To Twilight Sparkle,
I am writing to you from the facility. The walls are soft, and the room is quiet. I don't know how long I've been here. Time is a strange thing in this place. Some days feel like they last for hours, and other days, it seems like the sun never rises at all. They give me medication, but I don't know if it's doing any good.
I'm free, I suppose. Free in the sense that I am no longer in prison. Free in the sense that I am allowed to move about the facility and talk to the others here, though, most of them don't seem to understand me. Some of them stare at me—I know they do. I can feel their eyes. They look at me like I am not what I used to be. I'm not what I used to be.
I don't remember much of what happened in the courtroom. I remember hearing voices, and I remember a strange sense of dread—but the rest is blurry. There was a lot of shouting. Was there shouting? I think there was shouting. I was in a small, cold room, and it felt like I was being watched. By ponies. By something else. I was certain the slapping was going to start again. I was certain of it. The air felt so thick. I couldn't breathe, and the walls seemed to close in on me—but I wasn't sure what was real anymore. What was real?
Twilight… I don't know if I was even aware of anything happening in the court. I don't think I was. It's like I was somewhere else, somewhere I couldn't reach. Maybe it was all just a dream. Or a nightmare.
But now, I'm here. At least they give me free snacks. There are these little packages of crackers and some strange fruit puree that I can never seem to identify. I can't say I mind it, though. It's been nice to have something to occupy my mind. And at least it doesn't taste like the things they served in prison. The crackers are oddly comforting.
Sometimes I think I hear your voice calling me, Twilight. But I'm not sure. I don't know if I can trust anything I hear anymore. I just want to rest. I want to sleep, to find some peace. To wake up from this endless nightmare.
Please tell me what's happening outside these walls. Tell me that Luna is okay. Tell me Equestria is still standing. Tell me that the sun still rises, and that the moon still follows it. Tell me that there's still something out there, something worth saving.
I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry for failing. I'm sorry for everything.
Celestia
A Mare Lost to Time and Slapping Sounds