//------------------------------// // Foreshadowing // Story: Five Score, Divided by Four: Salem's Lot // by Chicken Waffles //------------------------------// May 2nd, 2020. Salem, MA It’s my birthday, and I’m selling people colorful rocks. We’ve labeled and relabeled the containers of gemstones, and yet they keep asking. Amethyst is for calming the mind, turquoise is for communication. No, green jade is for the heart chakra, you’re thinking of fluorite, that’s for the third eye chakra. Lapis lazuli promotes self-awareness and insight. No, ma’am, we don’t have any goldstone, those aren’t formed naturally. If you need to boost your fertility, you can use rose quartz. Well, at least, that’s what we get paid to say. Really, it’s a load of bullshit. All of it. They’re stones. Colorful minerals that come out of the ground. Any actual healing or other rejuvenating properties you get out of putting them in a necklace or under your pillow is entirely a placebo. But no one says that out loud- especially not in Salem. The economy relies on the kayfabe. River Styx Stones and Gifts doesn’t just sell crystals, of course. No self-respecting shop on the North Shore ever sold one thing. ‘and Gifts’ includes tarot decks, candles, smudge sticks, incense, books, and figurines for every pagan god under the sun. Oh, and don’t forget the ubiquitous Salem paraphernalia! Whether it’s magnets, shirts, mugs, coasters, or hats, anything you can slap the city’s name on alongside a flying witch silhouette practically prints money. And thank goodness for that. Massachusetts rent hasn’t been cheap since I was in elementary school, and since we live above the store, we can’t exactly afford to shirk our work. My latest customer walks out the door with their bag of books and tarot, and I sneak a quick look at my phone. 4:02. A little under two hours until we close. Thank god. The others are coming at seven for our D&D / birthday party combo, and I still need to get that set up. I know we probably should have rescheduled once we realized our Saturday sessions would bump up against the celebration, but getting Isabelle to reschedule once she had something written down was about as easy as teaching a fish to ride a bike. Besides, D&D nights were always full of pizza and goofing off. Add the presents, and it’s a birthday party. No extra planning required. “How are we doing?” a familiar voice calls. It’s my mother, emerging from one of the back rooms. She’s got a box full of assorted stones tucked under her arm. I shrug, rocking back on my heels. God, my feet are killing me. Mom insists she and I stand up while at the register, because I guess she thinks sitting down makes us look lazy or unprofessional. In reality, my glum-looking resting face does that all on its own. “Fine,” I reply. “Sold another couple packs of the Thoth tarot we got last week.” She brightens at the news, moving to the shelves of crystals to replenish our stock. “Oh! That’s great!” Unlike me, my mom actually believes in all the witchy, spiritual mumbo-jumbo. She knows we don’t see eye to eye on the belief ever since I was loud about it in middle school, but so long as I work hard at the store, she doesn’t care what I think. The bell above the door tinkles, and in comes a new customer. She’s a young, slightly chunky woman, maybe a couple years older than me. Her black hair hang in two big pigtails, and a orange knit shawl that’s designed to mimic the pattern of a spiderweb falls over her shoulders. I’m positive she has business cards for her Etsy page in her purse. “Hello!” I chime, forcing as much joviality into my voice as I can manage. She stops in the doorway at my greeting, lips creased like she’s just sucked on a lemon. “Is something the matter?” I dare to inquire. The woman doesn’t respond, quickly gathering her composure and shuffling into the store. She disappears behind one of the displays, checking out god knows what. Eventually, she finishes her search, approaching the counter with several bundles of incense sticks. I spy a few of the labels- dragon’s blood, sandalwood, and something merely labeled ‘Wizard’. “Are you aware of the dark energies in your establishment?” she asks, deathly serious. My smile trembles at the corners as I ring up her items, my pleasant, practiced expression threatening to shatter like glass. Oohhhh no. I didn’t think I was due for one of these customers for at least another week. Then again, it was the beginning of May. The warmer months tended to inject some more... eccentric folks into the Salem ecosystem. They were nothing compared to the people that showed up for Halloween, obviously, but that didn’t mean I didn’t dread putting up with them. “Oh?” I finally respond. “I’m sensing a lot of pain here,” she elaborates. She indicates the incense I’ve just picked up to scan. “Have you ever actually used these before?” “I mean, we like to try our products before investing,” I say. She looks down her glasses at me. “Mmmm.” “Will that be all?” I digress curtly, slipping the last bundle into the plastic bag. Oh, please, say yes. “That’s it,” she says, and it’s all I can do not to sigh with relief. I ring her up her card and hand her her bag. She walks out the door, and the breath leaves my body so quickly I practically deflate. Thank fuck that’s over. Hopeful, I look back at the clock on my phone. Surely that must have taken some time out of the remaining work day- 4:10. I clench my jaw so tight it hurts. 6pm can’t come fast enough. * * * At long last, we usher the last customer out, tally up the day’s funds, close the register, and lock up for the night. I turn off the lights in the store and hurry upstairs, not wanting to waste any time preparing for the session. The party’s set to go on a dungeon crawl tonight, and I’ve spent way too many hours drafting up floorplans to half-ass the presentation. Winslow weaves in between my feet as I walk into the game room. I swear, for all his sweetness, that cat secretly yearns for my death. I think the only thing that’s stopping him is the knowledge that he won’t get nearly as many ear scritches if he trips me down the stairs headfirst. Crouching down, I remove the lid from the plastic tub full of miniatures. Winslow unhelpfully leaps onto my back as I rifle through my supplies, ascending to rest on my shoulders as I grab a fistful of skeleton and zombie figures. I stuff my arm deeper into the vat, searching for the figure I bought for the potential surprise encounter I’ve included in my dungeon construction. I think I started DMing around 2015. Shit, that was half a decade ago, now that I think of it. Jeesh. Time sure does fly, even if I feel like I’m not moving at all. Anyway, my friend Natasha had gotten into watching Critical Role during her sophomore year of college and desperately wanted to play D&D. Since the newest edition of the game had come out the year prior, I figured it was as good a time as any to learn how to run a campaign for her. My first oneshot went pretty well, all things considered; I’d come up with a short, homebrewed scenario where Nat and her girlfriend Bree’s characters were summoned to save a seaside village from a siren attack. Nat played a tiefling rogue named Crazy Cherry, while Bree played an elf bard named Earl who owned a pet squirrel named Squearl. Once I’d gotten a taste, I was hooked, and soon that oneshot turned into a full-fledged campaign. A month later, I invited our other friend Isabelle to join the party with the rest of us, though she was stuck playing via video chat for the first couple years as she was studying out of state at the time. With no higher education and a full-time job working for your mom ever since I graduated high school, D&D’s become the bright spot of my life amidst a whole lot of shadows. I unroll the battlemat and spread it over the table, smoothing it out until it lays flat, then hide my mountain of campaign notes behind my DM screen. Most D&D players lament the idea of being a forever DM like me, but honestly, it’s not as bad as it sounds. With a life as dull and listless as mine, punctuated only by the oddness of witchy weirdoes and clueless tourists, DMing provides some genuinely appreciated sense of control. Sure, I wish I could be the one playing hero for once, but coming up with new, weird adventures for other people to go on has its perks. There’s nothing quite like watching your players’ faces shift when you reveal a plot twist, or their gasps of despair when you have a monster land a particularly devastating blow on their character. My phone buzzes on the table. Isabelle. [Here!] I hurry downstairs, greeting her at the back door. She’s overdressed as always. Even in May, she’s wearing multiple layers- a periwinkle blazer over a soft white top and slacks. Her lips are a subdued, but still painted pink, and her lashes are thick with expertly applied mascara. I’ll never understand why she chooses to get all dressed up just to slave over a sewing machine for hours on end. “Hope I’m not too late,” she says, heels clicking on the wooden floor as she slides past me. I snort, shaking my head. “God no. You know those two are never on time.” “I suppose,” she sighs. “But a girl can always hope.” “How’s work been?” I ask. Isabelle tips her head back, a low groan spilling from her lips. “Exhausting! Frozen Jr’s a little over two weeks away, and we’ve got a whole week of performances lined up! Honestly, I’m shocked I even left the costume shop tonight. Do you have any idea how sick I am of looking at that godforsaken snowman costume?” “Very?” I guess. “Very, Persephone,” she affirms. “You didn’t forget the presents, did you?” I ask, hoping to distract her from her Olaf trauma. “Oh, shoot,” she hisses. “They’re in the car. I’ll be right back- hold this.” Without another word, she thrusts her styrofoam Dunkin cup into my hand and marches back to her vehicle. Soon enough, she’s back, a massive bag under her arm. I used to find it weird that Isabelle and I almost had the exact same birthday- mine on May 2nd and hers on May 3rd. It got even weirder when Natasha started dating Bree, and then her birthday turned out to be the 3rd as well. Then, I learned that, in a big enough group, there’s a 50% chance of two people sharing a birthday, so it’s probably not all that uncommon. Regardless of the statistics behind it, though, I was always a little grateful for the closeness. When most of your friends have birthdays the literal day following yours, you can’t exactly forget to get them gifts. Plus, since ours are so close together, it means we just smush the celebrations into one thing. It certainly saves money on decorations, that’s for sure. “Where should I put this?” Isabelle asks, lifting the arm still holding the bag. I gesture to the stairs. “In the game room.” As Isabelle is ascending to the second floor, a familiar, boxy food truck swings into the parking lot behind River Styx. The Cheese Whiz is as blinding yellow as ever, the metal sides marked over with elbow pasta-shaped markings, gooey sandwiches, and the logo of a block of cheese wearing taped-up nerd glasses. The truck slows to a stop just before it can crash into the parking curb, and the passenger door slides open. Bree practically flies out as soon as she can fit her skinny frame through the widening gap, wrapped boxes of presents under each arm. “Hey birthday girl!” Bree calls. She attempts to wave, but with the presents taking up space, she can really only greet me with a strange, awkward chicken dance movement. “Hey, other birthday girl,” I reply, a small smile on my face despite the minimal enthusiasm in my voice. “Third birthday girl’s already upstairs.” “Who’s ready for ca-ake?” Nat asks in a sing-song voice. She carefully emerges from the driver’s side, holding out a large sheet cake covered in sprinkles and white icing. “Me, me!” Bree cheers, practically bouncing at the promise of sugar. God, I love her to bits, but I swear, her energy drains my social battery like no other. “After the session,” I say. “Otherwise we’ll never start.” Bree deflates. “Aw man.” Once everyone’s upstairs in the game room, I order some pizza and we get started. Previously, Crazy Cherry, Earl, and Isabelle’s elf cleric, Leilora, were pointed in the direction of a cave that the locals of the nearby village had abandoned after too many mining accidents. People from the village were going missing, and many of the locals thought that a monster potentially living in the cave was responsible. They proceed through the cave as planned, killing whatever crosses their path- mostly skeletons and giant spiders, along with the occasional mimic. I can’t not include mimics. Somehow, Bree falls for them every damn time. I don’t even think she’s doing it on purpose like Nat enjoys doing. Eventually, thanks to an unusually high perception check from Crazy Cherry, the group come across my special encounter room. My toes tap anxiously beneath the table. I thank my autism for my resting bitch face- I don’t want to spoil the surprise I have planned. “Alright, Crazy Cherry, as you enter the room, you immediately notice something out of the ordinary,” I begin to narrate, “about ten feet ahead of you, there are several different weapons frozen in midair. Among them, you can see a halberd, a dagger, a battle axe, and a sword.” “Oh, that’s a trap if I’ve ever seen one,” Isabelle says. “Hey! No metagaming!” Bree counters, holding a finger to her lips in a shushing motion. “That’s not metagaming, Bree,” Isabelle says, waving a hand. “I mean, seriously, just a bunch of weapons hovering there, out in the open? It doesn’t take a genius to recognize that’s dangerous. That’s obvious to anyone with half a brain!” Bree glances to her girlfriend’s character sheet. “I dunno, Crazy Cherry’s intelligence is pretty low…” “You mentioned a sword, right?” Nat asks through her mouthful of Mandee’s Pizza. “How cool does it look?” I raise a brow. “How cool?” “Yeah, does it look like an ordinary sword or is it, like… fancy and magical?” I shrug. “Roll for, uh, perception, I guess?” Nat’s d20 rattles on the table. “That’s a 15.” “You can’t tell if it’s magic, but it does look very fancy,” I tell her. “The pommel is shaped like a gladiator’s helmet, and there’s a beautiful, green gem set into the hilt.” A crooked smirk pulls at her lips. “I’m going in.” I resist the urge to mimic her expression. “So what do you do?” “Crazy Cherry is gonna rush in there and grab that sword so she can show it off to the rest of the party,” she replies. Bingo. I grab a small, transparent, cube-shaped object from behind my DM screen, beginning to narrate the ensuing turn of events. “As you hurry in and snatch up the sword, you suddenly find that you can no longer move. The air is thick around you, holding you in place.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nat grimacing. I continue, “then, you feel this burning sensation all over your skin, making a-” I hiss, drawing out the sibilant sound “-and as you do, you see that what you thought was empty air was actually a giant mass of thick, slightly transparent slime.” “Oh shiiiiit,” With that, I place the plastic cube atop of Crazy Cherry’s mini figure, trapping it in the fake gelatinous cube. Seeing what’s happened, the other members of the party swarm the room, and I have them roll initiative. Since Bree rolled the highest, Earl gets to go first. “Okay, so, I gotta ask- as an action… is it possible…” Bree starts. “Oh boy,” Isabelle sighs. I hold up a hand. “No, let her talk. I wanna see where she’s going with this.” “Is it possible for me to use my action to tie a rope to my arrow and then shoot it into the cube?” she asks. “Y’know, so CC can grab onto it and we can pull her out?” I squint, letting the thought roll around. “Well, each round is only six seconds, so I think you can only tie it in that time, not shoot it. You can shoot it in your next turn, though,” I decide. “Then I do that!” “Alright, Leilora, your turn,” I say, turning to Isabelle. She looks up from her spell sheet and grabs her dice. “I’m going to ca-” It’s like a brick slammed into my chest. My vision fills with stars, dizzying blackness pulled over my eyes. I can’t see. I can only hear. “He’s too strong!” My hooves thunder the dirt, legs trembling. “Rockhoof, please-!” The world whips past me. I’m falling. “No!” Impact. I drag myself down the path. I have to get there. I need to make it to the- “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” “Percy!” I snap back to reality, suddenly aware of Nat waving her hand in my face. Oh, god, what the fuck? What happened? “Muh? What?” I manage. “Are you alright?” Isabelle asks, lips pressed in a concerned pout. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” I say. I wrinkle my nose. “Just. Zoned out, I guess.” “I’ll say,” Bree chimes in, giggling. “It looked like you were having a staring contest with the wall.” “You lost, by the way,” Natasha adds. Face red, I sit back in my chair and try to piece together my thoughts. What the hell was I thinking about just then? Why did that happen? I shake my head, like the motion will manually dispel the confusing thoughts. It had been a long day. I’m probably just tired. “Ugh. Whatever- where was I?” “I hit the gelatinous cube with my Guiding Bolt,” Isabelle helpfully informs. I peek behind my screen to look at the creature’s stats. “Yeah! Yeah, uh- what’d you roll again?” Thankfully, they manage free Crazy Cherry and kill the thing, and the rest of the campaign session passes without incident. After the run-in with the gelatinous cube, the group continued their descent into the dungeon. Eventually, they reached the innermost part of the cave, where they discovered a cult worshipping Cyric, the god of trickery and lies. There, it was revealed that the cultists were the ones kidnapping villagers, using them as sacrifices to curry favor with the god. Obviously, battle ensued, and though there were a couple close calls, Earl’s bardic inspiration and a well-planned use of the Mirror Image spell by Leilora came in clutch. Soon enough, there were a dozen or so dead cultists, three rescued villagers that had yet to be sacrificed, and loot to give out. For their troubles, the party received a decent amount of gold, precious gems, and a strange artifact that I created as a plot hook for a new story arc. Plus, Crazy Cherry got to keep the cool sword from the gelatinous cube, which turned out to be magic. “But wait, there’s more,” I exclaim, putting on my best guy-in-an-infomercial impression. With that, I reach under the table and produce the presents I had wrapped for each of them. Yes, each of them. Even though it’s not Nat’s birthday, I felt bad making her watch everyone else have fun with their gifts. It’s not her fault she was born in January. “Present time?” Bree asks. She sits up like someone’s lit a fire under her, her eyes sparkling with gleeful anticipation. I nod. “Present time.” With the affirmation, everyone else piles their gifts onto the table. I pick out Bree’s immediately- her wrapping skills have always left a lot to be desired. Her gift’s ten percent paper, ninety percent tape. Since we’re in my house, I get to open my gifts first. Grabbing Bree’s taped-up mess, I bring it to my ear and give it a little shake. Something inside rattles around, and I grin. Sounds promising. I pull open one end of the package and my gift spills into my hand. It’s a plastic flask filled with black, glittering polyhedral dice. The dark, multi-sided pieces glint in the light as I turn the vessel back and forth, the dice swirling like a starry galaxy in my palm. “Whoa,” I whisper. “Open mine next,” Nat urges, pushing her wrapped box towards me. I do. It’s a flat rectangle- clearly a book. I tear it open, revealing Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount. Another D&D thing. I guess when you’ve really only got one hobby, you’re easy to buy gifts for. I’m not complaining, though. There’s nothing worse than a vague present that makes it clear the person giving it doesn’t know what you like. Finally, I get to Isabelle’s bag. I feel her eyes lock onto me as I stuff my hand into the bag, groping past the tissue paper until my fingers brush against something soft. I pull it out, revealing the gift to be a handmade scarf. It’s a long, knitted thing, striped with blue and white yarn. At one of the ends, she’s embroidered the symbol of a d20 in green thread. “Oh jeez, Isabelle,” I breathe. “When did you have time to make this?” She laughs. “I didn’t. I worked on it in between shifts. Made my own time.” “Well, it’s gorgeous,” I say. After a bit of fumbling, I get it around my neck to test it out. I’m not usually a scarf person- weird textures anywhere against my skin are a sensory nightmare- but this is actually super soft. Shit, if it wasn’t May, I might be tempted to wear this around. Then again, the weather never seemed to bother Isabelle. She’ll wear four layers out in July if she’s got a good enough outfit. “Can I go next?” Bree asks, eyes wide and pleading as she raises a hand. I chuckle. “Go ahead.” It’s clear if I say no she might explode. “Girlfriend dibs,” Nat declares, plopping the tall, covered box in front of Bree. Her partner only pulls back an inch from the front of the wrapping before stopping to gasp. The gasp somehow turns into a teakettle squeal, punctuated by “ohmygosh. Nat! No way!” Beside her, Nat’s face splits into a wide, knowing grin. Bree quickly tears through the rest of it, planting the unearthed box on the cleared battlemat. It’s a sealed figure of an anime girl version of Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. She’s wearing a headband with pony ears atop her big, pink hair, a blue jacket, white shirt, and a tiered pink skirt with the character’s cutie mark on the side. She’s got one arm lifted and one leg kicked up into the air behind her in a display of jubilation, and a smaller version of the pony she’s based on stands in front of her, face frozen mid laugh. Even through the plastic, I can tell the figure inside is just as detailed as the box art. “She’s perfect! Thank you, babe!” She leans over, planting a noisy kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. “Best hundred bucks I’ve ever spent,” Nat says, arms folded and smile smug. None of us are quite able to top the hundred dollar anime figure, as it turns out. Natasha gets a pair of goofy, cheese wedge-shaped earrings from Isabelle and an MLP-themed baking book from me, the cover bearing an image of her favorite pink pony. Isabelle gets fabric shears, a blue makeup palette, and a mug labeled ‘Costume Designer – piss me off and you go on stage naked’ with a Dunkin Donuts gift card stuffed inside. Meanwhile, the unbirthday girl receives a marshmallow-scented candle as a pity gift from me. She loves it. Hell yeah. Then, we move on to dessert. Natasha brings out the sheet cake with provided fanfare from Bree. Winslow attempts to stamp his paws into the cake, but I pull him away into my lap before the fuzzy idiot can cover himself in buttercream. I grab a plate and carve myself a slice of the marble cake, immediately digging in. I’m glad you don’t need two hands to eat cake, because while one hand’s busy with the fork, the other is desperately trying to stop my cat from attempting a second assault. “Sho,” Bree manages through her mouthful, “how’ve you guysh been?” Isabelle empties her lungs with a sigh. “Hanging on. Getting ready for Frozen Jr.” Bree’s eyes glimmer. “Oh, yeah!” She swallows. “When is that again?” “Oh, no-” Isabelle shakes her head “-I don’t expect you to go or anything.” Nat chuckles. “C’mon, dude, we wanna support you.” “Besides,” I chime in, “you weren’t the only theater kid in high school. A single performance isn’t gonna kill us.” “Okay,” Isabelle concedes, “but it’s your funeral if you can’t get ‘Let it Go’ out of your head for a week.” Bree’s expression hardened with determination, and she puffed her chest. “I can take it.” “What about you two?” I ask, spearing another piece of cake with my fork. “How’s The Whiz?” “Oh, it’s been great!” Bree said. “Business is booming. Summer’s coming, so, y’know, peak season and all that.” “We’ve been thinking about adding a few more menu items,” Nat added. “And maybe having a few rotating ones- like, holiday specials.” “Nat really wants to add a cheesesteak,” Bree says. The mention of it gets the two babbling even more, each of them talking over one another to mention a new thing about their food truck. My smile slowly fades, and I sink back into my seat. Nat, Isabelle, Bree- they’re all doing the things they love, and I’m just selling rocks and counting down the days between each Dungeons and Dragons game. Have I always been this boring? God, I hope not. My toes get to tapping again, the rhythmic repetition easing me somewhat. I let the three babble, finishing my cake in contemplative silence. Things wind down after cake. My mom pauses her after work HGTV binging in her room long enough to greet the almost-birthday kids, but that doesn’t inject any more excitement into the evening. Maybe we’re partied out, or maybe we’re too stuffed for any further conversation. Or both. Either way, I see them all off, Isabelle heading out to get some ‘birthday beauty sleep’ while Bree and Nat leave an hour later. Bree leans out the passenger window of The Cheese Whiz, singing the happy birthday song in my direction until distance silences her. I sigh, shutting the door and ascending the stairs. I submit myself to the monotony of cleaning duty, clearing away the plates, pizza boxes, and plastic utensils. Natasha said I could keep the last few slices of cake, so I’ve got that to look forward to, at least. I fold up the DM screen and put the minifigs back into storage, careful to check every inch of the room to make sure I haven’t left any for Winslow to chew on. Eventually, I traverse the obstacle course that is my cluttered room and collapse onto my bed. The mattress and blankets welcome me with open arms, and I groan contentedly into my pillow. I worm my way under the covers, relishing the thought of my day off tomorrow. No work, just cake. Yeah. That’s nice. Unlike the end of my shift earlier today, sleep comes quickly. * * * “You want to be a Pillar? Now’s your chance.” Those had been the first words out of Star Swirl’s mouth. My door lay on the floor beneath him, dented and ripped off its hinges courtesy of a profusely apologetic Rockhoof. What started as an awkward reunion rapidly shifted into a call to action. News had gotten out- Discord had betrayed Celestia, and Luna was nowhere to be found either. To make matters even worse, no one had heard from any of the Element bearers since last night. Flash Magnus was only able to escape Discord’s siege on Canterlot because Shining Armor had ordered him to find us after Celestia failed to return from her trip to the volcano. Mistmane, on the other hoof… we haven’t heard from her. With the remaining Pillars and I together, we set out in the direction of Ponyville immediately. Star Swirl had planned to teleport us all there, but I insisted otherwise. A creature as magical as Discord would undoubtedly be able to sense the powerful surge of energy such a spell required to complete and be upon us in moments. While getting there on foot was tedious and time-consuming, it was far more effective strategically. We’re close now, I know it. Though the millennia between our absence has shifted the terrain somewhat, some larger landmarks remain. As we descend the Foal Mountain cliffside, Somnambula and Flash Magnus take to the skies to scout ahead. I watch the pair soar over the treetops, sharp pines at the base of the mountain giving way to softer oaks. Canterlot, or what’s left of it, shines in the distance atop its purplish peak, and the ruined cottages of Ponyville below belch tongues of thick, rising smoke. So many ponies must be suffering- I can’t even begin to think how many might be dead. What happened? Discord- he wasn’t good by any stretch of the word, but he was at least friendly! Reformed, from what I’d heard, courtesy of the Element of Kindness! Had he changed his mind? Been corrupted? Gotten bored of his nice guy act? Some combination thereof? The possibilities twist my stomach in knots. Then, an unfamiliar voice shouts “pull!” A clay pigeon bursts out from the treetops in the forest below at blinding speed, careening toward the airborne pegasi. My chest lurches and my ears flatten, tail clamped tight between my legs. “Look out!” I shriek, but it’s far too late- the words come out broken and quiet, silenced by distance. Flash only has enough time to look before the clay pigeon slams into his snout. The projectile bursts into pieces, the shrapnel melting into a spray of multicolored confetti. His head snaps back at the impact, his wings flaring once before going slack. The pegasus drops like a stone and Somnambula watches him fall, rigid in horror. Meadowbrook clamps a hoof over her mouth. “No!” “Somnambula!” Star Swirl shouts, eyes wide. “Get back!” The draconequus rises out from the mess of trees, grinning wickedly as he levitates before the Pillar of Hope. He holds Flash Magnus’s motionless body by the tail in his leonine paw, lifting the dangling stallion like he’s showing off an impressively sized fish. “The Pillars! There you are! Y’know, I was wondering when you were going to show up. You certainly took your time,” he teased, tossing the stallion’s body carelessly over his shoulder. Somnambula twists in the air to retreat, hooves pressed in front of her as she zooms back toward us. Discord merely laughs, his clawed lizard hand snatching her up by one of her hind legs. “Let her go!” Rockhoof bellows, tail lashing. Discord clicks his tongue. “You didn’t say please.” The peach-colored mare struggles and strains, wings beating so fast they practically blur, but Discord’s grip remains firm. His yellow and red eyes flick in her direction and she screams in pain, like his gaze burns. A white light erupts from her body, completely engulfing her. It’s like I blink or something- one moment she’s there, and the next she’s gone, taking the light with her. I don’t have time to contemplate where he’s sent her. With another white flash Discord vanishes, reappearing in a burst of light before us. His tall, serpentine body looms over us, sending my legs trembling and my heart galloping laps in my chest. It’s only Star Swirl’s presence beside me that keeps me upright. I can’t afford to give up now- not when he’s trusted me to help him. Not when we may be all that’s standing in between Equestria and its chaotic destruction. “Now,” Discord growls, an excited purr edging his voice, “who’s next?” * * * My eyes crack open, blinking slowly. Ugh. What a weird ass dream. I blame Bree and her Pinkie figure. Grumbling, I pull myself out of bed and scrub my hands over my face. Though the strange nightmare is already fading from my mind, my pulse races in my fingertips and hammers within my ears. Jesus, am I always this shaken up after a nightmare? I haven’t had one in a while, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to. I sluggishly walk into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, I fish my Lexapro out of my pill case. For all my mother's eccentricities, she at least believes in modern medicine. She has the "name your daughter Persephone Gaia Blake" strain of New Age-ism, not the "try and cure your daughter's autism with crystals and essential oils" strain of New Age-ism. Small victories, I suppose. I fill a cup and wash the pill down, snatching a fistful of water from the faucet to give my still tired face a splash. I pause as the water dribbles off my cheeks, something in my reflection catching my eye. What’s that? I glance up, confused- a confusion that only deepens once I get a closer look at what startled me. Why the fuck is my hair blue?