"Shall I tell you of my dreams?" His muzzle utters the words so quietly and carefully that the ponies in the room have to strain just to make out the words. His eyes stare vaguely off into the distance as he begins to reminisce, "They began, as they always do, with the horrifying screams of the damned, echoing through my skull, reverberating through my bones, boiling through my blood.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I will never forget those screams, even if they someday stopped tormenting me every night." He pauses. "Sometimes, I think they're calling out to me, warning me, imparting upon me the greatest and most terrible secrets, secrets that would tear ponykind apart, limb from bloody limb in a shrieking mess of chaos, if they were ever to be revealed to any pony beyond me. I am their sole witness, the only living, breathing pony cursed with the cruel and unholy burden of this knowledge.

"Of course," he breathes, "that is only the beginning. The voices never quiet, but they fade into the backdrop as greater horrors overtake my focus. The visions, incomprehensible in my waking state, impossible to convey through simple, mortal words, and yet so vividly, soul-rendingly real when they come to me in the darkness of subconscious thought.

"I cannot tell you of the visions, for they would tear your minds to shreds for hearing them just as they would tear my tongue to shreds for speaking of them. My soul trembles, aches, burns for every millisecond of dreadful comprehension that is forced upon my being. For every moment that I am made to truly, fully understand the vast horrors of this universe, and of all the universes below us."

He takes a moment to quell the uncontrollable shuddering in his limbs, then looks up with eyes almost completely consumed by wide pupils as black as the deepest nightmare.

"I know how it ends. I've seen the final moment of all things, as children cry out in unison with parents and grandparents alike. Their very beings shattered, incinerated, erased from existence along with reality itself as the universe, in its final act of a reign long and utterly cruel, ends the hellish facade we call 'life' once and for all. Their screaming is not heard, nor is it ever acknowledged, for the universe has not the capacity for mercy or caring of any kind. Harmony dies on the last breath of a newborn foal as its body implodes with the force of a supernova. Nothing remains, neither Harmonic or Chaotic, in the bleak and barren void that swallows up each final desperate gasp of the dying reality. And for all of this, I alone stand witness. Even when the universe itself is gone, I remain, and in the boiling cold of silence that follows, I understand more than anypony before or after, and this understanding is what finally shreds my soul, scattering my being across the nothingness until I am, at last, no more.

He pauses long enough to take a deep, shuddering breath, then utters, "Then I wake up."

The room is silent. Dozens of pairs of pony eyes stare wide and unblinking, but he doesn't notice. His eyes remain glazed, locked on some distant point. One tiny filly in particular falls to her haunches in front of him and tilts her head to one side. She looks about to speak, when he continues.

"That was last night's dream. The night before, I dreamt that I was doing horrible things to penguins with a croquet mallet—"

"Alright, enough with the dreams!" Scootaloo shouts, cutting him off. She glares up into his eyes from where she was sitting directly in front of him.

Twinkle The Marvel Pony finally seems to snap back to reality. His eyes become sharp and focused as he looks down at Scootaloo, the bells on his pointy hat jingle, and the colorful smattering of make-up on his face shone in the bright party lights.

"I swear," Scootaloo goes on, glaring, "You're the worst birthday clown ever!"

"Yeah, well you're, like, ten! What the buck do you even know!?" Twinkle lets out a loud belch. "Happy birthday, by the way."