In light of Twilight Sparkle’s revelations on her most recent nation-saving escapade, I have determined that the most crucial action I can take to ensure Equestria’s continued well-being at this juncture is to watch Starlight Glimmer sleep. To watch her dream, in perhaps less suggestive terms. Dreams often reveal our deepest, purest emotions and intents—oftentimes ones that we are uncomfortable facing even ourselves.

It is not that I do not trust Starlight Glimmer’s newly turned leaf. And it is especially not that I do not trust the judgments of Twilight Sparkle and her friends in deeming her reformed—I would and have trusted those ponies with my life. Nay, it is a more personal reason that I stand outside her dream door this midnight. Perhaps it can be most succintly stated as, “Better safe than sorry,” or even, “Don’t believe everyone has learned the same lessons as you.”

I’ll not dwell on it, though. I ease the dream door open and tread into Starlight Glimmer’s subconscious, as I have done to thousands of others before her.

I find myself overlooking a quaint village that I do not recognize. The hedges are manicured, the roofs run in jovial red slopes, and there are little buttresses topped with windblown pennants. Almost like a small slice of the old city Everfree, a thought that pangs my heart.

Yet for all that it seems a happy, wealthy little place, there are few ponies to be seen. Indeed, only one: the dreamer herself. Starlight Glimmer stands alone, frowning at a building that, upon inspection, appears much clearer than its surroundings—the rest of the villages has gone hazy in the fog of dreams.

She trots towards the building, and I must shift my perception to see what she sees. Starlight Glimmer stands at the threshold of this building, her hoof hovering before the door. Her mannerisms are awash with anxiety—perhaps even fear. Being in a state of permanent lucidity in this dream realm, I have learned to read such emotions. Dreamers are replete with them.

The door nudges open without her touch. In the room beyond, bookshelves line every wall around a central, oval table. Too small to be called a library, but too large to be a study. A book repository, perhaps. And an orange unicorn stallion stands by the table. I have never seen him before, but Starlight Glimmer clearly has, as she has gone utterly tense.

The stallion grins and beckons her inside. She matches his smile, and I can see her eyes misting even from this distance. I cannot help but smile—it is a happy one.

But my smile fades as quickly as it appeared. A cold, bitter wind has suddenly brewed around us. It is a sense with which I have grown all too familiar, but one which never fails to rend the feeling from my gut. It is the wind of a nightmare, and I must now watch it unfurl.

Starlight Glimmer takes a step towards the stallion—only, she doesn’t. She attempts to, but the repository itself recoils, and the world around it dims. Her eyes are stark with hurt, and I can only watch as she tries another step, and the building lurches farther from her reach. She takes another step—a quicker one—but to no avail. A cold, black void has eclipsed the surrounding village, galing with the nightmarish storm. It has left only Starlight Glimmer, the repository with the stallion, and myself, hidden in the dream’s fold.

She breaks into a full gallop, and my heart aches as the building zooms away at the same breakneck pace. The stallion is still beckoning her with a great smile, but it seems far mor sinister now. No longer the memorable visage of a good friend’s greeting, but now a warped smirk that serves only to taunt. Tears stream from Starlight Glimmer’s eyes. She attempts to cry something out, but nothing leaves her throat.

Faster and faster she runs, so farther and farther she gets from her goal. The building is all but a speck in the blackness—a lone star that refuses to die but does not want to be seen in kind. Time is warped by the dream, as it so often is. She has been running for mere seconds, but it surely feels like hours to her.

When she collapses in a sad, exhausted heap, I know I have seen all I will need to see. “That is quite enough,” I bellow. Starlight Glimmer startles to her hooves.

I muster the bizarre, ethereal light of the moon and banish the nightmare void. When the world returns, we are back in Starlight Glimmer’s little town, only I have replaced the orange stallion in the building. She stares at me like a filly gazing upon a manticore and immediately scrambles into a bow.

“You may stand, Starlight Glimmer,” I say. I take several steps forward—close enough to see her trembling hooves. “You have nothing to fear. I have not come to punish you.”

Weakly, she stands. She looks at me with those same, filly-ish eyes, and she attempts to speak. She still cannot. Magic gathers in my horn and hums all around, replacing the chill of nightmares with a warmth not unlike a mild summer’s day. She suddenly coughs, then says, “P-Princess Luna. It’s an honour.”

I nod. “Likewise, ‘tis a pleasure. Although I must confess I wish we had met under happier circumstances.” I glance around the repository, taking in all the complementary shades and detailed furnishings. “Such a lovely place for a nightmare so foul.”

“Nightmare?” Starlight Glimmer looks around as though she’s seeing the world for the very first time. I will never tire of seeing that awe in ponies.”Huh,” she says. “I guess that explains a few things. Never thought I would be back in this place.” Her attention suddenly snaps back to me. “Wait. If you’re not here to punish me, then why are you here?”

I shrug. Certainly I could elucidate my designs right away, but aloofness is very much more to my liking. “Intuition, mostly.” I trot past her to the door. “Come, let us walk.” She falls into step without a word—she seems to almost shrink in and brace herself, as though expecting some imminent verbal lashing.

Once outside, we are no longer in the same village. Instead, we are in a much plainer place full of muted colours and two rows of identical houses. “Pray tell,” I ask, “what is this place?”

She looks up, and a ghost of a smile dances across her face. “A happy place.”

I nod—it is not an important question to pursue. “I see. And is there a particular reason you would need a happy place at this moment?”

Just as it had come, the smile vanishes. “I… Well, I mean, I suppose you already saw for yourself.” Her ears fold down. “I would rather not talk about it, if that’s okay.”

“Actually,” I say, “that is decidedly not okay. It is a topic worth broaching. That is my entire reason for coming.”

Starlight Glimmer stops. “I don’t quite understand, Your Highness.”

I stop too. Without facing her, I say, “I would not expect you too. It did not make sense to me at the time either.” I pause for my words to sink in, but I cut her off before she can respond. “That young stallion from earlier. A friend of yours, I presume?”

The hesitation speaks more volumes than any words could. “An old one,” she says, though her voice is hollow. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.” The statement sits like an iceberg: hiding much more than it reveals.

“And do you still hold some level of fondness for him?”

“Yes, yes of course. Sunburst was my first friend. I could never forget him.”

I turn. Starlight Glimmer is no longer looking at me. She is looking at herself—at her cutie mark—with her face twisted in some measure of guilt. “If that is true,” I ask, shifting my tone to a colder one, “then why would his presence in this dream cause you so much duress?”

“I…” She pauses for a long moment, like she’s never considered the question herself. Her answer, eventually, is a sigh. “I don’t know, Princess.”

“But I think you do know, Starlight Glimmer.” I step forth so that I am looming over her, and she is forced to look up at me. “Do you not?”

Her eyes tremble, and the dreamscape begins to thrum and ripple around us. I have struck some nerve. “I…”

“There is not much time left in this realm, so I’ll make this brief.” I crouch down in a most unprincessly way, putting me eye-level with Starlight Glimmer. “I do not know you, Starlight Glimmer, and you certainly do not know me. I cannot claim to fully understand your situation from what little I’ve seen here. But know that I speak from a place of mutual understanding when I say this: whatever it may be, you cannot harbor this emotion. No matter how content you may feel with your new life in the waking world, it will not stop this from festering.”

She blinks, and I feel myself being forced from her subconscious. “What do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well what I speak of.” Magic flows from my horn—just enough to hold this dream together for a few seconds longer. “Be honest with yourself, Starlight. And, in time, share it with those close to you. It can be conquered. Do not repeat my mistake that cost me so many years. You do not have the time to lose.”

In her eyes, I believe I see something click amid all the confusion. She says something, but her mind is overpowering the dream now, and I am ripped away before I can hear it.

I gasp awake, back in my own bedroom. Rubbing my eyes, I can almost certainly sense a headache coming on. I had so desperately hoped my hunch about Starlight Glimmer would be wrong. But in the end, I suppose I am glad to have had the hunch at all. Someone must help her rid her skeletons—perhaps I was at least a catalyst.

Glancing out my window, I see the moon balanced on the western skyline, patiently awating my command. Many ponies still think it looks odd without the Mare in the Moon emblazoned across its face. I, for one, think it looks much more beautiful. Like someone has cleansed it.

I choose not to dwell any longer. I hop out of bed and head to breakfast with my sister.

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