Stupid.

I was so utterly, utterly stupid.

I was stupid because I thought it could work. I was stupid when I got ahead, and thus got ahead of myself. I was stupid when I couldn't foresee the obvious, what was right in front of me. I was stupid when I thought the alteration magics alone could keep my true self hidden.

The only thing I wasn't stupid about? Heh. It's funny.

I wasn't stupid enough to not know when to get away. Not this time.

I levitated the now empty bottle in front of me, cackling internally at the obfuscated reflection my horn cast with its dull shine.

“How fitting,” I said aloud, not particularly caring who – or what – heard me.

The interior of the dinky little trailer swirled around, giving the impression that I was stuck in a washing machine on tumble. A single lit candle filled the room with a fleeting, dancing light that accentuated only the loneliness I felt in my heart – like tiny little claws, tearing it into nothing, piece by Celestia-forsaken piece.

To think that I could actually pull the wool over their eyes. It's a pity, too...it was all going so well before I lost my nerve. ...again.

There's a certain power a pony feels when he or she knows that the extent of their deception is truly absolute. I had studied the field of alteration magics for many, many months – I grew proficient in the art, able to...well...alter my appearance at will. Here's the thing you won't find in any books, though: lose yourself for long enough in somepony else, and you can never be sure if you ever want to find yourself again. I can recall a few weeks this past autumn wherein I was prone to...shall we say, less than conventional guises. In any event, one learns to contain the urge to change oneself. I've come to learn that no matter how many guises I can assume, no matter how long I spend outside of myself, there will always be a me; somewhere, somehow, there will always be a me.

I suppose, in a way, my propensity for duality was the start of it all. How I developed the...the other me. I don't know whether the other me is a he or a she, but I know that it is there. It's a brooding, hurt, seething presence in the darkest reaches of my psyche, all of the self-loathing and self-doubt just festering and boiling, spiteful and irrational. Most days, it's not really that much of an issue. Some days, however...some days...

Being back there was like being in a perpetual state of shock, I think. There was this...this surreality to it, as if it was happening and yet not actually happening to me. To myself. I think that the duality is partially to blame for it; the only downside to assuming multiple forms is a sort of split perception that obfuscates a lot of one's surroundings. I didn't even need to sneak a glance to confirm it, though; I could feel that my magic was working.

It felt good, showing them up like I did. It was almost like...it was almost like before, when I absolutely knew that I was better. That I could do better. I felt...empowered. Alive. Sexy, even; hell, I felt great! The world was, once again, mine for the taking, and nothing short of the wrath of Celestia herself could stop me!

But, alas; what stingy old stallion said it...? “The best laid plans of mice and ponies are oft' go awry,” or some such tripe. Fitting.

I couldn't foresee the inevitable. I thought that maybe - maybe I could impress her. I would pick the right moment, when we were alone...

I was stupid, I was shortsighted and I was thick. And now....now, most noticeably, I am drunk.

But is my spirit broken?

You would think that I would answer in the affirmative. When I look at the state of myself, I am almost inclined to do so.

But I can't be broken.

“I'll have you someday, Twilight Sparkle. Someday...we'll be together.”

Smiling, I buckle on my cape and slip my wizard's hat over my silvery mane.