>Waiting.
>Been sitting here, waiting here, in this place.
>Keeping track of time while waiting is pointless.
>Although there has been many events that have come and gone while waiting, they don’t matter.
>Many more will occur after waiting, and they will continue to not matter, period.
>Day in, day out, it’s the same routine of waiting patiently for things to come an end.
>To some, this would be maddening.
>For others, it’d be a comfort of sorts.
>It is neither for you, just a time where nothing else matters in the world.
>Studying this place happens from time to time, usually in another routine like manner.
>These floors, walls, and ceilings might as well be the same, though.
>In fact, all the rooms here are the same.
>That too, might bring about madness.
>Again, it does nothing for you.
>There isn’t anything else to do here that would be interesting.
>Eventually, some pony will come along in an attempt to break up the wait.
>They fail to do so every time.
>All of their appearances have bled together into a simple single shape.
>Because like everything else here, they too, are the same.
>The first word that comes to mind to describe it all would be… disgusting.
>Even after they arrive and/or leave, the wait is not yet over either.
>That only comes when she arrives; seeing her, talking with her, it grants a moment of peace.
>She is the only one that matters, period.
>If you could, you’d leave this place to be with her.
>Well, sometimes you have ‘left’, but sooner or later, you’ll end up back here.
>There isn’t a choice in being free.
>The decision for that was made some time ago, and will /never/ be undone.
>It doesn’t matter what they say otherwise, they’re liars.
>So this is what life is: sitting here, staring, waiting on her, forever.
>Sometimes, the past comes about, and is often uncalled for.
>Nothing puts it to rest, though, so it is allowed to persist until it finally relinquishes the hold it has on you.
>Right now, it has taken hold again.

>It’s the claim that ponies have made about how they’re different form one another.
>They’re idiots.
>You /are/ different, too different from everypony else.
>It wasn’t just the colors of your coat, mane and tail.
>What truly set everything apart from them, was how you expressed yourself…
>...or rather, how you ‘lacked’ the ability to express yourself.
>Of course, that wasn’t true in the slightest, it’s just what they said and thought about you.
>Why smile all the time like they did? There is no reason to be happy all the time.
>Frowning all the time is not much different either, as it implies that everything is displeasing.
>Talking frequently is pointless as well, so silence being the native tongue makes much more sense.
>All of these choices and more, are normal to you.
>To everypony else however, those choices are wrong, very wrong.
>Because of these differences (among others), it separated you from everypony.
>No, that isn’t right, it was more akin to complete alienation.
>That in turn, made things difficult while growing up, and even after.
>You are the punching bag; an excuse to take out all the frustrations for everything wrong in the world.
>Not a soul around would dare help either, because why would they?
>They were in on it was well, and were /never/ secretive about that fact.
>As a result of all of this, torment became a daily occurrence.
>But despite what they all think, you DO feel things, and DO express those feelings.
>Even if it’s not like how they do it, these expressions of yours are just as real as theirs.
>It’s just an unfortunate coincidence that anger and despair reign supreme over all other feelings.
>Both were birthed and nurtured by torment; both revolved around one another; the inability to fit in, how ignorant others are, and more.
>In time, walls were built up to keep everything else out.
>That did not stop the trouble, nor did it make life easier, instead, it made isolation the norm.

>The interest in magic was born there, which fed the idea that there was a way to correct these problems.
>However, that eventually turned against you, for many reasons…
>Those very same reasons lead to a downward descent.
>As you went further and further down, there was a hope that something – anything – could be found to understand why this was all happening to you.
>At the very bottom of that fall was… nothing.
>Or so it seemed, for in that nothing was the truth that devoured your very being; one that hurt with more force than all the combined pain ever felt.
>You understood at last: there was no reason for any of this, because life is meaningless.
>Well, that’s not entirely true.
>There is something worth meaning in life, or better put, your life.
>Once she arrives, that meaning will be reinforced for a time as it always does.
>Sometimes she won’t show up, which makes things… painful.
>But she always comes back, she has to.
>If she were to never show again, well… that’s…
>The door to this room opens suddenly, thus ending the past.
>In strides a pony, adorned with the mask of friendly (cruel) lies.
>Beneath that facade is something that brings hurt, and not just to you, but to others as well.
>“How are you feeling today?”
>Silence is the only suitable answer here, for anything else would be more than this pony deserves.
>Words flow out fo the pony’s mouth are turned out for the most part.
>“...the usual.”
>Save for those last two.
>Their meaning is understood perfectly; a rehearsed, tired routine.
>This is tolerable, this is acceptable, this is necessary.
>If it was ignored, then it would lead to her not arriving to end the wait.
>Even if this lasts five hours or five minutes, any time spent is worth it for her.
>“...come with me.”
>The mask doesn’t shift in the slightest as it stares holes into your very being with that same ‘friendly’ expression.
>Disgusting.

>Nothing is needed to be said or done in response to that thought however, just do as you’re told.
>Obeying is slavery, yet the alternative is losing what matters in life, her.
>The labyrinth of hallways are observed while following along.
>They bled together, like everything else here has.
>The smells, the sounds, and the sounds here can be described in a single solitary word: sterile.
>In all of this place’s paleness, it’s lifelessness, it is like this is the body of death itself.
>And it is cold, unforgiving, and unrelenting, yet, patient, like you.
>An overreach of thought, maybe, but a thought nonetheless.
>You come into a room with the pony, and this one like the others: the same.
>The pony begins to talk, though the words hold no real meaning.
>Autopilot takes hold, giving all the robotic precision necessary for this time spent here.
>Ever word uttered from your tongue is fake, as is every action.
>It’s all for them to hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see, nothing more, nothing less.
>They never seem to notice this fact, not that they would care even if they did.
>This is just a game for them; another way to inflict further torment upon you.
>Learned that through trial and error.
>Yet in spite of that, this is tolerated, this is waiting, for her.
>That is all that is needed, for now anyways.
>This whole session goes on for a time, though it’s not cared for nor concerned with how long it lasts.
>Eventually, it comes to an end, and for a moment, you notice that there are other ponies here.
>They must have shown up at one point.
>There are smiles all around.
>Disgusting.
>One of them speaks, though it barely registers.
>“...with that said, I hope you have a good day.”
>With that, you’re brought back to the room you were in before.
>And again, you’re staring at the wall.
>Waiting.

>Thoughts trickle in to fill the absent space here.
>Among them, are emotions tied to memories of a time ago.
>They bob about the surface of the waters of your mind, like buoys that signal the ships at sea.
>Instead of giving direction, or preventing trouble, they cause pain.
>So. Very. Much. Pain.
>And hate.
>You hate this.
>You. Hate. This.
>All of it, ever last speck of this place, along with all those within it.
>But above all things hated, is yourself.
>Ponies say that is bad to hate yourself.
>They’re idiots.
>There is no justifiable reason to not hate yourself.
>You hate what you are.
>You hate what you’ve done.
>You hate what you will do.
>If it were possible, the hate would stop, and the pain along with it.
>All of it could be gone right now, in a single instance.
>A long, long time ago, you tried to do just that.
>And you failed.
>Miserably.
>It was then that things were decided for you.
>It was then that you stayed here.
>A fitting punishment for somepony /different/.
>As much as this should all end, it cannot, at least, not yet.
>Existing for her is something that even somepony /different/ like you can do.

>At last, the eye of the storm is reached; bringing a sort of calm in the torrential waters of your mind.
>This is welcome for the time being.
>But you’re still here.
>Waiting.
>Although the sands of time slowly countdown, it’s not all frightening.
>Once upon a time, though, it was.
>That was then, this is now.
>Some shuffling comes from outside the room, followed by the door opening.
>A pony enters, masked just like all the rest here.
>Disgusting.
>Most of what is said is tuned out, save for the very last words that hold your enrapture your attention.
>“...see her?”
“Yes.”
>For the first time today, that’s something that isn’t fake from you.
>It is good.
>The labyrinth is navigated once more, yet everything about it is drowned out.
>An unseen force draws you forth with every step taken.
>Whatever causes it is welcome, for now.

>Another room like all the others is where you end up at.
>However, there are other ponies here this time.
>They’re mingling about in their huddled masses.
>What they say, or do, holds no meaning whatsoever.
>For they are all the same.
>Disgusting.
>Amid the sea of sameness, there is a light that stands out.
>Seeing it stirs something inside; something old, something true, something that is you.
>Why not run to it? Says a voice.
>Because it will hurt.
>Why not talk to it? Says another.
>Because it will hurt.
>Then what will you do? Asks one.
>Without warning, a step forward is taken, then another, and another.
>Finally, you’re standing in front of the source.
>Everything falls into focus slowly, and the world around takes genuine form.
>Even so, everything else is not important to what is front of you; a tan mare with a black and green mane.
>There’s very slight twitch upon your lips, though it is resisted.
>Feels as though your very being is about to become undone.
>And in truth, it is.
>But it must be restrained.
>Silence hangs about the air for several moments before something is mustered forth.
>With a barely hidden controlled breath in/out, two words spill out.
“Hello, Bambi.”
>“Hello, Kira.”
>She’s here, the wait is over, at last.
>So much needs to be said, so much needs to shared with her.
>Again, it has to be restrained.
>Buried deep beneath those golden eyes of hers, lies so much pain.
>It’s something you know all too well.
>Although it is different kind, it is still a reflection of yourself.
>Don’t stand here awkwardly, say something.
“You look… tired.”
>“So do you.” She replies.
>There’s something more here, it’s felt in the air around her.
“I might be, but I know you /are/ tired; I can read you.”
>She gives a small shrug in return.
>She’s hiding something.
>Wish she didn’t do that, it’s a bad habit.
>It’s something you hate, and worst of all, it hurts.
>Then something must be done about it.

“How have things been lately?”
>“Fine.”
>Still hiding.
>Hate it.
>Painful.
>Losing focus, stay controlled.
>Just be honest with her.
>And if it ends up hurting?
>Do it again anyways.
“I…”
>That’s it, finish the sentence.
“I… I miss you.”
>“I know.”
>This isn’t working…
>Keep going, don’t stop
>It hurts.
>It doesn’t matter.
“Please talk to me.”
>She sighs, then shakes her head.
>“I am.”
>Hate it.
>Painful.
>Stay in control, and keep going.
“No you’re not. There is something you’re hiding from me.”
>Her nostrils flare briefly, “Why do you always do this when I come here, huh? Isn’t me being here enough for you?”
“I…”
>I’m sorry.
“I’m your big sister, and you’re supposed to open up to me like sisters do.”
>“I do share things with you, but you don’t need to *know* everything that goes on in my life.”
>It hurts, it hurts so much.
>Hate it.
>Pain.
>She averts her eyes from yours, as if the thoughts were broadcast out loud.
>Silence falls between the two of you like a coat of ash; suffocating everything around.
>It hurts.
>It hurts so much.
>Losing focus again, not sure how much longer this will last.
>Then say something – ANYTHING!
>No.
>Why?
>It hurts.
>Shut up with your whining, it NEVER has helped, ever.
>It-
>NO, ENOUGH! Talk to her like a grown mare, like her sister.
>But-
>Do you want her to leave?
>No…
>Then speak.
“Found any new games lately?”
>That’s not words that you wanted to say, but it’s a start nevertheless
>She lightly sighs, then gives a tiny nod, “Yeah.”
>Her attention shifts back to you once more, “Want to hear about it?”
>I want you to open to me, to tell me the truth, to stop-
“Sure.”
>The corners of her mouth raise upward into a small smile.
>Briefly, there is a light warmth that flickers inside.
>“All right, so it’s called: The Legend of Epona…”
>Honestly, the game itself isn’t interesting in the slightest.
>“...so you gotta collect loot from monster kills and smashing pots as you progress through the levels…”
>But it doesn’t matter.

>“...I’m currently working on my third run, and trying to beat my best time…”
>Because she is here, she is safe, she is all right.
>“...the bombs are reall cool, and you can even get different kinds!”
>She is all that matters, period.
>The world around passes by while listening to her go on about the game.
>There are moments where you give a response here or there, which keeps her engaged.
>This could be the very last thing you do in life, and it would be worth it.
>Someday, that will be the case.
>Another voice cuts into the conversation, “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over.”
>It’s one of those other ponies here, wearing the same mask.
>Disgusting.
>Her smile falters for a second, then recovers, “Oh, okay. Well then, it was cool talking with you again.
>Don’t leave me here, I need you, I’m sorry, I’m-
“Yeah, you too.”
>“I’ll be back again soon, though, all right?”
>She won’t.
>She shouldn’t.
>You don’t deserve-
“Mmhm.”
>“Bye, Kira.”
>As she starts to move to leave, something inside breaks free for a single moment.
“W-wait!”
>She freezes suddenly, and looks at you with an arched brow, “What is it, is there something wrong?”
>Whatever broke free is being dragged back down.
>Yet as it loses ground, it attempts to continue on desperately.
“I…”
>Don’t stop.
>Stop!
“Uh…”
>Don’t fight it.
>Give in.
“Um…”
>SAY IT!
>STAY SILENT!
“Goodbye, Bambi.”
>A wider smile crosses her face, followed by a nod.
>The world around bleeds back together again in sameness as she leaves your view.
>Could leave, could follow her, could be free-
>Can’t leave, won’t follow her, never be free-
>“Ma’am?”
>That voice belongs to the same pony from before.
>The friendly mask, the ugly face, that vile creature.
>Should rip it all off.
>Could end it so easily.
>You’ve done it before, do it again, just use magic.
>Do it.
>Do it.
>Do-
>Silence overtakes everything.
>From there, automatic movement falls into place.
>Shortly thereafter, you’re in the room, again.
>Waiting.