Dear Princess Celestia,

I write this letter, unsure if I will even send it. I think I just need to hear the scratch of a quill on paper to feel some sense of normalcy at the moment. I... I broke down in tears a moment ago, as my usual outlet for cathartic writing is my journal. But as I rose from the bed in this cold and sterile new castle, I remembered my journal burned to ashes along with the rest of my home.

I've been breaking into tears all morning actually.

I know I'm lucky to have survived. More lucky still that my friends were spared as well. Lucky thrice over that only property and possessions—not lives—were lost when Tirek attacked. I confess I even felt a sort of "high" in my victory yesterday. The combined power I wielded, the rush of adrenaline in battle, the pride in success at the end. I felt strong, confident even, as I never have before. Even after returning the borrowed magic to you, Luna, and Cadance, I still felt wonderful as I marched my way into this new castle, determined to call it home. Yet when I awoke this morning, it's as though the world came crashing down. All the fear and doubt and rage and anger and sadness of the past few days feels like it just came flooding back all at once.

Is that how it's supposed to work? We bottle up those feelings when we can't afford to endure them, but have to pay for it later in tears?




How do you do it, Princess? I know you've been to battle—faced loss so many more times than I. Does it wear on you the same? Do you weep uncontrollably into your pillow, even as the brightness of day shines through the window? Do you hear the victory parade outside celebrating your success, yet find yourself hiding in the cellar? Is this what it's like to win?

I won. I know I did.

I won. Tirek is locked away.

I won! My friends are all safe.

I WON!!!!

So why doesn't it feel like it? Why can I think of nothing but how close I came to losing everything; to losing every[i]pony![/i] Tirek almost killed you, almost killed Luna, Cadance, my friends... He almost killed us all. He was [i]this[/i] close to victory. Had I failed to dodge just one magic blast, one thrown boulder... one single mistake, and I would have died, and everything and everypony I cared about would likely have died with me.

It's the pressure. It must be the pressure. How can so much depend on one awkward, nervous librarian! I'm nopony! I don't even known what I'm doing most of the time. I freak out about overdue books! I almost destroyed the timeline because of homework! How can so much possibly depend on me?!




I took a break for a few hours and flew out over the countryside; forced myself to breathe steadily, focused on the pump of my wings, the flow of the air. Then I saw the tree, and couldn't help myself. "Like a moth to a flame" would be accurate in more than one way, as parts of the trunk were still smoldering, faint wisps of smoke floating up and over the town.

I landed, there in the ashes of my old home. And I wept. Oh, how I wept. I cried so long I began to wonder if it was genuinely possible to run out of tears. Could a pony actually cry so hard that her tear ducts broke? Distracted by the question, I stood up, thinking to retrieve a biology book I shelved a few weeks ago. Then I remembered where I was and there was a catch in my throat as my hooves again felt unsteady beneath me. But curiosity overwhelmed sadness, and I began to dig in the ashes anyway.

Against all odds, a few tomes survived, among them, "Salty Sea's Synopsis of the Sinuses." The outer pages were ruined with water damage, but the section I needed was still legible. So I did what I'm best at. I studied.

And you know what I learned? I learned that in crying, a pony can trade in all her worries, all her stress, all her sorrows, and all her fears. She can cry as much as she wants and as much as she needs to move on. She can cry all day, and nothing will break.

Nothing.

Will.

Break!!