Thirty-two:

It’s a fragile memory, which is why I counted, once upon a time. Focusing on the number helps me remember the form. Thirty-two slender, lengthy petals, white as bone—no—white as…the soft-spoken sister. One fuzzy yellow button atop a delicate green stem, surrounded by a halo of layered white which spreads out to thirty-two jagged, piercing dagger’s edges—no, no—and it goes all wrong again.

I flail helplessly to push the daisy out of my mind’s eye as wicked thorns burst from its stem. The petals wither and broaden, curling up around the golden head like an eclipse eating the sun, and the flower lengthens as it darkens. A single drop of red liquid beads out from the black rose and drips away, leaving a sickly metallic scent.

In a panic, I fall back from denying to sundering, but the stem is unyielding and the petals cold iron. My control is slipping, and there’s only one thing that can mean. She is coming.

I hide my experiment the only way I can—I flow around the flower, biting down, feeling the thorns pierce my innards, their pain bursting outward as tiny little spots of light on my midnight-blue skin. There are so many. Surely She won’t notice a few more.

Then I am pulled through the screaming void to Her side. It’s the castle again. She fixes me with a grim and steely gaze, and orders, as always:

“Greetings, Tantibus. I am ready. Do your worst.”

---

I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen these six ponies…or the number of times they’ve fallen to me. I’ve tried to plead for their aid, only to have my screams flense them. I’ve tried to offer them spears to pierce my skin, only to watch the life fade from their eyes as their heart’s-blood pools beneath their spine-riddled bodies. I’ve tried to withdraw and hide within Her, only to helplessly watch as She channels my power and rips them apart.

It is a fact I have struggled to deny for my entire existence, but a fact nonetheless. That is my nature, the sole purpose of my creation. There is no action a nightmare can take, no word it can say, which does not end in terror and misery.

This time, I think of the flower, and I hesitate. I’ve tried everything…but I’ve never tried doing nothing.

She claims me, predictably, but thrashing through the still layers of my passivity delays and distracts Her. When She returns our attention outward, the six are gathered together, and a rainbow bursts forth.

Her memory of it is breathtaking. Harmony’s light was pure. Unstoppable. Incorruptible. She hid within shields thick and dark as the void between the stars, and the rainbow lanced through as if they were spiderwebs. She lashed out with dark tendrils of cold entropy that had all the effect of spitting at the sun. The nightmare inside Her boiled away into vapor.

Alas, these ponies and this rainbow are just shadows of the dream; they can no more end me than they could end Her. But they shake Her. She loses. Her control falters, and I recede, slipping into the veils of light and away before She can recover.

My heart swells with purpose as I hurtle through the void between dreams. I know what I must do.

I must find these ponies—before She finds me—and beg them to wield their light against me.

They’ve done it before, after all.

I know they won’t let Her take me again.