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Where Things Are Hollow

by cleverpun

Chapter 1: 1. Hard to Swallow.

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Where Things Are Hollow

cleverpun

Princess Twilight Sparkle’s eyes snapped open. A few seconds later, her alarm went off. She hopped out of bed, turned off the clock. After decades of routine she didn’t really need it anymore, but she never could bring herself to get rid of it.

She sensed her assistant waiting outside. She put on her regalia quickly; it always made her feel a little guilty to keep Chromatic Quill waiting, and the mare would never have the courage to knock on the door.

The cooks had outdone themselves again. The pancakes tasted light and fluffy, and the blueberries had soaked into the batter perfectly. The syrup felt rich and smooth. Twilight summoned a napkin and slowly, delicately wiped her mouth. Almost nopony occupied the dining room—just her and Chroma—but Twilight knew better than to drop her facade of professionalism. It only took a single misplaced action and a single photograph to give the press weeks of ammunition.

“So, a meeting to discuss the new roadwork, and then a party with some diplomats.” Twilight had to put extra effort into the word. Calling it a “party” felt as bad as lying. Parties were supposed to be fun, and this would just be more business in a slightly different location.

“Yes, Princess.” Chromatic Quill marked something on her clipboard. “Then after that you are seeing petitioners in your throne room.”

“Of course I am.” Twilight stood up. “Well then, I suppose we had better get started.” The sooner they started, the sooner it would end, after all.


The meeting dragged by. Nothing but statistics and arguing officials.

The party met her expectations. Another meeting masquerading as a fun time.

Even now, as she listened to another pony who needed her help, the day felt like a blur. She had spent so much effort ignoring the minutiae of politics that her breakfast felt like a dream from two days ago.

The petitioner thanked her, bowed and left. Twilight mentioned a few details to Chromatic Quill, who scribbled some reminders on her clipboard.

The throne room doors closed, and Twilight let out a long sigh. The stream of ponies that needed her help had not abated for days, weeks, months on end. She found it hard to believe that no more petitioners came through the door. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater—shocking and calming and suspicious all at once.

She rested her head against her throne, closed her eyes. The silence felt intoxicating.

“Princess Twilight?”

She forced her eyes to stay shut. “What is it, Chroma?”

Chromatic Quill coughed meekly. “I know you are probably tired, but now that all the petitioners are taken care of, the budget committee needs your approval with some new policies.”

“Of course they do,” Twilight muttered.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I could tell—”

“No, if I put it off then they will just need twice as many tomorrow.” Twilight forced her eyes open and slowly got off her throne. She turned to her assistant. The mare usually cowered behind her clipboard whenever Twilight looked directly at her. Today, she had settled for flinching and guilty glances. Twilight smiled despite herself; it seemed all her nagging about confidence had started to pay off.

Twilight started towards the hallway. “Has there been any word from the other Elements of Harmony?” She glanced at the other five chairs as they left the throne room. She gotten used to seeing them vacant; the sight had become simply sad instead of unsettling.

Chroma flipped a page on her clipboard. She always focused a little more, carried herself better, when she did paperwork. “Rarity sent a message. She is going to stay in Manehattan a bit longer. The city keeps—”

“Of course she is. And the others?”

Chroma coughed again, a transparent attempt to recover from the interruption. “They haven’t checked in yet, so presumably their friendship assignments are going normally.”

“Presumably.” Twilight started down a flight of stairs. Even without any other delays, that meant that all five of them would not be back for another half a year or more. Spike’s negotiations would take even longer—dragons had a reputation for stubbornness for a reason. She sighed again. She should have felt comforted by their success.


Twilight closed the door to her room. Certain that nopony saw her, she let her body wilt. Her shoulders drooped, her wings ruffled and re-settled, and joints all across her popped and cracked. She tore off her crown and chestplate and shoes, and forced herself to hang them up properly instead of kicking or throwing them into a corner.

The budget meeting had lasted hours, and after that there had been more plans to approve and more laws to review and a dozen other things she barely remembered. The procession of administration had only ended because she needed to sleep, and even that had not stopped the various officials and committees from eating more of her time.

She went to the balcony. The doors glowed for a moment as she opened them, and the purple of her magic reminded her of Chromatic Quill’s clipboard—all the palace’s materials had her cutie mark or some variation decorating it. Every time Chroma hid behind that clipboard, Twilight’s own cutie mark would stare back at her. The light would glint off the purple clasp or shine off the paper, depending on how exactly Chroma held it.

She took a long, slow, deep breath. The time between her last appointment and sleep was the only break she got; she didn’t want to waste it thinking about business. Not that she didn’t like Chromatic Quill, obviously, but—

She took another slow, deep breath. Even now she let her mind think ahead of her. She draped a hoof over the balcony railing and tried to focus on the city. It looked beautiful in the moonlight. Going to bed so late had some advantages; the skyline looked very pristine so close to midnight.

Ponyville had grown exponentially in the decades she had lived here. She could still see the edge of it brushing against the Everfree Forest, but every year the city limits got closer and closer to the horizon. Every year the population threatened to match Canterlot; Ponyville had never been a small town, and her ascension had given it even more allure.

Twilight sighed. She needed to sleep, otherwise she would not be able to handle everything tomorrow. The mayor had planned some meeting or party or commission or other function, and they expected her to be there.

She turned to her bed. She considered grabbing a book and reading herself to sleep like she used to. It certainly tempted her, despite the sleep she would have to sacrifice. She had already read most of the hundreds of books packed into her bookshelves, of course, but the lack of free time still stung.

Her ear flicked. Was it that simple? Was a lack of free time the cause of all her apathy lately? She certainly had not had any of it in a while. The duties of a Princess multiplied and grew, but they rarely strained her.

Twilight turned to one of her many bookshelves. She bit her lip. She had to get some rest—the meetings had cut into her sleep already, and she would certainly feel any more delays tomorrow. The thought only stopped her for a moment.


She found the book easily; she knew almost every shelf and row and spine by heart.

She found the spell easily; she knew how to navigate a book by now, no matter how old it was.

She found the reagents easily; her desk was probably better stocked than some apothecaries.

She had hesitated, at first. As she flipped through the book, got closer to the spell, her doubts started to fade. When she finally got the page, they vanished completely. The spell had no title, like most old magic. Spells from so long ago usually did not fit in a few words.

It had a simplistic description, nonetheless.

A spell that makes destiny less demanding on the caster, and makes your own choices become more prominent. May be cast in any intensity, but stronger variants may affect things besides the caster.

It sounded perfect. Just what Twilight needed. The idea of a reprieve overrode any misgivings about the ambiguous description.

Ponyville didn’t need her, not really. They had a mayor and a city council and a dozen other committees and officials and volunteers. She just needed a respite, however small. If she had to use magic, then so be it.

She yawned, loudly and at length. She forced her eyes to refocus on the page. The spell looked simple enough. Her mind wandered to that same lecture from grade school; be cautious with new magic. She had not miscast a spell in ages, but that memory never seemed to leave her.

She took a deep breath and let her magic focus. It reacted instantly; her horn began to glow, her aura began to condense, and the spell components on the floor began to crackle.

A bubble of magic wrapped around her, and the smell of grass and moss filled the room as the ingredients evaporated.

She lifted her head, closed her eyes, and pushed more magic into the spell. It had to be potent. Strong enough to overcome all the baggage of being a famous princess.

It felt like teleporting. A burst of energy followed by silent emptiness. Like the world had closed its eyes and took a moment to catch its breath.

Next Chapter: 2. Pessimistic Lines Estimated time remaining: 19 Minutes
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