“How is she, Doctor?” a regal, familiar voice waveringly asks, drawing my eyes past an IV line toward the door. Princess Luna is there, peering in through a slot in door. “What happened?”

Another pony—a mare, also familiar—answers sadly. “You’d need to speak to one of the guards for a better analysis of the events leading to her injuries but...” The mare pauses, either to shudder or whisper something beneath her breath. “Most of her injuries are consistent with assault or torture; both of her wings were broken near the bases, along with nearby ribs, and she has multiple contusions to her head. Her front teeth have all been shattered.” Again, the mare pauses, but this time I can clearly hear her crying. “There is significant vaginal and rectal tearing indicating violent and repeated sexual abuse.” After one final pause, the mare continues. “With all the internal injuries and blood loss, there’s a very real chance that…”

There’s an audible pause before I hear Princess Luna whisper a name in a sad tone I’ve never heard from her before. “Why is she muzzled and being held in the most secure room in the hospital’s psychiatric ward?” the princess finally asks. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

“You’d have to ask the Guard Captain that Prince Consort Shining Armor accompanied, or the mare he has posted inside, about the muzzle, but she’s reacted rather... violently to the very sight of any of the hospital’s male staff.” I look at the female guard—an earth pony—posted inside the door before flicking my eyes up toward the ceiling. “Against the Prince Consort’s protests, the Captain insisted she’s dangerous to herself and others, and doesn’t want her unattended at any time. Poor Silver...”

The sound of Princess Luna’s voice accompanies the sound of an opening door. “I’m going in to speak with her.”

A heavy clunk reverberates through the room, and the guard straightens. The door swings open soundlessly, and there she is, Princess Luna, in all her winged glory.

“Hello, Silver,” she greets solemnly. I watch her creep slowly across the tiled floor, her hooves never making a sound. Just as silently, the white mare in the gold plate-mail follows behind the royal, leaving her post at the door. When the princess reaches the side of my bed, she watches me in silence. “Silver?”

I just look away, tears rimming my eyes. She’s the Princess of the Night—the Dream Warden! She can protect ponies from their nightmares, so why isn’t she helping me? If this is all a nightmare, why won’t she make this go away? Maybe the princess doesn’t know I’m dreaming… Maybe she just can’t find my dream. Surely the real Princess Luna will come soon. I don’t wanna be here anymore.

“Please, Silver,” Luna says softly, her voice breaking. “I know this is hard for you, but we’ll help you through this. Just let me in.”

Closing my eyes, I try desperately to steady my breathing. If I speak now, I’m going to yell, scream, and cry at this oneiric simulacrum of Princess Luna. That’s what this nightmare wants from me! It wants me to feel completely isolated by forcibly destroying all of my relationships. I’m not going to let it though! Surely the real princess would understand!

“I don’t mean to intrude, your highness,” the guard speaks in a soft voice somehow not befitting a service-mare, “I was there with Captain Cutlass and Prince Shining Armor when they arrived on scene. I heard her crying and singing lullabies to... the other victim. The things she was mumbling... I think she’s convinced this is all a horrific nightmare.”

“One which she expects me to free her from,” the princess speculates in a wounded voice. “Oh Silver Script... You’ve been through so much and yet it is not enough for fate.” Hoofsteps recede from the bed—a curiosity, given that neither made any sounds on approach. “Why is she muzzled?”

A sigh from the guard follows more receding hoofsteps. “When the Captain ordered some of his men—a pair of stallions—to separate the two, she reacted violently, lashing out at the guards.” The guard’s tone is one of disgust and sadness. “Anypony could smell what happened in that room, yet instead of choosing any number of the mares in the squad accompanying him, he chose stallions to deal with a clearly traumatized mare.”

“What are the conditions of the guards she injured?” Princess Luna asks. Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I see she is trying to comfort the guard with a wing.

“They don’t have any life-threatening injuries,” the smaller mare concedes. “Clash will probably have a bit of a limp for a while, and Hunter lost the use of his right eye and good looks, but I honestly think they blame the captain more than her. They initially refused, agreeing with Prince Consort Shining Armor that mares would be a better choice, but he threatened to have them in irons for dereliction of duty.”

“So he muzzled her when she attempted to defend herself from what she perceived to be further torment at the hooves of a stallion,” the princess concludes in a disgusted voice, casting a pitying look over her shoulder at me. It’s a look I quickly turn away from. “That stallion has served under me since my return, and when Shining Armor tendered his resignation, he seemed like the obvious choice for leadership. It seems I was gravely mistaken.

“If you need time to deal with what you’ve seen today, you are welcome to as much paid leave as is necessary,” she says kindly. “This offer is extended to everypony in your squad.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the guards-mare agrees, nodding. “I’ll pass it on to my peers if I see them, but I personally will not take you up on your offer. This mare—Silver Script... she needs somepony here for her when she finally decides to open up. I know what it’s like to be living when you have nothing more to live for. I know what she’s going through.”

“Thank you Sergeant Whisper.” When Luna’s voice reaches my ears, she isn’t far away, but instead, right next to my ear. I open my eyes to find her standing over me, her horn lit in a glimmering blue aura. With a gentle nuzzle to my neck, she whispers, “Rest well, Silver Script. We will all get you through this.”

Waking from a merciless nightmare, I find myself in a bed, crying. The bed is not my own—mine doesn’t come with straps to bind me to it—but for some reason I can’t bring myself to call it uncomfortable. In terms of support, it is so soft and fluffy, almost exactly like a cloud. Just being in this bed is almost enough to distract me from the nightmare I awoke from. Almost.

This room is not the same one as I first woke up in days ago; it’s different—less oppressive. Everything is painted a calming off-blue color, even the bedclothes. Even the plume in the guards-mare’s helmet is blue. Maybe it has a different meaning to ponies, but being surrounded by all this blue is making me feel blue.

It’s hard not to feel this way. Every day, I wake up and ask to see Blossom. Every day, somepony tells me that I can’t right now. With the way they won’t let me see her, they’re obviously trying to get me to believe that she’s dead. Why would they tell me such lies? Do they not know that saying these things is not going to be conducive to my well being?

I think even Luna has abandoned me. Every night I see her in my dreams, tormenting me. Even if they aren’t nightmares, she is there, watching. She tries to get me to listen to her, to believe the same implied lie that my beloved is dead. All the begging for forgiveness she does on behalf of her, her sister and the legal system that has apparently failed me, but for what? Nopony will even tell me why I’m even here in the hospital, never mind why I’m being apologized to.

The worst part is the visitors. Gale, Gearalt, Gaius, Twilight... hell, even Doctor Forceps is a frequent passerby, despite working in... Vanhoover, wasn’t it? They all stop by to ‘check in on me’ and ‘see how I’m doing’. When they look at me, though, it’s almost like they’re afraid of me... or for me. They try to make everything seem alright, but the pity in their voices betrays it all. If these beings care for me so much as to stop by, why aren’t they being truthful with me? It’s like they aren’t even the people I know!

Then of course there are the doctors and the nurses. They won’t even tell me anything concrete as they change bandages, check on my broken wings and ribs, or feed me potions. All they tell me is that they are treating me for external and internal injuries, and that the restraints are necessary in order to keep me from disturbing the wounds. Still, sometimes I get whispers of what’s going on with other patients through the doors. Apparently some poor mare in some nearby room was raped repeatedly and beaten half to death. Just thinking about that sort of thing makes my entire body ache. I feel terrible for that mare whenever I hear them talk about her, because apparently, she might not even be able to have foals.

I really do have to wonder about what happened to me and why they have to have me strapped down. Did I get into a fight? Did I kill somepony? That’d explain my ever-vigilant guard, somewhat, but at the same time... her eyes aren’t ones of judgment. It’s recognition I see in those hard eyes.

The door opens, and in walks a nurse—a pegasus mare, this time; it's never a unicorn or a stallion. Like all the others, she’s wearing the same forced expression as naturally as she wears that little white cap with a red cross on it. Perched on her back is a tray of the same god-awful hospital food they’ve been feeding me for days, and the same pills that make me dull.

“Oh good! You’re awake,” the nurse says with that sickening superficial cheer as she trots up to the side of the bed. “It’s always sad when I have to wake a pony for their meals. Rest and dreams are good to help you heal.”

“I’m not awake,” I whisper, watching her with wary eyes. Licking my barely-regrown teeth anxiously, I marvel at the way they feel as air passes over them. At least they don’t have a muzzle on me anymore. “This isn’t real.”

“Well that’s just silly!” I watch as she lowers the tray of food onto my blanketed lap. “If this isn’t real, we couldn’t be having this conversation.” Lifting a spoon full of what could only be baby food between two primaries, she grins. “Open wide! The sooner you eat, the sooner you can get your sponge bath!”

Bubbly nurses should be against the Geneva Convention. Sponge baths too.

Two weeks—today marks the end of the second week I’ve spent being poked and prodded by these ponies. Every day, it’s the same routine. Wake. Eat. Medicine. Bath. Rotation. Lies. Eat. Sleep. The only variation throughout the day is who stops by. It’s always some random therapist or someone I know, but the conversations are almost always similar; how am I feeling? Am I in pain? Can I remember anything? They ask all these things, yet they won’t even bring me news of the outside world. Worse, they always seem distracted and never make eye contact. It’s enough to drive a pony crazy, and I have little appreciation for it all. Why should I accept visitors when they aren’t really interested in how I am?

One of the most unchanging things is the guard. It’s always the same mare, Sergeant Wind Whisper. Whenever I’m awake, she’s right there, not moving or talking; just watching like some guardian angel. The mare doesn’t even stop to pee, drink, or eat. I’m not even entirely sure she’s really there; she doesn’t even blink, and believe me I’ve tried to stare her down. When you are stuck in a room all day and nopony will even give you a newspaper, you end up staring at the guard posted in your room.

“So what’s your story?” I finally ask, bored to tears. It’s the first I’ve spoken since I started turning away visitors and drawing in on myself, and I barely realize I’ve even said a thing until the guard raises her eyebrows in surprise. “How come you’re watching over me day and night?”

The mare gives me a tired look before she finally breaks eye contact. With a sigh, she removes her helmet. The thing barely clears her ears when her eyes and incredibly short mane change from the anonymous blue mane and eyes to matching graying browns. With practiced ease, she reaches below herself and undoes something within her armor. As she removes her platemail, the enchanted white of her coat bleeds away, revealing a body crisscrossed with various scars. I almost can’t help but cringe remembering how I gained a few similar scars.

“Penance,” she answers in a surprisingly soft tone. Running one hoof through her close cropped—a buzz cut?—mane, she gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry if I surprised you; a lot of ponies prefer me with my armor on. It’s just easier to talk without that armor bearing down on me is all.”

“I’ve been eaten alive by a gigantic mutant lamia and wrestled a cockatrice. Scars don’t scare me. Magic users, on the other hoof,” I say dismissively. “So, Sergeant Wind Whisper,” I continue, recalling the name used by the princess when I first woke in the hospital, “penance for what?”

“Now? For breaking an oath I swore on the grave of my husband.” There’s some serious pain there. She can’t even maintain eye contact as she says it. “I vowed that I would never allow those serving under me, or those serving alongside me to bring disgrace to what I believed were the honorable forces of the Equestrian Royal Guard.”

“It’s a vow I’ve now broken twice in a short period,” she says. “I was responsible for assigning the guard that was supposed to be watching over Aqua Regia. He was a good pony, but I guess his good heart got in the way of things. He took her for her word, and she played him like a fiddle. He never even verified her alibis, investigated her movements, or interactions with others. On the night he was needed most, he was passed out in front of a coffee shop.

“Then, that same night, I let my commanding officer bring great dishonor to the Guard.” She looks away, ears back. “My vigil is my penance before I tender my resignation.”

I watch her carefully as she quietly inches her way around the room. It isn’t something I’ve noticed before—how could I when she’s always been standing like a statue?—but there’s a perceptible hitch in her gait, as though a previous injury to her leg or hip still causes her discomfort or pain. It’s not so much surprising as it is jarring. Just from that, it’s clear that she’s been through some really heavy shit, pushing herself in order to remain in the guard.

“There’s more to it than that,” I state in an observant, but unaggressive tone. “There’s a reason you’d swear such an oath.” Recalling words she’d spoken previously, I raise an eyebrow. “You said you know what I’m going through—that you had nothing to live for; that I... What are you talking about?”

The mare frowns and nods as she reaches the bedside. “That’s right,” she replies, not making eye contact. “I could tell you a bit about it if you’d like, but I must warn you, nopony I’ve ever met has ever managed to sit through my tale. To put it in perspective, my therapist is still in therapy, and there’s a jar full of bits at my favorite haunt waiting for the pony who can sit through the entire telling.”

I can’t help but cock an eyebrow at that. There are plenty who would exaggerate a story, especially if it can turn a profit, but I can see it in this mare’s eyes that it isn’t the case here. I figure, there’s no harm in asking, “I get the impression that somepony else made a game of it, if it’s enough to scar a therapist.”

“I’d never try to profit on my greatest shame!” she replies angrily. “I just started going to the tavern to drown my sorrows in alcohol and salt after scarring the doctor. Thought maybe if I could just talk it out with somepony, I could ease the hurt of it all. Ponies’d come asking to hear my story, but suddenly come up with reasons to leave. Then the bartender would come up and offer me whatever drinks I wished, compliments of the listener. Told him to keep the money or give it away to charity. So now he holds onto it, says whoever hears my story through to the end will need it for therapy.”

“I... wow.” Hearing this, can I honestly say no now? It sounds like it would be a complete disrespect to challenge her to tell me her story and wuss out just because the sort of thing that a mentally unhinged person like myself shouldn’t listen to. “I would be honored to listen to your tale.”

She gives me a pitying look and nods. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I was actually a Sergeant Major at one point in my career. Was the senior enlisted advisor to our platoon leader. Used to be on the fast track to a full Officer Candidate School scholarship at that. It was a pretty big deal in my day for a mare to reach that sort of position. The only mares whose careers soared then were in the air force branch, now known as the Wonderbolts. A ground pounder mare above the rank of Lance Corporal? That was something special.”

“Our platoon was one of the best too. We weren’t special ops, but we got things done, hard and fast.” With one fetlock, she wipes some tears of sorrow from her eyes. “We got all sorts of things that would make the lot of these city guards cringe. Border skirmishes with slavers, monster extermination, putting down uprisings. You name it, we had a hoof in it. Maybe some of the things we had to do were the less than glamorous things that never made the news.”

“We were dispatched to clear out a den of dogs terrorizing a village near the Badlands. I’m not talking about some mindless mongrels or a pack of strays, but rather a highly organized pack of sentient dogs calling themselves the Breaker Dogs, after the old mine they’d taken up residence in. They weren’t like some of the packs you’ll hear about around Equestria. They weren’t interested in taking hostages and making them work their mines. They had only food on the mind, and they’d developed a taste for pony.”

“When we arrived at the mine, the Eltee split the platoon into three squads and marched us in like it was just another inspection on the parade square.” She looks away. “I advised him we were walking in blind, and that we should hold position at the front of the mine. Send in a single scouting party with a unicorn runner in the case of an ambush.”

“The stupid foal had become arrogant and overestimated our element of surprise.” She rounds on me, scowling. “We never stood a chance. Two squads made it through the mine entrance before somepony set off a trap rigged to collapse the entrance and alert the dogs to our presence. The third squad was completely crushed in the collapse.

“You see, dogs like to dig, a lot. With their claws, they can even dig through bedrock. When they have prey, it doesn’t matter if there’s a solid rock wall between them. They get what they want.” The scowl is gone; she’s just trembling now. “My husband was in the squad directly behind us, so when the dogs came snarling out of the walls and floor, he was one of the first ponies set upon. It was a complete bloodbath.”

“Ponies began screaming and trying to get away as the dogs tore through the squad. Everypony was pushed further into the dark labyrinth of the dogs’ mine, the only hint that we were getting anywhere was the fading screams of our comrades. At some point, I must have gotten separated from everypony else, because when I finally wandered into a lit area, I was almost alone.”

“I hadn’t found my salvation, though. I had stumbled right into their den. A trio of males advanced on me rapidly, and before I knew what was happening, they had me pinned to the floor, my armor scattered around me in pieces. I don’t know how he knew, but the smallest of the three knew I was with foal. I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell my husband or apply for a transfer to a nice safe desk, but he knew.”

I want to look away from the mare, to just close my eyes and plug my ears and drown it all out. With every word, my body aches more and more. So vivid the mental images are that I just want to beg her to stop, but the words never come! It’s like in the entirety of a few minutes I’ve consumed an entire desert, for all the dryness in my mouth and throat.

“He ripped into my abdomen with one claw! He... he pulled out my uterus and... and...” Somepony in the room sobs. Is it me? Or is it her? Maybe it’s both; I just want somepony to unbind me, to let me just hug this woman and let her know she doesn’t have to relieve her pain. “He didn’t make it quick, either. Once he was done, he made sure to cauterize it all by stuffing my belly with dirt and hot coals from their fire. He then rolled me onto my still open belly and mounted me. He told me, ‘You ponies is good for nothin’ but livestock. We’s gonna have lots a’ fun with you before we show you your place.’ I tried to convince them to let me go. I tried threatening them, but to no avail.”

As if spurred on by something she said, a male voice growls in the back of my mind, “You make it sound as though I care.”

My ears fold back as the chill of danger shoots down my spine. No, no, no. I’m not hearing voices. Shaking my head, I clench my misty eyes shut as Wind tells me how the dogs began taking turns violating her, torturing her, and trying to feed one of her subordinates to her. Barely any of the story is reaching me now. All I can see in my mind’s eye are two icy-blue eyes glaring out at me amidst a sea of red.

“The most dangerous creation of any society is a mare who has nothing to lose!” Wind Whisper continues her story, either unknowing that something is happening, or uncaring. As she continues about how their canid knots stretched and tore her, a different scene plays out in my mind. A stallion—Aqua Regia—begins beating, berating and violating me.

I whimper and thrash against my bonds, wishing the vision would end, but to no avail. It keeps coming, harder and faster, and then suddenly Blossom is also there. The sergeant’s recounting begins looping in on itself as though it’s some disgusting religious chant. When her voice is at its most fervid, Blossom’s head leaps free of her body, severed cleanly where her neck once met her torso, and—

“Sergeant Wind Whisper!” The door slams open, and the very room shakes with an explosive roar. The sheer volume and force of the voice is enough to rattle the bed frame and, by the sound of it, overturn the now disused mobile IV stand beside my bed. “What in the name of all that is good do you think you are doing?”

Out of alarm, I force my eyes open, and as I sweep my eyes about the room, my heart freezes. The door is a crumpled mess lying at the hooves of a frightening looking Princess Luna. Her mane looks somehow... darker—less glittery—than normal, and its flicking about like a flag in a wind storm. If the aura around her horn and the snarl on her face aren’t a big enough of a giveaway to her emotional state, the frightened guard pinned to the wall certainly is.

“You took upon yourself one simple task,” the princess hisses, advancing on the mare. “Watch over my little pony and be there for her when she opened up.” Taking one step forward, she levitates up the discarded pieces of guard armor. “What part of that task gave you the impression that you should force her to realize the truth if she wasn’t ready?” A levitating portion of breastplate begins to warp, glowing white hot and collapsing slowly in on itself, as if it is all that keeping her from slagging the mare instead. It’s certainly enough to sober Wind Whisper. “Did you even think of the harm you might be doing?”

In spite of the Moon Goddess’s fury, Whisper doesn’t flinch away when Luna comes muzzle to muzzle with her. If anything, it only seems to give a steely resolve to her eyes. “She wasn’t getting better.” She locks eyes with Luna and bares her teeth. “Every day I watched her draw further in on herself.” To my horror, she even spits in the princess’s general direction. “You aren’t even a medical professional, but you told the doctors you wanted her to realize the truth on her own. The one pony whom she needed to see and speak to the most wasn’t allowed to see her at all. Not even her friends were allowed to talk to her about it when she needed them most.” Whisper tears her eyes from the Luna’s and nods in my direction. “She needed to be reminded, Your Highness, and she does. Now the healing can begin.”

“Perhaps you are somehow unaware, Miss Wind Whisper, but she has a history of violent mental instability!” Luna stomps her hooves, and by the sound of it, she’s broken a number of ceramic floor tiles beneath her, not that I can really see from this angle. “I wanted a calm atmosphere for her, where she wasn’t at risk of entering a full blown panic attack at the sight of a horn. That the staff even allowed Doctor Forceps and Twilight was blessing enough, given how well they’ve been following my wishes concerning her treatment. To allow her deceased lover’s sis—”

“Will you fucking listen to yourself?” When Luna looks at me in shock, the flickering of her mane lessens. “You are one of the last ponies who has any right to speak of what is best for my mental health right now!” The sheer vehemence of my voice gives her enough pause to release her hold on Wind Whisper. “Let’s all lie to the woman who’s been fucked ten ways to Tuesday and had the woman she wanted to marry murdered right in front of her eyes! There’s no way that reinforcing her denial with completely retarded reasoning will make her even more paranoid. It’s not like paranoia was what made me violent to begin with!

“Did you even think about what I must be going through right now?” Straining against my bonds, I lean forward enough for my still bandaged wings to flare out slightly. “The mare I love is dead. All of my friends are worried sick about me, but they couldn’t comfort me because of some bullshit executive decision. I have been on the verge of another bout of paranoid delusions. She brought me back from the edge. You should be thanking her, not threatening her.” I vaguely point at my savior before locking eyes with the only mare in the room with any power. “When you sentenced Aqua Regia, I expected that to be the end of all of this bullshit. She was supposed to be fucking watched and reporting to a guard! Where were they when she was raping me? When she managed to steal all of that shit from my room? Hell, if you thought I was in any danger at all, you could have had the university move me into a different room!

“So I ask you now,” I hiss, “What gives you the right to dictate my life when your legal system can’t protect victims from reprisal from the accused? Why should your word mean anything when your ancient system of crowns and aristocracy has devolved into backstabbing corruption so obvious that you ignore it out of shame? You may be thousands of years old and hold power over a celestial object, but when it comes down to it, you’re just as foolish and powerless to the corruption as the rest of us! No two ponies should hold all of the power! Power corrupts, Luna; you know this better than anybody. Absolute power corrupts absolutely!”

“I will forgive you for this offense because of what you have lost,” she says coldly, her eyes becoming as harsh as the void of space, “but you need to remember that I am still your benefactor. You haven’t the right to make such a judgement.”

“Doesn’t she sister?” The three of us swivel our heads to the now doorless entrance to the room. Unsurprisingly, Princess Celestia is standing atop the ruined door just inside the doorway, a tired look on her face. “Can you honestly say she is wrong?”

The way Luna is staring at Celestia at this very moment is somewhat disconcerting. It’s not that I am afraid some battle of the gods is about to break out with me still strapped into a bed. Being in Canterlot’s hospital, I expect them to have enough restraint not to be firing death-rays at each other in the middle of a nest of injured civilians. No, it’s disconcerting because of how easily her shocked expression has completely changed my mood. Seeing her confounded so, I can’t help but snort in amusement.

“Sister, I don’t understand.” Her mane loses its ethereal form, revealing her natural blue mane as she glances back at me. “She has neither the leadership experience nor a sufficiently long life to judge our rule. She hasn’t even lived in our lands for two years. How can you consider her to be a fit judge of Equestrian governance when she is so blinded by grief?”

“Luna, we are all grieving to some degree,” Celestia says solemnly. She trots soundlessly across the floor to join her sister beside my bed “The shame we bear in our failed judgement of Aqua Regia, and the embarrassment the Guard now bears is enough to cloud even our own judgement, dear sister. Can you really say that you aren’t angry at all? That you aren’t acting out of passion?”

“Sister, I...” Luna turns to face the shamed guard as the mare backs away along the wall. As the princess meets Wind Whisper’s acerbic glare, the last bit of fire leaves her eyes. “No, I cannot claim that I wasn’t.” Looking back to her sister, she lowers her head. “Between the strain that Ice Blossom’s murder has placed on diplomatic relations with Neighpon, the public outcry at the miscarriage of justice that lead to this,” she says, turning to me warily, “entire situation, and the dissent in the ranks of the Royal Guard following Cutlass’s failure and subsequent demotion, I dare say we both are too taxed to be making fair judgments.”

“That bad, huh?” I say, allowing all pretense of aggression to slip free of my voice. To be honest, I’m probably engaging the princesses just to distract myself from the inevitable truth threatening to shatter the cold, hard shell of anger that has protected me from my grief... that Blossom is...

Celestia glances dourly at the guard as the mare all but scrambles out of the door. Once the guard has left, she looks at the straps on the bed and sighs. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” she answers, unbuckling my limbs from my restraints. “The average pony has been chafing under the aristocracy for a few centuries. Many are treating this case as grounds for a revolution. There’s a civil war brewing in our own lands for the first time in more than one thousand years, and we just don’t know what to do.”

Stretching my limbs for the first time in ages, I sprawl out belly down on the bed, happy to be free of my constraints. “Tell you what.” A gurgle escapes my stomach, and I look up at the princess. “If you treat me to lunch and tell the bedpan brigade that I’m not going to flip out and murder somebody, so that I can get a sit-down with Chill Beat, then we can discuss all this over food.”

Author's Notes:

Sorry about the delay folks. Things in life, you know? Needless to say I've had a whole load of distractions, many of them beginning with the letter Skyrim. I originally finished this chapter a week or so ago, even though part of this was written days after I originally finished the last chapter back in September. I didn't like the way I left it on a harsh cliff-hanger for the next chapter, so rather, the end of the chapter contains some material migrated directly over from what was the first draft of Chapter 31.

Thanks go to E3gner, Nightmare Knight, Fourpony, and Refro for helping get this presentable.