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941 5.58 KB 125
16 Hours by Escapade
By grapenutCreated: 2022-07-18 22:51:50
Updated: 2022-07-18 23:02:34
Expiry: Never
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16 Hours by Escapade
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>”They’re only fillies Nightmare…”
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>...
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>It has been some time since you summoned your sister to your chambers.
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>The cup of coffee sitting before you has long since grown cold.
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>”They don’t deserve this…”
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>You look across the room toward Celestia, who is seated near a half eaten tray of cookies.
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>This… was a mistake.
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>You should have sent her away hours ago.
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>Yet here you are, alone with /her./
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>Your dearest sister.
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>…
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>Time feels as if it has stopped moving entirely.
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>It’s early in the morn; perhaps four past midnight.
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>These are the long hours.
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>The hours in which both lovers and laborers find rest.
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>The hours in which the haunted find doubt — find emptiness.
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>…
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“They are most wicked mares sister; attempting to slay an sovereign…”
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>The words fall from your mouth haphazardly.
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>Your mind is not in your words, but somewhere far away.
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>”I know Nightmare, but they were young… confused…”
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>You can feel the trepidation in her voice.
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>She fears you — your wraith.
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>Were this a normal night you would dispel her pleas with ruthless abandon.
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>A mere glare, or change in you arcane aura would be enough to silence her foalish words.
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>But on this morn, you cannot bring yourself to do so.
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>You… can’t bring yourself to do much anything.
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>You look back out of the window, and down upon the royal gardens.
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>You feel an uneasiness; a restlessness.
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>Insomnia perhaps.
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>Your eyes guide you to look upon the snow covered canvas before you.
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>Nothing is moving.
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>“I understand that I misguided them Nightmare, but that’s /my/ fault; not theirs!”
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>You continue to stare at the snow.
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>It is an… interesting form.
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>It’s simple; merely water in another state, lacking it’s normal warmth.
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>Yet it does not /feel/ cold.
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>Any foal can tell you that their hoof suffers far more greatly in cold water than snow.
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>Snow is… gentle.
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>It need not draw thy ear as rain to make it’s presents known.
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>Snowfall is, to the contrary, a most calming phenomenon.
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>“Twilight was my student. I thought she could… I thought she could be something special - something great…”
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>A blind pony who lost their sight once explained snow’s effect on the senses.
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>That a snow is to the sense of sound what a darkness is to the sense of sight.
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>It steals sound from the very air itself.
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>”But I was wrong Nightmare, I was wrong and now she’s paying the price!”
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>Your eyes lose focus - the snow covered gardens fade from your vision.
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>...
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>Winter is a… familiar time of year.
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>Calm, cold, and dark.
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>It doesn't need grand attention offered to it’s warmer siblings.
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>Instead it finds pride and purpose in it’s modest gifts.
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>A calm walk — a pleasing vista.
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>Many a family would retreat to their homes, and find company in their own kin.
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>“She’s never seen had friends until the day before you arrived! She hasn’t had the opportunity to live a normal life!”
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>And yet somehow, this season is different for you.
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>You’re... haunted by it.
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>The white plains… the darkness…
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>The silence…
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>You begin to talk.
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“Does thou know what the moon is like dearest sister?”
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>Your voice is void of emotion.
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>You’re little more than thinking aloud.
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“It’s a quiet place.”
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“We remember when our hooves first felt the surface…”
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"Thin pale powder — just like snow…”
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>The fur on your neck stands.
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”Our lungs burned...”
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”For days — weeks — years we struggled to simply breathe.”
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”Death was not a mercy we were to be given."
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”Torture was our punishment."
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>…
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“There’s no sound on the moon."
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“We screamed — Cried out for help — for mercy — for murder.”
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“No one heard us…”
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>Your focus pivots.
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“Those fillies were nothing more than pawns in your game sister; crafted to strike us down upon our return.”
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“Thou has no right to beg for mercy for thy hired assassins.”
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“We were your sister — your blood — yet thou threw us aside for thy petty pride and pleasure...
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“Thou knew the law — knew thy place and thy station….”
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>You pause, gathering your nerves, and taking a deep breath to calm yourself.
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“We... care not for thy weapons of war or thy pleas for pardon.”
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“We hath been betrayed dearest sister… betrayed by thy own blood…”
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>...
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>You close your eyes.
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"We cannot forgive such transgressions..."
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>...
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>There is a heavy silence in the air.
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>You... don't care what she may say in reply.
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>But then, to your horror...
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>...
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>”Empress?”
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>…
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>Everything stops.
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>Your eyes refocus, and you turn toward the voice without a moment’s delay.
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>You quickly look across the room.
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>The cookies are gone.
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>/Celestia/ is gone.
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>You look down to your side, beneath your window seat.
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>It is Octavia; your most loyal earthen maid.
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>A book rest in her hooves, though you care not what it contains.
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>She gently looks up at you before closing the tome, and standing.
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>Your throat is tight.
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>She need not speak for you to understand why she is here.
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>It… it happened again.
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>Your voice is weak.
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”Little one… did you... hear-"
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>She stops your sentence with a simple nod.
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>Your mind struggles for words, your tongue paralyzed with fear.
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"How… long was I….?”
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>You fail to vocalize the rest of your foalish question.
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>Mercifully, Octavia spares you humiliation, and answers, already knowing what you intended to ask.
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>She gently raises her hoof, placing it tenderly atop your own.
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“Sixteen hours Empress — You’ve been here for sixteen hours…”
by grapenut