It’s so amazingly warm where I lie. The only way I can describe it is like lying in front of a hearthfire as a child after an entire day of playing in the snow. Its great warmth; strong, but not overpowering. The welcoming heat embraces me like an overbearing mother, full of love and a desire to never let go.

Yet... I’m definitely not in front of a fireplace. I mean, the ground is as soft as a down-filled blanket, but it feels more like I’m on a lawn that hasn’t been cut for days. Accompanying the grassy feeling is the smell of wildflowers. Not too far off, I can even hear a river and a waterfall. It’s all very comforting, and yet... something is missing.

Where was I before, and what was I doing? I try to remember. I know there was something important I was supposed to be doing, but what? For that matter, how did I come to be in a sunny, grassy field in the midst of winter?

My eyes open tentatively, even laboriously at first. It’s not unlike waking from a long sleep. Why open my eyes when I can just lay here, basking in the warmth? Because I need to know where I am, of course. As comforting as the warmth is, it isn’t my bed at the hospital, and I know I’ll get in trouble if I’m gone too long.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing that I see is fairly tall grass. Given that I’ve been sleeping here for God knows how long, I’m surprisingly unconcerned by all this. It’s probably just the equine in me now, but sleeping in a grassy meadow feels... right—like home. This isn’t home however. My home is... undecided, but not here.

While I am surprised at just how much effort is required to stand, it is of minor consequence when I take in my surroundings. It would be impossible to overstate my perplexion or surprise at what I am seeing, for it is all so amazingly wondrous. The field upon which I stand is in fact a very small island amidst a large river, but the wonders are not the island or the river at all; it is what lay on either bank.

Countless large, wrought-iron gates line the riverbanks, each providing windows into the curious worlds beyond. Most are closed and only the empty fields beyond can be seen through the bars. Outside each gate is an adornment or marker of some sort.

A Buddha-like pony holding a stone tablet beckons to any who would see to join him beyond his gate. Through the portal, I can make out many buildings of Oriental design, and many scholarly-looking dog people, ponies, and griffons milling about peaceably. Unless my eyes deceive me, there are even alicorns and great wolves among them.

Beyond another portal, marked by a claymore thrust into the ground with a copper ale mug hanging haphazardly from the crossguard, I can see what looks like the interior of a gigantic mead hall constructed from bone. As I watch, I can see and hear the griffons and dogs within burst into uproarious laughter as two earth ponies fight atop the edge of an overturned table, biting, grappling, and shouting about spilled mead.

Yet another gate on the opposite bank is adorned with... the cutie marks of Celestia and Luna. Again, there are ponies, these ones frolicking happily about the many fields and rolling hills beyond the opening. Yet, unlike the place marked by the Buddha pony, there are no buildings—a simplistic, yet happy place.

Downriver of me, a waterfall spills down into a dark chasm. Only, when I look toward the chasm, I can hear screaming. Belatedly, I realize that rather than the spray of mist rising out of the depths, it is steam... like some hot place of torment.

Then there’s the one gate that looks to be made of cloud. There is no marker to imply what sort of place it is beyond, but then again, with one look, I don’t particularly need a hint. At first, I actually assume I’m looking at pegasi flitting about the cloudy landscape—real clouds instead of just ground—but when one figure strays too close to the gateway, I let out a gasp. A human girl with wings and a halo, dressed in what looks like a white toga...

“Just where in the world am I?” I whisper to myself. “I thought I was past having hallucinations.”

I look up to the sky, hoping to momentarily forget the sights before me, but that seems to be a mistake as well. If I thought that gateways into depictions of various interpretations of the afterlife were perplexing, this sky pretty much hurts to look at. Rather than a blue sky, clouds and a sun, I’m treated to a rainbow waterfall just... coming into existence beneath a starry expanse. No, not coming into existence beneath it—flowing into.

If I look into that expanse long enough, I even see myself... only, I’m not standing on a grassy island in the middle of a river. The me I see is lying on her back on a floor, curved shards of glass protruding from her chest and belly. There are ponies around her, and even somepony doing chest compressions and mouth to mouth.

“Greetings, little pony, and welcome,” a voice echoes softly through the field behind me and inside my mind. I swing about to face the speaker just in time to catch an earth pony mare of bay coloring in a black robe coalesce into existence before me. Just behind her, I can make out gray silhouettes of other figures: a griffon, a dog person, a minotaur, a centaur, and even what looks like a human. “I am Epona, and I have been chosen to be your guide into the afterlife.”

I back away, turning my gaze momentarily up to the sky, watching the pony giving my body chest compressions switch out with somepony else. “This is the afterlife?” I ask hesitantly before covering my face with one hoof. “No, you can’t take me yet! I’m not done living!”

To my surprise, my psychopomp guide, Epona, smiles apologetically. “It’s okay to be afraid, Silver Script,” she says in a serene voice that reminds me of Celestia. “I was afraid when I first awoke in the Nexus of Souls as well, but you needn’t worry here. You can be at peace.”

I shake my head as I take another trembling step back. “No, I can’t be here,” I reiterate with a gesture of my hoof to the skyborn vision. “I’ve got to get back. I’ve got to have my babies. How can I watch them grow up if I die and they die?”

Epona’s smile fades away, and she glances warily toward the human figure behind her. “Charon suspected you might feel this way,” she says with a sigh. “He said humans aren’t content to pass on when they die young.” Returning her gaze to me, she shakes her head. “We cannot grant you your life back. Whether you live or die is up to you and those taking care of you,” she concludes, looking toward the rivers on either side of the island. “I can only help you decide whether or not now is the time to move on.”

I follow her riverward gaze and see a small raft rise out of the roiling water on the shoreline. “Why would I want to pass on?” I ask incredulously. “I have so much to live for.”

The robed mare nods, as if my reaction is something she’s heard so many times before, which it probably is. “What would you like to know?”

I snort and trot toward the island edge facing the meadow gate. Sitting myself on the riverbank with my hooves in the cool water, I shake my head. “Given that I’ve already made up my mind, your breath is wasted unless you want to tell me how I can return to the land of the living,” I growl, flicking my ears as I watch the ponies on the grassy fields beyond the gate. “Then again, you probably have this whole spiel you’re, well, not quite paid to repeat time after time. So tell me about the gates.”

Epona sits herself down beside me, and when I look, I see her beaming. “I’m so glad you asked,” she says chipperly. “You see, the gateways lead into different iterations or realms of the Hereafter.” She points at one of the closed gates. “Not all of them are open to you, but for every type of person, or pony, there are always many options.”

Her hoof swings toward the gate that displays the most common rendition of Heaven. “There’s a place for those of faith,” she says softly. “From the devout to those who wish to reconnect with their faith when they have nothing left, there is a place for all beyond the Pearly Gates. Are you willing to return to the word of your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?

“Or perhaps you wish to continue your scholarly ways,” she continues, gesturing her hoof over her shoulder in the direction of the Buddha gate. “In the realm of Nirvana you could master your art and move on to even greater studies. Are you ready to learn the truth behind the truth?

“Ah, but I know you have an adventurous, noble soul!” Again, she gestures, pointing toward the sword gate. “In Valhalla you would lack neither sport nor companionship with tales of the cockatrice and lamia. Dare you go where only the brave live forever?”

I stare at the mare blankly, not entirely certain that this is happening. Putting aside the fact that I am greatly reminded of a certain talking hat, I can’t help but wonder why so many of the places named after things from various mythologies and faiths in my world. Is she giving me names she thinks I would recognize? Or is it perhaps that the afterlife is the same point in space-time, regardless of what universe you’re in or come from?

My guide just smiles at me knowingly. “What you’re thinking, I already know,” she says in a lyrical tone. “In the end, does it matter from where you go?”

“Stop that.” I glare at her before snorting and turning my attention back to the meadow beyond that last portal. “Rather than taunt my inquisitive mind with an annoying rhyme, why don’t you tell me about this gate. It’s Elysium, right?”

“That it is, my multiform friend,” she says. “Should you go for friend, family, or love, ‘pon the Elysian Fields you’ll find two of three, in the end.”

Love and friend both, eh? It certainly wouldn’t be family, and the only friends I know who have died are Professor Calcification. Surely he would have gone to Nirvana. His mind was wasted as a professor, even if for the most part he was more intent on earning Luna’s favor. Who, then, would be waiting for me?

Before I can ask answer, I catch sight of movement outside the entrance to Elysium. A familiar icy-white earth pony stands at the opposite bank of the river, smiling broadly at me. Even without that unmistakable blue-white mane, I can never, for as long as I live, forget those eyes... Ice Blossom.

“My oh my, this is a rare sight even for me,” Epona says after I dare not speak for several seconds. “Most ponies are content to go on into the afterlife and wait, but she looks as though she’s been waiting a very long time for you, doesn’t she? Would you like to hear what she has to say?”

I nod, uncertain that this isn’t some sort of trick to convince me to pass on. To be honest, I don’t really care whether it is or not. It’s Blossom for crying out loud; how could I not at least say hello?

The guide lifts one hoof and up from the river rises a small stone hoofbridge. Blossom canters quickly across, and before I can even stand up, she wraps me in a tight hug. Tears of glee well in my eyes, and I return the hug, nuzzling her shoulder, weeping with a big, goofy smile on my face.

Epona, it seems, is charitable enough to back off and give us some time together.

“I’ve missed you so much, Blossom,” I whimper into her shoulder as she holds me close. “Everything’s been so horrible since you left. I lost one of the most important people in my life that day...”

“I know, my love,” she replies softly. When she finally releases me from her grasp, I notice that she looks somehow... older than when last we met. There are far more laugh-lines around her eyes, and there are a few well-earned wrinkles here and there. “You will tell me as much when you greet me on my arrival here, many years from now.”

What?

“If I am to be honest, I have known for a long time now that this day would be coming,” she says. “I want you to know that I have watched every day of your life, from birth to death—everything you have done, and have yet to do... I am so proud to have been your first love. You will move on, even if it does not feel like you ever will, but that is okay. We have and will spend a century together here, upon the Elysian Fields, after your passing, but now is your time to live.”

No, seriously. What? “I’m confused. How can it be both?”

“I asked you the same question when I first arrived and saw you waiting for me.” A small giggle—oh how I’ve missed that laugh—leaves her throat, and her smile grows. “You told me, ‘Time isn’t made of lines; it’s made of circles. That is why clocks are round.’”

I plant one of my hooves squarely on my forehead. “So basically, time is either meaningless here, or it loops in on itself in a cyclic manner... and I could not find a better fuckin’ analogy than a Cabooseism.” Blossom only nods, giggling some more. “Does that mean I’m also beyond that gate?” I ask, pointing toward Elysium.

“Nope,” I hear myself say, only I haven’t even moved my lips. “I’m right here.” I turn and stare at myself in surprise, blinking. There I am, a lot older looking, and with a particularly long fringe that obscures my right eye. “No, bad Silver. Stop thinking about time paradoxes.”

“But—”

“Look, there’s no way to make this easy,” the other me says. “You’ve got to get back to the land of the living so you can have my daughters, and Blossom and I really need to get going if we’re going to catch the next rebirth together.”

“But we’ve only just said hello.” Tears rim my eyes as I look down at my own hooves. The disappointment that I can’t spend more time with Ice Blossom stings, but if this makes any sense at all, it sounds like I’ve got a whole century to spend with her in the future. Swallowing my unease, I nod. “I’ll wait for you, then,” I say, looking back up to Blossom. Turning to my future self, I snort. “You take good care of her, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Future Silver laughs, peering tiredly from beneath her mane at me. “That’s not hard, given that you’d probably do a horse if you had the opportunity,” she snarks back. At my horrified look, she grins. “Don’t worry, we’ll be closer than you think.”

The older pair nods to one another and, not giving me an opportunity to respond, they trot up to the end of the island facing the aetherborn waterfall. To my amazement, the both of them step into the water together and begin swimming effortlessly upstream. Even when they reach the waterfall, their momentum doesn’t break. If anything, they both seem to be accelerating, climbing the falls higher, faster, until finally, they vanish into the starry void above.

“Sounds like you’ve got things cut out for you,” Epona says softly in my ear.

I barely hear her, too fixated on the scene playing out in the stars above. My body is lying in a hospital bed, and I can see the pulse oximeter attached to me working away, reflecting a steady heartbeat. “That is where I need to be,” I whisper.

The stars above stretch into lines, and my vision fills with white.

A soft, rhythmic beeping fills my ears. Having been in the hospital enough times by now, and aided by the fact that I feel more like I’ve just come out of a very restful sleep rather than a trip to the afterlife, I know almost immediately where I am. You just get a feel for the beds, the antiseptic air and the equipment. Then there’s the discomfort from the medical tape adhering to shaved down patches of coat on each foreleg, holding IVs in, and something strapped over my face.

It’s also nice to wake up in the hospital knowing exactly where you are and why you are there for a change. No confusion, temporary amnesia or delusions; just waking up in a bed feeling pretty damn good. Surprisingly good, even. I don’t even feel any of the spots where I know I fell on the glass. How’s that for coming out of a near-death experience?

Not everything feels as it should, though. For one, it feels like there’s something plastic protruding from my vagina. Oh, and I can feel something—really, it can only be a bandage—wrapped tightly around my head, particularly the right side of my face. I’m pretty sure that it completely obscures my vision, but what I can’t understand is why; it doesn’t even hurt, and I can’t have fallen onto glass after depetrifying Pound, because I’m positive I was already collapsed on the floor. Even if he kicked me in the face, why would I need to be bandaged? He’s a bloody kid.

“There’s nothing I can do, I suppose. When the doctor or nurse arrives, I’ll just have to ask,” I whisper to myself, not quite eager to open my eyes and sit up. Who knows what else I’ll notice attached to me if I move.

“It is good to see you finally return to the waking world, Silver Script,” somepony nearby says. My ear twitches in response to the voice, as though the very appendage is offended by the speaker. I mean, this can’t be the same princess I told to stay out of my life, can it?

I open my unbandaged eye in an attempt to see the speaker. Unfortunately, it would seem that they are rudely standing to my right. With a slight tilt of my head I shoot Princess Luna a wary look. My entire body tenses at the very sight of her, eliciting a very uncomfortable feeling from my urethra. Of course they’d put a catheter in. “Given the circumstances, I can’t exactly say I’m not happy to see you,” I murmur through the mask, “and I’m not even going to mention having told you to stay out of my life, but why are you here?”

Her face wavers for a moment, before she turns her back to me. “When you told us to go—to stay out of your life—I’ll admit that I was hurt. We both were,” Luna says, levitating her crown off of her head and placing it somewhere outside of my peripheral. “With the chaos of the Aqua Regia trial, the nobility corruption investigations, and the backlash from the Neighponese government, Sister and I were running ourselves ragged.

“The unfortunate day that we met you regarding your encounter with Blueblood, we truly did not intend for you to see Aqua Regia. That day, though, we saw just how hurt you truly were, not just by what Aqua had done, but through my own action as well, when I allowed my fears of the Nightmare returning to blind me to the fact that you were but a normal pony.” Luna turns back to me with her face downcast, doing a very good job of staring the floor into submission. “So when I heard that you had been hospitalized voluntarily, I asked that I be kept up to date on your progress, and notified immediately if anything happened.”

I look at her witheringly, unable to muster up any anger at all. She had just admitted to trying to micromanage my life after I had already told her to fuck off, and yet it only makes me feel tired. “So I’m guessing somebody found my note sooner than I had hoped, and you were notified,” I offer, receiving a near imperceptible nod. “And, knowing my past, figured out where I might be and rushed to Ponyville as fast as you could. Why?”

Much to my surprise, a sheepish smile blooms on Luna’s face, even though she won’t break eye contact with the floor. “You remind Sister and I of ourselves when we were young, full of ideals and a desire to help others, no matter the cost, when we first faced Discord,” she says. “You might not be a savant like Twilight, or even a paragon of any of the aspects of harmony, but in spite of all that life has thrown at you, you have persevered. The level of dedication to a noble end, risking your life and your name, required to do what others could not... few ever express such a quality, and those that do are a very precious commodity that the Equestria of today lacks.”

Now it’s my turn to look away. That’s why they’ve been trying to protect and preserve me? I remind them of themselves, and resemble a trait apparently lacking in the present day; they think that Equestria in some way needs a pony like me. Maybe it does. I mean, I’ve changed everything they thought they knew about petrification.

“Luna, listen... We’ve both done and said things we regret,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I want to hate you for everything that I’ve gone through, but I’m just so tired...”

“If you wish, we can continue this discussion later, assuming you would still have me,” she says gravely, missing my meaning as she casts a furtive glance to the heart-rate monitor. “You were legally dead for three minutes before you were finally resuscitated, and it took you more than twelve hours to regain consciousness.”

Shaking my head, I look back to her with a weak smile. “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.” A groan of pain escapes me as I shift, momentarily pulling the IV lines taut. “I’m tired of being angry and sad. Sure, my grief and obsession have led me to do some amazing things, but I’m not getting anywhere by driving everypony away. It’s time for me to stop running away from everything. I met some people in that messed up afterlife, and they told me that I have a lot to live for, so now I have something to look forward to.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you for all I’ve gone through because of you, but it’s time for me to start moving forward, even if it means letting go.”

I figure I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time I open my eye, the princess—and with some surprise, I realize I’m not as offended thinking of her as such—is gone. In her stead, there is a pink-maned nurse at the side of the bed switching out a cloudy bag of dark amber fluid—oh jeeze, is that my piss?—for an empty one. She’s so gentle that I barely feel the catheter being disturbed at all. Of course, I don’t exactly pay attention where the used bag goes.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Script,” she says, hanging the empty bag off the side of the bed. “How are you feeling today?”

There’s not much room to shrug, what with these wired leads affixed to my torso and limbs, so in its place I tilt my head, groaning slightly with the effort. “I feel like Rip Van Winkle,” I say, straining to be heard over the cacophony of the various life monitoring apparati. “Please tell me that I haven’t been asleep for twenty years.”

The nurse—Redheart, I think it was—lets out a pleasant laugh and smiles at me. “That’s preposterous,” she answers softly, almost contrary to the rather stern demeanor I recall from the show. “You’ve only been unconscious for about a day; your body is exhausted.”

I blink tiredly a few times at the nurse before tilting my head thoughtfully, my gaze lazily wandering to the clock on the wall. A day? That’s not too bad. Thirty-six out of the last forty-eight hours beats being asleep for three days... unless she’s about to tell me that I’ve actually been losing consciousness for a day and forgetting the time spent awake repeatedly over the span a week. That would definitely suck, and it would probably be symptomatic of some pretty severe neural trauma. Shit, what if I’ve had these exact thoughts six times in a row already?

“... have been very worried about you, especially the Cakes.” My eye flicks back to Redheart, and I can’t help but flush with embarrassment as I realize I haven’t been listening to a word she’s said. “They were so grateful you gave them their son back that they wanted to give you a big basket of their best baked goods, but I put a stop to that. In your condition, we can’t have you just pigging out on sweets.”

When you only have half of your facial features available to you the way I do, it can be rather difficult to accurately portray what one is feeling. While my intent is to look incredulous, I think it’s honestly coming off as angry instead. “Why would you do that?” I ask weakly. “Whatever you’re putting in the IV isn’t doing much to give me my strength back, and I doubt it’s doing my babies much good either.”

Redheart’s disinterested smile falls away, replaced by a mask of worry. “Y-your foals...”

Okay, I am really not liking that worried look. “Yes, my foals,” I rasp, baring my teeth. “You know, the two beings growing within my womb?” I try my best to sit up, but I can barely muster a full-body twitch. “Future me in the afterlife said I was going to have our daughters. She didn’t say anything about losing any foals!” My eye begins to water as my lips quaver around the words. “She didn’t say I need to be strong... She didn’t warn me of trag—” I break off into a sobbing cough.

“Your foals are just fine,” she states firmly before I can begin again. “They’re perfectly healthy and safe!”

“Then why sound so surprised when I asked about them?” I whisper accusingly. “Why make it sound like it’s a topic that you don’t want to discuss?”

The nurse takes a deep breath and hardens her expression. That’s never good. “Make no mistake; I respect what you did for the Cakes... but what you did was reckless and absolutely inexcusable, regardless of your mental instability.” Her eyes narrow to mere slits, and her voice lowers to a harsh whisper, as though she is making every effort to prevent herself from yelling. “With your training, it’s impossible for you to not have known that this could very well kill you! You can’t justify risking their lives by saying it all turned out okay or you had the best intentions. Were it up to me, your foals would be taken from you the moment they’re born.

“So you should be able to understand my surprise when your first question is not of self-interest, but of the very foals you risked.” She seems to deflate as she says this.

I stare at her levelly for a few minutes, considering her words. They aren’t anything I haven’t already thought myself, and hearing it from her is actually reassuring; it means the world is still sane and, by that reasoning, so am I. With a nod, I smile beneath a mask. “I know,” I croak. “I can barely forgive myself, but it had to be done.” I look her in the eye and sigh. “It had to be now, while Pumpkin was still young enough that she might forget the lies her mother had to tell her. I hadn’t intended to die; I miscalculated.”

Nurse Redheart sighs and nods. “You miscalculated more than you realize,” she agreed. “Your alchemical purgative wasn’t nearly potent enough to rid you and your foals of both the poisons and magical energies from your potion... The unicorns on staff haven’t seen anything like that magic, and they were able to determine that it won’t dissipate naturally.”

“... and Mother’s Kiss is only truly effective when there are poisons present,” I say, staring up at the ceiling. “Without a poison, it cannot flush away a magical effect, and the magical effect is still present...” Wait. If the magics are still present, I wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye just now. “Where is it? I didn’t petrify you, so the effect isn’t still in my eye, so what happened.”

“Our first reaction would have been a stronger purgative tailored from the blood samples you gave when you were admitted,” she says, turning to stare out the window. “You would probably be familiar with the one I mean, which means you know why in your position it was out of the question.” Not being wholly of my blood, it would have aborted my babies... violently. “The unicorns treating you determined that you could not be treated until after the births of your daughters, but by that time, the potion’s effect may have blended with your body’s natural magics... and theirs.”

“A curse...” I mutter, feeling my left cheek become wet. Irritatingly, the bandage over my other eye begins to itch. “They’re going to be born never going to look upon their friends and loved ones with their own eyes?”

Redheart just smiles at me knowingly. Her reaction is surprising to say the least. How can anypony simply smile after giving that sort of news? She definitely knows more than she’s letting on, but what?

I blink at her for a moment, before feeling my own lips tighten into a grin. Of course; that makes much more sense! No medical professional would want to curse any child with such misfortune. There would also be concerns whether, if diluted between the two of them, the remaining magic would even have enough power to fix accidental petrifications. Their mages would probably want to concentrate the energies in one spot, but rather than afflict one or both of my foals, it would be the logical choice to use me.

Assuming that some of the potion-based enchantment had been flushed out by the Mother’s Kiss, the effect would probably be weakened if spread across both eyes, looping back to the potency issue to a lesser degree. What better place to concentrate is there it than one of my eyes?

“Clever ponies... So they surgically removed the afflicted eye, then. Hence the bandage,” I conclude tiredly, feeling all of my strength flow out of me. It certainly made sense. They would probably have to cut into my face to properly excise the eye, and rather than leave an empty socket or sew it permanently shut, they’d probably put in a glass prosthetic for aesthetic purposes. The bandage would be there to keep the sutures clean, and probably keep the prosthetic in so that the muscles heal in the proper shape. “Makes sense.”

The nurse shakes her head, her smile vanishing and her brows furrowing. “Not yet,” she denies, looking down at the foot of my bed, where I can only assume my chart is located. “You’re still not stable enough for surgery at this point in time—” I can imagine that, what with my heart probably being far weaker because of all the alchemical poisoning; just a general anesthetic would probably kill me and therefore my foals. Who knows how much time I’ve shaved off my life? “—and even then, we generally don’t perform such surgeries without consent.”

Huh, so if I want to, I can keep this accursed eye and start a depetrification service. Admittedly, that does sound like something ponies might like to have around. Heck, the princesses probably keep a secret vault containing all the ponies that have ever been petrified over the centuries. The thought of ponies coming out of stasis, Han Solo style, has a certain appeal to it.

It could even have emergency medical benefits. Somepony in critical condition and they probably won’t survive the trip? Pshaw, Silver ‘Stone-eye’ can help. What if I could even replicate this effect and give it to all Equestrian EMTs? Patient survivability across the country would skyrocket.

Then there’s the possible law-enforcement aspect of it as well. Police shootings aren’t likely to be a prevalent problem here, but even guard brutality claims would plummet... And the military, well... I don’t imagine anypony would march against a platoon of stonegazers who can petrify entire companies of soldiers and let them live.

“Um... are you okay?” Redheart asks worriedly, interrupting my own musing. I snap my eye open to stare at her, unaware that it had closed. “I asked if you were okay with being scheduled for the enucleation surgery once you’ve stabilized, and you just started laughing madly.”

“Show me,” I say with a giggle.

A confused expression overtakes her concern, and she asks, “Your laughter?”

I beam at her, flashing her a toothy grin. “I need a mirror.”

For a long time, I can do nothing but sit in front of the full-body mirror in what, for the last three months, has been my room. It’s been a long time coming, but the doctors here no longer think that I’m at risk of self-harm, and believe me stable enough to be released on my own recognizance. To be frank, I don’t really have any idea of what all I’m supposed to be doing now that I’m fit for release, or how it all seems to have shored itself up after depetrifying the Cake foal. Maybe it’s just the little bit of balance needed to tip the scales of my psyche in the right direction.

All I can do is stare at my reflection and feel... naked. I just don’t look quite right without the patient gown on. It does have me feeling kind of naked without anything on, but I suppose that just goes to show that you can get used to anything over time. Maybe I can get myself a lab coat...

Can’t rightly say that asylum life has been treating me badly though. As I trace a hoof along the gentle swell of my belly, I’m reminded just how good the food was here. Of course, very little of it is fat per se. You just happen to get sort of round when you have two small lives growing inside you and you’re only around three and a half feet tall... and pregnant. It also helps that the kitchen staff isn’t averse to allowing a pregnant mare to indulge in her cravings. Mmm... stuffed habaneros and icecream.

My eyes dart away from the lower half of my reflection, trailing up my body to meet my gaze. First, I focus in on my left, good eye. With both eyes open, it’s kind of hard to tell if my left iris is blue or purple, but that’s the way it works when your vision is permanently tinged red in one eye. Like the Wind Sight, it’s just something you get used to and learn to filter out.

There’s no mistaking the difference my right eye, however. It’s a very vivid vermillion now, but not in the avian sense. While a cockatrice’s eye has no discernible pupil, sclera, or iris, I maintain the basic equine eye structure, lacking only a visible pupil. If I had to guess, there is no pupil because the membrane that would normally operate as the iris instead filters out the visible light spectrum so that only the underlying...

But now I’m just mentally rambling without any real experiments to back up my wild guessing. Not like it’s really safe to test theories about my eye here anyway. This is a mental care facility, not a laboratory. It might be a controlled environment, but the staff would never let me experiment on other patients, not that I’ve ever considered it.

With a great sigh, I tear my gaze away from my heterochromic reflection and slip on the eyepatch I wear daily. Two months to the day: that’s how long I’ve had this eye, and every day I see my reflection, I’m reminded of Blossom. Her green and yellow eyes are still fresh in my mind... but, it doesn’t hurt deep down now. The sight of her confused eyes staring at me as her head lay separated from her body is no longer the image that comes to mind when I think of them; in my memory, I see them soft and surrounded with the laugh-lines of a well-lived afterlife.

Turning away from the mirror entirely, I look at the saddlebags sitting at the foot of the bed—my saddlebags. Even not having seen them for months, it’s impossible to mistake Rarity’s craftsmanship and the unique touches she made to make it mine. Regardless, it’s all mine, and it is another step towards normalcy.

The trip over to the bed to retrieve them is short, but sweet. It’s not even all that difficult to get it back on, although admittedly I’m going to have to start adjusting the strap to account for my ever-growing belly pretty soon. As absurd as it sounds, putting on saddlebags is like riding a bike; you never really forget.

Stepping out the door of my former room, I smile at the mural adorning the wall directly opposite of me before folding my ears back in momentary shame. It’s fun to pretend that the mural, depicting ponies having fun in various ways amidst the messages of good health and self-betterment, was a staff approved endeavor, and that they asked Pastel to paint all of this. Sadly it’s but another consequence of the day I changed it all.

Pastel is definitely the little artist, I’ll give her that, but she definitely has a hard time following instructions when she gets excited about something. Don’t get me wrong; the Hearth’s Warming mural was awesome, and I have no doubt that they will bring it out of storage for next year given how much everypony else liked it. Just, when she finished, she kinda forgot what I told her about not bankrupting the art-supply fund. Needless to say, between my escape and subsequent injuries, she managed to get a fair bit of the walls near patient rooms before anypony managed to put a stop to it.

Heh, I don’t even mind that, after I was released back into the ward, I was made responsible to help ‘clean up’. Well, it’s not really helping when I’m the one removing all the more, um, disturbing pieces with a paint scraper while a little filly cries and apologizes about going overboard. At least I can take pride in the fact that she wasn’t crying because I got her in trouble... or that I had to take it all down. It also helps that I convinced the staff to let me leave up the mural across from my door. On the plus side, the next pony to get this room will always get a cheerful bit of positive reinforcement every morning before breakfast.

Turning down the hallway, my slow and measured steps carry me toward the common room. Leaving here marks another turning point in my life, and it’s hard not to be apprehensive. This is probably the safest, most stable environment I’ve resided in since staying with Doc Forceps and Candy Stripes for the first seven or so months living here in Equestria, and with all that I’ve been through, I really don’t want to give any of that up.

At the same time though, what I said to Luna weighs heavily on my mind. It’s time for me to start moving forward. I think that in order to go forward, with that in mind, there is some backtracking I must first do. To get anywhere in life, finishing my doctorate in Alchemy should be my top priority. Even if it means a lot of time spent on campus... where it all happened.

Before any of that, however, I’m going to spend some time with Lyra, Bon-Bon, and Honeydew. Losing my mind hasn’t been any easier on them than it has for me, and I intend to make it up to them. I apparently have a lot of money on my hooves—three guesses where that came from, and the first two don’t count—and I’m sure they’d all love to go on a nice vacation. After being in here, I know I certainly do.

There’s honestly nothing more I’d like to do right now than just sit down and pretend to have a normal life for a while. Just go traveling with the herd I was offered the opportunity to be a part of so long ago, and get to know each other again. Mom and ‘Dad’ will probably get some time to themselves, and I’ll get an opportunity to spend time with my goddaughter. It’ll be good for me, at any rate. I need the experience, what with two of my very own on the way.

Upon reaching the common room, I’m greeted by the sight of Lyra sitting by the door to the main hospital. Despite her smile, it’s clear that she’s uncomfortable here, not that it’s really surprising. She’s all ramrod stiff, as if afraid to move while being hounded by none other than Pastel.

I’ll probably never be ready to live in one of the dormitories again, but once I go back to Canterlot, I plan on checking in with Candy and her mother. God knows I’ve neglected my relationship with the pair of them since I hit the university. You can only do so much to keep in touch when you’re contacting ponies via letters... especially when you initially turn them away when you’re in the hospital after being brutally raped. Still, they’re back together in Canterlot again and I at least owe it to them to... what? Apologize for becoming withdrawn and trying to protect them from my crazy rather than letting them help me.

With a smile of my own, I sidle up beside Pastel. “Sorry, hon,” I say, winking at Lyra. “I know how much you want to paint somepony new, but I’ve really gotta borrow this pony. See, she’s my ticket out of here.”

Pastel’s bubbly demeanor falters as she turns to me, her mouth agape. “What? You’re leaving today?” she squeals, surprising Lyra. “Honest and for true?”

I nod and sit down to hug the little filly. “Sorry, kiddo, but yeah,” I say with a wince as she wraps her hooves around a foreleg, squeezing tightly. Okay, so I might not be a horrible mother. I mean, someone else’s kid pretty much looks up to me and is going to miss me, so I am doing something right... “I’ll miss you too.” With the tips of my wings, I embrace her in a tight, feathery hug. “You be good, okay? Do what the doctors say, and you’ll be out before you know it.”

Lyra watches me, a smile creasing her cheeks as I release Pastel from the hug. “How are you so good with kids?” she asks, slowly shaking her head as she watches the little filly scamper off to talk to one of the nurses. “Are all human males good with children?”

With a shake of my head, I turn toward the exit. “Nah, I was just a big kid once upon a time.” With a teary smile, I say, “Let’s go, Lyra. It’s high time I got my life back on track.”

Lyra begins to trot after me, until I stop. “Oh... by the way,” I add casually, my smile morphing into a grin. “I’m pregnant.”

Author's Notes:

So yeah... Long time coming, this. It's been 'finished' and edited since October 2nd, but I wanted to release this alongside the epilogue, if I hadn't made that part obvious by the multiple blogs on that point by this point. Thanks to E3gner, NightmareKnight, Fourpony and ReFro for their edit jobs on this chapter.

So closed draws the Alchemist's Heart, or does it? Check the epilogue for the Good End. Don't worry. I'm not going to spring a "Bad End" on you like some kind of video game.