‘everypony gang up on Rainbow Dash!’ – but I KNOW he’s a pole-smoker. This time I know it.”
>”Whatever you say,” AJ returns dismissively.
”Uhh – so, how are the preparations going?” you say quickly, fearing that without your intercession the previous line of discussion could go on forever.
>”Uhh, preparations?” Applejack responds, and then her eyes light up, “Oh! Oh yeah, fer the, uh, Fall thing? Yeah, Pinkie an’ me’er workin’ it all out, but ya’ll know how she is. Big big big, always big’n flashy.”
>She reaches up and pulls her hat from her head, hanging it on the corner of the table as a grieved look crosses her face.
>”She SAYS she can do it within budget, but, uh…  ah’ve fell fer THAT ONE more times than ah like to admit already. Never know with her.”
“Ohh, well, I’m sure she means well. She just gets excited about these things, you know. She’s still VERY good at her job,” you respond reassuringly.
>Applejack decides not to comment, instead shrugging her withers and continuing to eat.
>Rainbow Dash, unfortunately, seems a little too eager to comment now, her eyes shining with mischief.
>”Speaking of ‘big’,” she says, purposely singling out the farm mare in her gaze, “I heard that Pinkie and a certain somepony of that description really hit it off at the last Summer Sun Celebration you guys did...”
>A jolt of regret at changing the subject so readily ruffles the usually calm fur on the back of your neck.
”Ahh, Dash? I don’t think that’s really—“
>”What.”
>Applejack interrupts you, a sudden edge of seriousness in her voice as she lifts her head up from her plate.
>The hard face she’s trying to sell the blue pegasus is marred somewhat by the glob of yellow cream clinging to the side of her chin.
>”Ohhhh, well, you know,” Dash replies casually, “your friends’ friends hear some things, your friends tell you, all scuttlebutt. Just something I heard. It’s probably not all that important…”
>The lightness of the pegasus’ tone as she calmly swirls her cup of coffee like a wine glass in an effort to look unaffected and classy stands starkly apart from the one AJ has settled into.
>”Ya’ll best git to what yer sayin’,” the apricot-colored mare replies with finality, turning her head to address both of you, “now.”
>You are both withered by her look and torn by yourself, your love for social scandal and rumoring held hostage by your sympathy for Pinkie once the cat was finally out of the bag.
>From the entertained, almost giddy look Dash has on her face, you get the feeling that she isn’t wholly aware of the can of worms she was opening.
“It was just a little kiss,” you admit under your breath, and Applejack’s instant and drastic change in expression spurs you to add more, “It was just one little kiss, AJ!”
>”Knew it, ah knew it. KNEW he was actin weird. Ah KNEW it.” she responds hastily.
>The farm mare fluidly scoops up her Stetson and places, or more like slams it, back on her head, her posture and demeanor morphing into something much antsier and energized, her last bit of food forgotten.
>”And Pinkie was NOT the dealer, if you catch my drift,” Dash expands, presumably in the pink mare’s defense, her lips curled and tested from the grin she was trying to hold back.
>”Ohhhh, oh hoh hoh – you BEST not be sayin’ anything about mah brother, now,” AJ warns, bristling.
“Of COURSE she isn’t, darling, you know full-well she isn’t,” you say rationally, calmly, hoping to instill those same traits in her with your response.
>You subtly hover a napkin across the table to clean the distracting smear of yellow from the bottom of your friend’s mouth; she hardly notices, doesn’t even look at it.
>”Ah knew it…” she repeats, softer this time.
>”Okay okay, c’mon, what’s the problem here?” Dash says, seemingly picking up on your cue, “Pinkie’s a great mare. I bet she’d treat him real nice.”
>”Not mah brother, she ain’t.” AJ replies stubbornly.
>“Ain’t no mare gonna’ be “treatin” my brother ANY kinda’ way under mah watch.”
>”Wellllll,” Dash cuts in with some caution, the first sign of apprehension out of her you’ve seen since this conversation started, actually, “that kiss happened months ago, so… if there’s been any ‘treating’, it’s probably already happening…”
>”Or, uh… happened.”
>Applejack, strangely, seems to calm significantly at that statement.
>No, not calm.
>It’s more like…
>Grim resignation.
>Her mouth tightens, and you’re sure you can see a single line of sweat roll down the side of her head from beneath her hat.
>”Granny’s gonna’ kill’im,” she whispers, “and she’s gonna do worse ta’ me fer lettin’ it happen, much worse…”
“Well… I mean, she doesn’t REALLY have to know, does she?” you say before you can stop yourself, cringing aback slightly as the farm mare hits you with an utterly emotionless stare, your notion for the literal Element of Honesty to attempt to keep the truth from her own flesh and blood grandmother dropped without any adjoining points necessary.
>That wasn’t even mentioning that the grandmother in question was granny apple, a decidedly shrewd and oft excitable old mare.
“A-Ah, right, sorry – never mind,” you amend quickly.
>The three of you quiet for a moment, reflecting.
>Applejack especially.
>She simply stares into what remains of her pastry, unmoving, eyeing the meal on her plate with an off-kilter smile as if it would undoubtedly be her last.
>You wrack your brain for new plots at the depressing sight, making several valiant attempts to speak up and end her self-torment but failing on the follow-through.
>With nowhere else to turn, you decide on a line of conversation that you know can’t be so easily dropped, one that everypony seems to have their hat in lately.
>One that you, yourself, have placed much stake in.
“Oh, I never did ask you,” you begin, trying to gain the farm mare’s attention, “how did he like your welcoming gift?”
>For a moment AJ doesn’t respond, humming a listless reply.
>Soon after, however, she seems to catch on.
>You can tell because her entire posture changes yet again, her limbs curling in close to her body.
>”Oh, uh… yeah, he liked’em fine. Just, uh, just fine, ah guess…” she says quietly.
>She looks like she wants to say more but stops herself at the very edge of continuing, limiting herself of the very topic you were trying to explore.
“Oh? Did you speak with him?” you ask.
>Dash jams the rest of her food into her mouth and chews eagerly, leaning forward in a sure sign of interest.
>”Ahnahnumuss?” she attempts to clarify.
>You nod, pairing the motion with a look of mild disgust over her table manners that she, naturally, seems to ignore.
>”Yeah, we uh, I mean… fer a little bit, maybe. Wasn’t there for too long,” Applejack continues.
“Did he invite you inside to talk? He’s a bit of a loner at times but he does love the company,” you say cheerfully, trying to mine out more of her opinion.
>Applejack shifts in place at your comment, her head dropping low to give her hooves something to fuss with as she speaks.
>”No, no ah didn’t go inside... Didn’t think it was right, him bein’ all alone an’ all. Didn’t wanna send the wrong sorta’ message or intimidate him’er nothin’…” she mumbles.
>The way she tugs her hat down in front of her face is a shameless tell, one that anypony who knew her had grown accustomed to spotting over the course of their friendship with her.
>That last bit might have been a bit more telling than she was intending.
“That’s quite considerate of you,” you remark, graciously deciding against prodding her over her reasoning.
>Anonymous was… an acquired taste.
>A fine taste, perhaps, but one that required time to mature in your mouth.
>You pause a moment at that thought, a sly grin perking up on your mouth for but a moment at your unintentional wordplay.
>Your face prickles with noticeable warmth as you sip from your espresso.
>Mm, very clever, Miss Rarity.
>Perhaps a little TOO clever.
>Rainbow Dash, having just finished downing her shot of pure caffeine like a seasoned artist, slaps her glass back down with an attention-grabbing thud.
>”Yeeeaah, well, it’s probably better that you didn’t go inside. Wouldn’t want the poor guy gettin’ all twisted up about the status of our relationship,” she says, donning a sure smile.
“Ohhh, ‘relationship’, you say,” comes your immediate and doubtful reply, unable to hold back the rise of your brow at her assuredness.
>”Uhh, yeah ‘relationship’,” Dash responds without missing a beat, like she was expecting it, turning her cocky smile directly at you.
>“Speaking of, I dunno how YOUR mental scoreboard works, but the last time I checked, one date is way, WAY more than zero, Rares. If you and me are talking about who’s in a better position to judge who isn’t and isn’t dating him, I think I gatcha’ beat. ”
“Oh please,” you lament, exhausted already, hovering your cup back down onto the tablecloth in frustration, “you talk about a ‘relationship’, but I doubt you even know why you’re interested in him.”
>Dash seems slightly taken aback by that comment, her stuff and confident posture slacking somewhat.
>”W-What? Course I do,” she returns after a moment, clearly stumbling for a valuable retort.
 “He’s a really, uh… cool guy. He’s super cool.”
>”Hoh no,” Applejack cuts in with improved mood, a grin present on her face as she shakes it into the table at her friend’s bland reply.
>”What!? He IS totally cool. What, you guys don’t think he’s cool?” Dash continues quickly, clearly trying to turn some of the spotlight away from herself and onto the two of you.
>Neither you nor the farm mare fall for it, the latter even chuckling in response as she places her face into the cup of her hoof.
“There, see?” you state triumphantly, easing back into your seat, “You can’t even think up a trait of his, you’re just being competitive. Besides, I’d hardly categorize your display at the park as ‘winning courtship’. Calling it a date is a little bit of a stretch, wouldn’t you say?”
>You don a winning grin, Dash withering slightly under the weight of your logical position.
“Not only that, but if you absolutely INSIST on keeping score, I regret to inform you that you may be… mm, undercutting my ranking in the very near future, darling…”
>You take some time to sip from your drying coffee glass now, enjoying the momentary silence that reigns after your purposely cryptic statement.
>”What’s that supposed to mean?” comes Dash’s inevitable reply, her tone becoming grumbly through her obvious pouting.
>Even AJ peers at you curiously from the space in between the rim of her hat and the table.
>You hardly rush your reply, finishing off the drink in your baby blue aura at your own pace as they stew.
”Well, I really shouldn’t say anything,” you state coyly, “I am nothing if not a Lady.”
>The dissatisfaction from your non-answer appears almost instantly in both of their eyes, and you savor it while it lasts.
>”Well c’mon, ya’ll started this,” AJ returns, clearly invested, “quit yer pussyhoofin’, already. You with this fella’r not?”
“Ahh, well, ’with’ may be a bit extreme, if that is what you’re implying…” you reply cautiously, “but I’ll have you know that I’ve scheduled a nice afternoon lunch with him on Sunday, and I plan to have a very nice time.”
>”Is Twilight coming?”
>You feel your face droop slightly at Dash’s question, hardly expecting the speedster to cut to the weakness of your argument so quickly.
>It is now YOU who stays their reply, and the reemergence of the pegasus’ grin is none too heartening.
“Well… yes,” you admit, making a valiant attempt at making it seem unimportant.
>”Uhh, so… that’s NOT a date, then?” Dash continues, smile growing.
“W-Well,” you fumble, and then do it again when you instinctively reach for your glass to stall for an answer, realizing too late that you had emptied it a moment ago and were now—quite obviously—attempting to drink from an empty cup, “If you’re considering the park as a date, I don’t really see how my plans wouldn’t be conceived as—“
>”Ohhhh!” Dash interrupts loudly, slapping her forehooves onto her breast, “So MY thing WAS a date now!? Which is it, Rares!?”
>”Horseshoes, ya’ll’r hopeless!” AJ snorts in a matching volume.
>She gains you and Dash’s attention easily from the booming presence of her comment, her chest rumbling with mirth as she leans back in her chair.
>”Ya’ll’r hopeless! Yer sittin’ in a colty coffee joint tryin’ to stake claim over this fella, but I bet he don’t even know ya’ll EXIST. Ya’ll’r HOPELESS, ahaha!” she continues, breaking out into a full, boisterous laugh at the end.
>Both you and the speedster can do little more than shrink back in your seats from her pointed assertion, her laughter dominating much of the conversation for several seconds.
>”He knows I exist…” Dash mumbles quietly, playing with a few crumbs left over on her plate.
>”Oh boy, ah can’t wait to tell granny ‘bout all this! She’s gonna-uh—” AJ starts, but stops quickly afterward, all the energy draining from her face.
>Her odd change in mood persists, her upper body slumping down flat against the table in front of her.
>”Oh… she’s gonna kill me…” she whispers, her karmic defeat delivered by her own hooves.
>Suffice it to say that your companions, as ill-fitted for the local as they are, become just as content with the sound of clinking glass and reserved chatter as you for the next several minutes.
>Their newly refined sense for atmosphere is able to carry them right up to the end of your lunch hour, in fact.
>Few words are exchanged as you rise from your seats.
>”Good luck with yer, uh… thing.” AJ comments to you, listless.
>You place a hoof on her withers, tapping her gently in a sign fellowship.
>Dash does little more than slap an unidentified number of bits on the table before languidly drifting into the air, only barely moving in a cohesive direction as she exits your company without a word.
>The two of you remaining watch the pitiful sight until she’s nearly out of view, setting down your own payment as you do so.
>”Well, uh… you know… good luck with yer thing,” Applejack repeats, ignorant even with your foreleg still draped across her back; she’s a million miles away.
>You don’t bother pointing out her repetition, instead attempting to offer her a reassuring smile.
”Yes dear, likewise,” you say.
>And the two of you part ways.


--------------------------------------------------------
One Week Later
--------------------------------------------------------


>’Dear Anonymous,’
>’I hope you can forgive my brevity.’
>’I wish to say much more than what I am about to say, but I fear I shouldn’t in case other eyes happen to find this message.’
>’Please do not be unsettled or alarmed, I do not wish to frighten you.’
>’I have been sitting on something important for far too long, something I feel that you should know.’
>’It’s very important and it can’t wait another moment.’
>’I know this is sudden, but I need to meet you as soon as possible.’
>’Please come to the south side of Ponyville at 1:00 AM, to the city limits near the train tracks; do NOT draw too close to, and certainly do not enter, the Everfree Forest, as it is quite dangerous.’
>’I will meet you there on the very minute, you have my word.’
>’Please do not be late, and please do not tell anypony about our rendezvous.’
>’I do not want to overcomplicate things or involve anypony I cannot trust in this matter, I hope you understand.’
>’Be safe.’
>’I will see you soon.’

>’Sincerely,’
>’Princess Celestia’

===========

>For the second time your hoof collides with the door in front of you, just hard enough for you to be sure that the residents within could hear, just soft enough as to not be considered obnoxious.
>You pushed a little harder this time of course, considering your first try had seemingly gone unnoticed.
>”Sorry! Yes? U-Uh, is that you, Rarity?” a rushed feminine voice asks from inside.
“Yes, darling!” you reply politely, matching her volume so as to reach her.
>You hear some movement inside, possibly from the second floor up near the branches, where the owners of the library presumably lived whilst not tending to the lower floor.
>”Sorry!” she repeats, “One sec, I’m – I’ll be right there!”
>You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t ready to move things right along, but a true Lady was a paragon of patience.
>Your horn flares to life, assuring the straps on your saddlebags so as to soothe your mind with busywork while you waited.
“Take your time,” you call in a measured tone.
>After a short while more and plenty of muttering from inside, the portal before you finally gives way and reveals two – well, one pony, and small dragon.
>The pony is Twilight Sparkle, strapped at the barrel with her own saddlebags.
>She telekinetically runs a brush through her mane as her assistant stuffs what appears to be a scroll into one of them, pushing the paper firmly, but thoughtfully, down into the bag so that he might close it successfully.
>Noticing where your eyes were, Twilight smiles guiltily.
>”Sorry, just got a letter from the princess! I also had a bit of a late night which… meant a late morning.”
>”Early afternoon, more like,” her scaly assistant grumbles, the purple unicorn’s face souring slightly.
>You turn an understanding look in his direction, and he responds in turn by smiling and peering away, scratching at the back of his head with a claw.
>”Good morning, Miss Rarity,” he says sweetly, and you’re fairly certain that he mumbles something more about how nice you look, even if you don’t quite pick up specifics.
>You chuckle and nudge his cheek with your fetlock, offering him a genuine smile.
“Ohhhh, Twilight is very lucky to have such an attentive and well-mannered young colt looking after her all the time, isn’t she?” you say, speaking to him as much as to her.
>You can feel the spot beneath your touch grow in temperature after your compliment.
>”U-Uh… maybe…” the small dragon whispers, his eyes now pinned firmly to the ground.
>”Yes, well,” Twilight cuts in curtly as she crosses past you and onto the front stoop, “we should get going. It’s almost noon. Don’t wanna keep him waiting.”
>You smirk in spite of her stale expression, turning with her to face away from the library.
“I agree,” you respond, cocking your head back over your shoulder as you begin to walk.
“Keep up the good work, sweetheart,” you say through a smile,
>The little dragon you just addressed, failing to choke out a reply, instead raises a claw to wave at you as you depart.
>You chuckle and turn forward, nodding politely to some ponies passing you on the street as you turn a corner, houses and businesses passing you by.
>”You just made my evening insufferable, I hope you realize that,” Twilight remarks tartly after you’ve put some distance between your entourage and her house.
“I’m quite sure I don’t realize that, darling,” you return innocently.
>Twilight’s face twists, clearly unconvinced.
>”’Isn’t that Rarity charming’?” she says, obviously miming her roommate, “Doesn’t her perfume smell just perfect? Oh wow, I would smell her all day if she let me’.”
“Well I hope so,” you reply with some pride in your voice, flipping your perfectly groomed and scented mane and tale to emphasize, “it costs sixty bits a bottle to smell this good, after all.”
>”Don’t you dance with me,” Twilight remarks, some fun quickly returning to her voice, “I KNOW you do that on purpose. He’s absolutely obsessed with you already. Now you’re just being a showoff.”
>You offer her a concession in your nod, your playful eyes darting away.
“Mm, I suppose you’re right, but do forgive me my practicing. It’s nice to know I’m still capable of earning a little attention.”
>You feel your face falling as a biting truth enters your mind.
“I’m not exactly getting much of it elsewhere. I fear little Spike is just about the only gentlecolt in Ponyville who’s still charmed with me lately – ah, terminology aside.”
>The both of you turn another corner and board Chocolane Avenue from across the street, a carriage headed by an aged blue mare pausing at the intersection for you to cross.
>”Ohh, well, I’m sure it’s not that bad? You’ve just got to get out there like you usually do,” Twilight remarks.
>The purple unicorn dons a somewhat troubled expression now,  an amount of guilt clearly visible in her eyes.
>”You’ve been spending a lot of time with me and Anonymous lately. Your help has done wonders for his confidence and I’m sure he really appreciates you for it, but I see how I could be expecting too much of you,” she explains, worry evident in her voice.
>You actually chuckle a little, the anxiety she implied at the start affecting you much more than the result.
“I appreciate your consideration darling, but I think I can take responsibility for my own failures, even if I don’t much want to admit them…” you say, chancing a glance back to peer at her saddlebags.
>Specifically at the pouch closest to you.
“Do they exchange letters often?” you say, half to yourself and half to her.
>”Hm?” Twilight hums, turning to you then turning again to find the object of your focus.
>”Oh, uhh, Anonymous and Celestia?” she stumbles, turning back forward.
>Her brow knits in thought, the lavender mare clearly pausing to choose her words carefully.
>The second or so of silence is more damning than you think she realizes.
>”About every week, I think. I don’t know what they talk about, though. Maybe she’s just checking up on him? He is a pretty special case after all.”
>Her subtle assurance is kind, but unnecessary, you feel.
>You’d heard through your current companion how closely the princess had been tending to him before you met, and your discussion with AJ and Dash the week prior had been more enlightening than you might have preferred.
>When you weighed the consistency of their missives next to the all personal time put in, and ESPECIALLY when you weighed both of those facts next to their opposing genders, the relationship between your liege and your newest friend had gained some complexity in your thoughts.
>More than enough to give you doubts about your position in the young male’s mind.
“I suppose that’s true,” you say, even if you aren’t much convinced, “he is a rare visitor from a foreign land. It isn’t impossible that she’d just be checking up on him.”
>A strange expression hits Twilight’s face for just a moment, in a flash that you almost miss.
>She opens her mouth to speak but fails once, closing it and trying again.
>”O-Oh, yes, see?” she says, “He IS a foreign dignitary after all. That’s plenty of reason for her to make sure he’s comfortable in his new home. It’s totally normal.”
>Speaking of unconvincing…
>Along with your newer doubts, you’d been keeping some old ones alive, as well.
>One in particular had fallen to the wayside to make way for other, erm… more ‘engaging’ pursuits, but now had much less competition in your mind.
>Twilight’s tells were much subtler than Applejack’s
>She is a smart mare – ah, that isn’t to say that Applejack isn’t smart, of course; far from it.
>But Twilight is a smart mare.
>Not only that, but she’s a smart mare who doesn’t necessarily excel at translating her emotions and thoughts into the real.
>That is to say, out of all of your friends, the young librarian is probably the most skilled at hiding the truth from you, purposely or not.
>Still, she has tells.
>Stiffening of the tone.
>Recitation of more formal speech.
>Her face might even let things slip if the lie is big enough.
>She’s been sending you clues without realizing for a while, hinting at a falsehood for weeks.
>Whenever Anonymous is the subject.
>At first the mystery had been alluring; the glib and curt write-offs of certain details of his life had only helped make realer the aura of romantic mystery about him.
>Now that the dust was settling it was getting harder to ignore the possibility that you weren’t being told the whole truth about him, that something big was being kept from you.
>Twilight is serene now, unsuspecting.
>If you surprised her and pushed hard you might get her to spill the beans…
>Still…
>You breathe in a sharp breath of air to clear your head and hike your saddlebags up a touch, being sure not to jostle the contents inside them too severely.
>This is a young stallion you’re thinking about.
>Using any sort of force to discern his personal secrets, even secondhoof, wasn’t exactly a ladylike thing to do.
>At most you could ask him directly, and if he chose to tell you, he would.
>That was the best course of action, and who knows?
>Maybe you’d have an opportunity sooner than you think.
>His house is in view, now.
>Your steady pace had taken you right to his front yard as you muddled in your thoughts.
>Your horn flairs on routine, your telekinetic grip smoothing your well-kempt mane into, hopefully, an improved state.
>Twilight, noticing this, decides to follow suit and spruces a few places on herself before stepping onto his front porch.
>Though she may not be as socially conscious as you, Twilight was still a female meeting with a male.
>The average mare’s level of physical primping may not be to the same standard as the average stallion’s, but any mare caught without their ‘front door once-over’ was open to male judgement once that door finally opened; it was a risk that even the grittiest mares wouldn’t be wise to take.
>The two of you finish with it quickly before the lavender mare finally reaches up and taps on his door.
>The sounds echo deep inside the large dwelling, and you can’t help but remember the first time you came here.
>The emotion you felt, the raw trepidation that coursed through you before you’d even seen him.
>It wasn’t logical of course, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said that his place of living, the too-perfect yet seemingly abandoned abode, didn’t still summon something in you.
>He still keeps his blinds shut, but he’s assured you it’s because he enjoys his privacy and certainly NOT because he wants to keep the desperate last flails of his victims unseen by passersby on the street.
>Certainly not.
>But his somewhat large house still inspired that sinking feeling in your gut.
>How ironic, that a crooked and grizzly place dressed up in new paint and furnishings sheltered who you now knew to be a wholly opposite being.
>It wasn’t truly ugly by any means, it’s just unfortunate that the ponies who spruced it back up all those weeks ago hadn’t been able to take stock of who would be living there before they settled on its almost hauntingly rustic aesthetic.
>You can already imagine the aperture sliding open, its old hinges loosing a ghostly whine as the door is swallowed into the darkness of his home.
>You have to ‘imagine’ this, of course, but it isn’t happening.
>Twilight knocks a second time, each connection sending a dull, unignorably thorough wave of sound throughout his home that, as time passes, continues to go unanswered.
>The purple unicorn shoots you an unsure look before turning her eyes back on his door.
>”Anonymous?” she says.
>The rusty wind chimes hanging above the porch are her only answer, tinkling away in the slow autumn breeze.
>The back of your neck prickles, and you turn to scan the area, wondering if the human hadn’t decided to go out shopping and was now looming behind you as your companion called out to him.
>Him going out alone wasn’t very likely yet, but it certainly wasn’t impossible.
>Unfortunately (or perhaps thankfully), there is no large biped lurking over your shoulder.
>What you do notice is that the street nearby his home is almost entirely absent of ponies, and at noon, no less.
>The scant few who are there have set their sights on your small party, taking great interest in where you were and what you happened to be doing.
>”Anonymous!?” Twilight says a little louder, “It’s me Twilight! And Rarity! We’re here for lunch!”
>It’s no use.
>The house remains quiet, so quiet that you can actually hear the ruffling of branches from the Everfree in the distance through the other small sounds nearby.
>”Maybe he’s asleep?” Twilight wonders aloud, turning to you.
“Do they sleep this late?” you reply, “Uh, him. Humans, I mean.”
>The purple unicorns turns a troubled look back toward his door.
>”Not that I’ve ever seen, and he’s never mentioned it…”
>She gestures at his doorknob with a hoof.
>”You think it would be alright if we, uh…?” she begins, trailing off.
“Just go inside?” you finish, your mind instantly raising several red flags, “I don’t think that would be wise, darling…”
>The self-critical part of your brain fires to life to cite fear as cause for your answer, but your conscious mind calmly assures it of more socially conscious reasons for not entering a friend’s house without permission, especially one belonging to one of the opposite sex.
>Twilight, presumably, is thinking the very same as she continues to stare down his door, nonetheless speaking up again.
>”What if he’s having some sort of trouble?” she reasons, her brow furrowing, “What if he’s stuck somewhere, or he’s sick? What if he ate something he shouldn’t have and collapsed?”
>The purple unicorn’s face becomes livid.
>”Oh no… are humans… is coconut poisonous to humans?” she asks you fearfully, as if YOU might know.
>You don’t, but you still doubt that a gift she gave him a week ago would have started killing him now.
>”I… doubt it. Besides, you told him what were in them, didn’t you? He wouldn’t have eaten something that he knew was dangerous, dear. He isn’t a hound.”
>Twilight reflects on your comment, but the worried look still doesn’t leave her face.
>”Well, we can’t just… what are we supposed to do now?” she begins, arching her head back toward your collective bags, “We can’t just go home and let everything go to waste. And what if he really IS in trouble? We would probably know if he was walking around outside, right? We’d hear about it from everypony… we should check on him, just to be sure.”
>Though you want to disagree further, her reasoning isn’t all that unsound, and the flare of magic in her horn alerts you to the likeliness that she agrees with her own assessment of things, too.
>You hear a small click as the purple knob turns and the door falls inward a bit, the ease of its release surprising you somewhat.
>”It’s open…” Twilight comments quietly.
>After a moment she nudges the slab of wood again, opening the entrance wider.
>Oddly enough, the hinges on his door don’t squeal like you imagine they should; he must have oiled them in between visits.
“Hello?” you call out this time, inching forward until your snout nearly peeks through the arch, “Are you in here, Anonymous? Are you awake? We’re coming in…”
>Silence.
>Your mouth crinkles, and you exchange looks with your friend once more before moving forward and stepping fully inside.
>It’s dark, but the midday sun streaming through the door illuminates your surroundings well enough for you to see.
>You actually spare a kind glance at the line of chairs around his fireplace in memoriam of your first meeting before stepping past his living room entirely and into his kitchen.
>Several used dishes line the sink, and above them, a dim gray light slinks in through the curtains covering his window.
>Unless he was cramped up somewhere in one of the cupboards, which was unlikely, he wasn’t in here either.
>Your ears rotate to focus in on another knocking sound behind you, a familiar voice calling out soon after.
>”Anonymous?” Twilight calls softly.
>You turn and exit the kitchen, meeting the unicorn at the foot of his stairs.
“No luck?” you say.
>The unicorn shakes her head, and you’re beginning to notice genuine worry in her eyes.
>”No, not in the bathroom,” she replies, turning to look up the stairs.
>”Maybe he is sleeping, after all?” she says with some hope.
>The two of you linger in place moment, staying on his first floor, the only floor you’d actually been in before, until the unicorn at your side takes that first step.
>You follow suit, and soon the two of you are steadily climbing the ascent.
>There isn’t any sort of rugging or felt lining his stairs, so the loud thuds and creaking noises made from you hooves connecting with each step are more than loud enough to warn anypony inside as to where you were.
>In the situation – that is, broadcasting your location whilst exploring an unseen section of a dark and mildly off-putting house with only one other pony as security – is enough to send a chill up your spine.
>Twilight must feel the same, because the two of you hurry to the second landing quite swiftly.
>The both of you now stand at the beginning of long hallway, in the center of which lays a meager patch of red rug, wide enough for its ends to come just shy of the four connecting doors on either side.
>Most of the doors are shut, but the one closest and to your right is cracked open, giving you a glimpse of white linoleum and a mirror.
>”Do you know which one is – uhh… nevermind.” Twilight says, canceling her statement with a shake of the head when you cast her a dubious look.
>Instead, the unicorn steps forward past the second bathroom and taps on the first closed door to your left.
>”Anonymous?” she asks the silence before opening the door.
>You come up behind her and peer inside; a bed, a desk, some drawers.
>No human, and even from here you can tell that the items within are lined with a thin sheet of dust, small specks of it dancing in the sparse rays of light peeking in from the window nearby.
>Guest bedroom.
>You take the initiative this time, crossing to the other side of the hall and tapping on the next door to the left.
>This one falls open before you can speak a warning of intrusion, and inside is a large desk littered with a few writing tools.
>Lined on every wall within, avoiding the windows, stand mostly bare bookshelves, only the occasional tome or journal appearing on the shelves between the emptiness.
>The dust is fairly noticeable here, too, but it isn’t nearly as bad as in the room before; no human.
>The two of you approach the last door together, sure that this is your final stop.
>Neither of you reach for the knob for some time, clearly anxious about simply barging into this final room without consent.
>A male’s bedroom, a sacred place.
>Perhaps more significantly, Anonymous’ bedroom.
>Half of you stirs in excitement at seeing what is inside, even if the other half of you is far less enthused.
>”We’re coming in…” Twilight says quietly, her horn finally lighting to do the deed for you.
>She doesn’t turn it right away, instead pausing another moment for an answer that doesn’t come.
>Cautiously, she rotates the brass in her aura and pushes the door open.
>It cracks, and you can see the corner of a bed and a nightstand within.
>”Are you…” Twilight begins, pushing her way fully inside and making way for the both of you to enter.
>“Okay?” she finishes, but with no need.
>Considering the state of things in this room, you can discern quite easily that it’s been used frequently and is, in fact, his bedroom.
>The master bedroom.
>Appropriate for the master of the house.
>Unfortunate that he isn’t here, either.
>”What?” Twilight says to herself, turning in place.
”He isn’t here…” you whisper, surely vocalizing both of your thoughts.
>Twilight’s face hardens, her eyes sharpening to points as she begins to scan the room with some intensity.
“Where could he be? If he was outside… I don’t…” you mumble, dumbfounded.
>Twilight crosses further into the room, looking for something, anything.
>You see her linger on his nightstand before pulling away and then double-taking it, returning just as fast she left and setting it into all of her focus.
“What?” you say, curious, approaching to see what it was.
>Atop the small desk next to the mino-sized bed frame sits a letter, hastily scribbled in to fill about a third of the page.
>You only manage to see a brief glimpse of it before Twilight snatches it up and holds it close to her face, eyes flitting through the words as she turns to face you.
>After a moment her expression noticeably darkens, her face becoming distraught as she lowers the page.
>She simply stares at the ground now, eyes darting back and forth, searching for answers to the questions she wasn’t speaking.
“What?” you repeat, growing alarmed.
“What is it?”

                                                     ___________________

                                                     --[/PROLOGUE END]--
                                                     ___________________


>Your heart thunders from exertion, mind racing.
>Your vision is filtered through sheets of falling water, wind biting into your cold wings as you beat them against the tempest.
>The temperature has begun to sap your strength and steal sharpness from your mind but you cannot allow the storm or your target to defeat you.
>You must carry on.
>Must succeed.
>A complex mix of fear and pride begin swirling in your brain, the rawness of the emotion driving you harder and faster.
>Lightning splits the sky as you sair, but another, subtler flash is all that you fathom; your entire being is focused on it.
>The world around you blurs, and the feeling of water pattering against your coat vanishes.
>For a split second you are left alone with your mind, the sound, smell and light vanishing.
>A moment later, everything returns in full force, air whistling by your face more harshly than ever.
>[spoiler]’Sister’[/spoiler]
>You are becoming desperate.
>The thing you want is a spec in the distance now, so near yet so far.
>You need to get closer, need to see them, need to touch them.
>Another flash.
>Your senses dull like before, the grass far below you falling away like an old memory and returning as stone and gravel.
>Every time you leap, they leap.
>Every time you zig, they zag.
>Every time you box them in they break free and push farther out, getting closer and closer to their objective, their escape.
>Sneaky, tricky.
>Smart.
>Not smart enough; not by a long shot.
>They won’t beat you; nopony bests you.
>[spoiler]’Sister’[/spoiler]
>Flash! – and now there are rooftops and roads screaming by below you, your target growing larger in your sight as you dive, swing down on them like a bird of prey.
>Your fear soars, your pride ramps!
>Closer, closer, too close!
>They zig.
>You zig!

“Awaken, sister—!” you croak in alarm through the sound of crashing thunder, rising and then toppling from your bed in confused hysterics as your dream world is instantly and jarringly ushered away by reality.
>Your chest slams hard into your bedroom floor, stealing the gasp of pain from your lungs with the impact.
>Your flared wings contact with something sturdy, and the lit candle that had been sitting on your nightstand a moment ago clattered to the ground next to your face.
>You stay a moment here, bewildered, grounded, and blinded by the bright light in your face, trying your damndest to regain your bearings.
>It takes you a troublingly long time to notice that the small nub of wax you just knocked over is now searing a black splotch into your flooring, the burning smell shaking you from your daze.
“Wh-What in… Equestria… “ you mutter, your brain only half-working as you light your horn and set the candle back into its copper plate.
>You turn, using the small bit of light available to you to examine your familiar surroundings.
>Eventually your eyes come to settle on your window.
>A serene hiss trickles through it from the rain beyond, globby waves of water pouring down the glass and blurring the outside world.
>Your eyes flicker as a volley of bright white lights illuminate your window pane, and several seconds later a chorus of low rumbles vibrate the ground beneath you.
>It’s really coming down out there…
>Just like in your dream.
>Maybe that’s why?
>You lift a foreleg and grind a fetlock into the corner of your eye, rubbing some of the sleep out of it as you get to your hooves.
>Drowsy but curious, you fold your wings back into their proper place and hover your tiny candle farther toward the center of the room, using its light to brighten the face of your grandfather clock.
>You squint, just barely making out the time as a little past three in the morning.
>Before you can think about how late it is, a chilling thought forcefully steps to the forefront of your mind, reminding you of a very, VERY similar awakening you had not two months ago.
>Wait…
>You scrunch your eyes shut tight, trying to summon enough wherewithal to remember what you were just dreaming about as the pieces begin to align.
>What was it that you said when you woke up…?
“Awaken sister…” you whisper to yourself, eyes stretching open.
>Those words weren’t your own.
>In fact, your dream wasn’t even a dream; it was a live account, a vision shared with you through the dreamscape itself.
>A vision from your sister.
>You take a cleansing breath and return the floating candle to your nightstand, clearing your mind of distraction as much as possible.
>Your eyes float shut and a crackle of energy courses through your weary body, your mane and tail flaring with magical life.
>For a moment, at least.
>Unlike the last time this happened, you hadn’t had the forethought to don your royal pieces before attempting the synchronous magic, and for the first time in years your spell actually fails outright, the light from your mane and tail dying out without warning.
>You curse under your breath, your pride wilting somewhat as you reach out with your telekinesis yet again, this time to claim the golden regalia you’d put away in your drawer earlier in the night.
>As the items in question come in contact with your body, your tiara and shawl hovering into their proper positions on your head and chest respectively, a recognizable jolt shoots up your spine.
>This time the spell goes off without a hitch, your bedridden hair smoothing and dancing to life, swimming in the natural flow of the manafont.
>With the return of your magical eyes and ears you notice, with some relief, that there are some stark differences compared to now and the summer event.
>Specifically, the violent turbulence in the stream you felt that night was completely absent now; your mane continued to flow calmly, serene and undisturbed as it should be.
>On the surface it seemed like everything was normal.
>Maybe it was.
>Maybe you were just letting a vivid dream get the better of you and all of this was just paranoia, but after what happened before, you wouldn’t be taking that chance.
>You step forward and stand before the exit to your bedroom, pausing there as the energy from your horn brightens the oak wood of your door.
>There are no guards standing beyond that you can perceive.
>The magic you are readying will be the decider in their stead, the device to test your paranoid folly or wisdom once and for all.
>Your amplified arcane presence grows even larger, reaching out in all directions and searching every inch of ground.
>In your mind’s eye, a starfield of flickering lights begins to blink into existence, each individual fire burning to life one by one under your careful exploration.
>The raw power of your magical consciousness expands out and out, revealing ever more flames to you the harder you focus.
>But not the one you are looking for.
>Even as you begin to reach the limits, your sensory field nearly passing out of the castle all together, you find no trace of her, no ripples or bulges from her influence to speak of.
>Luna is not in her bed chambers, nor is she in her study, the dining room or the gardens.
>The moon diarch, even as the moon hung in the sky and the night was at its most deep and brilliant, had gone from her seat of power without warning.
>A cold spike of uncertainty pierces your mind at this confirmation, but you fight to leave it behind as you push open your door and step out into the hallway.
>The feeling of the moist, chilly air you find in the corridor is uncomfortably familiar to another sensation still fresh in your mind, even if it wasn’t quite as severe.
>The rain.
>The cold.
>The wind.
>You lift your head and peer out of the stain glass windows above you, using the torrent of water beyond to focus your mind on your dream, your vision, as if you were back in the storm.
>Grass, gravel, roads, rooftops.
>You turn in place and send a wary eye down the dead-end side of the hall, but more specifically, to the east toward Canterlot proper where the square, businesses and residences resided.
>If she isn’t in the castle, and the vision really was from her…
>The town?
>You hear something behind you, a noise, and you whip around in fear at the prospect of being snuck up on at such an unaware moment.
>Despite the quick assertions of your wild mind, you find no blood spattered assassin waiting for you there, but instead a royal dusk guardsmare, presumably from the pair usually stationed at the peak of the stairs to the west.
>She flinches as you turn on her, hurriedly falling back on her haunches and slapping her right hoof to her temple in a salute.
>”M-My princess,” she whispers respectfully, cautiously.
>You sigh in relief, offering her little more than a nod for her trouble before your mind sets back to grinding out answers for your questions.
>The black-coated guard continues to peer at you, clearly puzzled.
>She waits awhile in silence, leaving you to yourself and your thoughts for a time before speaking up.
>”My princess,” she begins slowly, “is something the matter?”
“I fear as much,” you reply calmly, turning back to her.
“When was the last time you received orders from—“
>You stop there, both you and the little mare jumping in surprise as a loud clattering sound from down the hall echoes into your ears.
>You both turn, the windows above you flashing a bright warning into the corridor before the low growl of thunder shakes the glass all around you.
>That sound wasn’t thunder, it was something else, something metal.
>You tense when the guardsmare at the end of the hall, presumably the partner of the one next to you, turns away from you quickly to examine something in her peripheral.
>After she does, however, she doesn’t move, her head instead following the object that blasts around the corner a second later.
>You instinctively light your horn with magic, readying an unspecific defensive spell.
>You action becomes useless when you identify the object, however.
>It’s another dusk guardsmare.
>The speed at which she moves can only be described as break-neck, and with every flap of her soaked wings she sprays more and more of the walls and chamber doors around her with water.
>The guardsmare at your side gets a face-full of rainwater herself as her drenched sister screeches to a stop next to her, panting for dear life.
>”M-M-My,” pant, “prin-princess,” she rasps, giving you a half-alive salute of her own.
>The speed of the motion that carried her own hoof to her temple, unfortunately, was more than fast enough to spatter your own coat with flecks of cold water.
>If you weren’t awake before, you are now.
>The guard cringes aback slightly, her snout scrunched in regret.
>”Suh-Sorry,” she apologizes, but you quickly wave off her words with a hoof.
“Never mind, what is it? Where is Luna?” you question anxiously, stepping forward and motioning your head for her to follow.
>After all the commotion it was a miracle that your ‘neighbors’ weren’t already coming out of their rooms to see what was going on, like before, but the thunder might be good for something after all.
>”Sh-She – Our Lady is – was, uh, chasing it...” the guardsmare pants, hanging her head as she trots with you down the hall.
>”An intruder,” she clarifies, trying to control her breathing in such a way as not to say it as loudly as everything else.
>The skin on the back of your neck prickles, fur ruffling to points as you imagine a large biped, MULTIPLE large bipeds, even, sprinting across the field in all directions as your sister swoops down on them.
“Not here,” you hiss under your breath, shaking your head for emphasis.
“Come. Downstairs, hurry,” you say, motioning to the third mare at the top of the stairwell to follow you.
>You and your small party descend quickly and quietly, padding your hooves against the old marble as well as you can.
>Now that her adrenaline has died down, the soaked mare at your side is noticeably shaking, her waterlogged fur and evening cloak clinging to her body and intensifying the cold.
>She tugs her modest covering away from her body, tucking it under a foreleg and hobbling along on three legs.
“Leave it,” you instruct, your horn lighting to free her fourth limb of the soggy article, “somepony will deal with it later.
>You set her tested cloak in the corner at the turn of the stairs as your group changes direction.
>The wet guardsmare whispers a word of gratitude as one of her fellow soldiers draws up to her side and offers up her own eveningwear, quickly draping the dry clothes over her withers.
>After walking in relative silence for a while more, your party finally steps off of the stairs and onto the first floor.
>The four of you continue on toward the field, and eventually, the rear exit comes into view.
>Through the three tall, doorless arches that lead directly to the outside world, you gain a better understand of the downpour beyond, the storm pummeling the balcony in a heavy and constant torrent of wind-tossed rain.
>The two guards that would usually stand watch over the exit are conspicuously missing.
>If you had to guess, they were probably in the thick of it right now, the same place where the shivering mare next to you used to be.
>You stay your party on the boundary, halting them there before any of them attempted to penetrate the wall of water streaming down before you.
“Where is she? Do you know?” you ask, craning your neck to try and get a better view of the field beyond without actually stepping out.
>The shivering mare shakes her head ‘no’, eyeing the storm with some disdain.
>”L-Lost track of her in the s-storm,” she stutters, sitting back and tugging the dry cloak more tightly against her body.
>”T-Tried to keep up; too fast. I think the t-target was teleporting.”
“Teleporting?” you clarify, turning to her.
>She nods.
>”We could barely spot Our Lady before she vanished again, flashing to some other place farther away in the rain. She was a shadow in the dark, and then she was just… gone.”
>The guardsmare lifts her right foreleg and points it east.
>”That way, I think. The others went to look for her.”
>You turn your head eastward yet again, an image of the township beyond the walls of your castle instantly presenting itself at the front of your mind.
>It’s true, then.
>What you saw was no dream.
>It was a purposeful message, presented to you by your kin’s unique form of dream magic.
>She was somewhere out there right now, possibly grappling with an enemy you didn’t know.
>Or one you did.
>You grimace at the notion, memories of savage bug queens and dark sorcerer stallions filling your head as you turn your attention back to the doused guard.
“Were you able to identify the intruder?” you ask anxiously.
>You heart falls as the mare shakes her head again, her ears dipping low with guilt.
>”Maybe the other girls had more luck… I barely saw them at all before they started flashing around the grounds. Trying to shake us, I bet. It worked…” she admits bitterly, frowning down at the tiles under her hooves.
>”Far as I could tell it was a unicorn. Same shape and size – uh, but I could be wrong. They were far away, and the guard only caught on to them after the Princess started chasing.”
>You turn back toward the exit, narrowing your eyes at the night beyond.
>No solid confirmation yet, but after the spellcasting and your only witness’ account, it seemed quite apparent that there wasn’t another Anonymous loose in Canterlot.
>Thank goodness for that.
>Even if you wouldn’t mind it yourself, in a personal sense of course, the world was bigger than you.
>The last human that showed up only narrowly avoided causing a national incident, and that wasn’t mentioning all the other, erm…
>Hardships, involved.
 >You frown, shaking away your thoughts.
“I’m going,” you say simply, freeing your wings and stretching them out to your sides, their full span large enough to shade the three ponies at your sides.
>You flap them once or twice, making sure you were well and ready to ascend before stepping out.
>Your charge into the storm is cut short, however, the damp witness rushing forward to halt you before you departed.
>”W-Wait! My lady!” she gasps, raising her forelegs in front of her, the rain beginning to patter on her back end as she cuts herself between you and the weather.
>”Please reconsider,” she continues cautiously, obviously just becoming aware of her bold action, “we are here, at the ready, ma’am. You should stay here where it’s safe. Give us the order, we’ll go…”
>While you appreciate her position, at the moment you couldn’t desire to be nannied any less if you tried.
“I acknowledge your council, young lady, but my sister – and your diarch – is surely out there right now with an unknown enemy. We MUST go to her—”
>”WE, we – yes my lady,” the guardsmare interrupts, folding in on herself further and further as her confidence continued to be tested,  “‘we’ will go.”
>The damp guardsmare turns to her companions and flashes them a desperate look for aid.
>”Please give us the order. It would be better for everypony if you stayed here.”
>The two guards on your left seemingly heed her silent plea and step forward themselves, each mirroring the sentiment of their sister.
>You huff in frustration, momentarily eyeing the other two wide, open exits, considering the other archways for your escape.
>Something stops you, however.
>You’d like to say it was the rational, calm part of yourself regaining control of your senses and steering you toward a reasonable compromise, but that wasn’t entirely true.
>It wasn’t even the bright flash of lightning.
>It was the objects you saw within that flash when the sky came alive, framed clearly against the bright clouds overhead.
>Now that you’d seen them already, it was much easier to follow their descent.
>There were at least seven, seven black spots crawling behind the sheet of rain and diving down toward the ground.
>Toward you.
>You frown and back away as the thunder finally cracks, almost mistaking the sound for some sort of preemptive attack.
>The guards?
>Or maybe not; you couldn’t identify them.
>They were coming from the east.
>Were they your soldiers, or were they reinforcements for somepony else?
>Yours or theirs?
>Yours or theirs?
>Your brain stumbles on a proper answer, and so you back away further instead, giving whoever they were a wide birth to give yourself more time.
“There!” you say to the guards, their careful smiles clearly mistaking your movement for a concession to their desires.
>They whip around to face the new company at your warning, eyes widening.
>The horn atop your head begins to charge with magic, but far, far too late to affect anything.
>You can’t even settle on the spell before seven bodies swoop through the breach in rapid succession, their hooves scratching on the hard ground beneath as they skidded to a stop and whipped rainwater in every direction.
>A tense moment passes before your three companions come to their senses, as do you.
>”My lady!” the wet messenger shouts, relieved, she and the other two rushing up to meet their commander.
>The large form you now recognize to be your sister in the torchlight manages to choke out a laugh through her exerted breathing, her horn aglow.
>”Come and see! We are victorious, sister!” she cries in excitement, absolutely brimming with energy.
“Luna?” you say slowly, the hype in her voice catching you off guard.
>She doesn’t answer, instead hovering a mass of soaked clothing and fur from the center point of her entourage.
>You barely have enough time to look at it before said entourage surrounds it on all sides, moving in quick to shackle the culprit’s limbs in chains.
>Your sister straightens her back and fiercely shakes her wings, clearly trying to rid herself of some of the excess water she’d accumulated outside.
>Her eyes never leave her captive.
>”So clever!” she sneers at the unconscious bundle as her guards move away, “Until thou weren’t!”
“Is… is that…?” you say, warily approaching her prize to give it a better look.
>The bundle shifts and mumbles in restless sleep, the soaked cloth of its cloak and cowl falling back further to reveal a light pink coat, damp purple mane, and the point of a horn.
>On the haunch of their leg you can see the faintest hint of a cutie mark, the lower portion of a purple star.
“… Starlight Glimmer?” you say, astonished and confused, “what is she—?”
>”Skulking near thy hedgemaze!” Luna cuts in, still trying to reign in her excitement from the chase.
>You shoot her a questioning look, but she seems more than ready to go on.
>”She WAS very clever,” Luna says, “used a Clover Barrier to hide her magical output, nearly an equal to Clover the Clever’s own version! Ahh, but not equal enough – we saw through her ruse and here she is!”
”Wait, wait…” you say, raising a hoof in an effort to slow her spirited recount so that you could catch up.
>You turn back to the intruder for just a moment, perhaps just to ensure in your mind that this was indeed Starlight Glimmer, and you weren’t just mixing up a similar face.
“She was… in the garden? What was she doing in the gard—“
>You stop fast there, the pieces finally coming together to form the obvious picture in your mind, the one you’d been brushing off as coincidence until now.
>It didn’t take long; you’d been thinking about it since you woke up.
>Your sister grins broadly, clearly reading your mind.
>”Now you see?”  she says, puffing out the waterlogged fur on her chest in an obvious sign of pride, “Thy havest  no more reason to fear; we have finally righted our wrong and apprehended the criminal from that night, caught red-hoofed and fleeing the scene!”
>After a moment Luna deflates slightly, turning a sharp scowl at the unconscious lump on the ground.
>”Why, the cur even raised her horn to us when we had her cornered. She tried to set us ablaze with a spell! The disregard, the disrespect! We SHOULD have-have—”
>Luna’s face curls with anger, her nose flaring with a huff as her steam builds and then dissipates as fast as it came, the moon diarch pausing to regain her composure.
>”We were WELL within our right to give her a GOOD thrashing…” she continues sourly.
>Despite her words, you can’t seem to find a single mark on the unicorn at your hooves.
>Whatever your sister did to get her to this state, it wasn’t physically traumatic in any way.
>Still, the situation was less than ideal.
>If anypony had seen her it would surely be making the papers, and that wasn’t even considering Miss Glimmer’s motives.
>What a mess.
>For a while it seemed like this was all over, and all you had to do was simply let things fall as they would.
>Self-producing magical anomalies were certainly rare, much rarer than they used to be in the early days, but they still happened.
>Things were so much easier when all of this was just a big turn of fate, a bittersweet accident.
>Now there were intents at play.
>Now there were egos and schemes and danger to consider.
>At 3 AM.
>You bend your rear legs, sitting in place as you drag a moist fetlock to your face and take a deep breath.
>It’s too late for this.
>Your sister, possibly noticing your circumstances, turns to address the assembly of guards herself.
>”Take this one to the dungeon, and make sure the nullifier is fastened properly!” she says, gesturing to the piece of metal that had just recently been strapped around your prisoner’s horn by the very same guardsmares.
>”There’ll be no more funny business with that horn if we have any say in the matter. Let her sit for the night and think about what she’s done. She’s earned it.”
>Luna turns to you.
>”We will deal with her come morning…” she continues, finishing her orders.
>Eight years.
>It had been eight years since you’d had any real use for the dungeons, and that last time wasn’t even a serious matter, more of a lesson.
>The guards stationed there used to use one of the cells like a rec room before their superior officer found out; they put a FOOSBALL TABLE in it for goodness sake.
>Now, in the span of a little over a month, it had been used to hold beings who you seriously suspected to be threats to the kingdom at one time or another; twice.
>At this point you can only hope that the second one turns out to be as benign and innocent as the one before.
>But, considering your sister’s account… it wasn’t likely this time would be so easily sorted.
>You rise, planting a forehoof firmly on the ground before you to steady your ascent.
>Even while synchronized and charged with magic from the font, the action drains you more than you’re expecting.
>”You there, wait,” Luna commands one guard, halting her in place next to you while her fellows carried on with their prisoner down the hall; she was no longer the only rain-soaked mare in the room, but she WAS the only messenger.
>”Yes, My Lady?” the guard replies diligently, whipping around to salute so quickly that the dry, loose cloak on her withers is nearly flung to the ground.
>”Keep with my sister,” Luna goes on, “escort her to her bed chambers and see that she is taken care of. I will send two others to relieve you within the quarter-hour.”
>The dark blue alicorn stops there for a moment, the end of her snout crinkling.
>After several seconds pause she winds back and sneezes, hard, the sound that didn’t escape into the outside booming through the corridors all around you and turning several heads.
>Your chest jerks a single time before you can fully suppress the weary laugh.
“Perhaps you should find a fire?” you remark diplomatically, eying her largely uncovered and waterlogged coat.
>Your sister frowns in obvious embarrassment and whips a fetlock across her snout, sniffling loudly in protest.
>”Worry not for me, sister. Tend to thine own needs for the day ahead…” is all she says in rebuttal.
>You shake your head, a smile bubbling up on your face for the first time since you awoke as you turn from her and aim yourself back toward the stairs from whence you arrived.
>”We will deal with matters until the morning. You can place your trust in us by sleeping well!” the other alicorn calls after you.
>The sound of horseshoes clicking on tile once again dominates as you approach the stairs, leaving the exit hall, balcony, and storm far behind.
>It takes a moment, but soon the companion assigned to you catches on to your departure and scuttles up to your side, the damp mare climbing with you in relative silence to the upper floor.
>As the two of you pace higher and higher, the sounds from outside grow more and more dull, the vicious storm ebbing away.
>The chill and smell of moisture is once again replaced by the cool, dusty scent of old stone and the gentle warmth of the candles and torches lining the walls.
>Compared to the ruckus of voices and weather downstairs, the halls you find yourself passing on the stairs are almost eerily quiet and serene.
>As you draw closer to your floor you pass the little guard’s discarded covering, still soaked from her adventure outside.
>She once again acts to take care of it herself, stepping forward to claim the article, but a shake of your head discourages her enough to leave it and continue following unhindered.
>Now that you’re paying more attention to her, you notice the unease on her face persists even as you leave it behind, her thoughts obviously lingering on more important things than littering.
>You can’t blame her.
>The events that had transpired tonight only complicated matters for the initiated few who understood the implications.
>Being so close to the center of the storm for the second time in such a short while, you almost felt honed from the experience, used to it.
>It was hard to imagine how it felt for ponies like her and your sister.
>They were the ones who had to venture out into the ring, the gale of the hurricane itself, to wrench these issues properly to your doorstep so that you could deal with them.
>”Is this… this is about ‘him’ again, isn’t it?” the guard confirms as the two of you step onto your floor.
>You turn to acknowledge her and she stiffens, back straightening.
>”Ma’am,” she amends, correcting her formality.
>The hall leading to your room is predictably empty and silent, as it should be, every door fastened tightly shut.
>You chuckle softly, regarding her with a smile.
”At ease,” you say graciously.
>She seems to relax, offering you a small smile in return as she takes a relieved sigh, hobbling forward on three hooves as a foreleg moves to tighten the dry cloak around the back of her neck.
>The action is oddly familiar to you, and you pause before your door to consider it for a moment.
>Your mind drifts back days and days, hoisting up the mare by your side and repositioning her with her back to the wall, surrounded from behind with mossy, cracked stone, and yonder with a line of steel cells that made up the dungeons below.
“Private Gables, isn’t it?” you ask, peering down at her.
>The guard’s face brightens somewhat at your personal recognition.
>”Yes ma’am. E-3 now, ma’am.”
“Promoted I see,” you remark with some pride in your voice, reaching out to place a gilded shoe on her witherpad.
>You speak honestly, forming up your own thoughts on the matter as you do.
“It’s possible that this incident is connected to the previous one, yes,” you say, being sure to leave specifics out for fear of eavesdropping, “but let’s not jump to any conclusions. Best to take things slowly and carefully for now, and without involving anypony who doesn’t need to know. Do you agree?”
>The guardsmare nods her head enthusiastically.
>”Yes Princess, of course.”
>You pat the little mare fondly on the shoulder before pulling your hoof back.
“You and very few others have been close to this since the beginning. You were one of the first ponies who laid eyes on him,” you say, horn lighting as you telekinetically grab for doorknob.
“I hope I can count on your continued service in matters like these in the future, Private,” you say, and her face falls slightly.
>You chuckle and pull your door open.
”PFC,” you revise.
>Her enthusiasm quickly returns, and she uses it to answer your question with a full-bodied and energetic salute, her face hardening in mock concentration.
“Good night, and good luck,” you say through the crack in your chamber door.
>Gables quietly returns the pleasantry and your door closes behind you, bathing you in darkness.
>Fitting.
>You may have spoken to her honestly, but you decided to omit something at the last moment, something personal.
>It was the bad feeling you had; heaviness in your chest that wouldn’t go away, a doubt that sunk down your stomach.
>It lingers in you even now, even as you set away your regalia and move toward your bed in the blackness.
>Even as you slip under your comforter and close your eyes.
>Your sister keeps to her word and lets you be, leaving your room and your dreams to you and you alone while she manages the direct aftermath on her own.
>Unfortunate.
>You have a nightmare tonight.

<>

>Morning comes much earlier and much faster than you’re expecting.
>You manage to wake on the very second as usual though, managing to scramble out of your mess of sheets at six sharp to throw open your windows and begin the day.
>Your already overladen mind can do little more than drop bemoaning thoughts of your restless night for more important matters as you slowly reform your official appearance for the outside world.
>Every minute you weren’t in orderly shape was time you’d be making up for the rest of the day.
>You need coffee.
>You need food.
>You need to chug and gobble those things down respectively – and NOT irrespectively like that time you tried to drink your pancakes – in as quick and efficient a manner as possible, as soon as possible.
>If you made good time, then you might even be able to sneak in a pee break before going to reconcile matters with the dangerous fugitive you were keeping locked in the bowels of your home.
>… and before you needed to be present for the meeting in which you needed to address the bubbling tensions in Trottingham before a civil-race-war broke out…
>And… before you had to be ready and able to assuage public outcry over the shortage of corn in the morning presentation hall when it inevitably broke out – again.
>And before you had to—
>The sting of your sensitive horn being jammed into your door as you bumble into it resets your frayed mind like a needle skipping on a record, startling you back to consciousness.
>Right.
>One thing at a time, Celesita.
>Sustenance, THEN the end of the world.
>Deep breaths.
>You step out into a much brighter but still low-lit corridor than the night before, the shine on your royal headwear hopefully blinding passersby to your sleep-weathered posture and eyes.
>Through the stained glass above you, you can just barely make out soggy gray clouds hanging in the sky, remnants of the storm from a few hours prior.
>You can still hear the occasional thud from a heavy drop of water striking the windows, but the rain isn’t nearly as bad as it was, and the lightning was completely absent.
>The night served as a great time to get heavy showers out of the way, and you could be especially judicious with the rainfall given your higher altitude.
>The night also happened to be when malefactors commonly did their best and most important work.
>Unluckily for your night watch, particularly extreme examples of each happened to occur at the same time last night.
>Through your sister’s vision you’d gotten but a small glimpse of the havoc, but from that vision you could discern, with much confidence, that you would have preferred staying inside given the chance, even with how ready you were to step out into it if it meant helping her.
>You might be biased, but a light morning drizzle was much closer to comfort than a late-night downpour.
>It was unlikely you’d be seeing either particularly close up today, though.
>Your public awaits you.
>Often loudly, and sometimes with torches.
>As you pass by Administration the door cracks open, just like yesterday morning, just like the day before and the day before that.
>A light-yellow mare steps out, the hum and rattle of productivity and adding machines creeping out of the opening behind her before she quickly closes the breach and falls into step with you.
>”Good morning, ma’am,” Miss Cream recites with the bare minimum of liveliness, her nose buried deeply in her work already.
>You return her a low, drawn out grunt, almost zombie-like from the roughness of your voice.
>She doesn’t notice.
>You clear your throat and try to conjure a little more energy, turning on her with a close-lipped smile.
“Did you sleep well?” you ask.
>”As well as always,” comes her succinct reply.
>Your happy expression smooths somewhat, but you continue.
“Oh? Nothing new? No, mm… no changes in sleeping arrangements? No… ‘newcomers’ to your room?” you say, hoping your salacious tone might mine a reaction out of her.
>All she does is scrunch her snout, pressing the clipboard in her sunny aura against the dark grey vest wrapped around her small chest.
>”Why would somepony else by in my room while I’m sleeping?” she says, confused.
>Her brow rises slightly, a mix of caution and apprehension appearing on her face.
>”Were you, uh…  in my room last night, or something?”
“N-No, what?” you reply with a quirk of the brow, lips turning up in amusement at her odd choice of conclusion.
>She seems to take your improving expression in a different way, however, confusing your entertained look for something else.
>”Wait… did you… you didn’t look in my closet, did you?” she says through thin lips, paling.
>You chuckle softly, shaking your head at her.
“I was referring to courtship. You know, dating? Having a partner? ‘In your room’?” you say, simplifying your language to a point where the prudish mare might catch on quicker.
>She blinks at you, then turns away and focuses back on her clipboard.
>”Ah, yes, of course. Uhh, I see, I get it now,” she replies, rectifying her mistake without a single stutter or flush of the cheek like you were hoping.
>Somewhat put-off, you still can’t help but smirk.
“Would you like to tell me what’s in your closet?”
>”Pa-Paperclips,” Eggnog mumbles a little too quickly.
”Paperclips?” you parrot, your snort of laughter restrained but your smirk breaking into a full-on grin.
>The little yellow mare frowns and turns up her nose, clearly flustered now.
>”Y-Yes, well, moving on from office supplies,” she begins nervously, adjusting her glasses, “I feel you should know that I’ve caught up with your escapades from last night. I’ve cataloged the event in an official capacity, as well as the marepower needed to deal with the scuffed floors and water intrusion on the lower level. I’ve left the report on your desk.”
>She huffs, tearing a page of notes from her clipboard and folding it neatly to be stored away in her hip bag.
>”I would very much appreciate it if all these recent antics could be held off until a more reasonable hour.”
>You scoff, nodding to some passing ponies as you step onto the stairs and begin the descent with your aid, waiting until they were farther out of earshot for your reply.
“Yes, we really should encourage mysterious intruders to sneak onto the premises and then flee from questioning more often – in the day time.”
>”What?” Miss Cream replies, startled, stopping your trip to the dining hall short on the steps, “Mysterious… intruders?”
>You are taken somewhat aback by her lack of knowledge, but she continues walking a moment later, drawing up closer to you and speaking in a hushed tone as she continues.
>”I wasn’t told about any-uh… is this about… ‘you know’? Ugh, I’ll need to redo that report,” she remarks, her expression souring.
“No need, don’t bother,” you instruct carefully as you step off of the stairs and onto the proper floor, “this is too small and we don’t have all the details yet. Whatever my sister, or the guard, or whomever, told you, is what will go down on record . For now.”
>”I see…” your assistant replies quietly, throwing up several pages on her clipboard until she reached the planners near the back.
>”Ugh, of course,” she laments, squinting at one of them, “I knew ‘surprise dungeon detail inspection’ was too simple for somepony of YOUR stature to partake in without an ulterior motive…”
>She frowns, conking herself on the temple with a hoof.
>”Stupid, stupid of me; I rescheduled that for the afternoon. I’ll take another look over breakfast… of course, we could skip breakfast altogether and… hrm…”
>You let her thought be, floating around the two of for a while as you contemplate it.
>It isn’t until you begin to smell food and hit higher intensities of ponies, both civilian and guard, that you find the answer with which to address it.
”Let it be,” you say, smiling and tipping your nose to a stuffy-looking gryphon in bright purple clothes, “It doesn’t matter. She isn’t going anywhere. Oppositely, I might be heading straight for the ground if I don’t get something to eat before we start sprinting around the castle...”
>Your aid hums in the affirmative, the pen hovering poised in her magical grip drifting hesitantly away from the page on the clipboard.
>Leaving current affairs at that, you and she pace further down the hall and, inevitably, into the royal dining room.
>The average sound level picks up slightly when you step inside, and many of the ponies and non-ponies sitting around the table turn their heads to greet you in an official, pleasant fashion.
>Not all, but many.
>Good enough.
>You beam and return their sentiments, quickly strolling further inside to find the seat next to your sister.
>The usually sparse but long line of tables and chairs is unusually populous this morning; the usual odd dignitary or high-ranking soldier is speckled about a mass of musicians – the entirety of the Southern Canterlot Day Players, by your recollection – and the room is lined with a uniform set of acting guards overseeing the affair.
>There was even a supposed celebrity in your midst.
>A high-profile Prench model now sits directly next to your kin and opposite you.
>Though you faintly knew of him before now, you didn’t know his country of origin until you arrived; his slim frame and beguiling eyes are a quick giveaway.
>Your younger sister, unsurprisingly, seems to have taken a keen interest in him, only breaking away from her conversation with the model to offer you a quick and simple greeting.
>Unfortunately for her, her usual charm has been somewhat… impaired.
>Her traditionally smooth speaking voice is going gravely and chafed, and she has to punctuate every otherwise alluring sentence with a messy sniffle to keep her sinuses in check.
>You, more than anypony, have warned her against her promiscuity in the past, but even you can’t help but feel pity at her floundering.
>Though he’d been quite polite up to that point, the Prench model actually scoots his chair back in physical revulsion when she, after interrupting her own anecdote with a less-than-dignified sneeze, swipes a fetlock across her snout only to create a visible bridge of snot between her hoof and her nose.
>Adding insult to injury, the young colt turned most of his attention to you for the rest of breakfast.
>He even goes so far as to demonstrate an intimate knowledge of your past exploits and significant moments with admiration shining in his eyes, clearly taken by you despite your lack of intent or effort to woo him.
>A pleasant if awkward surprise, one made sweeter by the tart looks Luna shoots you throughout your meal.
>Beyond that, your morning is pleasantly uneventful and plain.
>Neither the event that took place last night nor the decision of what to do about it are viable topics of discussion for obvious reasons.
>None of your usual table guests have much of substance to discuss.
>Thankfully your male company doesn’t seem to notice the size of your helpings, nor the energy with which you gobble them down and drain your coffee mug.
>You manage to slip out of your dining chair not twenty minutes after your arrival, bidding your visitors and chiefs of staff a formal farewell.
>Both your sister and your aid rise with you, the former grumbling about taking an early retreat to her bed before she slinks wearily from the dining room herself.
>Regardless of how frequently your mind strays to metal bars and musty subterra, noon does not arrive quickly.
>OR without a fight.
>The meeting over Trottingham does not go well.
>The discussion leading up to the literal, ACTUAL brawl in your treatise room was ALMOST productive until aforementioned event occurred, but by the time the guards were yanking the two factions away from each other’s throats and shooing you out of the room for safety, you were starting to get the feeling that this issue wouldn’t be a one-day quickie.
>The day court, unfortunately, is just about as constructive sans the fighting – though there were times when you felt as that the situation might be heading that way.
>Four hours.
>Four awe-inspiring, horrific hours of shouting from the moment the doors to your throne room were parted to the very second they were closed.
>The townsfolk argue amongst themselves more than they actually question you over Royal positions on matters, ignoring you entirely for the majority of the affair.
>The moment the first obvious, corn-shortage-related question was uttered, your throne hall morphed into a town hall, devolving into a battle of LOUD STATEMENTS and ‘I believe’s.
>What was even worse was your own performance.
>Your strategy of ‘let them wear themselves out’ proved to be a poor decision at the two-hour mark.
>Even the usually chipper, sunny personalities of the Day Court stallion guard are eventually tested into obscurity, and soon they all began to cast looks at you, wondering what to do.
>You never give any signal.
>You sit in your chair fostering an understanding smile for so long that you start to forget what the expression even means, your eyes trained on the crowd as the metaphorical fires rose.
>When the clock in the courtyard began to strike twelve you practically leapt from your seat.
>You don’t even need to say anything.
>Your guards don’t even bother hoofing out ‘return tickets’ to the ponies they shuffle out of the room before slamming the front doors shut.
>There wasn’t any need.
>Only three ponies – four if you were being generous – had actually expressed a desire to ask you a specific question and have it answered before the assembly.
>The rest barely even acknowledged your existence.
>The mental fortitude of your stony, focused assistant had even been noticeably weathered.
>She’d given up taking notes on the unspecific babbling of the crowd hours ago.
>The one time you peeked over the side of your throne to see what she was scratching away at on her tiny scroll, you caught sight of a picture she’d been sketching of a unicorn matching her description flinging itself from the peak of Mt. Canterlot, the grizzly sight etched onto the page with an almost chilling level of detail.
>You have to convince yourself that you aren’t FLEEING your own entrance hall as you and she speed-walk back toward the safety of the dining room, eager to return to the calm, bored state of mind you’d left it with earlier in the day.
>Eggnog doesn’t even make it inside, instead mumbling about clearing her head before breaking away from you at the door and trotting off.
>By the time you’ve jumped the floors and traversed the halls necessary to return to the dining room it’s a quarter to one o’clock, and the cooks have probably been preparing and serving lunch for over a half an hour.
>The first sight you see as you enter is a pony, and a familiar one, the combination of them in their usual seat and the smell of fresh bread and ground coffee beans giving you a powerful jolt of deja-vu as you step farther in.
>Luna takes up the space at the very end of the table on the left side, turned toward the center.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?” you ask your lone companion, doing your best to suppress the nag that might have otherwise been present in such a statement.
>Your sister opens her mouth to speak but instead looses a flurry hacking coughs into her hooves, capping the event off with a loud sniffle.
>Her bed-head hasn’t been tended to in the least, and gone are her dignified platinum pieces, revealing to you and the world how scraggly her coat had become in such a short time.
>The fur around her cheeks is constantly flared, the puff around the sides of her face giving it a swollen appearance.
>She looks terrible; quite the turnaround from her largely presentable morning self.
>”Was,” she replies after you take your seat next to her, her throat clearly torn to pieces from the onset of her cold.
>”Can’t anymore. Our sheets are too hot.”
“Are you sure it’s the sheets?” you ask with a hint of concern, offering her a pitying look as you light your horn to adjust the collar on her midnight-blue robe.
>She shifts in her seat at your interference with her clothing.
>”Yes, we are sure. Habbing the chamberers replace them with something better – not that it’ll soothe our suffering in this-this…” she trails off, snorting and grinding a gooey fetlock across her nose.
>You move to assist her for the second time, on this occasion hovering an unused dinner-cloth from farther down the table closer to her.
>She snatches it up the instant it floats within hooves reach and mashes around the end of her snout, desecrating the fabric with vigor as you watch.
“Maybe you should see Well Wishes? I’m sure she has something that could help. Cough medicine?” you recommend.
>Luna shakes her head, crumpling her ruined handkerchief and setting it aside.
>”Have something to drink already,” she replies, “better.”
>She wraps her hoof around the slim glass bottle at the edge of her side of the table to take a swig, drawing your attention to its contents.
“Luna, really?” you remark, frowning, “it’s almost one in the afternoon.”
>Your sister sets the wine bottle down with a heavy thud, snuffling loudly.
>”It helps,” is all she says, wasting no time on moving on to other topics.
>”We habben’t heard much about of thy recent dealings with ‘her’. We asked for little – and your ward told us little – but now we suspect our time should have been handled better. Who is she?”
>Your mouth twists, not too happy with the change of subject but nonetheless recognizing the importance of it.
>You take the warm kettle on the table into your magic and tip it gently over one of several glasses that had been abandoned nearby for the occasion, forming up your thoughts.
”She is Starlight Glimmer. She and I met face to face officially two weeks ago,” you begin, setting the kettle down.
“She had sent post before then asking for assistance in a matter concerning her small town, the one near the Crystal Empire? – ah, she’s the mayor by the way…”
>Horseshoes, that’s right.
>She’s the head of an entire town, isn’t she?
>You hadn’t thought about that until just now.
>Her responsibilities were surely going untended to in her absence, and probably would be for some time given her shifty actions afterward.
>You didn’t know what her motives were, of course.
>Maybe you’d get lucky and she’d turn out to much less malevolent than you thought possible.
>But that was when and if.
>For now, you had to consider the worst-case scenario.
>You should probably send a letter, or even an administrator, to make sure that her town was well seen to during her… ‘stay’, in the castle.
>You grimace at the thought of how messy the shift in leadership would probably be in that scenario.
>”How reckless,” Luna comments, thoughtlessly sipping away at her bottle.
“Indeed,” you reply with meaning, eyeing her drink with emphasis.
>She catches on after a moment and huffs in exacerbation, the dark blue aura holding her booze slamming it down and scooting it farther away in a show of surrender.
>You click your tongue at her exaggerated childishness, lips turning up slightly in gratification as you push the coffee pot closer toward her.
“Carrying on,” you continue, “in her letter, she informed me of issues she was having with a community of Diamond Dogs in the area around her home. Thefts, intrusions, that sort of thing.”
>”Were her citizens abducted?” Luna asks.
>You shake your head.
“No, their usual tricks weren’t an issue, actually, but there were other things happening. Co-ordinated, sophisticated, probably planned.”
>”Planned? Sophisticated?” Luna sneers through her scratchy throat, “The average hound skulking about in the mountains amounting to anything close to ‘clever’ is significant news to our ears.”
>You raise your cup to sample from the contents, rolling the bitterness around on your tongue as you mulled over your thoughts in the cocoa-colored mixture.
“I suppose I agree, but her report of the situation was quite clear.”
>Your sister leans back in her chair, thoughtful.
>”Well… Glimmer IS sitting in our holding cell right now. It’s possible that she was lying about the whole affair.”
>You shake your head a second time, gaining back her attention.
“I don’t think so. When I spoke to her the first time she held up her story to the letter. She didn’t seem… nearly as worried about the matter as when she wrote to me, but she did express the same doubts. I was skeptical at the time, too.”
>You set down your glass, pausing to remember your second-most recent encounter with her.
“That is, until she brought the supposed perpetrator to our doorstep.”
>Luna’s brow rises in surprise, her eyes turning up and away in thought.
>”That’s… that’s right! We recall it being mentioned that a Diamond Dog had been on the premises three-days past, but we hadn’t any reason to wonder about it until this. Is this connected? Did she really bring a cabbtive enemy with her?”
“No, actually. She came of her own accord,” you answer.
>The alicorn’s face becomes perplexed and you decide to go on.
“Apparently there WERE attacks and other operations being performed on the town at night under the orders of a ringleader. The dog that had come with her was that ringleader; she admitted to such right in front of me. She actually came along with Miss Glimmer in the hopes of making an accord and signing a treaty so they wouldn’t need to steal from her anymore.”
>Luna stares down at the crumbs on her plate, clearly flabbergasted.
>”We wouldn’t beliebbe it if it wasn’t coming from thine own mouth,” she whispers.
>”Diamond Dogs forming up a pack and following a leader like in the old days? Acting as one without infighting or treachery? That houndess must have been something to behold…”
“Not really,” you say, closing your eyes as you try to remember the details in your head.
“She was an old dog, hunched. Had to walk with a stick propping her up. Not particularly big, either. At least, not by any metric for Diamond Dogs I’ve seen. In fact, by my opinion she was on the scrawny side.”
>Your eyes drift open to find Luna shaking her head, absentmindedly reaching out for the coffee kettle with her magic.
>”Imbbossible, then,” she says, “she must have been an advisor or speaker of some sort. Diamond Dogs are simple, mean creatures; physicality is everything.”
>”She was a little gruff,” you reply, “but otherwise she didn’t seem particularly threatening. Eggnog didn’t even think twice about escorting her back to the entrance when she asked. Didn’t even bring any guards. Didn’t have to.”
“Both the old houndess AND Glimmer were also quite clear about her status in the pack.”
>Luna begins to reply but stops short, only narrowly managing to set the coffee pot back down on the table before a round of dry coughs shook her chest and forcefully dissipated her magical aura.
>You reach your left wing out and set it across her withers but she shakes her head, gently brushing your limb and her half-filled mug of coffee away.
>”Curse this,” she growls out, leaving her untrustworthy magic be and instead reaching across the table with a hoof to claim back her recently discarded bottle.
>”Fine, we know how she treats her neighbors – strange as they are,” she says after a hearty sip, “what about her ponies? What do you know of her town?”
“Not much,” you say, face falling as you reluctantly retract your wing and leave her to her devices.
“Her town rests more under my niece’s sphere of influence, but even so, my personal involvement with it has been sparse to non-existent until she mailed me. I’m actually a little surprised that she contacted me instead of Cadence in the first place…”
>”it’s not all that surprising,” Luna replies curtly.
>You turn, shooting her a puzzled look for the sudden bitterness in her tone.
>”After all, who wouldn’t prefer the service and attention of mighty Celestia?” she drones unconvincingly.
>“More goddess than princess; thy radiant beauty is only matched by the beauty of every Equis day, the same day that thou alone are responsible for creating. Any sane pony would be beside themselves with awe in thy presence. All hail.”
>You flash her a stale look, realizing the meaning in her two-faced adulation quickly.
>Her words are nearly identical to ones that were spoken to you in a conversation from earlier in the day.
“…I assume your lip is about that young stallion from breakfast?” you remark, unamused.
>Luna huffs in response and turns in her seat, clearly pouting.
“You’re being childish,” you comment, “he was very sweet – to BOTH of us.”
>She grumbles something that you miss, your ears swiveling in too late to catch specifics.
>You eye the mess off sick alicorn for several seconds.
>She does not return your gaze.
“Is it so surprising that a stallions might prefer my company to yours?” you probe, quickly becoming annoyed, yourself.
>Granted, you only had the opportunity to say what you said because of a situation in which your sister had a clear handicap, but you weren’t thinking about that right now.
>Her resulting and continued silence speaks volumes.
“Oh, ohohoh,” you laugh out, prickly, “I see. I understand now. You don’t think me ‘worthy’ of an attractive model, is that it?”
>A fun, haughty smile creeps onto your sister’s face, your combative reply obviously putting her in a better mood.
>She again refrains from answering, tipping her bottle of booze up for another helping.
“Maybe I should go and speak with him again?” you say.
>”Oh really?” Luna replies, the lack of attention her tone suggested only riling you further.
“Yes. I think he’d enjoy me visiting him very much. We could both have a laugh over your ‘interesting’ gauge of courting skill over dinner, alone.”
>You nail in that last sentence good, wanting to make sure she felt it.
>She sneers, rolls her eyes, even, sends all the physical signs she can think of to demonstrate that she doesn’t care about this, but you know better.
>You know your sister.
>You know this is getting to her.
“This colt liking me more than you is really eating you up, isn’t it? Admit it. You’re such a foal,” you say through a superior smirk, your smile growing as hers diminishes.
>”Be silent already,” she grouses, setting her bottle down on the table as she leans her temple in a waiting hoof.
>”Thine big head is giving ours an ache.”
“Ohhhh, MY ego is the problem, is it?” you laugh, replacing the coffee mug in your aura with a strip of newspaper that you’d been neglecting until now.
>”Yes,” she replies quickly, finally laughing with you.
>“Frankly, sometimes we think the space between thine ears would collapse if not for all the hot air.”
“Would you like to return to the moon, dear sister?” you comment with false callousness as you fan out the paper and set it in your open hooves.
>”The peace and quiet and lack of noisome relatives DOES tempt us,” she replies smoothly, mining out another laugh from you.
>For a while the two of you share a content silence, she holding her head whilst you absently scan the Daily Sun for interesting excerpts.
>When the paper fails entertain you sufficiently, though, you decide to do it yourself, grinning as you lean to your left.
“He likes me more than you, he likes me more than you, he likes me more than you, he likes—“ you whisper in a hurry, her drawn out groan of anguish transforming your taunting into silly giggling.
>”Sister PLEASE; if it will free us from thy sense of humor for a while then by ALL MEANS go and see the colt, go on,” she relents, waving her hoof at you.
>You regain control of your laughter and lean back in your seat, satisfied with the exchange.
>She, however, turns her head right to peek at you over your paper, a smug look returning to her face.
>”What?” she says, “Lost thy nerve already? I thought he liked thee? What is it that thou stallist for? Go and claim him, sister.”
>’Celestia’ – a phantom, masculine voice whispers in the shell of your ear, a tingle rushing through you as you imagine the tall biped who owned it lurking over your shoulder; waiting, waiting for your answer.
>”H-Hm?” you hum dully.
>”We said,” she begins, “Why dost thou not go now? Lunch instead of dinner, hm? There’s still time enough in the noon for it.”
>’Celestiaaa’ the voice whispers again, and you sputter for a reply, your lips crinkling in panic.
“I-I, well… that’s… I wasn’t really…” you stumble as her smile grows, clearly pleased with herself.
>Your snout scrunches as you continue to mentally shuffle in place, getting nowhere with your thoughts.
>The emergency light in your brain switches on and open your mouth to say something – probably something VERY stupid and cornering considering you had NO IDEA what it was going to be before it actually came out – when the doors to the hall behind you swing open to reveal your savior.
“Oh look, it’s Eggnog!” you say a little louder than intended, turning toward the small yellow unicorn who just entered with undue energy.
>She actually flinches from the raw attention you just threw at her.
“Come, sit here. I’ve saved you a seat.”
>You gesture nervously at the empty chair next to you, but that only draws MORE attention to the empty expense of chairs lining the table further down, further emphasizing the strangeness of your request.
>The bespectacled unicorn eyes the seat next to you nervously for a moment before actually moving to take it.
>”Th-Thanks…” she mumbles carefully, unclipping her saddlebag and setting it down on the table as she slides into the open spot on your closest right.
”Of course,” you return quickly.
>You carry on without a moment's rest, moving the conversation forward in the hope that you might escape your sister’s taunting without ALSO being put into a compromising position that the persistent and, frankly, mildly disturbing, bipedal specter who now haunted your every stray romantic notion might take the wrong way.
“How’s your head?” you say casually, propping up your paper like a shield.
>”Fine—“
>”Fine,” both your sister and Eggnog reply simultaneously.
>You cringe slightly at inadvertently tagging your sister back into the conversation, but continue with the topic nonetheless.
“Uhh – you’ve been getting those a lot lately, haven’t you? Headaches, I mean. Maybe you should drink more water?” you comment.
>Your assistant, visibly worn, props her head up between her hooves against the table and stares across the room.
>”Maybe,” she replies.
>The unicorn winces slightly as her horn sputters to life, her dim aura working to pop open her saddlebag and pull something from inside.
>It takes a moment of fiddling with things for her to reach her objective.
>Once she does, she lifts the item into the air and plops it down right on the funny pages.
>”Letter for you, ma’am,” she grunts as she deactivates her magic.
>She must have dropped by your study during her walk.
>Poor thing never turns off.
>You examine the envelope she just placed into your care with a modicum of curiosity as the kitchen door on the left side of the room pops open to reveal Sun Spot.
>Finally, some luck.
>Until that moment your sister had been nothing short of hovering, her eyes trained on you as she waited for her moment to strike.
>If your hopeful suspicions were right, and the letter was from who you thought it was, her onslaught might have been even fiercer.
>Thankfully, her attention is swiftly stolen away from your business as your buscolt enters the room, her entire demeanor morphing from rumpled and sickly to a state of richly dignified suffering.
>”Hello ladies,” the blindingly yellow colt greets you as he approaches, his forever-cheery attitude already reminding you of your age.
>He turns to your sister once he reaches your table, his expression twisting up in concern.
>”Miss Luna, you don’t look so good. Are you alright?” he asks, so eager to take the bait.
>The showmare recently known as Luna leans over in her seat and firms her face dramatically.
>”It is nothing,” she says, “our kingdom merely fell into a moment of need during an inopportune time and we rose to defend it like any mare would. It is unfortunate that our good deed did not go unpunished.”
>”You poor thing…” the buscolt comments pityingly as he sets tray down, approaching your sister for a closer examination of her ‘woes’.
>You take advantage of her distraction and deftly tear open your letter, eager to see if it held what you were assuming it did.
>Your face falls somewhat when two pieces of paper, including another envelope, all tumble out from inside and onto your newspaper, none of which appearing at first glance to be from your male, a-ah…
>Your male… something.
>You could think about that later.
>For now, you gently set your things down on the table in front of you and layer the items as they were stacked inside, picking out the topmost to read first.
>”Goodness, your face is swollen…” a male voice interrupts, earning the back of his head and your sister’s clever mug a sour look before you turn back to your own matters.
>From the penmanship on the first item it is quite clear who the writer was.
>The two of you had been exchanging letters for years.
>There wasn’t much to read from her, however.
>The missive only tipped past a hooffull of sparse lines.
>’Dear Princess Celestia,’ Twilight begins.
>’I don’t know what the situation is, so I can only hope this letter reaches you as it should.’
>’I understand if you can’t speak in detail, so please, anything you CAN say about this would do a lot to ease my mind.’
>You pause here for a moment; her oddly serious and formal tone isn’t exactly expected.
>’I found this on his dresser,’ she continues.
>’I just want to make sure that everything is okay and that he’s safe.’
>’I hope you’ll send me something back, even if you can’t say anything specific.’
>’I’ll understand.’
>And that’s… it.
>That’s the end of it.
>At least, that’s the end of that message.
>Your face scrunches in confusion as you flip the piece of paper your student sent you around once and then twice, searching for any additional post-scripts or explanations.
>There are none, nothing beyond the other item that was sealed inside with it.
>You examine that second item next, recognizing the broken seal and color of the paper from your own personal stock; the additional envelope inside is clearly one of yours, or at least made by the same ponies.
>You stop investigating once more, this time for more personal reasons.
>Is this…
>Does this mean that Twilight read the letters you sent him?
>Your face heats up at the embarrassing thought, the paper in your magical aura crinkling up as your focus wanes.
>That’s what was this is, isn’t it?
>She read that letter about your-your… ACTIONS with him that night, and came to an unkind conclusion about you, didn’t she?
>You couldn’t blame her.
>In your desire to be respectful you’d never actually SAID what you were referring to outright for fear of making Anonymous uncomfortable.
>Without knowing the context, any reasonable mare might become suspicious of your behavior with such cryptic descriptions.
>”You should eat something to keep your strength up,” a bubbly male voice says a mile away, your sister’s reply toned out by your thoughts.
>A crippled smile sneaks onto your face.
>Oh sun, this is bad.
>You’re going to have to sort this out fast before something happens.
>A melodramatic scene begins to play out in your mind of your purple pupil, distraught and openly weeping as she tears up your photos and letters, all the while lamenting amongst her friends how she never knew her outwardly kind and reasonable teacher was really a rape-crazed sex pervert who ‘changed’ once she started drinking.
>Absorbed in your mental doom-saying, you almost miss the slip of off-color paper within the second ‘Canterlot Official’ envelope.
>Though you can’t tell right off hoof whether or not this one is one of yours, you tug the second page of writing free with the assumption that you know exactly what it is.
>Because of this, you find yourself somewhat surprised when you realize that the letter enclosed within it ISN’T a sordid and questionably worded apology of your own writing, but is instead a note that is completely unfamiliar to you.
>’Dear Anonymous,’ it begins.
>’I hope you can forgive my brevity.’
>’I wish to say much more than what I am about to say, but I fear I shouldn’t in case other eyes happen to find this message.’
>Your brow furrows as you scan the page further.
>Wait…
>What is this?
>Who wrote…
>As you continue, the speed at which you take in the words increases in an equal amount to that of your dread, your mind totally and utterly eclipsed by an enormity you weren’t expecting when you first started.
>Each new line turns your blood colder, until you feel as though all the heat has been forcefully drained from your body.
>Any semblance of the smile you once had is irreparably gone from your face by the end, like it was just a memory from a happier moment in time.
>Your lips part but you do not speak.
>”Miss Celestia?” Sun Spot says, eyeing you in your peripheral, “Do you want something to eat?”
>In one swift motion you rise from your chair, nearly knocking your seat to the ground with the force at which you stand.
>Now you can feel both the eyes of your secretary and your kin on you, observing quietly.
>”Princess?” the buscolt tries again, worried.
>You read it.
>You read through the entire horrible thing, but the last line, the worst line, continues to echo in your mind.
>’Sincerely, Princess Celesita’ it says.
>But you didn’t write this.
>You didn’t write a single damned word of it.
>Not only that, but the hoofwriting was a chillingly similar style to which you yourself wrote in, even if it wasn’t identical.
>If the additional item that came with it was any indication, this forgery had also come in an envelope similar to the ones you yourself used in your study.
>”Sister?” Luna says, rising from her seat.
“L-Luna,” you sputter, bewildered, unable to force out any more.
>You toss the fake message onto the table and scramble to pick up the previous one, scrutinizing Twilight’s every word for any sign of falseness or foreignness.
>You find nothing, but you can’t be sure.
>You aren’t sure of anything right now.
>Each time you scan through the piece in your hooves your eye catches on a single line over and over, hammering the severity of it into your mind.
>’I just want to make sure that everything is okay and that he’s safe.’
>She doesn’t know if he’s safe or not.
>She doesn’t know because he isn’t there.
>You’re too late…
>He’s gone.
>As you admit that fact to yourself you sway in place, lightheaded from your sudden flux in blood pressure.
>All three of your companions move an inch closer as you threaten to topple.
>”Sister!?”
>”Ma’am – ma’am are you…?”
>Your body becomes stone, mind boggling with fear as the once whimsical approximation of the human in your mind shifts and changes.
>No longer does he whisper your name in a tempting hush, no; he cries out for you to save him before being wrenched into the shadowy unknown, forever.
>You take a hard breath, re-examining every memory you can summon from the moment he arrived to this very second, lingering a while on the events of the night prior.
>You’re a fool.
>You’re so, so stupid.
>How long has this been in the making?
>Since he appeared, or even before then?
>How long had the chess pieces been moving right under your nose without you seeing them, shifting and sliding as darker minds shoved them along behind the scenes?
>You let your guard down.
>You were careless, both with yourself AND with him, and now Anonymous is…
>You don’t even know.
>If these letters were real…
>Neither you nor your friends have a single clue where he is…
>…OR what’s happening to him right now.
>Nopony knows.
>Your once blank eyes narrow as your face forms an ugly scowl, chest pounding as you direct all of your silent, useless rage at the forged letter discarded atop the table before you – at the tool that had, in all likelihood, been used to steal him away.
>Your teeth grind as your horn comes to life, the magic flowing through and around your body whisked into a single point at the tip as you generate meaningless power.
>At the edge of your vision Luna’s eyes widen momentarily with surprise before she hastily scrambles away from the dining table.
>The buscolt and your assistant follow her lead, the space they had taken to come to your aid returned in triplicate as they cleared away from you.
>The spare napkins and handkerchiefs littered about are caught in a phantom breeze and begin flutter in the air, dancing about as if they were sounding a silent warning to anypony who witnessed them.
>Every breath that rushes in through your crinkled snout curls the imposter’s letter, the edges of the paper it had been written on slowly blackening and fluttering away in tiny orange embers.
>You have cast no spell; the mere act of concentrating on the fragile item with so much ire and so much magical force is causing it to slowly ash away, obliterating under your scorn.
>it isn’t until the windows lining the room begin to darken that you truly take notice of how your actions are affecting the environment around you.
>The next breath you take is a deep and measured one, the tempest of your mane and tail slowly but surely settling down into their once calm rhythm as the magic you had been channeling dissipates in an orderly manner.
>The light from outside once again begins to shine through the stained glass unhindered, glossy, colorful shapes flying briefly across the room before settling into their previous spots.
>The alicorn to your left cautiously approaches you, willing an apprehensive smile onto her face as the tablecloth settles and the various tiny objects floating about begin to hover back toward solid surfaces.
>”… Sister? What ails thee? Speak to us…” she whispers.
>Her words are soothing and gentle.
”He’s gone,” you say.
>”Who is gone, sister?” Luna replies carefully, casting a quick look at the two others in the room as she approaches you.
>She hardly manages to brush her wing against your side before you whip around, turning away from her.
>She, the buscolt and Eggnog each flinch slightly from your flash of movement.
>Your posture becomes taught like a board, sharpened stiff, your hoofsteps thudding heavily against the carpeting on the floor as you pace toward the exit.
>”Ma’am?”
>The timid voice of your secretary steals not an inch of momentum from your stride.
>”Where are you going?”
>The door ahead of you glows before gently hovering open.
>When you reply you tone is measured and calm, but they can’t see the hard, angry twitch in the corner of your mouth.
“The dungeons.”

<>

>As you and your friends step inside the library, you find the lavender unicorn in much the same state as you left her in an hour ago.
>Her pacing goes undeterred by your arrival, and you’re a touch surprised that you can’t see hoofprints wearing into the floorboards beneath her for all her dedication to it.
“I brought everypony I could find,” you announce quickly, “has she sent anything back?”
>Twilight doesn’t even turn, her brow set firmly in place.
>”Does it LOOK like she did?” she replies curtly.
>Spike bounces a concerned look between his caretaker and you, his claws playing together in his lap as he, presumably, continues to wait for the return letter that hadn’t come.
>He sits otherwise unmoving on the table next to Twilight, still in the exact place she sat him when she first required his services.
>”Are you SURE you sent it to the right place?” She continues, her voice becoming accusatory.
>”Yeah, of course I am. Sure I am…” Spike responds quietly, turning his eyes toward his fiddling digits.
>”You sent it to her study like I told you, right? You sent it to the room with the books and the big desk?”
>The small dragon frowns and flits his eyes up and away in thought.
>”W-Well… yeah…” he returns slowly, “I mean, I think I did?”
>The librarian throws back her head and groans loudly, amplifying the nervous wiggle in the dragon’s claws instantly.
>”Hey! There’s a lot of places in the castle with books and desks, okay!? I haven’t even been there in years!”
>”DESK! ONE desk!” Twilight retorts swiftly as she turns on him.
>“H’alright, alright, now that’s well ’n enough,” Applejack cuts in decisively, beating you to punch.
>The farm mare crosses farther into the room and seats herself on the ground near the squabbling roommates, a comforting hoof landing on the male dragon’s back.
>He releases a stressed, shaky sigh and points his eyes back toward his claws, ignoring the agitated huff from the unicorn.
>“Ya’ll just settle down ’n tell us what’s goin’ on here,” Applejack says, shooting Twilight a sufficiently withering look in retaliation for her temper.
>The purple mare seems to take the hint, stalling any more aimless trotting and instead lifting her hooves to her face, her chest swelling as she takes a cleansing breath.
>”I’m sorry, I know this isn’t helpful, I just – look, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think it might be bad...” she says.
>You offer the dragon a gentle look as you step forward and take your place next to AJ, your second companion following close behind and doing the same.
>”Liiiiiike… ‘I forgot his birthday bad?” Rainbow Dash says, gesturing at the purple mare “Or, ‘we need to assemble the Elements of Harmony before the town explodes’ bad?”
>Twilight grunts and scrapes a hoof down her face, peering off into the distance thoughtfully for a few moments before answering.
>”I don’t know… but probably closer to the latter.”
>”Greeeaat,” the speedster returns sarcastically.
“We found a very troubling letter,” you cut in, “we’re not sure what it means, but it sounded very important. Also…”
>You trail off here and catch Twilight’s eye, looking for a sign to continue.
>After a moment she sighs and turns to all of you, her expression becoming uncomfortable.
>”Anonymous has disappeared…” she says.
>”What!?” Dash exclaims, instantly filling with energy and shooting worried looks between the both of you.
>”Darn… ‘course it has somethin’ to do with that feller, don’t it?” Applejack remarks, frowning.
“A-Ah, well, if the Princess’ letter is to be believed,” you cut in again, “he may be with Celestia herself.”
>You catch Twilight’s face shift, twisting up in the same way that it did when she found the letter in the first place.
>A mixing swell of caution and confusion appear in her astute eyes, as if they’re burning into an invisible wall she can’t seem to pierce with them for all of her trying.
>”I don’t like it,” she says finally, drawing everypony’s attention.
>”I don’t like any of this. Something about that letter was… off. Something was wrong with it, but I couldn’t put my hoof on what it was. I had a bad feeling. I sent it to Celestia just in case, just to make sure, but I… I don’t know…”
>”’H’alright then, well… first thing’s first,” AJ remarks, popping her hat up farther on her brow.
>“What’d this thing say? What was funny about it?”
>Twilight closes her eyes, surely compiling her memories along with her rationale.
>”Okay…. It was a letter the Princess sent to Anonymous,” she begins, “It didn’t say anything specific, only that there was something important that she needed to discuss with him, and that she needed to do it as soon as possible. She told him to go somewhere and meet her. She sounded really worried, but… I mean…”
>Twilight’s eyes scrunch tighter before fluttering open.
>The purple mare turns on the spot and begins to pace yet again, her tail flicking about in unease as she saddles up to continue.
>”She said she didn’t want to involve anypony that she didn’t need to for fear of trust, but… but then why wouldn’t she say anything to any of us? To… ‘me’? Does she not trust me? Does she not trust the Elements of Harmony?”
>Twilight whips around in the other direction now, trotting back toward you as her mind runs on.
>”And another thing; the Princess always sends her personal letters through me – err, through Spike…” she concedes, pausing a moment to flash the young dragon an officially apologetic look that he regards kindly before going on.
>”Especially the ones to Anonymous. She’s sent two over the last two weeks, even. Like clockwork. Sending letters through dragonfire is just more efficient. But this time… I’m almost positive that I didn’t deliver the letter to Anonymous that told him to meet her.”
>”I mean – I don’t read the Princess’ personal letters,” Twilight clarifies quickly, “But that letter told him to meet her THAT night. If it had come a week ago, then he would have been gone a week ago; he wasn’t. I remember talking with him the day after I delivered the last one. If ‘I’ had given it to him, I wouldn’t have seen him the next day…”
>”Soo… so you’re saying… what are you saying?” Dash says, thinking for only a moment before becoming frustrated.
>”Ya’ll’r thinkin’ that letter you found wasn’t from the Princess?” Applejack says, “That this was all some sorta’ trick?”
>Twilight’s face becomes serious and she halts in place, staring at the ground pensively.
>”… I think it’s possible…”
>You shift in place and peer at the ground, stomach turning at the implication, the possibilities.
>You don’t seem to be alone in your unease.
>In fact, the demeanor of both of the mares you brought with you have taken a sharp turn.
>Dash doesn’t speak out, but she mutters her disbelief under her breath, and her wings and chest have perked up in a subtle sign of agitation.
>Applejack’s face has morphed in a full-on scowl, and you can see her forelimbs noticeably flex as her anger rises.
>”Have ya’ll looked for’em? You’re SURE he ain’t around here?”
>Twilight turns and nods her head sorrowfully.
”Twilight and I ran all over town…” you add.
“He’s not the type to blend into a crowd, but nopony’s seen him at all. He isn’t at home, either, we were just there. We went into every room…”
>”No-good, slimy, sneaky, foul little—“ Applejack curses under her breath, nose flaring.
>“Somepony pretendin’ to be a Princess – a pony’a REAL character – so they can trick a defenseless colt out into the open and snatch 'em up in the dead’a night? Nuh-uh, no ma’am. Ah can hardly BELIEVE somethin’ so low-down and yellow and-and—!”
>”Ahh-Ahh, A-Applejack?” Spike whimpers, wincing slightly as the large mare’s once gentle grip around his shoulders intensifies into an uncomfortable vice in her outrage.
>Dash lifts her forelegs and slams the hoof of one into the other as the farm mare quickly yanks hers away, patting the young male guiltily.
>”I’m right with ya’!” the speedster remarks, “Those freaks better start hoping that poindexter and puffball over here find ’em before us, cause I’m gonna pound ’em when we do!”
>An unamused frown crosses both your and Twilight’s faces, but the latter brushes it off quickly.
>”Now slow down; everpony just slow down,” she says, lifting a hoof to her temple.
>”We don’t even KNOW if he was abducted yet, we’re just taking shots in the dark. We need SOME sort of information to go on before we start stamping our hooves and making bold declarations. I was hoping the princess would get back to me soon, but…”
>”Yeah, that all sounds real nice Twilight,” Applejack remarks, unconvinced, “but considerin’ the circumstances, ah ain’t one fer just sittin’ on flank while some scoundrel runs off with stallionfolk from mah home-town. ‘Sides, where’r we s’possed to get ‘information’ from? His house, ya’ think?”
>The farm mare’s comment lights a torch in your brain, and you raise a hoof in an effort to gain their attention.
“We could double check his home, but I believe more aggressive action may suit our cause better,” you point out, turning to Twilight.
“The letter mentioned a specific place to meet. The train tracks on the south side, correct?” you say, a determined look gracing your face, “That place is very last one of which we can be quite sure Anonymous was. If we go there, we may manage to find some clue as to his whereabouts. The extra information would ALSO do us well should the princess contact us with the worst, wouldn’t you agree?”
>Twilight’s brow rises and she quickly looks to your other two companions, exchanging looks with them for a moment before their faces also harden resolutely.
“I know where I’m going, ladies,” you say with some spirit, flashing each of them a look, “Who’s with me?”
>”The sooner the better!” Twilight affirms, turning and flaring her horn to pull her worn saddlebag from the shelf behind her.
>”It’s not far at all. We could go and be back before dusk.”
>Both the pegasus and the earth pony rise from their seats on the ground, even more energized now that they had a plan of attack.
>”Ah’m ready, let’s go,” Applejack agrees without a moment of hesitance.
>”Let’s do this!” Dash adds, spreading her wings.
>The pegasus rises from the ground and bolts outside without another word.
>Twilight nearly trips over herself in an effort to chase after her, both you and AJ turning to follow close behind.
>“W-Wait, Dash! It might be dangerous! We should all – ugh! Alright!” the librarian bellows after her, turning a quick look to the two of you all of you step outside.
>”Move it, move it, move it! We got places to be!” a perky voice calls out from high above as the fresh air and the smell of grass hit your snout.
>You turn upwards to try and spot her, but the only thing you find is the afternoon sun stinging your eyes.
>Twilight, clearly unhappy with your starting pace, rushes forward then stops short, nearly tripping over herself again before reversing her direction and trotting back toward the house.
>”Hey c’mooon!” the pegasus whines, but the lavender mare pays her no heed, her quick pace carrying her right back to the front door.
>Standing in the crack of its arch is her assistant; he’d come to the front to wave you goodbye before you set out.
>You turn your ears instinctively, curious, and you catch the very end of a rushed but nonetheless genuine-sounding apology.
>You hear something else as well.
>The mare instructs her male ward in no subtle language that the library is to be closed while the three of you are gone.
>She also tells him to lock the door behind them, and not to answer it or open it for anypony he himself didn’t know or trust implicitly.
>The young dragon seems slightly puzzled by the seriousness of her tone, but nonetheless chuckles and mentions something about needing to get some cleaning done anyways.
>Twilight taps him gently on the cheek with the point of her snout before moving to close the door, whispering something more to him just out of earshot as it shuts.
>As she walks away from her home and nears you, you reach out and pat her gently on the back, attempting to ease her troubled expression with a smile.
“We should only be out for a few minutes,” you assure her.
>”Yeah,” she says, sparing you a quick glance before turning back.
>“I’m just, uh… yeah. Let’s go.”
>”I coulda’ been there and back already!” the skyward voice bleats.
>”I HIGHLY doubt that,” Twilight mutters.
>”I COULD SO have don—!“
>”OKAAAY!” Twilight barks back at the whingeing pegasus, hiking up her saddlebag in irritation.
>”Time’s ‘a wastin’ girls,” Applejack adds before turning, taking only a moment to readjust her hat before breaking out into a light jog, her path loosely acclimating to a blurry cyan spec in the cloudless sky above.
>”C’mawn! We’ll make it there right quick if’n we double-time it!”
>You pat the huffy unicorn on the back, nodding toward the peach-colored mare in the distance as you turn to follow her.
“It’s time,” you say, filling your chest with air in preparation for the change in adrenaline.
>You rush forward not a moment later, following the lead set by the blond mare ahead of you.
>The clop and thud of hooves at your immediate rear confirms that your purple companion is following close behind.
>For a while, the world becomes refreshingly simple.
>Your mind has to put away more worrying thoughts and instead focus its concern on the breakneck pace your physically admirable colleagues were setting for your party as you crossed town and headed toward the south side.
>You don’t ask AJ to slow down once; the idea of being alone with your thoughts just so you might imagine what was happening to your human companion right now is far less pleasant than your absent musings on how a pony could run so fast for so long without tiring.
>This tactic actually proves effective for a time, but, unfortunately, not forever.
>As you and your friends rush, cutting across roads, speeding down streets and passing quaint pony houses, your cruel mind sneaks back up on you.
>Soon you’re pondering things about him.
>Pointless, unhelpful things.
>You wonder if he’s in a house or if he’s exposed to the elements.
>You wonder how long he’s truly been away.
>There wasn’t any sort of specific marking or indicator on the letter you found in his home, so you had no idea if he was a night and a half away, or a few DAYS out.
>He could be out in the open right now, forced to travel with his captors.
>He could be hidden away somewhere, too, tucked in a place where nopony could see and nopony would know.
>Except for the ones who took him of course.
>Maybe they were already where they wanted to be…
>Maybe they already had him right where they wanted him.
>You face scrunches in discomfort at the thought, a slew of dark, terrible places for dark, terrible deeds cropping up in your head one by one with an almost unnerving efficiency.
>Your grim musings continue for so long that you lose track of yourself and even your exhaustion.
>With time, the farm mare’s rear end became her hip, and then her barrel, and then you passed her altogether, your chest pounding as you unwittingly took point and charged far ahead.
>You’d been successful at keeping your fear at bay for so long, but now that it was running wild in you, there was no limit to your energy.
>No matter how hard you pushed you couldn’t seem to leave behind the thoughts of Anonymous – gentle, thoughtful Anonymous – being tied up somewhere, surrounded by creatures he didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
>The human was probably terrified and depressed, but still holding out hope that somepony would come for him, to end whatever torments his kidnappers were putting him through.
>Each horrible doubt fueled you, took you closer and closer to your objective.
>Eventually, the hum of the townsponies and their various day-to-day died down and became a footnote in the back of your mind.
>The hard but tidy stone under your hooves broke into untended dirt, and then again into sturdy planks and steel rails as you merged onto a new path.
>Each new step you take thuds against worn hardwood or clangs against metal, and eventually the tracks ahead of you become a comforting blur, an easy outline with which to complete your task.
>It isn’t until you start to notice the distant, hoarse echo of your name being shouted that you break from your exhaustion-tinted trance and finally slow yourself.
>”Rarity! H-Hol’ up a second!” a deep voice says behind you, cutting itself short.
>”T-Twilight’s—“
>You stop in place and turn back toward your friend, watching as the farm mare briskly trots forward to make up the small gap that had previously cut between you.
>Unfortunately, your third ground-bound companion is much, much farther away, dancing against the background of distant Ponyville as she tries to make up your ground.
>It’s only now that your pace catches up with you, and you have to crouch down to make sure you don’t fall over from the energy you just expended.
>You hadn’t thought of it much until now, but you hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and your lunch had been, well…
>Cut short.
>It was probably a miracle that you were still standing right now with how hard you went at it.
>Shoulders hunched, you hang your head and pant in place, lungs still burning with desperation as you try to get back your wind.
>The heat in around your face has intensified so much that you have to lift a foreleg to swipe away the sweat beginning to trickle down it from all sides, cringing in mild disgust as, not have anything to wipe it on, you simply hang your tarnished hoof out to your side and hope for it to dry.
>Far ahead of you and straight forward is the treeline of the Everfree; from that, you can assume that you’re facing east, now.
>To your left and to the northeast, far down the rails, was the dusty path back to town.
>In the opposite direction, much farther away, mind you, was the far-off town of lights, Las Pegasus.
>Though you were a little ways away now, it was still a touch unnerving how close Anonymous had been to town before he vanished, only just beyond city limits.
>A few minutes jog if you had to estimate, though you hadn’t been paying much attention on the way.
>Ponyville was a small town, sure, but it still saw its share of troubles.
>Its citizenry vanishing in the night wasn’t usually one of them.
>”Don’t mean’ta nag ya’ an’ all…” Applejack says, gesturing at you, “But that-there probably ain’t safe.”
>Still puffing loudly and half submerged in your thoughts, you shoot the mare a dazed look and peer around, puzzling at her comment until your eyes tilt groundward and you notice, with some surprise, that you were currently laying on the outbound train tracks you’d followed to get here.
>Understanding her point immediately, you force your torn and tired limbs to lift you up with a huff, carrying yourself from the dangerous spot to a new one closer to your hardy friend before plopping down.
>”Didn’ know you had that in ya’,” Applejack comments in a puff of breath as she removes her hat and swipes a foreleg across her moist brow, turning back to watch for your approaching companion.
>It takes another minute or so, but eventually Twilight begins to hobble into speaking distance again.
>However bad you had to assume you looked right now, the bookish librarian had to look far, far worse in comparison, and further still below the outdoorsmare catching her breath at your side.
>Her legs wiggle with every step, and her body slinks low to the ground as she plods up to you, her face a picture of warmed-up death.
>”Cuh-ugh… I’m comi—AHHAH!“ she manages to choke out, cutting herself short with a gasp that utterly bowls her over as a flash of blue crashes down directly at her side.
>”’Bout time!” Dash chirps loudly, ignoring the toppled unicorn.
>”Ya’ see anything up there, Dash?” Applejack asks, peering back over her shoulder to examine the landscape ahead.
>”Nuh uh,” the pegasus returns glumly with a shake of her head.
>”Not yet, at least. I GUESS we should probably look around down here to make sure…”
>”I… ah-… agree…” the dying unicorn beside her remarks, gesturing with a hoof from her spot on the ground.
>You attempt to swallow the dryness in your mouth and shakily get to you hooves again.
>”Ya’ll, uh… need a minute?” Applejack asks, eyeing each of you with somewhat mirthful concern.
“No,” you pant out quickly, shaking your head, “I’m fine. Let’s get searching.”
>The farm mare turns with a smirk, stepping toward the other unicorn in your company.
>”Yeah sure, ‘we’. Alright, c’mawn… up an’ at ’em, cowpoke,” she says, stooping to lift her friend off of the ground.
>Twilight mutters a winded thank-you as she takes her friend’s hoof up and then wraps a noodly foreleg around her sturdy withers, steadying herself.
>Rainbow Dash nods and lifts off, softening her usual speed on the ascent and instead gliding just a head or two above your party, hovering just far enough to get a good look at the ground as she went.
>The four of you move in silence for a few minutes, your breath slowly and somewhat painfully returning as you plod along.
>You frequently swipe a hoof through your mane in a vain attempt to keep yourself a semblance of presentable, but give up quickly with the knowledge that you were probably just spooning more sweat and grime into it for your trouble.
>Twilight, having just recently come back to life, now tails you closely.
>Her head is hung and swiveling like a dog on the trail of scent, and her eyes are narrowed to slivers from the force of her focus on the dry dirt and sediment crunching beneath her hooves.
>She doesn’t even seem to notice you looking back at her.
>Applejack has taken to kicking over rocks and stones as you pass them, clearly invested but incapable of finding something that just wasn’t appearing.
>You hadn’t thought about this much, or maybe hadn’t cared to, but it was quite possible that the four of you would be out here for a long time, and there was no guarantee you’d find anything.
>All you could really do was keep moving and hope that you’d find some sign of what had happened.
>Between then and now, if there ever would be a ‘then’ in the first place, the four of you were lined up for a lot of nothing.
>Even Applejack, an easygoing mare you’d certainly refrain from calling impatient or any form thereof, looked like she was getting antsy from the harsh drop in energy your team was now experiencing.
>Eventually, the farm mare clears her throat and shoots a look your way, her face smoothing.
>”So, uh…” she begins, obviously trying to strike up a conversation, “How long’d you girls say you knew this fella for, again?”
>”End of summer,” comes Twilight’s succinct reply, her mind miles away.
“Mm… yes. I believe it was a little over two weeks ago?” you say, turning forward to follow in Twilight’s lead and scan the road.
“Yes, at least.”
>”Same!” a voice overhead pipes up.
>Applejack slowly trails up to your side, her face pensive as she plods along beside you.
“Guess that means ya’ll know ’im alright? Like ’im an’ all…?” she says, distant.
>You turn to her and offer an assuring smile, tilting your head.
”You’ve met him before. Didn’t you? Uh – like him, that is?” you say.
>You aren’t entirely keen on the topic of the human given the circumstances, but it was probably better than thinking about him IN the circumstances.
>Besides…
>If this is going where you think it’s going,…then talking about it is important, especially among your friends.
>The farm mare’s brow crinkles in thought as she peers up and away, her lips thinning.
>”Ah s’ppose so…” she replies after a moment.
>Her lackluster response gives you a moment of pause, your brow rising.
“You… suppose so?” you repeat, curious.
>She shrugs and peers away, but for a split second you see a hint of something in her eyes; discomfort, caution, the same sort you remember her having when you discussed her visit over lunch not so long ago.
>Like there was a part of her inside, a part that rarely disagreed with her conscious consensus on matters, popping up and pulling her in the other direction, giving her doubts as to whether or not she might be lying to herself, doubts she hadn’t quite settled.
>That’s how it seemed to you, at least.
>You face forward once more, scanning the path ahead before turning back toward her, offering her another kind look.
>”You don’t sound like you’re sure,” you comment carefully, “did he… put you off in some way?”
>”No no, it ain’t that, nothin’ like that – he was, uh… he was real, uh… well…” the farm mare fumbles, looking for the right word.
>”… Nice – ah guess.”
>There it is again.
>She turned, but you saw it.
>Like she can’t make up her mind but she doesn’t want to admit it.
>You chuckle softly and peer down at the dirt, intending to take some of the pressure off of her so that she might speak her mind more clearly.
>You need to be careful about how you broach this situation.
>Give her space,
”I see…” you say.
>You leave the space afterward with the intention for her to elaborate, but when the soft-spoken mare remains tight-lipped you decide to be proactive again.
“How did he seem to you specifically? – besides ‘nice’, I mean.”
>Applejack quiets for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
>In the corner of your eyes you see Twilight lift her head and turn to listen in, clearly interested in what answer she might come up with.
>”Well, uh… he was, uh…” Applejacks tries, her face twisting, “Big? – ah guess. ‘Tall’r whatever…?”
“Mmm,” you hum to signal that you’re listening – but not TOO closely, just close enough.
>Applejack rotates her shoulders in a visual attempt to loosen up her stiff withers, wetting her dry lips with her tongue before going on.
>”Yeah, uh… big. And he looked pretty, w-well… you know,” she says, vaguely gesturing with her hoof, “Looked… ‘put together’, you know? Real, uh… sturdy? And his eyes were real, real, uh… well... ya’ll know.”
>When none of you respond she reaches a hoof up and digs into her head, scratching it through her Stetson as she tries to form up the words.
>”WELL… ya’ll KNOW…” she says, gesturing with her hoof more deliberately now as she fumbles with her meaning.
“Intimidating?” you posit innocently.
>It comes out a little fast, too fast for your brain to double check the implication.
>Applejack’s face morphs into a frown for a split second and you notice your mistake instantly.
>”N-No, not intimidating’,” she says as she turns away from you, clearly put off guard.
>Twilight flashes you a weary look, her quick and subtle shake of the head reaffirming your flub.
>“Ah wasn’t scared’r nothin’ if that’s what yer sayin’. That ain’t how it was,” Applejack clarifies explicitly.
“A-Ah, no, of course not, darling,” you reply, using the farm mare’s lack of attention to return Twilight a regretful look, “nopony’s saying that.”
>”I am!” a voice chimes in above, both the input and the content of their comment flinching you.
>”’Cause it’s startin’ smell up here. Smell like CHICKEN. Can you girls smell it?” the pegasus remarks as she fans her forelegs toward her snout, her sense of timing matched only by her lack of consideration for the mood.
>“Ooo yeah; that’s definitely chicken.”
>Applejack flips her gaze skyward, a disgruntled look crossing her face.
“Ohhh, don’t listen to her,” you say hastily, even now trying to cobble together your failure, “she doesn’t mean it, she’s just being—“
>”Don’t think just cause yer up there that ah can’t GIT TO YOU, Dash!” Applejack threatens, your attempt to smooth the relationship between yet another pony and the human clearly squashed.
>”Now that’s rich! Big bad farm mare’s shakin’ in her boots because of a colt and you think I’M scared of YOU?” Dash chortles, absently doing loopty-loops in the air now.
>“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll come down there to you. You’re probably scared of heights, too!”
>Twilight sighs in a beleaguered fashion and points her snout back toward the road, clearly ready to abandon the sinking ship that was trying to combat Applejack’s pride with Dash’s well-intentioned stupidity.
>The light orange mare snorts in anger and yanks down her hat, eyes already aflame for the fight that was almost certainly about the break out.
>”Ya’ll BEST take that back!” she growls.
>”Aww, okay sugarcube,” Dash replies patronizingly, her smirk growing, “I AM sorry; I’m sorry you’re such a PRISSY, TWINKLE-HOOFED little PANSYGIRL.”
>”Ohoh, now that tears it!” Applejack retorts as she yanks the hat from her head and tosses it onto the ground, “I’m gonna’ jam yer yappy little mouth RIGHT UP YER FL-FLA—“
>The angry earth pony stops short and wobbles in place, her voice cutting out and then morphing into a pained grunt as she trips and falls forward, her heavy frame slamming into the ground hard.
>Both you and Twilight stop to acknowledge her tumble, cringing slightly from the mild embarrassing event.
“Okay, ohhhhkay, now let’s everypony just caaalm down,” you say, reaching for the downed mare, “this isn’t helping.”
>Your message of peace is hampered somewhat by the intensified cackling overhead.
>AJ glares at the Pegasus, ignoring your hoof and instead moving to rise again by her own merit.
>Unsuccessfully.
>The first time she tries to get back to her hooves she slips and falls a second time, her rear left leg caught and stayed from rejoining her others.
>The farm mare growls and you hear a noise, a noise like tearing fabric as she once more tries to force herself up, her head whipping around with yours to find the obstruction.
>”The heck’s f-friggin’ got me?!” she barks angrily, her frustration boiling over as she tries to yank herself free from the slip of blue cloth tangled around her fetlock.
>”Consarn’d THING, GIT OFF’A M—“
”WAIT! STOP!” you cry, eyes widening.
>Applejack, to her credit, freezes in an instant, as if a rattlesnake was looming in front of her nose and poised to strike.
>”W-what?! What is it now!?” she gripes, following your eyes back to the article wrapped around her leg, “It’s just a rag blowin’ by in the wind!”
“That is NOT a rag,” you say defensively, gesturing at her again to stop moving.
>Twilight, who was ahead of you a moment ago, had since turned and come back to examine what was going on.
“Is… is that…?” she whispers, squinting her eyes.
>You say nothing, crouching down before the mare’s leg and flaring your horn in an attempt to carefully free it without doing more damage.
>The piece of fabric is caught securely between a jagged piece of wood from the edge of the train tracks and a sturdy bush of ground-crawling weeds, the middle of which was now snagged around your friend’s joint.
>Dash flutters in slowly, forgetting her antagonism for a moment to observe what you had found.
>”What?” she says, confused, “it’s IS just a rag…”
“I’ll have to beg your pardon,” you say, prickly, the light blue cloth slowly slipping free, “but I’ll say it again; this is NOT a rag. My work is art.”
>”Your wo-HURK—!?” Dash repeats before coughing and losing her air, the vengeful earth pony hoof that just collided with her gut doubling her over onto the ground.
>”Is that… a piece of his shirt? That blue one that you…?” Twilight asks as you hold up the torn ribbon of fabric, the individual threads on the frayed edges blowing delicately in the breeze.
>You nod.
>The other unicorn gets closer, and you dissipate your aura so that the piece of cloth can land gently into you hoof.
>”You’re sure?” Twilight continues, peering between you and it.
“This is my work,” you reaffirm with confidence, still eyeing the scrap in you possession carefully, “I’d know it anywhere. I made it special, custom. There’s nothing else like it.”
>”Wow…” the pegasus curled over at you side grunts, “good… eye...”
>You’d like to enjoy the compliment, but your mind in consumed with other things.
>Your head tips upward to examine the area immediately around you, scanning it carefully for anything else.
>”A torn-off piece of his shirt…” Twilight comments somberly, clearly picking up on your frame of mind.
>”Could be a sign of struggle…”
>”Shucks…” Applejack curses under her breath as she sits up on her haunches, leg free.
>”Aw jeez…” Dash adds, still clutching her gut as she gets to her hooves, “Somepony really snatch’ed him, didn’t they?”
>You frown and shut your eyes, trying hard not to face up to it, to reality.
“No,” you say, hoping dearly to be right.
“We need to keep looking. If this is here then-then—”
>You stand, abandoning weak rationalizations for action.
“Fan out, there has to be something else!” you reason, not waiting for their approval before you scramble to your hooves and whip around, eyes crawling over everything in sight.
>Dash takes flight and whizzes past you.
>A moment later your other two companions follow, each spreading themselves away from each other in different directions.
>For several harrowing minutes you do nothing but walk, search, crawl, your entire being put into any and every sense of perception you possessed.
>You clutch the piece of blue fabric against your breast, keeping it safe while you scoured, sweeping up the loose dirt and rocks with your limbs and your magic in an attempt to unearth something, anything.
>When you start to lose track of how long you’ve been at it your head jerks up and spins in place, spotting each of your companions hard at work.
>For a moment, you hope.
>For just a split second you hope that they won’t find anything.
>You hope that this is all just a big misunderstanding, that Anonymous is going to step out of treeline and wave you down, regale you with a compelling tale of his long night and tell you that everything is fine.
>That he’s safe.
>You hoped; that was your mistake.
>The very second you started deluding yourself was the very moment that Dash twisted in the air and dove down on something.
>You become stone, your form freezing solid as she fiddles with whatever it is, nearby and several paces from the train tracks; she’s northeast, you must have just barely missed it on the way.
>As she rises from the ground she cups her hooves out in front of her, several shining somethings tumbling from them and back into the dirt.
>She makes a face and reaches back to try and reclaim some of them and, failing that, turns a quick look back toward your group.
>Her face is grim.
>”Uhh… girls?” she says, just loud enough for you to hear.
>You’re already moving toward her, the cloth from the blue fabric in your grasp waving up to caress your face.
>The others follow, both Twilight and AJ trotting forward to close the gap.
>”What? What is it?” the earth pony remarks as she draws up your side.
>The very moment you reach the flying pony she turns and presents you her findings, her imprecise hooves fighting to keep the item together as yet more of it tumbles down onto the ground.
>Each tiny piece twinkles with color as light from the sun hits them just right, the delicate beauty of each one sparkling as they descend back into the dirt, into the deeply sunken hoof print below.
>No, not a hoof print; that’s wrong.
>It’s a paw print, a large one formed under soft pads in a canine shape.
>”Oh no…” Twilight whispers soberly as she stops beside you, hoof resting against her head as she zeros in on the pile cupped in the pegasus’ hooves.
>”The princess… she wouldn’t have…”
>Clutched between Dash’s hooves, falling apart even now, are the shattered remains of what appears to be a cider glass.
>One of the largest pieces sits in the center of the pile, the massive crack slithering through the artfully drawn ‘A’ on the face glinting in the light for all to see.

<>

“Sister.”
>Her voice is one wave of many lapping at the edges of your mind, buried under a million other thoughts.
>Your stride has become as long and purposeful as it can without breaking into a run.
>Ponies passing you in the halls and on the stairs occasionally stop to wave, smile or bow to their princess before their attitudes morph, their eyes becoming apprehensive when they notice the state of yours.
>”Celestia, please,” she speaks up again, her volume increasing as she comes nearer to you.
>It isn’t until you finally reach the class precipice of your castle, the very descent to the dungeons themselves, that she finally gets your attention.
>She does so by stepping in front of you, your path blocked by a light blue alicorn in pitiably informal pajamas, her body the only thing between you and your destination.
>Your face turns visibly angry before you can stuff the emotion away, her obstructive behavior intensifying your aggravation.
>”Please, listen to us,” she says, backing up an inch and turning her head back.
>The guards on either side of the wide arch behind her shoot the both of you and each other a concerned look.
“Speak,” you say.
>The word comes out more frigidly than you intend.
>The little day guards behind your kin whip their heads away and out of your business the instant your withering tone hits their ear.
>”We understand sister. We do,” Luna says, forming up a cautiously placating smile as her lit horn hovers something into view.
>A sharp breath leaves your lungs when you see the forgery hanging there in her aura, and the alicorn hastily whips the page away, a regretful look crossing her face.
>”O-Of course, alright, our apologies,” she says as she stuffs the fury-inspiring item back into her pajama pocket.
>”Just… please, calm thyself for a moment. Speak to us. We will follow you anywhere, sister. We only desire to know where your path leads, and to what ends.”
>”She – SHE,” you grind out, pointing your horn to the door over her shoulder, “– took him. Or she instigated the event or she-she – she MUST have. This can’t all just be coincidence. That letter, where you found her and what she was doing, how it all relates to him – and now he’s GONE?”
>You intended to cap the end off like a question to illustrate your point, but instead it comes out as more of a statement, a lamenting admission of reality.
>Your face screws up in frustration, chest becoming heavy as your sister approaches you and presses her nape to yours in a gentle embrace.
>You surprise even yourself by momentarily flinching away from it, if only to return her affection a moment after.
>”It is alright,” she whispers.
>“Every hoof in this kingdom is planted firmly against thy back, including our own. There are no obstacles in this world that are a match for us.”
>She asserts that statement confidently, comforting you the best way she can.
>Her words do not sooth the storm still brewing in you, but they do work against the tide in a small way, enough so that you don’t attempt to push by her when she steps away.
“I’m just going to talk with her,” you continue stiffly, unsure of whether or not you were telling the truth.
>A hesitant look crosses Luna’s face, as if she were hearing your thoughts as you formed them.
>”I see,” she replies.
>After several moments of thoughtful contemplation, the alicorn turns to nod to the day guards keeping watch over the steel-reinforced double doors at her back, the both of them scampering from their positions to collectively rifle through a large key ring that, presumably, would be your ticket inside.
>”We will come with you.”
>You open your mouth to speak, to say that her company isn’t necessary, but a calmer, more rational side of you – one that was currently squeezed tightly between many other louder, more irrational parts of you – speaks up in defense of the idea before you can articulate the words, your sentence dying on your lips.
>You’d met Starlight Glimmer before, but you weren’t totally sure what manner of beast you were going to find downstairs, nor how you would handle it in conversation.
>Having a more measured voice on your side may smooth things along, and if it didn’t… well…
>A grimly satisfied look creeps onto your face as the doors ahead of you clatter and slowly begin to slide open.
“Fine,” you return curtly.
>“Together then; it doesn’t matter to me. The outcome will be the same.”
>The white-coated stallions on either side huff slightly as they manage the heavy task, each weighty barricade gradually gliding outward until the passage below was revealed.
>Luna turns to you and, failing to say something, nods in solidarity and turns back, taking the first step down on the long descent.
>You stick tightly to her and follow for only as long as it takes for you to judge her pace to be insufficient, at which point you wordlessly pass her up and move on ahead.
>The slightly shorter alicorn has to hurry to match your stride, sniffling her nose all the while.
>The door that had parted to allow you entry begins to hover shut to cover your departure, the soft torchlight intensifying as the natural light dims.
>The wooden thud that echoes down the tight hall a moment later is the official signifier that you are now shut off from the civilian world, that the road ahead was only for eyes that needed to see.
>Your journey down is entirely a silent one, neither you nor your sister acting to start any sort of conversation or dialog that might redirect or diminish your focus.
>That was why YOU weren’t speaking, really.
>Considering your mood, it was probably just as likely that Luna was keeping to herself for more… tactful reasons.
>All the better and all the same.
>You don’t need any more roadblocks.
>You could have – SHOULD have, been here hours ago, but instead you played childish games with your sister and stuffed your face like a dimwit.
>The time for this to be settled is long past due.
>It is with that thought in mind that you come to the first and only landing, the stone steps smoothing into the one and only path that lead to the softly lit room beyond.
>The metal thud of shoes, the musty scent and the uniquely natural look of the carved and occasionally dirty walls threatens to bring you back to another time.
>A tense and doubtful time, certainly, but one that lead to something magnificent, something you wouldn’t give up for anything.
>Not that you had any choice in the matter, now.
>As the weighty metal bars begin to pass by on your right side you have to will yourself, force yourself, the glower now taking up residence on your face reforming into something more presentable.
>You need to come at this correctly and on the first try.
>Each weathered metal spoke reflects the blurry shapes of you and your sister as you trek beyond them, the dingy material occasionally twinkling with the orange light from a nearby flame as you leave it behind.
>The traditionally lax guards posted to this station each stare blankly ahead from their spots against the left wall, their faces whipped straight and focused as they peer ahead into the stony cages.
>There are six of them, two more than usual, and not a single mare amongst them are slackers or problem types.
>The most movement they prove capable of as you enter are a turn of the eyes, their faces hardening further with the entrance of both of their rulers at once.
>”Hello? Is somepony there!?”
>The few pairs of eyes pointed on you shift with all the others to point down the hall where the feminine voice originates, aiming you toward your destination.
>”… Hello!?” the voice repeats, their tone becoming mildly irate with your lack of acknowledgement.
>“I’ve been here for HOURS and nopony is speaking with me! If you aren’t just another round of meatheads checking in for a shift change then I DEMAND some manner of council! You can’t just keep me locked away, you haven’t even told me my crimes! Can you hear me!?”
>The look of disapproval from the armored mare farthest down the line of other guards deepens as the prisoner before her continues to bark, and by the end of the rant she has begun to move on the cell in front of her, extending her polearm to bang on the bars.
>A shake of your sister’s head is the only thing that stops her.
>The guard’s posture loosens, a look of mild disappointment gracing her features, her spear hanging aloft and useless in midair.
>”You can’t intimidate me! I have rights!” the voice protests angrily.
>”Be silent!” the guard retorts instead, pulling her spear away, “You’re making demands of your PRINCESSES! Show some respect!”
>”What!?” the voice returns incredulously.
>A clip-clop of hooves sounds out and the guardmare takes a half-step back, leg bracing around her spear more tightly as a bed of light pink fur smooshes up against the door to the cell.
>The single, timid eye that catches yours through the bars is returned nothing but chilly indifference; you stare her down, unblinking and unfaltering in your approach.
>The pink bundle retreats from the face of her cage with a deep gasp, chains rattling as she fiddles about inside.
>”W-Why didn’t you say anything earlier you potato-brain!?” she hisses in mild horror.
>You and your sister come before her cell not a moment later, cutting in front of the retreating guard with your bodies.
>Beyond the metal divide, the unfamiliar and shrill voice you’d been treated to at your entrance is now matched with a familiar body, a unicorn with a bubblegum-colored coat and a messy, dark lavender mane with bright teal streaks.
>The imprisoned mare laughs nervously and dips her head the very moment you come into view of each other, giving you a good look at the sturdy stone brace fastened securely to the crown of her scalp and the around the base of her horn.
>”Y-Your highnesses!” she chokes out, her anxious eyes pinned to the stone beneath her hooves, “I wasn’t expecting – I-I didn’t know… It is TRULY an honor to be in your presence!”
>”Thou canst dispense with the pleasantries,” Luna remarks in an official tone; one that is utterly betrayed by her state of dress and her frazzled appearance.
>“We have much else to discuss, Miss Glimmer.”
>The guard retreats into the background with a bow and Starlight whips her head back up to regard you, forelegs fiddling in her lap.
>”Yes! Yes I do. I agree,” she replies hastily, shifting her gaze to the both of you.
>“I appreciate you taking this so seriously! I’m sure you know by now that this is all a big mistake. I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear!”
>Her eyes linger in yours for a moment, obviously seeking refuge with the one mare she’d actually met before, perhaps the one to vouch for her innocence.
>Unfortunately, the one mare she knew in the room also happened to be the one with her worst interests in mind.
>She finds no safe harbor in your face.
>Her put-on politeness runs off of your cold exterior like rushing water.
>Her face falls immediately and, unable to keep your sharp gaze for any longer, pulls away.
>Luna, noticing this exchange and your continued silence, steps forward.
>”Perhaps you could enlighten us, then? We see no mistake in your lodgings, Miss Glimmer,” she remarks plainly.
>Starlight continues to fiddle with her hooves, the tinny sounds of her shackles whispering against the flat walls all around you as she puzzles, brow furrowed.
>”It… it’s a mistake is all…” she claims again, quickly peering up at you before dropping her eyes back to the earth.
>”I thought about this, and I think I know what happened,” she says with some confidence, “this is all just a case of mistaken identity. When you attacked me—“
>”Attacked you?” Luna interrupts, clearly taking insult.
>Her words flinch the fidgety unicorn unmercifully, her eyes scrunching shut.
>”M-Moved – moved to apprehend me,” Starlight corrects quickly, “I believe you were merely mistaking me for somepony else.”
>She looks upward again, her eyes becoming meek as they fall on the dark blue alicorn to your left.
>Your sister, like you, remains indifferent, but has apparently become a better outlet for the unicorn to plead her case considering the fact that she now solely focuses on her over you.
>”I was only reacting. I couldn’t identify you at the time and THOUGHT,” she starts again, emphasizing the last word clearly “… that you were just trying to attack me. I was frightened and fought back, that’s all…”
>She pauses here, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come.
>Starlight’s expression becomes strained as your kin continues to eye her silently.
>This goes on until the pink mare drops her head and smiles weakly.
>”B-Besides,” she goes on, “I may be able to help you?”
>Luna’s brow rises, and she turns to you for just a moment to confirm her interest.
>”Oh?” the alicorn returns, pretending to be unconvinced, “And how is that, Miss Glimmer?”
>Starlight’s smile becomes more genuine at your sister’s beckon to continue, even if it’s obvious she’s not entirely on the unicorn’s side.
>“W-Well, you see, princess…”
>Her eyes cut to the side for a split second.
>”I think I may have seen the real culprit?”
>Luna frowns, much of her interest seemingly drying up on the spot.
>”Oh really?” she says, the sound of her disbelief much more heartfelt this time.
>”Y-Yes,” Starlight responds, obviously noticing the change in atmosphere but continuing anyway.
>Her eyes cut to the side again.
>Again.
>Like you don’t have eyes, like you can’t see her.
>”I’m, uh, I’m pretty sure I saw another pony that night – right before you and I had our unfortunate misunderstanding, I mean,” the unicorn goes on.
>”If we really put our minds to it, I’m sure we could find the real culprit for whatever crime it is you’re suspecting me of if we just act reasonably and work togeth—“
“You’re. Lying.”
>Though you could feel your anger building into that statement the very moment she started talking, even you are surprised by how venomous it comes out, how callous and spiteful the words sound as they leave your mouth.
>”…W-What…?” Starlight responds, an ounce of dread flickering in her eyes, your uncharacteristic animosity clearly blindsiding her.
>Luna takes another half-step forward, her well-crafted indifference morphing instead into visible anxiety.
>”You need to tell us the truth, Miss Glimmer,” she says almost comfortingly, clearly unused to playing the kind and gentle persona that your mood had forced her into.
>She was harsh and aggressive interrogator, you were pleasant and reassuring; you fell into these roles naturally and it always worked in the past.
>Not this time.
>You tried at the start, but now that you were actually face to face you were realizing quickly how unlikely it was that you were going to be playing any sort of crying shoulder for the mare in front of you.
>She lied.
>If her face wasn’t evident enough, there was more than enough physical evidence to raise suspicion.
>Canterlot has no expansive fields or gardens outside the castle.
>The township was all cobblestone and hewn stone roads; it was cultivated by pony civilization more than almost any other town you knew of.
>There are still flecks of dried mud and soil all over Starlight Glimmer’s body.
>The bends of her legs are even stained greenish from the expanse of grass she had to gallop, trip, and crawl through to escape your sister’s pursuit in the night.
>The Canterlot weather reports are also very clear, they’re attached to every post in the city and your weather team is the best in the world.
>Not only that, but the downpour had started before the sun even went down.
>The rain cloak and hefty boots she wore last night are still sitting in the corner of her cell, clumped and damp.
>She knew what she was doing.
>She was running around outside – at three in the morning – dressed for heavy rain and trotting through wet muck; the kind of terrain you would find if you needed to trudge through a waterlogged field during a storm.
>No.
>There’s too much here for her to slink away.
>”Ifst thou know where he is, it is in thy best interests to tell us now. Things would be much easier for everypony if thou wert to tell us what thy intentions were in our field last night,” Luna continues, drawing closer to the bars.
>”Speak to us clearly and we can help you.”
>The edge of Starlight’s mouth dips down, her fetlocks bunching slightly from the force at which she was now grinding her hooves into each other.
>”H-He? I… I don’t…” she mumbles cautiously.
>Your eyes narrow.
>Luna flits her eyes toward you before hastily turning them back toward the imprisoned unicorn.
>”Speak clearly,” she repeats, “and speak honestly: were thee in the royal garden last night? Do not lie to us.”
>Silence.
>The unicorn’s mouth thins, jaw taught as she rifles through her thoughts and, quite possibly, her options.
>Ways that she might twist out of your grasp without giving you what you needed.
>The seconds tick by, and you can feel your anger rising again.
>After what has to be a full minute, your sister shoots another placating look in your direction before yet again focusing back in on your prisoner.
>”Thou do a disservice to thyself!” she says, her volume rising.
>“Tell us the truth! Wert thou in the field last night? Present or not? Yes or no?”
>Yet more quiet seconds tick by with your kin’s question remaining unanswered, and each single one that passes inflames you even more, liquid ire pumping through your veins as your chest swells with air.
“SPEAK!” you bellow, the powerful, booming vocal tone your sister was more known for crashing hard into the tiny cell and ricocheting violently about the room.
>Several metal thuds sound behind you as your armored guards twitch against the wall at their backs.
>The pink pony – who’d just taken the brunt of the blow – scuttles away from the bars in surprise and fear, her eyes pinned wide.
>”Y-Yes! Okay!? I was in the field last night!” she barks back, chest visibly rising and falling from the passion she had to summon just to TRY and meet the volume of discourse you’d set in the room.
>”What else!?” Luna cuts in swiftly, seeing her opportunity.
>“What business didst thou have? What deed!?”
>”I-I… I don’t… I don’t…” Glimmer stutters, sliding along the ground until her back hits the rear-most portion of her cell, flattening against it.
>”I don’t… know.”
“YOU’RE. LYING,” your voice booms again.
>Your sister winces from the raw power of it as it reverberates off the walls.
>”What is the reason!?” she demands again, her voice becoming desperate, “What benefit wouldst thou possibly receive from reaching across the cosmos over and over in the heart of your kingdom!? Do you wish us harm!? Is it power or thrill that thee desire!? Why!?”
>Glimmer is visibly shaking now, her gaze cutting frequently between you.
>”I… I’m not… I wasn’t trying to-to…”
>You take a step forward, your hoof slamming down on the stone below hard, hard enough for her to notice your action without a shadow of doubt.
>The unicorn begins to curl, doubling over against the wall.
>In fear, perhaps, but also something else.
>She grips her head on either side of her hooves, squeezing her temples tightly between them.
>”I… I did it…” she begins, snout and eyes scrunching up.
>“I did it for… a friend… my best friend…” she whispers.
“What!?” you snap, doubling down on your anger in an attempt to best your confusion.
>”I did it for my friend. I… I had to. They asked me to do it. I had to… they’re my friend… my best friend,” she whispers, almost more to herself then you.
>”My best friend, my very best friend.”
>”Wh-Who!?” Luna asks, her voice dying down as she presses her head against the bars, her horn poking between the metal spokes as she leans in.
>”Who? Who is thy friend? Speak the name of thy accomplice.”
>”A-Ahh—“ the unicorn whimpers in something akin to pain, squeezing her head in a vice-like grip as if it might fall apart if she stopped.
>”I… I don’t… I don’t… know.”
>”Please,” Luna whispers, “please, just give us the name…”
>You hadn’t noticed it until now, but you’ve been channeling magic.
>Your horn had probably been ablaze for quite a while, and you only became aware of it after you also noticed the glow at the top of Starlight’s cell.
>The very peak of her metal gate was enveloped in a bright golden light.
>Your bright golden light.
>Your magical aura had been twisting it, bending the steel bars back in an effort to sate your growing fury.
>The metal whine of it as it strained had drawn your eyes up to see what you’d been doing, but by the time you had, the top of the cell door was practically liberated altogether from her cell.
>The unicorn at the end of the stone maw is hardly holding up her end of the conversation anymore, completely ignorant to the actions occurring around her, trancelike.
>”I don’t … know,” she continues to mumble, shaking her head back and forth, “I don’t… remember. I don’t remember anything before… before th—“
>The door of the cell jerks forward, and the topmost hinge that was once helping secure its operation breaks free from the archway and falls.
>The tiny thing is like an object out of time, slow as it descends, your eyes cataloguing every half second of its journey.
>It tumbles down, down, down, until finally it clatters to the ground.
>The metal cry it makes on contact is like a crashing of thunder next to Starlight’s almost silent musings.
>Musing that stop immediately the very moment the sound reaches her ears.
>You step away from the bars, releasing her cell door from you magical grip completely.
>It’s too late; at least, that’s what the cold shiver that runs up your spine seems to indicate.
>Starlight Glimmer’s eyes have begun to change.
>The dark purple things, once staring blankly into the floor below as she searched for the right answer for which to give you, slowly but surely begin to narrow.
>In a few moments her entire face begins to shift, her timid, overwhelmed state of mind seemingly spinning on the spot until it morphed into something else.
>Something furious.
>”Y-You! You’re just… just—!” she cries, rising from the ground.
>”You’re just trying to trick me!” she exclaims, jutting an accusatory hoof forward, “You’re just trying to fool me into incriminating myself! I-I… I won’t! I didn’t do anything wrong! You can’t trick me!”
>Both her eyes and her pointing hoof bounce between both your and Luna frantically.
>”You failed! You can’t trick me! I didn’t fall for it! I win! You think you’re so smart! I bet you were trying to use MAGIC to fool me, but you failed! Your stupid magic isn’t BETTER than me! I WIN! I win and you LOSE!” she rambles, growing more hysterical by the moment.
>”What is the name!? Tell us the name!” Luna barks, her bewilderment matched only by her need for the answer she continuously tried to assert on the breaking unicorn.
>”HAH! I’m too smart! Your magic isn’t good enough! Your magic can’t take anything else away from me! I won’t let it! Hahahaha! I WIN!”
>Her voice is shaking even more than her limbs now, each of which wobbles violently at her side or under her.
>She continues to bounce her gaze between you, but her eyes are unfocused, wild, like she isn’t even seeing you with them.
>”S-Sister?” Luna whispers, defeated.
>She squints her eyes at the unicorn as if trying solve a riddle, a disturbing puzzle that wouldn’t unravel no matter how hard she tried to force it open.
>It takes less than a minute for your already irate prisoner to utterly sink into herself, devolving as you look on in troubled silence, your anger sputtering as you watch..
>She continues speaking, whispering words to the same effect as the ones she spoke a moment ago, except this time under her breath and only to herself.
>She’s stopped looking at you; in fact, it hardly even seems like she knows you’re in the room anymore.
>You examine the shaking creature for only a minute more, her babbling consuming the otherwise silent space before you turn and match it with the clop of your hoofsteps, trailing back down the hall from whence you came.
>”Sister?” Luna repeats, taking one long, last look at your prisoner before racing up to meet your pace.
>”That… that was… we can’t even describe…” she tries, unable to form up her thoughts.
>”Is she mad? She must be…”
“Nothing changes. Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t try anything,” you instruct the final guard on your way back to the stairs.
>She nods at you, and you can still see the hints of apprehension in her wide eyes from the scene that just played out down the hall, the experience affecting her even at this distance.
>”Yes ma’am,” she replies quietly.
>You stay a moment, pausing before the stairs, your brow hardening with thought.
“She may need extra attention,” you add, “make sure she eats. Make sure she drinks. If anything more comes up inform one of us immediately, understand?”
>The guard nods again, and with that you set off, scaling the steps back to the first floor.
>”What sort of pony just… the lying, the lack of knowledge about her own actions, the paranoia?” Luna muses aloud.
>”It could have been an act. Perhaps for all her talk of trickery, WE are the ones who are intended to take a ruse?”
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, speaking for the first time in a long while without spite.
>Your words come out in a slight rasp.
>Though you wanted nothing more than to leave your rage behind you, your throat still stings from all of the uncharacteristic yelling you just took part in.
>”Hath she demonstrated any sort of mania like that in your past meetings? Even a little?”
“No,” you reply with a shake of the head, “nothing like that at all. I thought she sounded overly vigilant when she first contacted me, but considering what was happening between her and her neighbors, she had every reason to be. Now, though…”
>You take a lung-filling breath, peering up the path ahead of you to examine the small specks of light peeking in from the door above.
“Now I’m not sure about anything...” you admit softly.
>”We may have been harsh,” Luna adds, frowning, “but not so harsh as to inspire that sort of reaction. There has to be something wrong with her, something beneath the surface we do not know of...”
>The dark blue alicorn dips her head, climbing the stairs in thoughtful silence for a while.
>”And what of her ‘friend’? If she can be believed, then she just admitted to having at least one accomplice – we already thought this possible of course, but to have her give us the information freely without telling us the name is… strange, pointless. Why would she tell her us a thing but then hide another? Misinformation?”
>She looks up at you, concerned.
>”Could she have been bewitched? She spoke of our magic… could it be the cause of her behavior?”
>You grimace at the thought, trying to fathom what sort of magic would be capable of damaging a pony’s mind in such a way.
“I don’t know,” you repeat, “I don’t even know how much of what we just saw was genuine. She only became irate after we began pushing her for answers. It’s possible she’s only feigning to throw us off; poor information is more dangerous than none at all, especially for ponies in our position with so little… still, something about her is off. I feel like…”
>You halt in place, pausing before the closed door that lead back into the first floor corridor, boring a hole into the wood with the strength of your gaze.
>Neither you nor Luna speak as you gather your thoughts, the enigma that is Starlight Glimmer boggling your mind as you hang on the dimly lit stair.
>You battle to understand what your instincts are telling you, but you can’t seem to piece together your emotions on the subject.
>You need more time.
>You need to send some letters, and you need to follow up with Starlight when she’s feeling more – less…
>Less like she is right now.
>Twilight is probably waiting to hear back from you.
>If you were lucky, she may even have some information that you can use to aid in your search.
>She and her friends were closest to him when all of this began.
>Maybe they have something more solid for you to go on?
>It doesn’t seem like things will be moving very quickly for you otherwise if Starlight Glimmer is your only means of ascertaining the truth.
>All you can do now is regroup and hope.
>Hope that you aren’t too late to stop whatever Starlight may be involved in, ESPECIALLY so far as it involves Anonymous…
>Your chest begins to ache at the thought of failing him.
>The adrenaline you felt when you had a target for all of your anger was slowly dying away, and in its place began to brew something else, something worse.
>A longing.
>And a fear; a terrible, horrendous fear that pumped deeper into your body with every strum of your heart like a poison.
>You hated the logical voices inside you that were already moving to soften the blow of what you might find when finally get to see him again, the emotional barriers you had instinctively begun to build to protect your heart should things take a turn for the worst.
>Luna approaches you from the side and tilts her head to examine your face, the worry in her own clear.
>The tip of your horn presses against the door as you lean your head against it, your face screwing up in pain as the doubt, regret and vulnerability began to claw its way to the surface; the three things you can never show once you step through the arch.
“I have to find him,” you whisper, jaw tight as you attempt to swallow down the hurt welling in your chest.
“I have to…”
>”You will,” Luna replies, the earnestness evident in her voice as she closes in and loops her neck over yours.
“I have to find him…”
>The two of you stay like this for a while, lingering in the divide between your inner and outer world.
>You lean on her freely, allowing your younger sister to comfort you as you took your peace.
>The time that passes as the two of you share in each other’s company is both long and unnoticed, neither one of you moving from the embrace or speaking to the other.
>It is not either of you who puts an end to this quiet encounter, but a sound from outside.
>A pair of voices slither in through the gaps in the door, muffled but still intelligible.
>The guards are speaking with somepony on the other side, rebuffing their requests to enter and furthermore ignoring their demands to know where you are.
>You take a deep breath and straighten yourself out, gradually pulling away from the solace of your family member’s shoulder as you compose yourself.
>A gilded hoof rises without command, the anxious side of your mind perhaps working to remind you of the stakes and the time you were wasting by staying here.
>You bang thrice on the door and turn one final time to your sister, sharing an appreciative look with her as the hinges begin to whine.
>”–on’t see why you can’t – oh!” Eggnog says as she catches sight of you, stepping back as you move forward to leave the dreary place behind.
>”You ARE here, I was worried that, uh… well, nevermind.”
>Her head shakes, tiny white curls bounding about.
“I’m fine,” you remark simply, hoping to nip any hang-ups or doubts in the bud quickly before moving on.
“And I need your help.”
>You assistant doesn’t seem wholly convinced by your first statement but nonetheless latches on to you second with some curiosity, her brow rising.
>”M-Me?” she responds.
“Anonymous is missing,” you inform her plainly, “I have no idea where he is. I think somepony took him.”
>The light yellow unicorn’s face falls.
>”O-Oh, that’s… I’m sorry, I didn’t...” she mumbles, a shadow of guilt crossing her face.
“I need to do a few things. In fact, it’s possible that this matter may take up my attention for the rest of the day,” you continue, turning now to address both her and the alicorn at your side.
“Luna isn’t in the greatest condition to lead…”
>You don’t miss the flicker of disappointment that appears in her eyes as you speak, but you ward it away by reaching out to her, smoothing down her frazzled mane with a gentle caress of your hoof.
“She’s ill,” you clarify, “and she’s tired. I need you to stay with her and make sure she has everything she needs while I try and get into contact with Twilight.”
>You turn, addressing both the nearby guardmares and your assistant at once, making sure both parties hear you clearly.
“I also want you to check in with Starlight Glimmer in a few hours and see if she’s in any shape to make an official statement. She’s asked for council as well, and she’s probably, well… going to need it. Can you manage? I need you to be my other eye.”
>She nods, horn brightening to straighten her already impeccable grey vest.
>”It won’t be a problem,” she replies with almost mathematical certainty.
>Her expression softens somewhat, the numbers floating away as a genuine smile graces her lips.
>”I know you like the back of my own hoof, ma’am.”
>You smile gratefully in reply and turn again, addressing the only other alicorn in your midst.
“There shouldn’t be too much left on the docket, but I might need you to see to it all. Will you be alright?”
>Luna straightens her back and sniffles hard in response, the star and moon shapes on her pajamas shifting as she also nods at you.
>”Yes,” she replies confidently, “you can count on us.”
>The door to the dungeons slides shut behind them, and with that you move away, putting some distance between the two mares and yourself but not breaking eye contact.
“I’ll be in my study,” you say.
“If you need ANYTHING—“
>”Yes, yes!” Luna cuts in, stomping a hoof for emphasis.
>“We’ve heard! Go now, see to thy stallion before there’s any more time for regret! Time wastes!” she insists.
>You stumble but recover quickly, your face prickling as the door guards turn to peer at you, obviously listening in.
“H-He isn’t…exactly…” you begin awkwardly, but your sister’s frown halts you objections.
“Right! Right… I’m going. You know where to find me!”
>With no other words to exchange you turn fully and begin down the hall, moving at a pace that was only slow enough as to not be considered running.
>You reconcile your actions in your mind as you set off, reasoning that, regardless of how much of the reins you usually took, you were still only one of many cogs in your kingdom.
>It wouldn’t fall apart in a few hours without your direct supervision.
>You whip your head back to examine a wall clock as you pass, noting to yourself that it’s just passed three in the afternoon, and that the sun would need to shift in accordance with onset of the evening hours.
>It’s going to be dark soon.
>Too soon.
>The world begins to blur as the spell is channeled, tiny lights springing up all around you as you prepare to leap through the ether.
>The last thought that goes through your mind before you teleport is the hope that the human would have a warm bed to sleep in when night inevitably fell, and that he wouldn’t be too lonesome or frightened to get the rest he needed.
>You probably wouldn’t be so lucky tonight.

<>

>The small dragon’s face becomes uneasy, shoulders hiking up in preparation for his, you have to assume, mildly unpleasant duty.
>His antsy movements catch Twilight’s attention instantly, both her pen and dictation halting fast in preparation.
>His eyes widen and his maw parts suddenly, like a switch had just been flipped in his brain.
>An un-masculine belch rumbles up from his tiny stomach along with a gout of green flame, the long lashes of off-color fire spinning yet another message into existence from thin air.
>The bookish mare beside him moves to snatch the roll of paper before the fire even fully dissipates, and you’re almost certain that this will be the time that she finally catches herself ablaze from impatience.
>The dragon’s mouth snaps shut once the deed is done, his face burning pink and his eyes scattering everywhere but in your direction.
>”This is embarrassing!” he whines haughtily to his caretaker.
>He quiets down a moment later, becoming glum as he fiddles with his claws and mumbles something about ponies watching him as Twilight yanks open the newest report.
>”It’s from her,” she announces as if she needs to.
>”It says… regret, mm… vigilance,” she goes on, further mumbling under her breath as she absorbs the rest of the letter.
>The pegasus sprawled out on the couch to your right tips her head back, observing the unicorn upside-down and with only mild interest as she scans through the newest letter.
>”Uhh, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say: ‘I’m still a million miles away thinking about junk’,” the cyan mare whinges, wiggling her limbs in the air.
>Twilight’s ears pull back in annoyance but she says nothing, ignoring the pegasus’ interruption.
>”It’s been hours,” Dash goes on, plastering her hooves against her face and dragging them downward, “when are we gonna get back out there? We SHOULD be out looking for him!”
“Where are we going to go, Rainbow?” you intercede, your own patience waning.
>The box that Twilight had piled the shards of Anonymous’ drinking glass in still sits in the space between your forelegs, your eyes roaming the pieces dejectedly.
“If we lose our heads and simply go gallivanting around the continent screaming his name, then we may never find him.”
>”That would be better than playing dragon tag for another MILLION HOURS while whoever took him gets farther away! We found dog tracks right there! We should be out clobbering every Diamond Dog near town, but instead we’re just-just…” the speedster protests.
>When neither of you answer her, she groans and throws her forelimbs over her snout, hiding her face between the bends of her legs.
>”… This sucks…” she whispers bitterly.
>Your eyes lid sorrowfully as you echo her statement in your mind.
>The gloomy silence that falls over the three of you persists until it is spectacularly broken by a noise just outside, the force of a massive impact shaking several picture frames and shelved books from the wall.
>The three of you twist around to face the entrance to the library where the sound originated, startled.
>Several muffled voices hum on the other side of the door followed by another impact, this one much lighter than the first but still sizeable enough to jump you and your fellow onlookers.
>The door knob wiggles and the door falls open to reveal a mess of boxes, bags, and a seemingly random assortment of tools and other objects stacked high atop an overladen dolly.
>”Okay, now jus’ ease it in real careful-like—no no no!”
>The pile doesn’t make it a quarter of the way inside before jerking to a stop, the topmost items wobbling.
>”O-Oh, be careful…” a timid voice comments.
>”Didja’ REALLY have to bring all this stuff, Pinkie?”
>You set the box on your lap onto the table and rise cautiously, flashing Twilight a troubled look she returns.
“Uhh,” you begin hesitantly, “do you girls need any—?”
>”No! Yer too close to the, ugh, here, just back’it up. AH’LL do it. N-No, Pinkie!”
>”NO TIME,” a wild voice responds as the pile of cargo begins to grind against the doorframe, “WE GOT A PRINCE TO SAVE.”
>”He ain’t a P—P-Pinkie wait, ya’ll can’t just jam it—!“
>Twilight and her scaly companion both cringe in your peripheral as the arch groans and the dolly begins to squeeze in, the metal nail from what you believe to be some sort of pickaxe sinking into the wood and testing the frame until a coin-sized piece of wood snaps off of it and pops Rainbow Dash in the nose, the entire heap jerking forward and through.
>”Haw jeez, see?!”
>Applejack’s head pokes through to examine the damage and is swiftly knocked aside by a frizzy mop of pink fuzz, the party pony’s face deathly serious.
>”REPORTING FOR DUTY,” she barks.
>”I heard what happened and came right away,” Fluttershy says as she, too, peeks inside and completes your ensemble, her ears flattened with concern.
>”This is just awful, I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
>You manage a weary smile as the rest of your team checks in, the three mares grunting slightly as they all simultaneously squeeze through the two mare doorway and stumble into the room.
>”I brought the stuff!” Pinkie says as she slaps a hoof against her pile, your  forelegs rising in alarm as it sways back and forth dangerously.
>”Don’t worry girls, we’ll find this, uh… ”
>Pinkie’s face goes blank before it whips around to face an unamused Applejack in a beseeching manner.
>”Anonymous,” the farm mare grumbles.
>”RIGHT,” Pinkie continues, whipping back around, “we’ll find this ‘Amorous’ guy in two shakes!”
>Twilight tries for a thankful smile as she turns to examine the pile of items that now cluttered up her seating area.
>”I appreciate it, really,” she says, “but… what’s all this stuff for?”
>”Uhhhhh, our QUEST, obviously?!” Pinkie replies with mild disappointment as Dash hovers up from her place on the couch to swim over the heap, a confused look crossing her face.
>”How’re we supposed to save the bachelor and complete our noble adventure without supplies?”
>”Supplies?” Dash repeats skeptically, eyeing the jack-in-the-box she just pulled from the top of the pile, “This ain’t supplies… this is just junk from your garage!”
>”Hey, there’s plenty of useful stuff in there!” Pinkie retorts, turning.
>Dash flinches as the box in her hooves snaps open and an empty, jack-less spring pops out.
>”This is really, uh… considerate, of you,” Twilight says carefully, “but I don’t really think…”
>Pinkie turns to flash her a stubborn look, and in the background Applejack hastily shakes her head back and forth, even gestures with both her hooves.
>”…That we should keep all this stuff in here?” the librarian goes on tactfully, clearly amending her last sentence on the fly.
>”Applejack? Could you wheel this into the back room until we need it?”
>The farm mare is forcing the dolly around before Twilight even finishes, Dash fluttering out of the way as the massive heap shifts and squeaks  along on its tiny wheels toward the alcove behind the stairs.
>Pinkie, seemingly appeased, leans back on her flank and places her hooves on her hips, scanning the assembly of ponies in Twilight’s library with a sharp eye.
>”Alright girls, bring me up to speed,” she says, “what do we know?”
>All eyes in the room, including yours, shift toward Twilight expectantly.
>The tiny dragon atop table scoots away to give you a clearer view, the lavender mare clearing her throat in preparation to speak.
>”Well, as you probably already know, a friend of ours has gone missing. We have reason to believe he was kidnapped.”
>The unicorn’s horn begins to glow a bright purple color, the box of glass sliding across the table and around Spike’s feet to tip over in front of the group, just far enough to them to see without spilling anything out.
>Within it also is the shred of light blue cloth you found near the tracks.
>Pinkie and Fluttershy both move closer to look inside, both you and Dash following suite to form up a semi-circle.
>”When we went to his last known location, we found this. A torn piece of his clothing and what’s left of a personal item,” she says
>A grimace appears on her face.
>“We think it’s, well… we think it’s a sign of a struggle. The one Anonymous put up when whoever took him, took him.”
>”Just dreadful,” Fluttershy remarks, her head and ears dipping.
>”What sort of pony would do something like that?”
>”NoPONY, that’s who,” says Dash, gesturing angrily with her hoof.
>Twilight nods, hovering the box back down onto the table next to her assistant.
>”Yes, based on prints we found at the scene, we think the Diamond Dogs may have been involved.”
>”Nasty critters,” Applejack remarks as she returns, taking a seat next to the blue pegasus.
>”Bad’nuff they’re pushin’ mares outa’ gem mines and causin’ a ruckus fer hardworkin’ sorts all the time, but stealin’ our colt-folk’s a step too far,” she says angrily.
>You notice Fluttershy’s expression dip, and the yellow pegasus turns toward the farm mare like she wants to say something, but Twilight beats her to it.
>”This might be more complicated than that,” she says sorrowfully, lifting her newest letter to emphasize.
>All eyes are drawn to the crisp and high-quality slip of paper, the thin chunk of wax emblazoned with the split symbol of the Canterlot royal family still hanging off the edge.
>”The Princess has told me that there are others involved in this. A unicorn specifically – whom she has in custody – but it is likely that other unicorns are as well, especially considering the wealth of magical knowledge that would be required to-to…”
>The librarian’s face flattens, punctuating her odd stop.
>The puzzled and occasionally suspicious eyes of her friends, yours included, seem to intensify her pause further.
>The purple mare lifts a hoof to cough into, and you don’t miss the glimmer of guilt in her eyes as she goes on.
>”Without saying too much,” Twilight continues cautiously, “there’s been a scare near the castle recently concerning powerful magic; it’s why they have somepony in ‘custody’ rather than ‘questioning’.”
>The studious mare runs a hoof through her mane.
>”The Princess, after careful deliberation, has concluded that the incident in Canterlot and Anonymous’ abduction are connected,” she says, her face becoming apprehensive.
>”… She, ahh… has also concluded that, for the time being, it would be best for the Elements of Harmony to, uhh…”
>She stays again, her hoof running off of her mane to stroke the back of her neck in obvious discomfort.
>”Stay put… and wait for further instructions, should they arrive.”
>”What!?” two voices crash in simultaneously, the cyan and a bubblegum pink mares practically leaping into the air with disbelief.
>”No way, dude! She HAD to have said something else! You’re not reading it right!” Dash remarks, zooming in to snatch the letter from Twilight’s hooves before she could intercept.
>”The princess said that?” Applejack replies, torn, her head dipping in thought as the blue pegasus narrowly avoids the flailing hooves of her companion and cruises into the air.
>”Ugh, no wonder you couldn’t figure it out,” Dash says, narrowing her eyes and turning the roll of paper side to side in her grasp, “It’s written in some weird, like, language.”
>Pinkie, among the detractors, beckons at the pegasus frantically in spite of Twilight’s groan of annoyance.
“She really didn’t say anything else?” you ask, trying to subdue the suspicion in your voice as you slide the box from the table and return it to the place against your chest.
“No other information we could use?”
>Twilight turns to you and shakes her head glumly in reply.
>”Not really,” she says as Pinkie reaches out to curl a leg around Fluttershy’s withers and wrench her in to read as Dash zooms in with the letter.
>”U-Uhm…” The yellow pegasus mumbles sheepishly as Pinkie smooshes her face against the page, “I think that’s, uh… cursive, Dash?”
>The cyan mare scrunches her face in confusion.
>”Hey, what’s this ‘last time’ about?” Pinkie says, pulling her head back and slapping a hoof against the page.
>Twilight’s lips thin and her horn lights, the page in Pinkie’s hooves tinting lavender before swiftly flying out of them and whooshing back into hers.
>”I’m not sure,” she says quickly, “probably something from an event a while back that was similar – ahh, a REAL long while back, probably; years. I didn’t pay it much mind…”
>Most of the others seem appeased by her answer, but not all.
>Both you AND the farm mare frown at her, saying nothing but hinting at much.
>If your doubt wasn’t enough, than surely Applejack’s sense for honesty was more than enough to tip you off; Twilight isn’t telling you the whole truth.
>This matter has to do with Canterlot and royal matters, so it’s quite possible that she’d be omitting things for the good of everypony involved.
>That doesn’t mean you don’t notice when she lies to you.
>To her credit, she herself seems to notice your stares, and she offers the two of you a guilty, almost sacrificial smile, implying much of what you suspected.
>Applejack tips her head once and then shuts her eyes, contented for the moment but nonetheless put off by her friend’s purposeful glibness.
>Oppositely, you huff and turn back to the box seated before you on the ground, scanning the fibers in Anonymous’ torn shirt to ease your mind.
>Fine, she can have her secrets.
>It’s not like you’d been under the impression that she’d kept you well informed about Anonymous; she hadn’t, or, at least, you’d always suspected she hadn’t.
>At the end of the day, you trust Twilight, and you trust Twilight’s judgement.
>If she thinks she needs to keep things from you then so be it, but if there should come a time when you think you need to know, then she’ll know.
>You’ll make sure she knows, and you won’t be alone.
>You peer at AJ again, and find that she, too, is looking back at you.
>Pinkie’s mane begins losing much of its usual frizz as she begins to sink lower, her belly sliding against the ground and her previously perky posture melting away with her energy.
>”Jeeeez, talk about a mood killer, Twi,” she says, “I thought we were primed and ready for ACTION over here. We had a tender bachelor to save and everything…”
>”Yeah, seriously!” Dash adds, gesturing at the purple unicorn, “there HAS to be something we can do here! Can’t you just, like… whip up some magic or something to tell us where he is? I thought you were SUPPOSED to be Celestia’s student for pete’s sakes!”
>Twilight frowns at the pushy pegasus, and the second one raises her hoof to speak.
>”W-What I think she means is, uh, well… we’ve seen you do so much amazing magic in the past, Twilight,” Fluttershy says, “there has to be something you’ve thought of that might help in the situation?”
>Twilight’s brow hardens and Fluttershy’s head sinks lower, a nervous smile gracing her lips.
>”A-Anything?”
>The unicorn’s eyes stray away in thought, the frown on her face slowing giving way.
>”Well,” she says, “… I did think of one thing.”
>She hardly finishes her sentence before Dash and Pinkie throw themselves over the desk before her again, the latter nearly smashing into a yelping baby dragon as she does so.
>”Why didn’t you say something BEFORE!?” Dash cries, exasperated.
>”Don’t hold out on us, girl! We’re dying over here!” Pinkie adds.
>Twilight flinches back and shields herself with her hooves.
>”I didn’t think it would work!” she says defensively, “Besides, the princess already said she wanted us to stay put! I-I didn’t think…”
>Dash and Pinkie’s impatient scowls are intensified somewhat by the additional curious looks of the other mares in the room, you included, each of you presumably wondering what other options you might have.
>”Ah respect the princess’s decisions an’all,” Applejack says, “but maybe ya’ll should try it anyways just to see? Maybe we can learn somethin’ new ta’ tell’er?”
“I agree,” you say, nodding.
>”Yeah c’mon, what’s the hold up?” Dash insists, banging on the table now.
>Twilight’s eyes dart further away, the unease clear on her face even as she rises to seemingly comply with your request.
>”Okay, okay! Just… just calm down. I haven’t exactly, uh… you know… DONE something like this before, alright?”
>Pinkie squints at her skeptically.
>The unicorn is practically dancing in place now, her horn glowing to claim the box of glass shards from its spot in front of you and hover it back onto the table as the two energetic mares pull away to make room.
>”Using magic to track a pony down or spy on them without their consent, specifically a MARE doing it to a STALLION…” she clarifies, still squirming.
>“Not exactly, uhh… ethical, you know? Or, uhh, haha… a hundred percent... totally… completely, uhh, you know…”
>She looks to each of you, practically cringing as your confused faces stare back at her.
>”LEGAL… you know?” she rambles on, whispering now as if somepony might be listening.
>”I could get in trouble for this…”
>”Hey, who’re you talking to?” Pinkie replies, gesturing to herself and then to all of you, “mum’s the word Twi! We’re all buds here, right? Nopony has to know.”
>The purple unicorn doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but nonetheless she turns back to peer inside the box, her horn accumulating magical might as she readies a spell.
>”I am SO getting busted for this,” she laments.
>You peer over the edge of the container along with the others to watch the display, a vast lavender orb appearing in the center of the box and then spreading out slowly.
>As the ball of energy expands, you notice it pushing on the slip of torn clothing on the box until it slides out entirely, the small slip of blue eventually floating down from the edge to leave only the pieces behind.
>”Okay, well… first we’ll have to…” Twilight mumbles, trailing off as each individual shard begins to rise into the air.
>Each tiny, sparkling fragment rotates and shifts position, floating around until they each began to close in to each other, gradually reforming the glass into the same shape it used to be in.
>Or, rather… mostly the same shape.
>Though the cider glass looks like it might still function, there are still several visible chips, dings, and even remnants a few hairline cracks in the object, likely from where the tiniest particles you couldn’t single out from the dirt on the ground used to be.
>Both you and Twilight peer sadly at the once pristine gift, knowing that the item, even with magic, would never be quite the same.
>”Next comes the spell…” she continues, setting the worn thing gently back into the box.
>”I need to use an item of great personal value,” she explains as the five of you scoot in closer, “if I don’t, then the signal might not be strong enough.”
>The globular light around her horn begins to shift as the lavender mare works her mental craft, her eyes drifting shut as she begins to mumble what you assume to be an incantation under her breath.
>After several seconds pass by without confirmation, you see Dash open her mouth only for AJ to swiftly jam her hoof into it, silencing her.
>Though the words the unicorn whispers are faint, you’re sure that she’s repeated the same line at least five times now.
>Before you can ask if something is the matter, the bright light morphing around her horn begins to taint a different color, light purple slowly twisting into dark green before it finally springs from the tip and leaps down into the box, the cider glass vibrating slightly as the magical energy penetrates it.
>”There!” Twilight says, her eyes snapping open.
>She herself scoots in now, watching the item in the center of the container like a hawk as it shivers and shakes and, slowly but surely, begins to glow the same green color that appeared on her horn a moment ago, the light from it expanding in an equal, level portion out from the center of the glass.
>You stare at the spectacle intently, almost excited for something to happen, excited to have some clue as to the human’s whereabouts.
>But unfortunately, as time ticks on and the green light remains uniform, Twilight’s face begins to fall.
>”It’s… it’s not…” she whispers, frowning.
>You look up from the box to peer at her hopefully, trying to summon a smile.
“Are you getting anything?” you ask, “Some sort of… magical reading, or something?”
>The unicorn shakes her head sadly, ears dipping as she leans away from the container and sits back down on the ground.
>”No, no it doesn’t work like… I mean, it’s visual, you’d be able to see it, too,” she says, gesturing at the box.
>“That light is supposed to point us in the direction he’s in, but it’s just…”
>Dash frowns and shoves the farm mare’s hoof away from her mouth, snapping her gaze back and forth from the shimmering drinking glass and your studious librarian.
>”Maybe you didn’t do the spell right? You should do it again…” she says.
>Twilight, who might usually take offense, simply shakes her head in defeat, the glum look on her face intensifying.
>”I thought this might happen,” she says.
>”I was hoping I would be wrong of course, but, well… this spell tracks magical signature. Minotaurs, Diamond Dogs, even Chimeras; they’re mostly magically inert creatures, but even they have… SOMETHING, they have some sort of magic flowing through them, even if it’s not nearly as much as any pony does. Anonymous, though… Anonymous doesn’t. Not even a single trace. Magic can’t help us here, he doesn’t have a signature to find…”
>The unicorn runs a hoof along the back of her neck and peers up at your group sheepishly, willing a weary smile onto her face.
>”Sorry girls… it was worth a try, at any rate.”
>Pinkie Pie shoots away from the table as if she was just hit by something and groans in exaggerated pain, her back slamming onto the ground and then squirming against it as she writhes in mock agony.
>”Criiiiiiiimineeeeeeeeyyyyy, Twiiiiiii,” she whines .
>Each of you pull away from the table yourselves, all mumbling your own disappointed sentiments at the failure.
>You, torn and mentally toppling from the false start, take a cleansing breath and stand fully, the root of your perfectly groomed tail stiffening and twitching as your stretch your limbs out and try to get your blood flowing again.
>Though you were still certainly on edge, the last few hours sprinting around town followed by your long stint of waiting for nothing to happen had left you a little stiff, and more than a little sore.
>”Shucks,” Applejack curses, pulling her hat from her head, “Whole ’nother dead end. Guess we’ll be followin’ orders after all...”
>” So… so that’s IT?” Dash confirms, clearly irked.
>Twilight says nothing, and you turn to watch as the pegasus drops out of the air like a stone, falling onto her boney flank without so much as a twitch as she crumples her forelegs across her chest.
>“That’s all? He’s just gone and we’re supposed to wait around for something to happen? The heck are we even HERE for right now? The heck are we supposed to DO while we ‘wait for instructions’?” she says, speaking the last part in a deep, faux-dumb voice as she angrily gestures at all of you.
>”Have a freakin’ TEA PARTY and talk about freakin’… COLTS or something, like a bunch’a pansies?”

<>

>Rainbow Dash grumbles some unspecific expletive as you set her teacup in front of her on the table, her tail swishing about like a metronome behind her as she eyes the steaming drink with nothing less than disdain.
>You ignore her, passing up the pouting pegasus to serve the other winged pony.
>She takes her own hot glass with a quiet sound of thanks, setting it on the table along with the others.
>”Sorry about the lack of variety,” Twilight comments from above, her voice echoing out from her second-story loft.
>“I wasn’t really expecting, uh… well, anything that happened today – and Spike hasn’t gone to the store in a while. We’re a little short on, uh… everything, haha.”
>You pat the sour-faced dragon on the head gingerly as you meet him at the end of the table, his once full tray of drinks now empty.
“It’s okay, Darling,” you call back, “I’m sure we can manage under the circumstances.”
>The sound of a bed squeaking and drawers sliding hisses down from the loft, and a moment later Twilight reemerges with her own glass and a massive bag of what appears to be haychips.
>Behind her, you can only just make out the topmost section of her window, and through the thin slat of her curtains glimmers a dusky sky, the barest hints of dark blue peeking in between the gradually emerging stars.
>”Great, thanks,” she replies genuinely as she trots down the stairs, her items bobbing along in her purple aura.
>”Make yourselves at home, everypony. The situation with the sleeping bags and air mattress might make bedtime a little, er… competitive, but we should be fine for the rest of the night,” she says.
>”Thanks again for coming. We – uh, the princess included, really appreciate you girls taking this seriously and dropping everything. Sorry I don’t have more news for you… she’ll be sending me another letter bright and early tomorrow if we’re lucky…”
>”Greeeeaaat,” Dash grouses as she leans forward and plants her chin flat against the table, “and how early we talkin’ exactly?”
>”Early as it takes, Dashie, ya’ lazy sack’a pony,” Applejack responds as she snatches up her own glass, sipping non-too bashfully from her cup of cider.
>Twilight returns with her sack of chips, placing them down on the table along with the rest of your ‘dinner’; leftover cake, stale pretzels, carrots, celery, bean dip, a few slices of cheese and, last but certainly not least, a massive piece of fresh red gelatin that wobbled as she set them down.
>Dash scans the items and mumbles something under her breath, ears drooping as she turns to watch AJ gulping from her cup as the rest of you, sans Spike, take your seats.
>”… I want some cider,” she says, almost too quiet to hear.
>”Ohoh, oooof course,” the farm mare says after swallowing.
>”I thought you ‘didn’t care’?” Twilight retorts, rolling her eyes before setting them on her dragon roomie who does much the same before turning and waddling off toward the back room.
>You find the energy to snicker along with Pinkie and a few others, Fluttershy attempting to hold back her titters out of empathy for the now blushing speedster.
>”… I changed my mind…” Dash muddles out childishly.
>”Mmmmhm,” Applejack hums, unamused.
>In short time the small dragon returns with a light green cup clasped between his sharp grabbers and joins the rest of you, all of whom begin reaching across the table to snag bits of mismatching food to put on your plates and, in some cases, teacup platters.
>You take little pleasure and certainly no pride in it, especially considering the reason all of you are here, but seeing as this is the first time you’d be eating today, you spare no time piling more than your fair share onto the plate and digging it.
>The table is consumed for time with nothing but the clink of silverware and glasses as each mare (and one dragon) eat their fill
>Or, in Pinkie’s case, as close to.
>Eventually the meal begins to wind down, your fellow table guests now absentmindedly picking chips and other small morsels directly from the center as you chat and fill what space happens to remain in your stomachs as the night continues to creep in and on.
>Pinkie, mouth still half full, raises a hoof to get all of your attentions as she uses the other one to wipe a dollop of dip from the side of her mouth.
>”Okay, okay, so ol’ Pinkie’s totally in the dark here, girls, I admit it,” she says, swallowing.
>“Throw me a bone, alright? Gimme the run-down on this boy. What’s he like?”
>Twilight begins to chew more quickly, practically forcing the mess of pretzels she just shoved into her mouth down her throat in an effort to be the first to answer.
>”He’s nice, really nice,” she asserts quickly.
>”He’s on the big side, but he’s totally harmless and very, very kind. Quite the gentlecolt if you give him the chance, totally, uh… normal.”
>Pinkie’s brow rises slightly, and she eyes the lavender mare with a keen eye.
>”Uhh… yeah? That so?” she says with a hint of a smirk, obviously deliberating over the unicorn’s quick and overly thorough description.
“Just so,” you add just as quickly, “he’s quite charming, very worldly. Likes his, ah… cider, as well.”
>Pinkie sports a full on grin after your last sentence just like you hoped she would, her eyes shining.
”Oh yes, he’s quite the drinker. Why, he could probably give you a run for your money, Pinkamina.”
>”Uhh-huh, right; let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Pinkie responds flippantly as she leans back on her forelegs, obviously unconvinced.
>”YOU lily-livers might be so easily swayed, but I’ve heard it all before already. I wasn’t born yesterday, girls.”
>Now you yourself are smiling, matching the pink pony’s doubt with your own confidence.
>”We weren’t ‘told’ of his proclivities for apples, darling,” you assure her, “we witnessed them first-hoof.”
>Now you have her attention.
>The party pony leans forward, still skeptical but obviously biting in.
>”Oh yeah?” she says, flitting her eyes away, “So what’s this ‘cider savant colt’ drink then, huh? Cornhusk’s?”
>Twilight makes a noise and jerks slightly, coughing roughly into her tea glass before being forced to set it down and cover her mouth.
>”Now don’t ya’ll be sellin’ great-auntie-grandma Cornhusk short,” AJ remarks, frowning, “she makes a good livin’ AND a nice product.”
>You roll your eyes, your tea spoon swirling about in what’s left of your drink as you twirl it about in your magical aura.
>”No Pinkie, I assure you he has MUCH better taste than that,” you say, holding to your position even in spite of Applejack’s proceeding sour look.
>”Ya’ll’r just bein’ snooty wusses,” the farm mare retorts.
>”What else is new…” Dash mumbles, but Pinkie simply chuckles and shakes her head.
>”Dude, you know I’m not one to be picky, but I can’t drink Cornhusk’s unless I’m already drunk. Stuff tastes like it’s made in a freakin’ – TOILET,” she laughs out.
>Her comment is followed swiftly by guffaws from you and the others.
>Applejack – and Rainbow Dash to a lesser extent – simply grumble into their drinks in the midst of your teasing, and you SWEAR you just make out the previous one mumble something about the merits of making alcohol in a toilet as the laughter reaches its peak.
>”Okay, fine,” Pinkie says after the noise dies down, scooping up some dip on a chip before tossing into her mouth and chewing around her words.
>“So he drinks. MAYBE he even drinks the good stuff – but anypony can ‘drink’,” she asserts, eyeing you smartly.
>”What really matters is what happens AFTERWARD. Sure he drinks, but I bet he gets wasted on the stuff. I’m talkin’ MESSY drunk. Petite unicorn co-ed drunk.”
>Both you and Twilight manage a soft chuckle at the implication, but you nonetheless continue, tapping your spoon gently on the edge of your glass as you set it back down.
“I can assure you he remained nothing less than a gentlecolt before AND after our little happy hour, and he was drinking much, much stronger than we had the nerve to,” you reply, nodding your head to both Twilight and Dash.
>Pinkie’s smirk only grows at this, and she leans back on her hooves again to peer off innocently.
>”Well, that’s not saying much…” you hear her mumble under her breath.
>You huff and turn your nose at her, and even Dash, consumed otherwise in her pouting, drops her brow at the party pony’s cheek.
”Our helpings were plenty admirable, darling,” you assure her again, holding back much of your pride in the statement.
”His were just stronger, and he might have even taken more than we did in the end. I’m not trying to spin you a tall tail. He certainly got a little… tipsy, like all of us, but he held his own just fine. Of course, he’s plenty pleasant while sober as well.”
>You turn to nod at the farm mare, shifting the conversation to her.
>”Applejack knows,” you posit, “she’s met him; tell her. She thought he was very nice, very cordial, not at all, ahh…”
>You freeze up in an instant when you notice your mistake, watching as a long, apprehensive look slowly stretches across the farm mare’s face.
“A-Ahh, ahh, not at all, uh…”
>Your face pales slightly as you stumble to fill in the words yourself whilst all eyes turn toward Applejack.
“W-… what’s the word?” you bumble, cutting your eyes fearfully at Twilight in a plea for assistance.
>”Intimidatin’.”
>The response you were looking for comes not from your intended ally, but from the apricot orange mare beside her; the very last place you were hoping for.
>Applejack stare’s deeply into her glass, entranced, her mouth twitching slightly as she observes the subtly shifting liquid in her cup with undue concentration.
>Like she was on edge.
>But more so, like she was uneasy about something, like she was nervous.
>As a mare whom every other mare could tell was lying at the drop of a hat, she had plenty reason to…
>”… not at all, uh… frightnin’er nothin’…” she goes on, much of the emotion draining from her voice.
>”Don’t make yer’, uh… heart beat up a storm ‘er your hooves get all sweaty-like neither… don’t give ya’ no sorta’-sorta’… itch on yer skin, like on the backa’ yer neck on accounta’ how-how… big, he is while he’s standin’ over ya ‘er nothin…”
>The farm mare, noticing that all eyes were on her now, attempts – and ‘attempts’ really is right – a smile, her voice shaking as she continues on.
>”W-Why, ah didn’t think that feller was gonna ruh-run me, uh… r-run me down a-an leap on me fer a second…” she whispers, looking like she was going to swing her hoof for emphasis before stopping short and letting it hang awkwardly at her side.
>In fact, her foreleg hangs aloft for several seconds, almost as if she forgot it was there, before quickly being shoved back at her side.
>”N-Not once…” she whispers.
>There’s a pause here while each mare drinks her painfully stilted speech in, the farm mare’s own attempt to move the conversation over Anonymous in a positive direction currently suffering its death rattles for all her effort.
>Applejack, taking advantage of this lull in conversation, lifts her forelegs, takes her cider back into her hooves, and takes a drink.
>A long one.
>In fact, she drains the rest of her cup in one go.
>She’d only just refilled before this conversation started, but when she puts it back on the table the glass is clearly empty.
>”Y-Yessiree,” she goes on, shivering from the rush of alcohol hitting her stomach.
>Her voice actually cracks.
>It takes all your restraint not to reach across the table and caringly pat her on the shoulder, assure the poor creature that she’d done her absolute best and that she had lease to safely stop talking now.
>”… Hooookay,” Pinkie responds, clearly attuned to the awkward tension the other earth pony had just set in the room.
>“Welp, I guess that’s, uh… somethin’?”
>Fluttershy looks tense, but there also seems to be something else in her eyes, something distant and strange.
>She eyes Applejack carefully, the few stray nibbles on her plate forgotten.
>”He sounds… nice,” she begins, pulling her eyes away only now.
>“…how big did you say he was, exactly?”
>Twilight scratches at her cheek and hums pensively as if in thought, but you can see the glimmer of concern in her eyes as she considers her answer.
>”W-Well, he’s not so big. Not like a dragon or anything. He’s a biped like a minotaur, but he’s a little taller than one of those, I think.”
>”He has foreleg claws like Spi – ahh, well, not CLAWS, per say,” she amends hastily, shooting a look at the small dragon seated on her right.
>“He doesn’t have big claws or teeth or anything like that… nothing dangerous like that…”
>As Twilight stays any further description, so too does the conversation stay for a while, the four ponies who know him exchanging looks while the two who didn’t thought on your descriptions of him so far.
>Pinkie merely hums, her curiosity sated somewhat, but you can still see the interest in her eyes.
>Likewise, while the liveliness in Fluttershy’s eyes has dimmed a tad after Twilight’s detailing, the pegasus is still obviously engaged.
>”What do his teeth look like specifically? What does he eat?” she continues, much of the usual timidity gone from her voice.
>“How strong do you think he is?”
>The canary yellow mare appears to fidget with her hooves as she speaks, a small, unimposing smile gracing her lips.
>Twilight hums in acknowledgement, thinking on her reply, but Fluttershy continues thinking aloud.
>“Would he be strong enough to lift a pony off the ground? Or maybe… keep them on the ground? Could he… maybe…”
>Her eyes dart away innocently, but you can see within them the depth at which she’s considering this, the passion.
>The danger, too; you didn’t notice where her line of thinking was going until just now.
>”… Overpower a pony if he really wanted to?”
>”U-Uhh, I don’t think that’s really, uh…” Twilight stutters, hoof grinding into the back of her neck in obvious distress as she mentally fights over the correct answer to give.
>You yourself open your mouth to speak but can think of no way to spin your answer in such a way as to be right whilst also being truthful.
>The last place you wanted the conversation to go was now where you were, and you were taken there by surprise, by a source you weren’t expecting.
>Fluttershy seems completely oblivious to the can of worms she just opened, the seed she’d just planted in herself and your pink companion.
>They weren’t the only ones affected, either.
>Applejack has that long look on her face again, like she’s seeing a ghost in the pit of her dry cup.
>”Hey sugarcube,” she says, unblinking, “….could ya’ll get ol’ Applejack a refill, sweetheart?”
>Spike, who was the most probable target of her request, pops a slab of leftover cake into his mouth and shifts place, making a sound of acknowledgement but keeping still after the fact.
>”W-Well… I guess if he REALLY wanted to, like his life depended on it…” Twilight whispers.
>Fluttershy follows up her statement almost immediately, eyes lidding as she stares off into space.
>”Could he hold a pony down on the ground? – ahh, that is, if he ‘really’ wanted to?” she asks, making only minor maneuvers to conceal her interest now.
>”U-Uhh…” Twilight fumbles.
>Spike taps a tiny fist against his chest and clears his throat, a strange look coming onto his face as he visibly swallows several times.
>”You alright, sweetheart?” the farm mare whispers, leaning across the table toward him.
>”Uhh, well, scientifically, speaking, it isn’t totally unlikely that he may posses the ability to-to, uh, confine a pony in such a way as to render them—”
>Spike’s jaw pops open he lurches forward.
>You flinch back and gasp, fully expecting to be hit with collateral from the explosion of cake and snack-slurry vomit that was inevitably about to spring from his mouth.
>But that doesn’t happen.
>Instead, a wide lash of green flame paired with a thunderous belch leaps from between his teeth, outshining the meagre torches stationed all around you with the flash of light-giving fire.
>You hardly have time to recognize what’s happening before a bound sheet of parchment spins itself together amidst the inferno and drifts into the air, hanging suspended for a moment before drifting back down.
>Twilight blinks and suddenly jerks forward, shock painting her face.
>”Q-Quick! GRAB—!” she manages a split second before the letter plops down onto the table.
>Or, more specifically, plops down into the partly raided bowl of bean dip.
>”It…” she finishes dispassionately, ears and reaching hoof drooping.
>”NAH-HIIICE,” Pinkie shouts, clapping her hoof against the tiny dragon’s back in a show of admiration, completely oblivious to his cherry-red face.
>”That was a big one!”
>Twilight’s look of displeasure grows as her horn flickers to life, the sullied letter floating out of the viscous food and hovering toward her.
>Spike, still flushed, jumps up from his seat on the ground and scurries away, muttering something about Applejack’s cider through the claws now wrapped around mouth as he retreats.
>”The princess!?” Dash exclaims as she leaps to her hooves, her once drained demeanor flipping off like a switch at the prospect of news.
>You rise as well, any semblance of fulfilment you once had for dwindling the hours away with your friends, as nice as it had been, crumbling away and falling into a heap as Twilight carefully brushes away some of the smeared gunk and begins to work at the wax seal.
>”It has the royal insignia,” she replies quickly, her own excitement clearly picking up.
>All eyes have turned to Twilight once more, watching her with baited breath as she slowly unfurls the roll of parchment in her hooves and begins to study the message.
>Her eyes flit to and fro as she scans through, narrowing in concentration.
“W-Well?” you venture.
>The purple mare’s brow hardens and your heart drops.
>”Something’s happened,” she explains quickly, “not good. Castle is in an uproar…”
>”MORE SPECIFIC, please!” Dash chirps desperately.
>Though you wouldn’t usually approve of the pegasus’ means, you share her impatience, wading your hoof through the air in the sign for her to continue.
>”The Princess doesn’t think she’s… proper position… oversee…”
>”C’mawn now, Twilight!” AJ grouses, but the librarian lifts a hoof and jams it in front of her face, insistently silencing her – and the rest of you – as she reads on.
>”I think the princess wants us to go somewhere…” continues Twilight, blowing through the letter as fast she can.
>Eventually her eyes stop on a single point and widen considerably, her lips thinning as a look of mild terror appears on her face, one that becomes contagious as the seconds tick on without further elaboration.
>”The Princess is…” she begins, and a moment later she slams the letter down on the table, staring into it in shock.
>”The Princess is coming HERE!?”

<>

“Are you CERTAIN?”
>You’re beyond walking at this point, wings hiked up at your sides as you adroitly skip down the stairs, your hooves only gracing the stone as you descend.
>The non-winged gold and white guards have fallen far behind, but the two pegasi who’d been accompanying you the entire way float along with you as you leave the rest behind.
>”Y-Yes, princess,” the female pegasus replies, clearly on edge, “We came down as SOON as we heard, but by then damage had already…”
>She trails off there and so you leave it at that, filling in the blanks as you and they race further down the narrow underground hall.
>Your wings stretch out further as you blast into the lower room, turning several heads as the three of you careen inside and make yourselves known.
>”P-Princess! We-We—“ an earth pony guard at your immediate left begins before you silence her with a flap of you wings.
“Any sign? Anything? Are you in pursuit!?”
>”N-I, uhh, I don’t…we’ve been down here since – I mean…”
>The little guard swivels her head about to signal her meaning, and though you aren’t too happy with the lack of intel, you nonetheless nod in understanding as you follow her gaze around the room.
>It’s a mess.
>Many of the once orderly, if dirty, stone slabs that made up the left side wall have been completely liberated from it, scattered about on the ground in all directions.
>With them are the remains of torches and several metal torch studs and couplers, the reason for the spotty lighting that now dominated the dungeon becoming clear.
>You spot one metal torch-bearer nearby, still hanging by a thread from the wall, its oil-sodden plank missing and likely in pieces.
>There’s a smudge of drying crimson on an edged portion of it, probably from where an unsuspecting pony had been slammed into the metal by force.
>You can only grimace at the destruction as you pace further inside, your shoes clattering against and around various pieces of rubble.
“The witnesses? Are any of them still here?” you ask.
>The earth pony mare shakes her head, shooting you and the other guardsmares a glum look as you pass them.
>”They’re all in the infirmary, ma’am…” she whispers.
>An icy feeling chills your chest as she says the words, the breath you take freezing your lungs from the fear.
“Has anypony…?” you venture carefully.
>”No, no princess,” the guardsmare answers immediately, shaking her head.
>You turn your eyes to find hers, noticing the flicker of apprehension as she speaks the words she probably thought, what with the relative peace and calm in the castle as of late, that she might never need to say.
>“Nopony has… all are alive and accounted for, at least to this unit’s knowledge, ma’am.”
>She finishes her sentence right as the two off you cross in front of the final cell at the end of the hall.
>The cell door you’d made yourself thuggishly familiar with hours before now lay in a crumbled mess under your hooves.
>You can only scowl into the empty cage that once kept your prisoner and only lead, the only trace of her left within being the pile of clothes still bunched into the corner.
>You turn in place and look back down the hall from where you came, standing where she must have stood where the havoc began.
>Neither you nor your sister, with all the power you commanded, were capable of teleporting in or out of this room.
>The gobbling stones, many of which were now scattered on the ground, cut this room off from the rest of the world like a saw, dividing it magically.
>Any attempt to go beyond would just slam you into wall at best, and at worst, if somepony happened to be up against that wall…
>You frown, kneeling slightly to examine the faint remains of singed blue fur on the ground between the particles of stone dust, the enchantment that once kept them a uniform white color having long died with their liberation from the pony they belonged to.
>You look again back down the hall, noticing the deep divots and dents in the walls and the cells beyond from savagely heavy impacts.
>Ponies couldn’t teleport in or out, but not all magic was restricted.
>It couldn’t be, not for the safety of your unicorn officers.
>For all the good it did them…
>A violent scene begins to play out in your mind’s eye.
>The fidgety and alert guards that now wander around you in the dungeons are brushed aside to make room for the more calm, orderly ones that used to be here.
>Their backs are planted firmly against the now shattered wall opposing the metal bars, seasoned and ready but nonetheless caught off guard when Starlight flashes out of her cell, magic restored, and bashes into the wall.
>You stand back to your full height, the sound around you drowned out by your whirring brain as you peer back down at the scant blue hairs on the floor.
>Her failed teleport downs the blue guardsmare.
>Starlight is… confused, in pain, disoriented.
>The ghostly image of a dark pink unicorn with a lavender mane manifest before you, staggering in place as the other guards realize what has happened.
>She gathers her senses quick; she has to if she wants to escape.
>She’s desperate, dazed, maybe even unhinged.
>Nothing sophisticated.
>She sticks to offensive fields and telekinesis.
>Your eyes examine the closest and arguably smallest lash in the wall.
>The manifestation’s horn lights to dispatch the partner of the blue mare she just downed with her leap, then turns to…
>Your narrowed eyes fall on the most massive crater in the stone ahead, and you can actually make out flecks of golden paint within it from where the guardsmares skimmed off of the wall from the impact.
>No retaliation from the soldiers yet?
>No, they had to’ve…
>You rotate fully in place to examine the dead end of the hall behind you, spotting what appears to be a wide dark splotch where fire had seemingly bitten into the rock and seared it black.
>Theres no outline in it, no ridge from a target, the mark on the wall is almost perfectly round.
>They missed.
>You turn back around just in time to see the mental image of Starlight Glimmer whip her head forward and down the final two mares, the wide impact mark still present in the ground from where she shattered it with the raw blunt force of her telekinetic field.
>It is only now that you begin to acknowledge your prisoner’s magical proficiency, thinking even farther back to the time when she nearly outran your sister with consistent and far-stretching teleportation.
>That’s not even mentioning the attack she managed to mount directly afterwards toward that very same alicorn, failure as it was.
>She could probably give Twilight a run for her money if she really had to.
>Still, there are some signs of sloppiness.
>The shoe of your rear back hoof is still set down at an angle, perched atop a metal bar from the cell door that Starlight smashed completely off its hinges to free herself.
>A pointless endeavor if it was her doing.
>After all, she teleported only a moment afterward.
>Why destroy the door if she thought she could just teleport out?
>Was it really her doing, or did one of the guards…?
>You tilt your head to peer down at the cell door under your hooves.
>You instantly spot another clue, one that forces your entire thought process to a screeching halt.
>It was a small thing that you almost missed amidst the other ruble and wreck, but now that you were practically on top of it, it was almost impossible to miss.
>Even if you wish you did miss it.
>On the ground, in between the bars and smothered under a wide slab of rock, is what appears to be a mangled scroll of paper and a snapped quill.
>The wooden bar that kept the roll intact had broken cleanly in two, but the paper hanging from it was almost completely unraveled, like it had been in use right up until all of this started.
>Because it had been.
>The pony using it didn’t even see it coming.
>You thought you were standing where Glimmer stood when she first cleared the door, but that was wrong.
>Somepony else was standing here.
>The cold dread sinking your stomach begins to mount as you step away to make room for a second, new apparition to take your place, the sequence of events in your mind reversing to the very start.
>A lithe yellow unicorn with small white curls and a hefty set of glasses now stands where you just stood, scribbling away on her scroll.
>You told her to come here, and she had.
>The ghostly form of Eggnog Cream smiles in a gentle manner as she jots out the rest of Starlight’s testimony and further requests for representation, her horn still enveloped in a soft, dandelion-colored light as she scribbles away.
>The phantom unicorn turns away from the bars and smiles kindly at you…
>Just as the other phantom unicorn in your mental retelling, Starlight Glimmer, still trapped, snarls and flashes her horn.
>You almost flinch when the pieces snap together, and so too does the door to Starlight’s cell snap off of what remains of its hinges and slam into your unsuspecting assistant, dashing her hard against the wall and forming the thin, almost unnoticeable crack in the rock you were now observing with growing fear.
>Starlight’s first attack was not levied in the midst of confusion or fear.
>It was deliberate, precise, and strong enough to rip her cell door right out of the wall from the force, and whatever force hadn’t hit the bars had gone directly for something else.
>Something much softer than steel.
>Something that wasn’t wearing armor to protect them from the impact.
>Your heart throbs painfully the longer you linger in your imagination, watching as the crumpled, phantom form of Miss Cream continues to lie still on the ground with the ruble, unmoving.
>Not a word leaves your mouth as you trot away from scene of the destruction and back toward the stairs, not even as the guards call out for you.
>Your wings spring from your sides and fold in halfway as you clear the arch and begin your swift ascent back up toward the first floor, skipping hoofulls of steps at a time as you glide back toward civilization, toward the infirmary.
>Toward where you suspect Eggnog is.
>Toward where you HOPE she STILL is.
>You thrash your head back and forth to shake loose the well-intentioned voices within that were now advising your to prepare for what you might see when you get there, ignoring them as best you can as you sail through the splintered and bent remains of the wooden door that once marked the entrance to the place you now wanted nothing more than to escape from.
>Several more guards are there to meet you at the top, the small group scattering apart to make room for you as you step between them and return to the fire-lit evening hallway.
>”Your majesty!” the lone sergeant amongst them greets, snapping her right hoof to her helm.
>“Most of 1st through 17th is hot on her trail – damn near ALL the on-site girls we got! She won’t get away, ma’am!”
>You twist your head around and face toward the medical wing, her words registering only faintly in your mind as the tiny fires of life begin to spring up in your path.
>Too dense.
>The little lights moving about within and around medical are closely-knit and manic like buzzing bees, half of which hang around while other seemingly spring from place to place at random.
>You’ll need to travel farther out.
>Now that you’re searching for alternate places to port, you can’t help but notice the movement in the rest of the castle as well.
>Anypony or non-pony who wasn’t huddled up in a room trying to ride out the end of their evening through the chaos of the escape were bunched into small groups and rushing in straight lines from one place to the next, each one travelling in unspecific directions as they desperately searched.
>Your sister is among one such group at the far end of the castle on the fourth floor, her roaring aura of magical influence practically blotting out the others entirely with how it dwarfs them.
>You can only venture a guess as to why you can see them next to hers at all before all of them suddenly blink out of existence and pop back into it on the floor just above where they used to be; a unicorn specialist squad.
>Just from what you could see, your sergeant’s estimation of participation amongst the troops in the search for your one-time prisoner were probably spot on.
>In vain, you fear.
>As you single out a spot to leap to in the mess of movement, you can only seem to remember the ruthless power and talent that Starlight Glimmer demonstrated before and after her capture.
>She was a genius magician.
>If she managed to break through the door to your left before anypony else managed to catch on to her escape – and your approximations of her skill are correct – she’s probably long gone by now.
>Smoke in the wind.
>You say nothing to your current troupe, leaving the assembled mares and their sergeant behind in the hall as the world drifts away.
>You had your doubts, but you certainly wouldn’t be telling them to give up.
>You aren’t about to lose that little menace on an assumption.
>As long as you have the excess of marepower, every speck of dust in this castle will be examined until you and your ponies can confirm with absolute certainty that Starlight Glimmer isn’t hiding under one of them.
>Until then, there are equally dire measures that may require your attention.
>Snow-white parapets and long, ornate windows of a different shape and theme snap into your vision as you return to the physical plane from your teleport.
>You visibly startle a group passing through the end of the hall with your arrival, stopping them in place to look at you.
>With things the way that are, it’s probably  impossible to be most anywhere in Canterlot castle whilst simultaneously being completely alone, even if it was starting to get late.
>Before you now stand a gaggle of civilians, and at their head and rear are two guardsmares – one day squad, and unicorn, and one pegasus dusk guard.
>The unicorn instinctively snaps to attention as you set eyes on her, but the other stays a moment, her brow creasing.
>”Princess?” the voice of Grey Gables ventures, and her partner at the end of the group fires her an incredulous look.
>The PFC, noticing her out of turn behavior, slams her mouth shut and salutes like her partner, but you brush off the break in professionalism with a wave of your hoof.
”Report,” you command cooly, keeping to your brisk pace even as you speak the words.
>”Uhh,” Gables starts, an uncomfortable look crossing her face as she momentarily gazes at her group.
>”The situation is… being handled, ma’am,” she continues, clearly tailoring her response for the unofficial ears present.
>”Non-critical patients are being sent to the nurse’s station down the hall.”
>You try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the term ‘non-critical’, swallowing your apprehension as you turn toward the civilians of topic.
>While most seem unrelated, the majority of the group appear to be uniformed members of the Canterlot Day Players – several of which sport visible injuries, ALL of which are obviously, unignorably inebriated.
>You’re well over an alicorn’s wingspan away from any individual, but you can still easily make out the bitter scent of booze wafting about their group.
“Carry on,” you return as you pass them up.
>You cap your movement speed to a leisurely trot as you head on toward your destination so as not worry them, at least until you’re out of sight.
>Considering the state most of them were in though, it probably didn’t matter.
>Based on the lack of movement and the angry jut of the hoof the unicorn at the rear shoots your companion at the front, you have to assume the PFC looks after you for a while before returning to her duties.
>”Y-Yes! – uhh, ma’am! This way, please!”
>The guards angrily shush the loud, drunken responses of the musicians in your wake as you turn down an adjoining hall and continue toward the main hall.
>You frequently pass more groups on your way.
>Though occasionally they are composed of stragglers being escorted back to their rooms, the majority of them are entirely composed of stone-faced guardmares, all of whom offer you curt nods or salutes as you cross their path.
>Eventually, but not nearly soon enough, you spot a welcoming and familiar sight.
>Farther down the main hall and on your right, staring into a double-doored room that sits smack in the middle, are an ornate collection of window panes.
>Directly aligned with the double doors, robed in dark, multi-colored glass sections and backlit by the pale shape of the moon, is the visage of Gildheart the Gentle, the founder and most original head of the medical wing of Canterlot Castle.
>The fair stallion of yore stands watch over the entrance to Canterlot’s primary care center with his four brothers, each male a symbol for the care and dedication with which the damaged and downtrodden within were to be treated.
>As you near the care center, you can’t help but to turn and come before them, offering the quintet of stallions an emblematic bow of respect for their tireless service, hoping all at once that their posthumous supervision of the wounded beyond the archway extended to your dear friend.
>Wasting no more time, you turn back and enter, meaning to find that same friend as quickly as you could.
>In an instant you are overwhelmed by a dozen different but similarly stiff and sterile smells, not a single one of which is neutered by the over-average size of the room you now find yourself in.
>The light-brown tile beneath your hooves is utterly spotless, as if it had been precisely scoured with every disinfectant known to ponykind the moment before you’d arrived.
>And that was floor.
>The various metal cabinets, carts and hints of bed frame that you can see between the privacy curtains dividing up the room are in much the same shape, each article practically radiating its cleanliness to any would-be onlookers.
>A male earth pony physician of middling age with a bright orange coat slips through one of the fabric walls as you move farther inside, his eyes already focused in the direction of your hoofsteps as he emerges.
>”Princess… Celestia?” he says, surprised.
>The stallion lets out a slight huff of effort as he hoists a loose bundle of crisp white sheets up onto a rack with matching bedding to his left, struggling to keep the mess of fabric together enough so that it would tumble.
>”I-I wasn’t… is there something I can do for you?”
>His eyes become worried.
>”Oh no… you aren’t injured too, are you?”
>You quickly shake your head, absently lighting your horn to assist him with the unruly linens.
”No, no I’m fine. I’ve come to check on the others. What’s the situation?”
>A hint of a smile crosses the stallion’s face at your help before it falls away from the content of your question.
>”Broken bones,” he reports with a dearth of enthusiasm, “lots of broken bones. Not one of them got away without a hoofull of fractures. We’re still dealing with most of them now. Were they stuffed into a tin can and tossed off of a bridge or something?”
>You grimace, remembering the average size of the pockmarks bashed out of the walls below the castle.
“Something like that,” you reply.
>The stallion sighs and moves to flatten the rack of bedding up against the wall to his left, turning his back to you in the process.
>”They’re all tough-mares – big surprise, but they’re going to be feeling it in the morning. I doubt most of them will be cleared for proper duty for a good while. Regardless of what they SAY.”
>He turns back to you and runs a hoof along the back of his neck, a pitying look crossing his face.
>”The one in the back got the worst of it though; poor thing. I didn’t see much of her, but I saw enough to know she won’t be walking anytime soon.”
“Eggnog?” you follow up quickly, heart sinking at the diagnosis.
>The stallion turns and crosses to the other side of the room, nudging a rolling stool out of the way of his desk before snatching up a clipboard lying atop it.
>”Uhhh… yes? I believe so,” he returns after a moment of studying it, motioning with his head at the enclosed area behind him.
>“That’s what the jarheads called her, at least. She’s the one on the far right, right in the corne—”
“Is she – can I see her?” you interrupt, the shells of your ears stiffening with worry, “Is she alright?”
>An apprehensive look crosses the physician’s face, and he turns back to look at his clipboard for a moment.
>”I’m not sure if that’s, uhh…” he replies, slowly trailing off when he lifts his head and gets a look at your face.
>Your jaw tightens, and eventually his eyes drift off toward the rear end of the room contemplatively.
>After a few moments the stallion sets his clipboard back onto his desk and begins moving toward the opposite end of the ward.
>”I’ll check…” he says quietly, his somber tone revealing of your chances.
>His cocoa-colored tail vanishes behind the wall of white curtains which supposedly shielded your injured aid, and through the gap he makes you catch additional slips of color from the other ponies present inside.
>You plant your flank on the ground and try not to fidget, but squirm all the more for your attempt.
>Eventually you’re on your hooves again and pacing, trying not to let your mind stay on the specifics of why she might require so many doctors or attendings all at once.
>Whispers bubble up from the far side of the room, a conversation you can’t quite make out when you shift your ears toward it.
>The only word you can manage to parse is your own name, and after it is spoken the conversation dulls.
>That moment of silence ends when a familiar orange-coated physician peeks his head back through the curtains and motions for you to come closer.
>”You can see her now,” he says.
“I can come back,” you clarify hastily, worrying in place, “If she isn’t – uh, I can come back.”
>The stallion offers you a gentle smile and shakes his head.
>”It’s okay,” is all he says in return.
>You try to return his smile but fail, instead shooting him a look mixed between awkward and uneasy.
>The stallion motions at you again and your body jerks you forward mechanically, taking charge for your stalling brain before it can manage to wonder any more about whether or not it was a good idea to intrude.
>You catch glimpses of the other bedridden mares on your way, their coats breathing freely and unpainted while their enchanted armor lie stacked in heaps near their bedsides instead of around their bodies; you even match eyes with a blue mare adorned with singe-marks around her upper neck and withers.
>The stallion moves aside when you get close, giving you room to slip past him.
>As you enter, two other physicians – one male and female unicorn – quietly exit out of the other side, leaving you alone with the orange stallion and another cyan-colored pony, a female pegasus.
>And Eggnog.
>You approach the cot to examine the sleeping unicorn, taking care not to make undue noise.
>Her tidy grey vest and other matching articles have all been removed and – judging from the precisely sheared articles of fabric sitting nearby in an open drawer – were likely cut off of her to make room for the medical ponies’ examination without harming her further.
>She’s already been attentively covered with medical apparatus and bandages where applicable.
>Much of her hips and the entirety of her left back leg are braced and/or being wrapped in plaster to keep them from moving around.
>Her left foreleg has received similar treatment, but splinted instead of being molded into a cast, and securely held against her chest via long and numerous strips of linen.
>Her side over where her ribcage is has also been heavily bandaged, and linked up to the brace on her hip.
>Her glasses are gone, still smashed under something in the dungeons if you had to imagine.
>The eyes they once framed are closed and squinted just slightly with her brow, likely still tinged with distress and pain from her ordeal.
>You reach out to her, carefully, and place a gilded hoof gently against her unsplinted upper foreleg, stroking gently until you start to notice her face smooth.
“Has she been out this entire time?” you whisper, turning toward the cyan mare.
>”In and out since she got here. That was about six minutes ago, but nopony seems to be sure precisely when she and the others were injured. It’s possible she’s been like this for a lot longer than that,” she replies.
>”I’m going to give her a sedative in a moment, right when – ah, here,” she pauses, turning to regard one of the exiting ponies from before and take the small tin box they offered her through the curtains.
>She sets the container down on the desk drawer to the left of the cot and flips it open to reveal a multitude of thin prickers and a glass bottle fastened into the case.
“She’s going to be alright, isn’t she?” you say as you turn back to her, wanting some sort of confirmation more than anything.
>The doctor graces you with a reassuring smile around the plunger in her mouth as she pulls back on it, drawing clear liquid into the case of the syringe.
>”Barring several severe, unforeseen, and unlikely scenarios,” she words carefully, “yes.”
>A shaky sigh leaves your chest at her testimony, the tension that had been building in your withers slacking significantly.
”Thank goodness,” you whisper.
>The doctor skirts around the foot of Eggnog’s bed, passes between it and the orange stallion, and quietly begs your pardon as she does the same with you.
>You move back and let her do her work, the tip of the needle sinking into your assistant’s unsplinted foreleg and retreating just as quickly under the soft press of a thick square of bandage.
>”Would you like to hold this for me?” she asks you with a smile, pausing the orange stallion at your side and drawing attention to the fabric under her hoof.
>You return the look and slide around her, replacing her hoof on your friends arm as she retreats to fetch a bandage.
>You can feel the soft strum of yellow unicorn’s heartbeat through the pressure you apply.
>”It’s going to be fine,” the cyan mare continues, “we can’t work miracles, but some broken bones shouldn’t prove too challenging to—“
>”C-Celest… Cel—“
>You feel the arm under your hoof shift, threatening to slip out of your hold and uncap the bandage.
>”No no no,” the orange stallion says with some alarm as he moves toward the cot, “you have to stay down, sweetie. Lie down.”
>Eggnog continues to stir, her eyes now open and squinting at the world around her in mild distress.
>”Celestia – ma’am, is it… you?” she murmurs just as hooves from three different ponies, including yours, come to rest on her chest just above her splint and lower her back down into the bed.
“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re in the infirmary, you’re fine,” you assure her quickly, doing your best to contain your anxiety for her sake, “everything’s fine.”
>”I-I can’t… why can’t I…?” she mumbles, narrowing her eyes even further in your direction.
>“My… glasses…”
>”I’m sorry sweetheart, you didn’t come in with them. You’re going to have to go without for a little while, okay?” the orange stallion replies as he slips around your back, moving to assist the doctor in bandaging her arm before things got messy.
>Your assistant frowns and blinks her eyes several times, peering up at the attending before tracing her eyes across the room to observe it in vain.
>Once the cloth is securely fastened the three of you step back slightly to give the unicorn some air, you staying by her side while the physicians slid around to the opposite side.
>”We just sedated you,” the doctor mare says, annunciating slowly, “If you feel a little off, that’s normal. Are you in any pain? Your legs? Your side?”
>Eggnog scrunches her face.
>”Y-… yes…” she grinds out with some difficulty.
>”What we just gave you should be kicking in any second now, Miss Cream,” the mare replies, ”Do you feel pain anywhere else? Any pressure or numbness anywhere?”
>The unicorn ponders that question for a moment, her eyes slowly screwing shut as she thinks.
>”My he-ad… hurts…” she announces sluggishly.
>You notice the two physicians exchange an uneasy look.
>”Your… head?” the doctor reaffirms, approaching the upper portion of the unicorn’s cot.
>Eggnog nods slowly.
>The doctor reaches out and places the edge of her hooves gently on either side of Eggnog’s face, rolling her head gently to the side.
>”I need you to look to the side for me, ma’am,” the doctor says softly, “little more; there you go.”
>The cyan pegasus examines her as you look on with worry, occasionally brushing a bundle of her flattened curls aside to get a better look at her scalp.
>”No swelling… no laceration. Practically the only thing you DIDN’T break. I’m not… can you tell me where it is your head hurts, specifically?”
>”Everywheeere…” Eggnog grumbles, losing patience.
>”Everywhere?” the doctor replies as she gently rolls her head back into position.
>She looks troubled for a moment, but soon a knowing look begins to spread across her face.
>”Does your head hurt because you have a headache? Is that what it is?” she asks.
>Eggnog thinks on this too, taking several deep breaths while she gathers her thoughts.
>”… yeees,” she whines after a while.
>You take a breath of relief that is shared amongst the physicians, your face morphing back into a smile as you peer down at your bedded assistant.
>”Today just isn’t your day, Miss Cream,” the doctor remarks sheepishly, snapping the syringe box on her desk shut.
>”We’ll run a few more tests just to make sure, in the meantime…”
>The cyan mare then turns to you and motions with her head at your aid.
>”She should have another minute. If you want to talk you can, but after that – Princess or not – I’ll have to insist that you leave her be…”
“I understand, doctor,” you answer earnestly, “I won’t stay much longer. I just wanted to make sure that she… well, just wanted to make sure.”
>The doctor nods and spares a look at the orange stallion, motioning for him to step out with her.
>”If you ladies need anything, we’re never far away,” the male comments kindly, “Just shout and I’ll be here.”
>You hum in acknowledgement, and with that the two remaining physicians slip outside the wall of curtains and out of sight, leaving the two of you alone.
>You turn back toward the wounded mare, taking a seat near her cot where you could look over her.
“If you don’t want to talk, I understand,” you say softly, “but we’re running a little low on information and time.”
>Eggnog blinks her eyes and grunts roughly in reply, but otherwise offers no explicit go-ahead or refrain.
>You want to wait for one of them to occur, but as time passes on and her droopy eyes slowly drift toward you, you decide that what you have is enough to continue.
“Do you remember anything about what happened before Starlight Glimmer broke free?” you ask, leaning in so that you might safely drop your volume.
”Do you know how she broke out of her binding crown?”
>Eggnog sighs and blinks her eyes again, clearly fighting to stay awake.
>”Can’t… remember,” she murmurs.
>”Was on… then off. Didn’t see… don’t know… how.”
>You frown, your hopes that she might be able to shed some light on your holes in security diminished somewhat.
>Eggnog’s eyes have drifted shut, and for a moment you take her as sleeping, but she stirs and begins to speak again, her voice loopy and miles away.
>”She… hit me. Why would she just… hit me… I thought… I thought we were…” she mumbles, almost sorrowful.
“She’s… Starlight is a troubled mare,” you reason, casting her a sorrowful look of your own.
“I should never have let you go down there with her. I put you in danger.”
>You shake your head and scowl down at your hooves.
”It was stupid of me… a stupid mistake. You didn’t belong down there,” you admit softly, “I’m sorry.”
>The drowsy unicorn attempts to summon a smile, her eyes only a sliver through her lids.
>”Not… ‘rfualt… “ she mumbles, “I was-nn… I… I’m…n-nnn…”
>The next several sounds she makes almost sound like words, but she doesn’t move her lips to articulate them, humming listlessly instead.
>After a continued bout of inarticulate mumbling her lips part at the very edge and her breathing becomes deep and peaceful, her conscious mind slipping far away from the power of the anesthetic.
>You sit silently and watch her for another minute or so, putting aside the doctor’s orders for a little while to give yourself some much-needed peace of mind.
>Eggnog is still young, still eager; practically at the height of her career.
>You know that she can pull through this, but you can’t help but muse over the seriousness of her injury and the possible consequences it might have on her future.
>She might need to go into some form of physical therapy after all of this was said and done.
>That wasn’t even mentioning the possibility that some of the damage could be sticking with her for the foreseeable future.
>An unfair fate.
>One that could have been avoided were she in more capable hooves…
>You screw your eyes tightly shut and frown down at broken up unicorn, extending your hoof to once again rest against her largely undamaged forelimb.
>”I’m sorry…” you repeat under your breath.
>Eggnog shows no sign of noticing your touch or your words in her slumber.
>Her jaw falls open just slightly as her muscles continue to slack, and her breathing gradually begins to roughen into petite snores.
>You actually manage to crack a wry smile at her as you slowly return your foreleg, wishing you could do more for her than you were able.
>Moving a celestial body felt so easy compared to this.
>You could tug Equis’ sun clear across the cosmos with little more than an ounce of concentration, but you couldn’t stomp your hooves and sew your friends back together – like Starswirl, let alone like Gildheart.
>They were geniuses of their craft; not unlike Twilight Sparkle was becoming, and not unlike, you fear, Starlight Glimmer had the capacity for, as well.
>Sometimes it felt like you were wading through eye-tall grass and weeds, a blind giant among blind giants hoping for a gap in the scenery.
>Perhaps if you’d spent less time in your youth on things like ‘Gryphonian Customs and You’ and more time on ‘Reparative Magic; a Lexicon’, then perhaps your talents may have developed in a different way.
>You may have found another path.
>Instead...
>You slowly turn to peer down at you side, at the bright orange-yellow mark permanently stained into the fur on your flank.
>Just as the sun looked over all and illuminated all, so too did you.
>The mark on your hindquarters was a permanent reminder of your situation, your purpose; to oversee and understand all who could peer up at the sky under the light of day.
>It was a noble thing to endeavor, an important thing…
>If only it left more room for other pursuits.
>You sigh wistfully and reach back out to your assistant, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the side to help alleviate her rickety snores.
>The line of saliva that trickles down the side of her mouth at your interference pairs well with the messy and vaguely dusty bed of white curls cushioned between her head and pillow.
>You spend a while absently brushing away the small flecks of stone debris in her mane you could find before slowly getting to your hooves and moving away from her bed.
>You take your time with the last look you shoot the unicorn from the gap in the fabric before finally retreating from her section of the ward entirely.
>Staying by her side for the rest of the night was a comforting thought, but an unrealistic one.
>There was still work to be done, work that hundreds of other ponies were seeing to without you even now.
>Eggnog is in good hooves with or without your interventions.
>You still have a job to do, and you mean to do it.
>From here on your admittedly evening-dreary brain is kicked into overdrive.
>You spend but a moment getting the okay from the on-staffers before briskly sweeping about the room to question every injured guardsmare who was a witness to the event, conscious, and well-enough to talk.
>Luckily – the first bit of luck you’ve had all day, no doubt – those conditions just so happened to apply to all of them.
>The value in the answers those questions manage to unearth, however, are a little less fortuitous.
>Though your short interviews with each mare reinforce your initial piecing-together of the events concerning Starlight Glimmer’s initial attack and resulting escape (barring a few minor details), you aren’t able to gleam any truly astounding information otherwise.
>None of them were able to recount specifically what happened in the moments following and leading up; each mare had been taken completely off guard.
>The closest you got to breaking ground was with the blue-coated mare whom, aside from confirming your theory of Glimmer’s failed teleport, only noticed that her horn-binding had been released the very moment after it hit the ground.
>None of the witnesses managed to see it head on, even though all of them were quite close to the event.
>Whatever Starlight did to free herself, she did it fast.
>So fast that ponies in the same room – one of whom was right in front of her cell at the time – didn’t notice what she’d done until it was too late to do anything about it.
>”I’m sorry, ma’am,” the blue mare remarks apologetically, “I wish I could be of more help. Everything just went wrong so fast that I…”
>You grant her an understanding look in an attempt to alleviate the guilt you could see emerging in her eyes.
“It’s alright, Staff Sergeant,” you reply, “if you remember anything else, contact your superior and they’ll get in touch with me. From what your other squadmates told me, you did everything you could tonight. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
>The Staff Sergeant flashes you a remorseful look and shifts on her cot, maneuvering her damaged shoulder in a way that might cause her less discomfort.
>”I wish I could agree with you, ma’am,” she replies.
“Take your rest, guardsmare,” you insist earnestly, turning from her, “you’ve earned it; that’s an order by the way.”
>She chuckles, and from the squeak in her mattress you’re sure she salutes you with her good foreleg as you pass through her privacy curtain and back out into the main room.
>You’ve hardly stepped out in the open for more than a second before a large, dark blue alicorn in royal regalia trots into the office through the double doors, disheveled and obviously agitated.
>She turns immediately to the orange stallion sitting on the stool to her right.
>”Nurse – excellent. We—” she says, starting when you pass fully through and she notices you for the first time.
>”Sister…?”
>Her brow crinkles when you don’t start speaking, and she slowly turns back to the expectant stallion.
>Her face becomes mildly embarrassed, and she speaks in a lower volume than the one she was using when she entered.
>”… we require more,” she mumbles, “quickly. We have important matters to see to.”
>The stallion sets his quill and clipboard back onto his desk and slides off of his stool, frowning slightly.
>”Already?” he says.
>He pauses in place, his eyes narrowing.
>”… you aren’t still drinking that swill, are you? I told you not to mix them.”
>”It isn’t ‘swill’,” your sister returns indignantly, chasing her eyes between him and you, “and no, we aren’t. Of course we aren’t – not that it is of thy concern if we should.”
>The experienced stallion is unfazed by her attitude, turning fully to face her again.
>”If you’re propped up on our door half-loopy at five AM and I find out that you’ve been mixing them like last time, little lady…” he warns her in a short tone.
>Your sister pins her ears back and sniffles her stuffy nose, turning away from midlife stallion with puffed cheeks after she cuts her eyes at you yet again, obviously riled by your further audience to the scene.
>”Do not deign to father us, colt,” she hisses hastily, “just fetch us the medicine – post-haste!”
>She ‘shoo’s him rudely with her hoof in an effort to quicken his departure, and he does depart, if grumbling under his breath all the while.
>You flash the stallion a placating look as he retreats before turning to and approaching your sister.
”Taking my advice?” you say with some extra surprise layered on.
>Luna sniffles again and herds her eyes away from you, attempting to form an unfazed expression.
>”Yes, well…” she mutters, “we deemed it reckless to pursue our usual, EFFECTIVE methods given the circumstances, and decided to go with thy more… suiting recommendation, yes.”
“Oh? Reckless, you say? Interesting,” you remark innocently as you sit at her side on the ground, cutting a cunning look at her.
>Luna frowns in response but offers no rebuttal, stewing in your comment silently.
>All the better.
>There are more pressing matters to discuss, one chief among them all.
“I don’t know what to do, Luna…” you whisper forlornly.
>Your words gain back her full attention instantly, and you can see her tilt her head at you in your peripheral.
“Ponies are getting hurt,” you say, nodding toward Eggnog’s curtains, “Anonymous is no closer to being returned home and Starlight is, well…”
>You turn to look her in the eyes, reading deeply into you sister before she has to chance to look away and hide her doubts.
“… Gone, isn’t she?” you continue.
>”We are putting our best efforts into the continued detainment of the fugitive,” Luna replies in a mechanical, formal manner before drooping her ears.
>”However, concerning what we know of Starlight Glimmer, the possibility of her recapture at this point in time is… slim,” she admits with some regret.
>”Perhaps if we were present at the time, or at least closer when she freed herself, we might have been able to apprehend her again before she slipped through our grasp. But now…”
>Luna shakes her head bitterly.
>”She is a snake in all but form, and she’s left us with less than shed skin for all of our efforts to search out her true desires.”
“I’ve been in contact with Twilight,” you add on, finding now to be a good time to inform her.
“She’d already been to the location listed in the letter before I could ask her. She said that she found evidence of Anonymous’ abduction at the scene...”
>You speak the sentence before you can properly prepare yourself for its context, your chest stinging when you remember the choice words from you pupil’s return letter; words like ‘cider glass’ – and ‘shattered’.
>Your sister is leveling a concerned look at you now, no doubt from the subtle hurt creeping up on your face from the memory.
>A quick shake of your head brushes the unkind thoughts away.
“She also mentioned evidence of Diamond Dogs at the scene, paw prints specifically.”
>”More hounds,” Luna mutters, frowning, “her relations with them grow all the more unsavory.”
>She turns to you with a thoughtful look, her brow creased.
>”You think that Glimmer is manipulating the Dogs? Bending them with her magic and forcing them to do as she pleases?”
>You open your mouth to speak but pause at the sound of hoofsteps, quieting your reply at the last second.
>The both of you turn to look at the returning orange stallion, making the attending flinch slightly from the force of your gaze.
>This probably wasn’t the best place to be discussing this; ever more slip ups on your part.
>You frown at your lack of forethought, and the stallion’s face noticeably drops from your change of expression.
>”S-Sorry, sorry ma’ams,” he apologizes hastily, “I wasn’t listening or anything, I was just, uh.. here. Your medicine…”
>The earth pony motions to the two of you with his limped foreleg, bringing the tiny, frog-sized vial into view.
>A dark blue glow ebbs to life in your peripheral and then at the edge of the stallion’s hoof, whizzing the bottle through the air and toward its intended recipient.
>”Now that’s your second dose,” he says as Luna wordlessly snaps off the cork and lifts the item to her lips.
>”You probably don’t need to drink the whole thing unless you really, really – yeah… okay, just… go ahead… whatever…” he continues as the alicorn drains the last drop, his expression souring at the utter lack of attention paid.
“Thank you, sir. Very much,” you step in for her, flashing the male an understanding smile, “We’ll be going now.”
>You motion Luna toward the exit before walking in that same direction.
>As you and she step back through the double doors, the cyan pegasus doctor emerges from a privacy curtain and catches sight of your retreat, pausing a moment to watch you go.
”Take good care of her…” you say under your breath, hoping she gets the message.
>The pegasus nods at you, both in solidarity and in farewell, yet again soothing your troubled soul.
>You and your kin exit into the hall without any further delay, pacing farther away from the doors so as to earn yourself an improved notion of privacy.
>There were probably still guards roaming the corridors, but it was unlikely that there were any civilians left out to hear anything they didn’t need to; your only audience now were the five acolytes melded into the stained glass windows looming over you.
>All the better, as Luna looks ready to continue your conversation.
>”The entire accord between Glimmer and the hounds was probably just a distraction to give her a reason to associate with them without suspicion,” she says.
>“Methinks it was no accident that their illusion of negotiation gave her ample reason to enter onto the royal grounds, as well.”
“Maybe…” you respond distantly, still matching her words against what you knew as you stared blankly through the windows.
“But that can’t be all of it… you saw her down there, the way she acted? Did she seem like a pony that was ‘in control’ of anything to you?”
>”It is as we theorized,” Luna reaffirms confidently with a stomp of her hoof, “She is mad. Competent, perhaps, but mad; and aggressive. Her leadership would explain the so-called ‘Alpha’ she brought in for the treaty-signing. No runt hound like you described could possibly control a pack of beasts like that; they would eat her alive.”
>The dark blue alicorn grimaces slightly.
>”Perhaps… literally.”
“It’s… possible…” you say slowly, turning back to her.
“But I still think there’s more to this than we’re seeing…”
>Luna huffs and turns away from you, her tail flicking about.
>”Well, WHATEVER her ruse is, we’ll have it dealt with in due time. I’ve already arranged for post to be sent to all of our known provinces and points of interest. Before the end of the night there’ll be no place for Glimmer to hide from us. Her face will doom her. Our nation is a net. All we have to do now is pull the string and trap her.”
>Your sister turns on you again, the ghost of a triumphant look warming on her face.
>”We will recapture her and FORCE her to tell us where your stallion is hidden! We will do this as a service to you, sister. We swear it on our honor,” Luna declares with certainty, and for a moment you think she’s going to bow to you.
>It’s only now that you’re looking directly at her that you begin to notice the large rings collecting under her eyes, and the slightest bit of fray in her ethereal mane around the ears.
>The alicorn suddenly lifts a hoof to her mouth and fills the hall with the sound of her cold, her rough coughs echoing up and down the otherwise silent corridor.
>”We will prove ourselves to thee in this matter,” she promises through an increasingly gravelly voice, “Thou wilt see. We will scour every hill and search every township until the deed is done. Thy sire will be returned through our diligent, loyal service – safe and sound – and all past debts will be made up for.”
>You open your mouth to object, to slow her down and urge for moderation as was common in your exchanges, but you’re halted in your tracks when her last sentence finally registers in your brain.
>She seems to notice it as well, and her eyes widen.
“… past debts?” you word carefully, your voice hardly going over a whisper.
>She’s already shaking her head.
>”It is nothing,” she says hastily, taking a step away from you, “ignore our blithering, sister. We speak nonsense, it is nothing. Let us get back to the task—”
“Luna…”
>You peer softly into her eyes, a gaze that isn’t reciprocated no matter how long you hold it there.
>She tries to hide the guilt from you, but you see it as plainly as if it were the sun on the cloudless afternoon.
>”It is nothing…” she repeats in a whisper – but you can see through her.
>You see the spike that divided you for all those years treading water just below the surface, just deeply enough for her not to notice it before it snuck back up on her.
>She looks even more tired now, and you don’t try to cull your first impulse to go to her for a second.
“Luna,” you say again, nudging her gently on the side of her face with a fetlock.
>She turns to you for a split second, but only for a split second, not daring to let any more of herself slip out into the open.
“You need to stay here.”
>Her face twists up the second the words leave your lips.
>”But, but We, I—“
“I won’t ask you to run around for me in your condition, and if Anonymous was here, I know he’d say the same thing. You need to stay here,” you reiterate gently.
“There aren’t any debts between us, there isn’t anything to repay.”
>Luna lets out a stubborn utterance under her breath – one that even you, at your close distance, don’t catch – the regret and fear in her eyes ever mounting.
 >The alicorn attempts to clear her throat, but that only agitates it.
>Another nasty round of hacking coughs battle through her medicine and bravado, shaking her chest terribly from the strain.
>You cradle her head through it, holding her until she finishes and once again falls silent.
>Icy blue eyes continue to track along the wall and ground, staying from yours for as long as possible before losing out to whatever will kept them from finally swiveling into yours.
“You need to stay here and rest. Our place is here,” you whisper.
>The negativity in her expression remains, but not nearly to the same level it once was.
>She frowns, freely bracing her head and your hoof now.
>”We will stay here…” she mimes.
>The smile you give her is troubled somewhat by the swing her own face takes, her displeased but relenting look morphing fast into realization.
>”We will remain here,” she repeats, now matching your gaze freely.
>“… and YOU will go.”
“W-What?” you respond, slowly drawing your forelegs back to place them at your side, “No, that’s not what I… meant.”
>”We will stay behind so that you can go,” Luna pushes on energetically, her posture suddenly straightening at the thought.
>”It’s been obvious all along!”
”Luna, really…” you protest, shaking your head dubiously.
>You stare her down for a moment, waiting for her to shake her head and chuckle, to realize the lunacy of her statement.
>But she doesn’t relent, not for a second; her eyes reflect yours without hesitation.
“I can’t just… LEAVE, Luna. It isn’t right. I have an important duty – we BOTH do. I can’t just walk out the door just because I-I… just…” you try, pinning your eyes to the ground as you attempt to mine out any more reasons you might have for not doing the one thing that you wanted to do so badly.
>The one simple, petty, selfish thing you wanted to do all along but that you conscience kept you from.
“I can’t run away from Canterlot because I want to,” you reason solemnly, “I can’t…”
>”Thou can,” Luna disagrees, coming up to you now to hold your head in her own fetlocks as she pierces into your eyes with her own.
>”We will make it so thou can. We will stand in your place until the job is done. We will rest here and co-ordinate the greater chase while you personally head the search. You and the Elements, both.”
“Oh! Oh I see!” you exclaim with plenty of incredulity, “and if I were to entertain this-this… whatever this is, where exactly would I and Equestria’s greatest guardians be running off to?”
>”To Glimmer’s village; that is where,” she responds without hesitation.
>You scoff.
“Luna really, you think she’d be foolish enough to return to her own town? It’s the first place any sane mare would look for her,” you return obstinately, taking you chance to speak amidst another bout of coughing.
>”We agree, sister,” Luna says, recovering, “but that is the only thing we have that connects us to Starlight Glimmer, and quite possibly her canine cohorts, as well. It is not but the obvious choice; it is the only place of any meaning to her that we know of.”
>You consider her words for too long and too seriously, your gaze cutting away from hers.
“This is… insane. I can’t…” you whisper, holding out as well as your mind could battle your heart.
>”We must stay here,” Luna replies, tilting her head so that she might find your eyes again.
>”But you must go; to him. If the bond you share is truly what you hope it to be, then there is no doubt in our mind that he expects you, perhaps just as much as you desire to see him. Am I wrong, sister?”
”Yes…” you whisper stubbornly, twisting your head around in a bid to further avoid her.
 >”If thou art to lie to us, sister,” Luna says, “look us in the eye and do it.”
>You do as she says, staring her down yet again.
>The corridor has gone completely silent.
>Not even the hoofsteps of passing guards or the dim sounds of the care center can step between you.
>You challenge her with everything you have, watching for even the subtlest twitch in her face that might allow you to push through and end this conversation.
>Your sister is polished stone; smooth, assured, unyielding.
“IF… I were to consider this…” you say, and her eyes brighten marginally.
”… This isn’t just an evening, Luna. This won’t just be for a few hours, and unlike before, Eggnog won’t be in any shape to help you – either of us… probably for a long time…” you remark somberly.
>”Thou sayest there are no debts between us…” Luna says, her eyes hardening, ”prove it now. Place thy trust in us and we shan’t let thy good will waste, not even for a moment.”
>Luna steps away from you now, sliding her front legs away to place them at her fore and stand fully before you, open and ready.
>”Trust us, Celestia….” is all that she adds.
>You can only squeeze your eyes shut, weighing your options, weighing your numerous, numerous risks.
>The world is well and truly baring down on you, dividing you on the spot, cutting you on the line where your duty and desire parted.
>Time becomes difficult to understand the longer you spend it in this spot, tearing yourself in a new direction for each second that passes.
>You keep fighting yourself but it isn’t enough, not nearly enough.
>A younger you wouldn’t have stayed their decision for this long.
>The you who’d never known Anonymous, never spoken to him, seen him smile or held him – her conclusion would have been decisive and clean.
>But you weren’t the you from back then.
>Something had snuck inside you, something warm and unfamiliar and just what you needed.
>No matter how hard you reason and obstinate, that something keeps yanking you back to the start, to the very first choice you were presented with.
>To the one you wanted to take but shouldn’t.
>You can’t escape your own heart.
>Not this time.
>Both the fear and the hurt feel far away in your mind when you finally open your eyes again.
>The world is suddenly so simple and so terrifyingly free.
>You find Luna in the exact same place you left her in, waiting patiently for your decision.
>Or, perhaps more accurately, waiting for hers.
“You need to stay…” you whisper.
>A troubled smile slowly makes its way across your face.
>Your sister beams.
“… And I have to go…”

<>

>When your eyes finally open again, it isn’t the morning sun that greets you.
>Nor is it the pleasing smell of coffee or the brisk chill of an early autumn day.
>It is darkness, darkness and a node of warmth rumbling rhythmically against your back.
>You roll onto your back, sleek fabric running against your legs as you twist in place to identify what’s happening and why, exactly, you were awake at whatever hour this was.
>Your back leg collides with something, and the warmth against you chokes out another disturbed snore at your contact, their side now vibrating into your side.
>You squint and spot a puff of frizzy mane, and below that is huddled a mass of pink pony, still awkwardly stuffed into the same sleeping bag as when you all went down.
>It appears as though her copious teasing and exact recitations of ‘no homo’ had been far less for your benefit than it was for hers; Pinkie was a hard sleeper, and a messy one.
>You were almost surprised that she hadn’t flailed a leg or two over you while you slept.
>She wasn’t the reason you were prematurely lucid, though.
>That honor went to the heavy, annoying thud that continued to hammer into the room from the north side, cropping back up over and over the last who-knows-how-long every time you came close to drifting away.
>You growl something meaningless and twist around again, restoring the modicum of personal space that Pinkie had taken while you slept whilst at the same time aiming your face toward where that noise was coming from.
>The subtle arch of a door slowly appears in the lowlight, gaining form the longer you stare at it.
>You glower, daring it to continue making its ruckus while you were trying to sleep – and it does.
>Thud, thud, thud.
>Three times, perfectly even and spaced and JUST loud enough to be disturbing, like it was mocking you.
>An eggshell white foreleg juts out of your sleeping bag and mashes against the ground in sleep-deprived anger, your sore and beaten muscles crying pitifully as you attempt to lift yourself up off the ground.
>You don’t even manage to free another leg before a quiet gasp sounds from the loft above you.
>The whip of fabric being tossed follows quickly behind, and soon the dark, sleep-ragged form of Twilight Sparkle appears at the top of the stairs and begins a hasty descent.
>”Oh goodness, oh no, oh jeez,” she mumbles apprehensively amongst the meagre click of her hooves against the stairs, slapping herself gently with one of them when she finally reaches the ground floor.
>”Okay, wake up, wake up Twilight.”
>You scrunch your eyes and whine your displeasure vaguely in her direction, catching her attention.
>”Sorry,” she says under her breath, now tip-hoofing around the other bags and plastic mattresses haphazardly scattered about the ground of the treebrary.
>”Tarn!-nnngg, wh-wuh—“ you hear the voice of Applejack grunt, and Twilight wrenches back her hoof as one such bag rustles beneath her in confusion.
>”Sorry sorry sorry,” she hisses again, the outline of her ears drooping as she continues on past the bags and makes her way to the front of the building.
>She takes a moment to make a few minor attempts to improve her appearance before finally opening the door, the soft lavender light of her magic stinging your eyes.
>The unicorn acts just in time to avoid full another round of knocks, halting the newest attempt mid-way as the entrance cracks open.
>Twilight pokes her head through and whispers something to whoever it is on the other side – hopefully an insult – before widening the crack enough so that a pony could step inside.
>And one does, one you’ve never seen before.
>A pony wearing what you can only describe as silvery armor carefully slips into the library and stands at Twilight’s side, her slatted eyes wide and fully awake despite the telling blanket of stars and inky black sky that framed her arrival.
>She’s a sturdy-looking mare with a light black coat and dark blue mane, and at her sides rest sleek, featherless wings with the faint outline of talons at their peaks.
>The armored mare has several large bags strapped securely around her barrel, and she wheels a rolling suitcase in her wake via the extended handle clasped in her mouth.
>She peers at the unicorn expectantly and Twilight mutters something, pointing her hoof to the corner of the room.
>The armored mare heads in that direction and begins to set down her cargo piece by piece, trying for as little further noise as possible.
>You watch her silently as she completes her task, drinking in the rare site of – what you assumed – to be one of princess Luna’s night gaurds, until a startling notion pops up into your mind.
>You turn back toward the front door, hardly finishing your thought before you see it.
>Before you see ‘her’.
>The morning sun might not have been your wake up call, but the mare who now stood before you now would have been a just and relevant replacement.
>The alicorn mare cranes her long neck to peer down at her pupil, whispering something to her about not wanting to impose.
>Twilight shakes her head and whispers something back you don’t quite catch but would probably agree with wholeheartedly given the office and importance of the pony who now stood before her.
>Princess Celestia, a Diarch of Equestria, was now standing in her home, mere meters from where you made-do on the ground in one of her dingy little sleeping bags.
>It wasn’t a miscommunication.
>She came just like she said she would.
>She came all this way, and in the middle of the night.
>Miles by train long, long after the civilian trains stopped running,
>Her means as a Princess are a match to the force of her presence, it seems.
>You watch as her time-wizened and weary eyes sweep across the room, clearly tested from exhaustion but nonetheless focused, almost serene with confidence.
>She was on a mission.
>Like you, she was here to rescue him, to save Anonymous – a task that suddenly felt VERY accomplishable now that she was here, now that you were feeling the very weight of her resolve pressing down on you.
>Pinkie shifts and snorts loudly, unconsciously drifting back into you and tossing a foreleg over your withers.
>Your breath catches in mild horror and you twist around to push her farther away from you, your face aflame in embarrassment as you try desperately to reclaim some of your dignity before its too late.
>You manage to shove the pink earth pony off of you, but not in time.
>Your movement in the darkness has drawn her attention.
>You know it has; you can feel it.
>You can feel the powerful eyes of your ruler upon you, watching you.
>Your skin begins to prickle from the force of her gaze, and after a while you begin obsess over it, fretting over why you, just you, suddenly had all of her attention.
>She doesn’t turn away, not even as you lift your head.
>Not even as your eyes meet.