She isn't real.
Yes. Yes she is.
>>25547985
>>25547985What a coincidence.
Neither am I.
>>25548001
>Turns out the pony you had an interest in also had an interest in you
>To the point they were driven mad trying to get to you in your world
>She eventually figures out, but is now a shell of what she once was.
>Anon is just sitting there in his room when it happens
>She appears before his very eyes, with a twisted smile and broken mind
>Horrified of the sight, Anon can only get out one thing.You aren't her.
>>25548064
This is fucked up man.
Can we get a story where anon nurtures her back to her true self?
I think that would be pretty romantic.
>>25548064
no
there will be a happy ending
>>25548075
>True self
That's the thing Anon, this is who she really is.The other pony that she lets everyone else see, that's the lie.
>>25548103
I like realism in my stories.
There are no happy endings in real life
>>25548133
There is plenty of happy endings
The fact their is endings is happiness.
If there was no endings in this universe, we probably wouldn't even exist.
All endings are happy anon.
Depends on your world view I guess.
>>25548144
>All endings are happy
Are you saying the Holocaust was a happy ending?!
>>25548158
yes
>>25548158
The Nazis where defeat by Russian winter.
I find Acceptable.
>>25548144
>The fact that there are endings is happiness
>heroes.jpg
>>25548158
It ended?
Didn't it?
>>25548158
You never saw 'Life is beautiful'? It was a happy ending of sorts.
>>25548166
>>25548158
All of those jews got released in the only form that was acceptable
>>25547985
Have you hugged her/him today? Have you told her/him "I love you" or something alike? Have you spent some time doing something either of you (or both) like?
>>25548871
Rose you kek
>>25547985
>>25548001
Of course she is.
Remember to give her/him some love, time, and dedication
>>25549892
not real
>>25549970
She can be, anon.
>>25549999
Quads confirm.
You must sacrifice your mind for your waifu.
>>25550192
I would if I could
>>25549999
stop it anon
>>25549892
Shit, thanks for reminding me. I gotta give Lyra her regularly scheduled cuddle sessions. She gets pissed when she doesn't get them.
>>25547985
Good thing the afterlife isn't real either. When I die, we can be not real together.
Just make a pony tulpa, problem solved
>>25547985
That's right. She'll be perfect and as pure as you want her to be forever, totally unchanged by the world. She'll be the beautiful constant you can always look towards to brighten you day if you let her. Don't you think she'd like that more than you blaming your sadness on her?
>>25548064
>"You aren't her."
Are you implying I wouldn't show her my love and then attempt world domination? It's not original but hey, might as well try.
Shafety bumpsh, my friendsh
>>25548064
>>25548075greens?
>>25552820
Well, I've got the day off, I'll see about giving it a shot.
Got a pony in mind?
>>25552981
This isn't a best donkey thread?
>>25547985
Everything is real in the garden of your mind, but you should kill yourself anyway, it'd be funny.
>>25552998
Alright, sounds good, will do.
>>25553010
> Decay.
> Dried Blood.
> The foul combination of copper and rot wafts into your nostrils. And yet, you don’t flinch.
> Instead, you simply step into the dimly lit room, shutting the door behind you.
> As you make your way across the room, you casually kick empty food cartons out of the way.
> A thin layer of dust is disturbed as your almost over-stuffed saddlebags knock into some of the furniture.
> Your muscles relax some as you make it to the one place that is both lit and in, comparatively, pristine condition.
> What was at one time a vanity has been converted into a small shrine. You’d like to think he would be flattered by the gesture.
> You’d like to know exactly what he thinks. And you might be able to find out, if this works.
> It has to.
> Gingerly setting down your saddle bags, you approach the makeshift shrine.
> Though the mirror is large, a majority of it is dominated by pictures of a particular human.
> Lovingly, you rub a hoof across a picture of your love. He’s perfect.
> Catching movement out of the corner of your eye, you immediately snap your attention to it.
> Oh… it’s just your reflection.
> Same dull grey coat. Same dull, dilated mulberry eyes. Same jet black mane, only now unkempt and with a thin layer of grease coating it.
> The face staring at you contorts into a scowl.
> Disgusting.
> But he’s not like them. He wouldn’t turn you away just for this. The compassionate look in his eyes… no, he would never turn you away.
> And he would never leave you. Because he… he understands…
> Continuing to rub your hoof across a picture of that strapping chest of his, you lean in and whisper
“I’ll be with you soon my love.”
> Planting a small kiss onto the photo, you turn away and make for your saddlebags.
> Undoing the pink treble clef-shaped latch, you pull out a thick leather bound tome.
> It amazed you, just how laxly it was guarded.
>>25553623
> One quick bash about the head… poor fool never expected it.
> Your purse your lips and shake your head.
> Can’t waste a moment, especially on guilt. After all, what would there be to feel guilty about when all is said and done – it will have been worth it.
> Setting it carefully on the vanity, you turn back to your bags and produce a number of small enchanted crystals.
> These cost you more than you had anticipated, you’ve had to auction off a number of valuables – a few heirlooms even. Bastard shopkeeper, if it wasn’t a public area you could’ve just grabbed a vase and –
> No. Can’t get distracted by thoughts of something as petty as revenge.
> Your focus must remain clear.
> Setting the focusing crystals alongside *your* tome, you stand back up and turn around to face a small circle you’ve created.
> Casually, you kick a number of papers – an assortment of notes, theories, love songs for him, and so forth – out of the way. You must make the preparations.
> Light from the curtained windows gradually fades, replaced by more subdued lantern light – both from the streetlights and the lanterns you deign to light.
> After all, you must be able to see to get this just right.
> Cautiously, you use your snout to nudge the last crystal into place. A bright blue light pulses from the interior of the crystal and, now joined with its sisters, the light amplifies.
> It took most of the day to find these ley-lines, surprising, given that Canterlot is home to a number of them.
> In the now much brighter lighting, you can make out a dull reddish-brown color near the crystals. A circle of the stuff is drawn around the each crystal.
> Each of these encasing circles is then connected along the outer-rim with the other through a direct line of the red-brown substance. While they would intersect in the center, they are stopped by yet another, slightly larger circle.
> Stepping in the center, you review your work.
>>25553632
> The crystals – something you’re amazed you didn’t think to use previously - are aligned properly, the circle is large enough to fit you in, but the lines… the lines are dull. You need to fix this.
> Reaching once more into your bags, you produce a small silk sack, enchanted to keep reagents safe.
> Glad you nicked this particular item, Celestia only knows how much this would’ve cost you.
> Copping another feel of the interior of your steadily emptying saddlebags, you produce a particularly sharp looking kitchen knife.
> Pulling the drawstring of the reagents bag open, you hold your non-dominant foreleg over top of it.
> With a hiss, you feel your skin separate.
> Setting down your kitchen knife, you let your blood steadily drip into the bag.
> Just like the book said, infuse the reagents with blood.
> Giving the bag the occasional shake, you look inside and see that blood has started to lightly taint the color of its contents.
> Withdrawing your foreleg, you grab for a random article of clothing.
> You won’t need this anymore.
> With that thought in mind, you use your teeth you tear the fabric apart.
> Blood drips across the floor as you do so. But not for long – the makeshift bandage makes certain of this.
> Unsteadily, you make your way back to the circle.
> With as much care as you can muster, you shakily pour the bags contents onto the lines of the circle.
> A mixture of ground herbs, powdered magnesium, and blood – both new and old – begin to add more definition to the lines.
> …
> Huh, you thought you saw the crystal’s light amplify for a second there.
> Walking back to your shrine, you idly run a hoof across one of the numerous images.
> Just a show, they told you. Trivial, something you shouldn’t be this involved in.
> Damn the lot of them. They could never understand the place he holds in your heart. You doubt they could even fathom why you would place him there to begin with – the heartless bastards.
>>25553638
> Damn the lot of them. They could never understand the place he holds in your heart. You doubt they could even fathom why you would place him there to begin with – the heartless bastards.
> With a sigh, you grab your favorite picture – a particularly dashing shot of him in his signature suit – and pull it from the shrine.
> A smile graces your lips as you gaze down at this representation of him.
“Together soon, my love.”
> Planting your lips on the photo once more, you remove your bandage and anoint the image in your blood.
> Treading carefully, so as not to disturb the arrangements, you gingerly set the anointed-image in the center most circle.
> Stepping out, you anoint the crystals with your blood, to loosely join them with the circle.
> Walking about, you inspect your hard work.
> The crystals now cast a slightly purple glow about the room.
> Satisfied, you reach in and grab the last item from your saddlebag – a small book of matches.
> Clutched carefully in your mouth, you make your way to the center of the circle, and sit so as to face the image of your beloved.
> Opening the packet in your hoof, you begin to chant –
“ph'nglui, shugg fhtagn. hafh'drn gotha ch'ftaghu shugg. athg fm'latgh ftaghu ch'shugg. Uaaah.”
> Striking the match on the packet, you cast it into the reagents.
“ph'nglui, shugg fhtagn. hafh'drn gotha ch'ftaghu shugg. athg fm'latgh ftaghu ch'shugg. Uaaah.”
> As the fire begins to consume the reagents, the crystals begin to emit a darker, significantly more sinister glow.
> He’s waiting. You know it.
“ph'nglui, shugg fhtagn. hafh'drn gotha ch'ftaghu shugg. athg fm'latgh ftaghu ch'shugg. Uaaah.”
> The fire increases in size, to volumes you wouldn’t have thought capable given the small amount of reagents you used. The height of the green tinged flames dwarfs your form.
> Peering through the heated veil, you can see the other side.
>>25553646
> A room dark room. A bed. It’s hard to make out, but it’s there. And you know it all to be his.
> The circle of flames begins to move closer, the definition of beyond the veil increases in clarity, especially as the image of your love is consumed by the heat.
> With the swiftness of wind, the fire gains distance. You shut your eyes and continue the chant.
> The heat at once ceases. Your body feels cool air surrounding it.
> The scent of burnt herbs lightly lingers, but is dwarfed by the scent of ozone.
> Carefully you open your eyes.
> You must have crossed the veil.
> Moonlight streams in through a small window, illuminating small specks of dust floating in the air.
> Moving your hoof, you disturb the air. The dust moves accordingly.
> Stepping towards the - no. His. His bed. You gingerly run your hoof across it.
> It feels real. The cloth tickling the soft underside of your hoof.
> You have crossed the veil, haven’t you?
> Looking about the room, you spy the door on the other side.
> There is only one way to find out if this has worked.
That'll be it for now gents. It's Thanksgiving, so I've got to get myself presentable for family.
And please, tell me what you think of it so far.
>>25553655
Interesting/10
Now go do the family thing.
