Something shifted.
I looked down into the blackness of the swamp, trying to pick out the small details. Reflections of light coming from seemingly nowhere, or maybe just what I thought I was seeing. Something caught my attention, so there must have been something there.
I squinted.
Nothing.
I looked back up at my work, took a deep breath, and settled myself.
Right angle there. Forty five degrees there. Twenty two and a half degrees there. Eleven and a quarter degrees there. And on. And on. And on. Begin as something concrete, something specific. Twirl into nothing. Just like me. I looked down again.
Something shifted.

I woke up.
My candle was lit. I put it out. I looked up at my work. It was complete. Strange. I didn't remember filling in the rest of the page with the spirals. But then, I didn't remember lighting my candle, either; in fact, I didn't have any way to light my candle. I looked back at the candle. Sitting next to it was a box of matches. The box was made of oak wood, with gold hinges and a gold latch. It was open. I opened my mouth, considering if speaking was worth it.

Is anypony there?
No response. I look up at the moon. I can't find it. I take several steps forward, the ground squelching under my hooves. Another two steps, and I feel water swirling around my leg. I take a step backwards. No telling what's in there. I look around, and I can see the details of the swamp. A complex sprawl of land bridges built amid the dark water. I choose a direction and start walking. I begin to approach a forest of trees, though they are still far away from me.

In an hour’s time, I will arrive at the forest. I will walk into the woods, snaking between thick, dark, musty-smelling trees. If I put my hoof against one, I will feel it sink in. I will jerk back, alarmed. I will keep walking. After I am weary and begin to think of rest, I will arrive at a circle of ten stones, each larger than myself. I will notice, despite the tall trees with their unconscionably dense foliage, the seven symbols, each inscribed individually on one stone. Three stones will bear the same respective symbol as three others. If I take the time, I will notice those twins share many properties beyond simply their iconography. Scrabbling over any particular stone, I will lose my balance and fall down onto the rough, decaying forest floor. Getting up, I will find myself at the perfect center of the circle. I will draw a right angle in the rot beneath me. I will draw a forty five degree angle. I will draw a twenty two and a half degree angle. I will draw an eleven and a quarter degree angle. And so on.

I wake up. My candle is lit. I smile. I turn myself over in bed, still smiling. Luna is across the room, and I murmur a greeting. She smiles back at me. You were having a nightmare, she says. I nod. I felt it best not to intrude. I sit up. Thank you. I think this one was important. Are you sure? No. What makes you think it was important? Do you know anything about numeric symbolism? Yes. Can you get me my notebook? Certainly. I get out of bed. Luna looks around for a moment before discerning the outline of my notebook on a table in the corner. It drifts over to me. Thank you. I walk over to my writing desk and pick up a quill in my mouth. I open my inkpot and dip my quill. I write: Luna interfered. Must make it clear that this cannot continue. Box of matches. I draw: a right angle. I draw a forty five degree angle. I draw a twenty two and a half degree angle. I draw an eleven and a quarter degree angle. And so on.

When I am satisfied that this moment will not be forgotten, I put the cork back in my ink pot and set down my quill. I taste ink, and spit out a small piece of feather. I ponder the circle of stones that became my canvas for the same eerie drawing--diagram, almost--as my first work. As now has my notebook. I look up at Luna. She notices how quickly I move. Oh, no.