Reality shattered. The aftershocks flung Lyra Hearstrings clear across the musty, old room like a gorilla discarding a freshly used banana peel. She heard more than felt the impact as her body greeted a nearby bookshelf. 

"Dammit!" she cursed. She rubbed her head, her body protesting as she tried to struggle back onto her hooves. The sharp scent of burning magicka caught her attention, and the sight of a pale, blue-white smoke rising from the nearby tome confirmed her suspicions.

With her hooves back under her, Lyra trotted back over to that damned book. She glared balefully at its blasphemous pages as if to challenge it, to pit her will against the might of an uncaring, unfeeling, inanimate object. Her eyes never left the faded leather or the strangely jagged symbols etched onto its face. If she could burn it, she would.

The mint green unicorn took a deep breath. She'd often found that slow breathing could help to still her otherwise turbulent nerves, and this wasn't the time for her to falter. If only she could have a few more--

The clang of a nearby grandfather clock tore her from the book's pages. She looked around in panic before settling to count the strikes. Her breath hitched as it tolled out the eleventh hour. Not enough time. 

She looked back at the book and the notes that were compiled around them. With a newfound resolve, she dipped her quill into the nearest inkwell and got back to work. Her quill scribbled nearly indecipherable gibberish onto the crinkled, yellow pages she'd uncovered earlier. Splotches of ink formed in places as her writing adopted a manic meter.

Thirty seven tries, thirty seven failures. Still she persisted. Was it some vain hope of hers that drove her forward? Some sort of naive arrogance? She didn't know. Maybe if Princess Twilight were there in her stead, things could be better resolved. Her former classmate was quite the adept mage and had a grasp of the arcane a simple mare like her could only dream of. Still, it was best not to dwell on what could or should have been. She had precious little time left for that.

A quick glance at the grandfather clock told her everything. With only a few moments left, Lyra lifted up the journal and scanned its pages. She made sure that everything was in order before putting the quill back in its inkwell and closing shut the ancient tome she'd been working on for gods only know how long. It wasn't long before the clock rang true.

It's time. 


[hr]


Lyra Hearstrings groaned as she sat up. Her vision was a bit fuzzy, but she could make out enough to tell that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Taking a few moments to shake off her drowsiness and stand up, Lyra trotted over to the nearby desk. She noted the old tome lying on it, and the open journal beside it. Taking a seat, the young mare started to read. Her expression quickly shifted from neutral to a frown, then to a panicked stare. She sifted through the pages, quickly making an assessment of everything there. 

A quick look at the clock told her just how much time she had. 

With a quill wrapped up in her telekinetic grip, Lyra went to work. She dove through each page and each line with the gusto of an overzealous priest, taking in every facet she could. With every passing syllable, every unuttered line, she knew that she was running out of time. In her desperation, Lyra came up with a quick plan, a desperate plan. Perhaps it might work this time. 

Sucking in a deep breath, she powered up her horn. If it didn't work, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. She could always try again. 

Reality shattered.