This is a story about books.

It is also the story of Twilight Sparkle, a pony obsessed with reading, who may have suffered a stress-related mental breakdown at one point.

It is also the story of others like her and of what happens when bibliophiles get pushed too far.

The following is a collection of documents pertaining to the case of Twilight Sparkle.

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From Equestria Daily

SURPRISE DEBUT AT NUMBER ONE

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ED - Despite not having been reviewed in any major newspaper, a small, unheralded novel has debuted at the number 1 position on practically every bestseller list in Equestria.

My Filly, My Love, a novel by neophyte author Honey Mane, was released last week to little fanfare. Industry analysts held out little hope of the novel making any sort of impact in what has so far been a dismal publishing season. Soon after its initial release, the book was featured on the radio talk show Trixie Variety Show, a weekly program where host Trixie trumpets her favorite novels, films, and music. The novel leapt in popularity shortly after the initial feature and is currently flying off the shelves.

"This is a phenomenon; I've never seen anything like it," Honey Mane's agent Cloud Flicker crowed in an interview with Equestria Daily. "These are Daring Do numbers we are seeing here. It bodes very well for Honey."

In a press release, Trixie admits no surprise at the novel's sudden success. "Was there every any doubt?" the unicorn replied in what witnesses describe as a 'somewhat boastful manner.' "It is a novel featured by Trixie herself on Trixie's very own radio program! Of course it's going to be successful! If it wasn't, it would mean that Trixie's show wasn't being heard to by thousands, nay, millions of ponies daily, all of whom are eager to listen to and share her opinions! The only surprise Trixie sees is that you foals are surprised by its success!"

Scrambling to catch up to its popularity, late reviews of My Filly, My Love have begun to surface. Most are intensely negative, with many critics labelling the book as awful or worse. One Manehatten Times review called the book "facile" and "borderline insulting in its banality."

"I don't understand why this was featured at all," said the reviewer. "It's so ... idiotic. How does Trixie even pick these things?"

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FILE #09978
DOCUMENT INSERT: Letter written by Twilight Sparkle
Addressed to HRH Princess Celestia of Equestria

Dear Princess Celestia,

This feels so nostalgic, doesn't it? Me, doing my homework for you like a good little pony, writing that weekly report on what I've learned even though it's been a while since I've been your official student. It's almost like I never left, haha! Like I never graduated and left home! Ha! Ha! Haha!

No, Spike, you don't have to write that laugh in.

You already did?

Are you writing this part too?

Spike, you … actually, no. You know what? It doesn't matter. Never mind! Let's just do this thing. I need to finish my friendship report, after all. Don't want to be tardy!

Except this doesn't really feel like one of my standard friendship reports. It's more like an essay than a correspondence. What I Did During My Summer Vacation. Only it's Why Twilight Sparkle Stopped Feeling So In-Control One Day. Sure, it happened during the summer, but whatever. An essay about my feelings, rather than what I've learned recently. Get all the frustration out, let the ink do the shouting, and then we can figure out what's been bugging Twilight lately, why she just can't seem to get herself organized anymore. Talk it out, diagnose, magically poof! her cares away with the right magic spell. There you go, she's just like new!

Is that what they do to crazy ponies, Princess? Is that standard medical procedure in Equestria these days? Round them up, lock them up, and magically make them forget? If it's not, it should be. It would be so much easier on the doctors and the patients. Like that poor barking pony I saw getting dragged away once. Wouldn't it be nice for her if she woke up one day and couldn't remember she'd ever barked at all?

In fact, I bet that is what they do. I bet this Ponyville place is really just one big quarantine for ponies who've totally lost it and can't be around others. No wonder everypony in this town is crazy. Np wonder I'm here. It all makes sense now!

Actually, I don't feel like talking about it right this second. I'm not running away from my problems, I'm postponing the inevitable. I'll face up to it when I'm ready.

I've always been great at organizing, you know. You don't have to worry about me. I'll make sure to get it done sooner or later. I'll pencil it in right now, in fact. I just need a pen and some parchment and I'll have a nifty little schedule all written up in no time at all! In fact, maybe I should do that now. Maybe ... okay, Spike won't give me the parchment. No problem. He's right, of course, homework comes first, and I need to get this done.

Homework, homework, homework ... I miss homework. I miss school. There's nothing to study for anymore now that I'm on my own, but I don't have anything better to do, so that's what I've been doing. Homework and study and research and magic and reading. The upside is, I'm really advancing! The downside is, I think it's made me a little loopy.

But still! You said you wanted to hear from me after I moved here, and you're my teacher, so it's the same as if you've given me an assignment. Homework!

Dear Princess Celestia. Today I learned something a little unexpected about myself. Not about magic, though. Instead, I realized something that I think I've always known, but which I've never actually thought to tell anypony before, probably because of my brother. The truth is, I hate the nickname Twilee.

I didn't even realized it until today, and yet there's this voice that literally haunts my dreams; it calls out to me—Twilee? Hey, Twilee! Twiiileeee!—so it's not like I can say I never noticed before. It's been that way my entire life. Days, weeks, and even months can pass in complete silence, life begins to resume its normality, and then, there it is again. Twilee! Hey! Hey, Twilee! Look over here! Boy, that voice is persistent, isn't it?

You know, I'm kind of starting to wish I hadn't started writing this letter at all. But I haven't written a letter to you yet this week, and, well, you lucked out and got the one student who simply cannot not do their homework. One letter every single week, just like you asked, that's me. Not every other week. Not every few ten days. Every. Single. Week. Always on time, always neatly bound and addressed, got to hand this in, got to get my gold star, ever the faithful student. But then I hear it again, and suddenly, I just can't concentrate anymore. Twilee, Twi, hey, turn around! Hey!

Nopony calls me that anymore except for Shining Armor. I'm insistent on that. Twilight, thank you ever so much, or Miss Sparkle if you fancy the more formal address, but I prefer not to stand on ceremony.

The voice that just won't stop calling to me even has a name, lest you conclude it's one of those anonymous bogeymen content to reside themselves in foalhood closets and under bunk beds. Great, right? I actually know my personal demons personally, which should make them so much easier to vanquish! Yes, great, just great … but of course I can't actually remember the name anymore. All I remember is that it was there wasn't just one of them. There were many. Maybe even the entire class. It sure felt like it at times.

There's no denying it. I was an egghead, full-bore and classic. Still am, in fact. I've been one ever since I was a filly—long, long before I became your pupil. I wasn't just a gifted unicorn; I was the gifted unicorn. For those long, wasted years before I was accepted into your academy, I was trapped in a public school with a bunch of mindless other unicorns who couldn't have possibly cared less about learning how to spell, let alone how to use spells, but even so, I worked. I upheld my egghead reputation even when I faced no competition. Homework done on time, conscientious and hard-working to a fault, and somehow completely uncomprehending that being singled out for praise was tantamount to joyfully stomping on the heads of my classmates.

That was me. Still is, in fact. I mean, look at me! Organizers and agendas and To-Do lists everywhere, my room packed to the brim with books, dutifully doing my homework even now when I'm so on the edge it feels like the slightest nudge will send me teetering off? Sounds like an egghead to me, haha! Ha. Ha.

Anyway. I, I lost my train of thought. I need to reread what I just ... Spike, you didn't have to write in the laugh. Or this. Spike, stop, you don't have to ... nope, never mind. I don't even care anymore! Caring too much is the entire problem, isn't it? The solution must be to stop caring completely. Wouldn't it be nice to stop carrying about tidiness and studying and books for a little while and maybe go back outside and see what it's like now?

My point was ... why do teachers do that, Princess? Ask students to share their essays out loud, I mean? You never did that. "Attention, everypony, Twilight has just written the most remarkable essay on the anthiomorphic spell! Do come up front, will you? Come, recite your magnum opus for the class, and be sure to speak slowly, so that your fellow students will have ample time in which to plot your doom! It helps build character!"

Only a few remarkable foals in this universe can take such praise from an adult without paying for it later. Those remarkable foals are typically isolated in a world of pure learning where knowledge truly ispower. That's where I wanted to be, all throughout those earliest, most horrible years of schooling before my parents finally allowed me to apply somewhere private.

And oh, the myriad ways it comes back at you, Princess. Sniggering and name calling. Thrown erasers at the back of the head. An "accidental" shove into the wall or two. But that was just in the beginning. I'm smart, remember? I figured it out quickly enough, and soon, I'd almost perfected the art of being unseen. Not literally, of course. It would be years before I'd master the invisibility spell, but at the time, it was almost as good. I was the mere shadow of a student, absent in all but the merest hint of a cutie mark. Eye contact was taboo. Silence was compulsory. The ponies who'd made fun of me for my studious—okay, dorky—ways came to see right through me. I was smoke, irritating their eyes until they could focus on a real target, and I was always looong gone by that point. If it weren't for morning roll call, I probably would've forgotten that I even had the power of speech. Present!

And why did they hate me? Why did they make fun of me? Why do they do it even now, and why do I work so hard to avoid them? Because I hate them too. Because none of them care to think about anything important. Because they're all so shallow and mindless. Because I'm an egghead and I want to study and Iwant to learn, and that makes me bad, I guess! Because I care about the quality of thought and the pursuit of knowledge! And doesn't that make it right, the way other ponies alienate me? So I want to curl up with a good book sometimes. Doesn't that mean I deserve everything I get, all the taunting and isolation and name-calling? Of course it does!

Aaaaaaaaaah. Deep breathing, Twilight. You're just a little stressed. That's all. Just a little worked up. Calm down. Deep breathing.

What I mean is ... they hate me and I hate them and neither of us need one another. I don't need any of them! I don't! I don't need friends! I'm perfectly happy. I have books.

You ever get lost in a book, Princess Celestia? I mean, so into the pages, into the ink and the words and the metaphors and the symbolism, just so into the story, that there's nothing else? You and the book, that's all that exist anymore. Ponies have told me that I'm too obsessed with books, but of course these are all ponies who live in houses made of cake and spend their days manufacturing rainbows and cleaning winter. So who's right in the end? We each have our own little quirks and habits and hobbies and obsessions, don't we? I'm sure you do as well. Well, maybe you more than most ponies, Princess, but you know what I mean. You always do. That's what made you a great teacher. You always listened and understood what I was trying to say, even if I didn't come right out and say it.

The philosophers are right. We create our own realities. And right at that moment, in those pages, your reality is whatever book has captured your interest. They don't belong to the author anymore, they've been incorporated into the collective unconscious. They've become my realities, my experiences, my lives. Who needs to see the world when you can read about it? Who needs friends when you can read about the lives of ponies infinitely more interesting than anypony you could ever hope to meet for real?

Actually, no, I've changed my mind. The philosophers are wrong. I didn't create my reality. I didn't even have a hoof in it. Neither did you. You want to know who created my reality? Those ponies chanting my name—Twilee, turn around! Hey, Twilee!—like a taunt, like the worst insult of all, that perversion on my name. Chanting it just to get my attention so that I'd turn around—always one to follow instructions, me, even when I knew exactly what was coming—so that they could push me and throw things at me and knock my precious books to the ground before stomping on them and laughing.

And then I decided to leave. I applied to your school for gifted unicorns and was accepted and never had to see any of them ever again. I graduated amongst my own kind, eggheads and scholars and students who cared about learning, rather than amongst those jerks who'd made fun of me for spending all my free time in my one sanctuary, the library.

Heck, I didn't just spend all my free time in the library, I moved in there. That's the sign of a true bookworm; they're willing to live in a tree if it means being closer to their precious books than the ponies who give them a hard time for it. It's not just my house, it's my home. Free of worry and stress and full of nothing but warmth and safety. Nopony of importance ever hangs around here, so I'm free to read as long as I like, safely hidden amongst the aisles and shelves.

Ugh.

Actually, I don't know why I'm still living here. Sure, you wanted me to check over the preparations for the Summer Sun Festival, and sure, I lucked out and ended up getting housed in the local library during my stay. But why did I choose to stay past that?

It's not like I spontaneously made any friends while I was here, the way I might have been secretly hoping. I came in, got the job done, and now I just can't seem to make myself leave. I don't even mean the village. I mean the actual tree where I live. I don't think I've set hoof out here for at least two weeks. Spike's been doing all the shopping. All I've been doing is studying. It's like I forgot how to do anything else and now I'm going crazy from it. It's all too much. All of it is.

I almost want to write "can I come home?"

But this is my home now. Ponyville is my home. The library is my home. It's always been my dream to live in a library, and sure, maybe I'm going crazy in this tree with nopony but books and studying and a baby dragon for company, and sure, maybe everypony else in this town is crazy too and it might be catching. But really, I asked to stay here, didn't I? I had nothing better to do ever since I'd graduated. Nopony to stay in Canterlot for since I had no friends. This is what I wanted! Right? A fresh start?

No. Not a fresh start. I wanted to be alone to read, alone to study, away from those ponies who didn't get me, and sure, maybe that means I have no idea how to talk to actually anypony anymore since it's been so long since I've last done it, and sure, maybe I've wasted my entire life studying and don't know what to do with myself now that I've finally graduated and have nothing to study for, but …

… but that has nothing to do with this report.

Okay.

Dear Princess Celestia.

Today I learned that I hate the nickname Twilee as it dregs up some rather unpleasant memories of my foalhood. Even now, I hear it everywhere I go. Strangers come to the library asking for help finding a book, and I can just tell that they're moments away from sniggering at me or making fun of me or taking my books from me or … or maybe I need a vacation. I think I might be a little tense.

Your faithful student,

Twilight Sparkle

P.S. Princess? It's Spike. I'm not letting Twilight see this part, but I think there's something wrong with her for real. She's acting totally nuts lately and won't even leave the house. That part wasn't a joke. I think you need to tell her to snap out of it.

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TRANSCRIPT
Trixie Variety Show—Episode 27 (excerpt)

ANNOUNCER:
Come one, come all! Come and hear the amazing thoughts and musings of the Great and Powerful Trixie! Listen in awe as the Great and Powerful Trixie makes the most cutting-edge observations ever made by ponykind! For the next 30 minutes, you will be astounded by the TRIXIE VARIETY SHOW!

[Fanfare]

TRIXIE:
Greetings, my loyal audience! It is I, Trixie, who has once again decided to grace your lowly airwaves with her great and powerful presence! This is the Great and Powerful Trixie and this is Trixie Variety Show, a radio program dedicated to the spotlighting of media deemed worthy by Trixie herself!

Trixie has prepared an excellent show for her listeners today, as befitting a pony as thoughtful as herself. You should be grateful that Trixie has taken the time to think of you!

But first, Trixie has a question for her listeners. Please, tell Trixie; do you like to read?

Ha! Trixie does not need to wait for your answer. She already knows what it will be! And the answer is no, of course! Who likes to read? It's boring, and ponies like myself have farbetter things to do than sit around the house trying to push our ways through a book just because somepony else tells us it's supposed to be good for us!

… ha! Foals! You agree with Trixie? Well, she is wrong! Trixie may almost never be wrong, true, but today she is, for she's played a trick on all of you! Reading doesn't have to be boring at all! It can even be, dare she say it, fun!

And she will prove it to you right here today on this show, for it's time for the "Trixie Presents" Book Club!

Have no fear, loyal listeners! This isn't one of those hideously boring book clubs you've all heard of, where ponies sip tea and eat crumpets and discuss the metaphor on page 172! What does that even mean? What in Equestria is a crumpet anyway? Those snobs think themselves to be betterthan Trixie, the Great and Powerful one? It's heresy!

Trixie promises you that this is the kind of book club where she discusses books ponies actually want to read. Not books you're meant to read because of how great they supposedly are. These books will be books about you and the things you dream of! The things you want to read about! Books that will make you cry and make you laugh without making you need to think too hard about them! Trixie will show those snobs and critics what she thinks of their neighsaying!

And so, Trixie's first guest this afternoon is a wonderful author, though not as wonderful as Trixie herself, who has just published her very first novel. It's a story about a single mother faced with a terrible choice, about whether or not to give up her adopted foal when her filly's true parents return wanting their child back. Trixie herself did not cry while reading it, but apparently many of Trixie's listeners have!And what is Trixie if not good to her loyal audience, hmm … ?

Trixie has the author here with her now, and she supposes she may allow her to speak now. Trixie does not wish to come across as too conceited. Honey Mane, do you feel grateful for being invited onto Trixie Variety Show?

HONEY MANE:
Oh, I sure do, Trixie! This is the most exciting day of my life! Um, hi mom! Hi da—

TRIXIE:
No! You shall not do that on Trixie Variety Show. It annoys her.

HONEY MANE:
Um. Oh. I'm sorry. But seriously, Trixie, I just wanted to thank you for everything. I'm so, so grateful! I'm a huge fan of yours! I owe you everything!

TRIXIE:
Yes, Trixie assumed so. But tell the listeners; why is that? Why do you owe Trixie everything?

HONEY MANE:
Your show kept me sane through my break-up with my boyfriend, not to mention through the writing of my book.

TRIXIE:
You've had a difficult life up until now, haven't you?

HONEY MANE:
Oh, Trixie, I … I … [sniffs]

TRIXIE:
Do not start crying on Trixie!

HONEY MANE:
Ah! I'm sorry! Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't … it's just that, I don't know, it was so hard for so long …

TRIXIE:
Yes, Trixie knows what it was like. For Trixie has alsohad a difficult life until now. Her past is one shrouded in mystery and tragedy, and she can surely understand you better than anypony else. And if it weren't for your pain, you wouldn't be here today, would you? It's obvious that you poured yourself entirely into your writing.

HONEY MANE:
Exactly! To be honest, the main character was like a reflection of me. I poured a lot of myself into her and her struggles.

TRIXIE:
Yes, it shows. Now, in your book, My Filly, My Love,you … forgive Trixie, she means the central character, faces a difficult decision.

HONEY MANE:
That's correct, Trixie. After her boyfriend abandons her and their adopted daughter, she's forced to become a single parent. Not only that, but the true family of her daughter return wanting to take their child back, forcing her to decide whether it's best to fight to keep her or to let her go.

TRIXIE:
Trixie does not care. She skimmed through the book and thought it looked uncomplicated enough. Apparently her listeners quite enjoyed it and thought it worthy. That is enough for Trixie to feature it. She does not have time to read anything herself; not with her busy schedule.

You're been listening to Trixie Variety Show. Do not fail to tune back in after this song!

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Letter written by Twilight Sparkle
Addressed to Ink Well, author of the Daring Do series

Dear Ink Well,

If you're reading this, then I've succeeded in convincing you to throw caution to the wind. And I promise you, this isn't a hoax. I am that Twilight Sparkle. The Twilight Sparkle with her face on the front page of every newspaper in Equestria. The subject of marehunts put out by the Canterlot Royal Guard and G-Pony profiling, cursed by ponies and radio personalities across the continent and hiding out with the flutterponies and changelings if certain tabloids are to be believed.

You may not remember me. I'm hoping you do. We met once. You were travelling across Equestria on a book tour promoting the newest Daring Do novel. I was one of the ponies in the Canterlot audience. Actually, I guess 'audience' is kind of an overstatement. Only myself and one other pony seemed to be in attendance purely for your reading. As far as I can tell, the others were pretty much there for the food, social reasons, or because they were students who'd been dragged by their teachers.

But you contended with their munching and muted whispers, bravely ploughing on when it was obvious that all but two of the ponies were more concerned with being where everypony wanted to be than the reading itself. By the end, when the diners, social-climbers, and unwilling students had fled, only the two of us remained and we offered you what meagre applause we could.

Ringing any bells?

It's okay if you don't remember, but still, like I said, I'm hoping you do.

You took it in stride, though, and I've always admired you for that. I care far too much about how others see and respond to me, I think. If I'd been in your hooves, I never would've been able to stay so calm when confronted with such insulting behavior. You even signed my copy of the latest book and surprised me and my fellow listener by sitting down and talking to us personally. It was really fun.

You also mentioned something at the time. It was really more of a "by the way" kind of remark, but something that's the impetus for my risking the time to write to you now.

I was railing against the works of some author or other, one of those "Trixie Presents" books, probably, when I suddenly saw the way you were looking at me. You looked ... well, horrified. As if I'd just broken off my own horn and offered it to you as a gift.

"Twilight," you said. "Every author deserves respect. Many of them spend years of their lives to bring you their work and their thoughts and their beliefs. Sure, you might not like what they have to say or the manner in which they say it. Heck, it could be the worst thing you've ever seen put to paper. But they still spent a lot of time and energy on it, and that deserves your respect, regardless of the quality. Be critical, yes, but by all means be kind."

I've thought about that a lot lately, obviously.

And with all due respect, I have to say I don't agree with you. Not at all.

What's my point, you ask, no doubt with your magic twitching in anticipation of grabbing a quill and writing an urgent letter to the royal guard. Please don't. I'm so, so tired, and I don't think I can take it if you do. I don't think I was ever meant to be on the run. I'm not an athlete; I'm not strong or tough. I'm smart, sure, but that can only take you so far.

My point is: I'm writing to plead my case.

I'm not saying that I'm innocent. Far from it. I know perfectly well that I'm guilty. But all I want is to apply a level of context to it all. I want to define the purpose behind my actions, and the motivation for my completely disregarding the teachings and wisdom imparted in me by the best teacher I've ever had. I've spent a lot of energy on self-reflection lately, and I can't just disappear now. It was all for nothing, otherwise.

You're an author, and a good one. I'm a huge fan, obviously. Words and phrases are your instruments. You understand the process, both of writing and reading. Many ponies consider Daring Do novels to be less than worthwhile reading (no offence), but I've always enjoyed them. You write of lives, and you know what it's like to love books in every possible way. You might understand why I did it. You might even sympathize.

Also, you're a disinterested third party. Confession is always easier when it involves somepony one has no chance of ever running into. My family's probably disowned me, so I could never risk it. They've suffered enough anyway. Especially my brother. Apparently he's getting married; imagine what he'd do if I were to show up at the wedding. I've never had any friends to confide in, either. None that could be trusted, at least, as they were either little more than rivals back in my youth or are now on the run as well.

And I refuse to draw Princess Celestia into this when she's been so good to me throughout it all.

If you're interested, please write back along this magical route. I don't know how fast a scroll can be traced to its place of origin by the magicians on the guard, but I'll have to take that chance.

Yours truly,

Twilight Sparkle