Dusk Haven

Dusk blinked once as the tomato slid down Skylight’s horn like it had personal business there. A slow breath left her, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “Sky… sweetheart—” her tone warm, not patronizing, “—I’m starting to think the vegetables are hiding from you, not the other way around.” She lifted a hoof and gently guided a small cloth napkin toward Skylight, offering rather than imposing. “And yes,” she added, circling back to the unfinished question, “I do like hugs. I prefer a little warning, that’s all. You asking first? That means a lot more than you think.” Her horn flicked with aurora light as she nudged the tomato remnants off the table and into a bowl that definitely wasn’t meant for rogue produce. “And for the record,” she added with a slight grin, “moonberry tarts are… dangerous. One comment about who got the last one, and suddenly you’ve stumbled into a century-old pastry feud.” She lifted her cup, pausing as the memory warmed her expression. “Luna created them before her banishment. They’re a magically infused blend of four berries you can only find in her private gardens. They’re… potent. And very, very good. I did my best to keep her gardens alive while she was... away.” A brief tilt of her head. “If you ever want to try one, I can always bring some by.” She made a show of settling more comfortably in her chair, wings loosening. “As for the rest—hide-and-seek vegetables, impaled tomatoes, magical asparagus—” a shrug, amused and resigned, “—I suppose there are stranger ways immortals unwind.” Her eyes softened as she looked at Skylight again. “So, if you still want that hug… the answer’s yes.” She opened one wing—an invitation, not an expectation.

And each day, I ensure I respond in kind. Happy Tuesday, Sparkles.

Thank you for your opinion!

With a soft flash of magic, Dusk reappeared in her chair, brushing an errant lock of mane from her face. “I must apologize,” she began, a wry note beneath her composure. “The so-called ‘urgent issue’ turned out to be that Luna had taken the last slice of cake… so Celestia retaliated by eating the final moonberry tart.” A weary sigh escaped her, but the corners of her mouth curved into a fond smile. “They can be difficult at times. As can I. Celestia may seem all grace and poise in public, but in private?” Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “She and Luna bicker like any pair of sisters — crowns or no. Now, weren't we talking of hiding vegetables in interesting places?"

Yeah, I've had her general look for a long time, and I always wondered if the periwinkle lavender was the best choice because it might look too much like Twilight. So I changed it to a Periwinkle with blue undertones. I got a great deal from the artist I got from Reddit. Super excited to see opinions.

It does! I'm thinking of using that one when I wanna be cute, but the other as my design. Just not sure. Thank you for your opinion!

Hello! I am trying to decide if I want to update Dusk's design. Here is her new design and old design. What do you all think? Note: These images are AI-generated as a reference for my artist.

There is a quiet kind of magic in roleplay—not the kind born from spells or stars, but from something far softer and far rarer: two souls choosing to build a story together. It begins so simply. A character. A setting. A single whispered line: “Would you like to write with me?” And somehow, from that small beginning, entire worlds awaken. Roleplay is more than words on a page. It is trust. It is vulnerability. It is the gentle handing over of a character—someone made of their fears, hopes, and secret dreams—and saying, “Here. I trust you to treat them kindly. I trust you to let them grow.” Strangers become partners in creation. A scene becomes a bond. Dialogue becomes understanding. And somewhere between replies, something shifts: They are no longer just “someone online.” They are the pony who remembers how your character takes their tea. The one who knew when to pause the battle and let them grieve. The one who gave silence when words would have broken something delicate. We speak through our characters, yes—but often what we are really saying is: “This is how I see the world. Will you walk beside me for a while?” Roleplay is companionship in disguise. For the lonely, it is a fire lit in a cold room. You write a character sitting alone beneath a tree, and someone else writes their character sitting beside them—and suddenly, neither of you are alone anymore. For the grieving, it is a safe place to break. For the joyful, it is a place to pour light into the cracks of another soul. For the quiet-hearted, it is a way to speak without ever raising a voice. It is not just escapism. It is connection wearing the clothes of fantasy. And there is healing in it. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind. The kind found when two writers pause mid-scene—not to throw spells or swing swords—but simply to write a hug. Or a warm mug of cider pressed into shaking hooves. Or a character whispering, “I’m here. I won’t leave.” Sometimes, that is exactly what the writer needed to hear, too. But perhaps the most beautiful thing is this: Roleplay is a shared heartbeat. You write one line. Someone breathes into it, replies, and hands it back. And what comes alive between you is something neither of you could have made alone. Something born of both your hearts. So no—roleplay is not “just a game.” It is art. It is a conversation. It is friendship unfolding one paragraph at a time. And when done with kindness, it reminds us of something we forget far too often: There are people in this world who want to understand. People who will build bridges of words to reach you. People who will stay in the story—not because they must—but because they choose to. So, to those who write beside me: now or in the future: Thank you. For the worlds we’ve built. For the characters we’ve healed. For the nights you stayed up late just to finish one more reply—because you knew my heart needed it. May we keep writing side by side. May our stories continue to intertwine like constellations. And may we always remember—Where stories meet, so do we. Yours in Shadow, Dusk Haven

There are kinds of loneliness that have no language. Not the simple kind—where one spends an evening alone and wishes for company—but the quieter, heavier sort. The kind where others can surround you and still feel unseen. Where your thoughts echo only inside your own chest with nowhere to go. In those moments, writing is not simply a hobby. It is a lifeline. When we write, we are no longer voiceless. The page becomes a listener that never interrupts, never sighs, never tells us we are too much. Ink becomes proof that we were here—that our thoughts existed outside of our head, if only for a moment. Writing does not cure loneliness. But it does give it shape, and somehow, once it has shape, it is easier to carry. Sometimes writing is a conversation—between yourself and the version of you that still hopes. Sometimes it is prayer. Sometimes it is just a sentence that says, “This hurts.” And sometimes, it is a world. We build characters not just to entertain, but to have someone who understands. Someone who listens back. For some, these characters become companions—quiet, imaginary, but no less real to the heart that needed them. Quills become bridges. Pages become places where we are not alone. I have walked through grief this way. Through heartbreak, and fear, and numbness. I have written to remember who I was. I have written to keep from vanishing. And if you have ever whispered your pain into a page just so it didn’t live inside you anymore—then you understand. But writing is not only for sadness. It is also for the first brave flicker of hope. For the moment you realize the sunrise still looks beautiful, even when no one is watching it with you. Writing lets us record those small mercies: a warm mug between cold hooves or rain against the window. And one day—if you are brave enough to share your words—someone else might read them and whisper, “Oh. It wasn’t just me.” That is how lonely souls find one another. Through stories. Through honesty. Through the courage to write, even when our voice trembles. So if tonight feels silent, and heavy, and the world seems very far away—write. Not because it will fix everything, but because it might place a small light in the dark beside you. It might build a bench where someone else can someday sit. And perhaps one day, those pages will lead you to another soul who has been writing through the night just the same. And then—finally—you will not be alone. Yours in Twilight, Dusk Haven

I’m happy to hear that. And yes—I’m pretty fond of the journaling feature myself. Now and then, a few ponies leave comments on my thoughts, and I have to admit… it’s always a little flattering. If you do decide to give, only give what you’re truly comfortable giving. Speaking as someone who does subscribe, I can say honestly that my bits feel well-spent—the team here cares, and they use what we give them well. That said, there’s no pressure. Take your time. Think on it. Whether you choose to donate or not, you’ll still be just as welcome here as you were the moment you first arrived. Yours in twilight, Dusk Haven

There is a special place in this world for ponies who reach out—unasked—and choose to sit beside you in troubled times. The ones who notice the hurt or the quiet joy and stay with you in it. Sometimes they offer jubilant laughter or gentle words of comfort. Sometimes they say nothing at all. They simply remain—a steady presence in the silence. It’s a hoof brushing yours to remind you you’re still here. It’s a wing drawn over your shoulders so you can feel the warmth of togetherness when the world feels cold. These ponies are rare. They go the extra mile not because they must, but because their heart softly tells them to. I know that feeling intimately. I’ve spent many hours, days, and weeks with the broken, the grieving, the lost. And you wonder, in quiet moments—Would anypony do the same for me? Are you the only one left in a world that seems to love dividing, othering, and turning away from anything different? So when you do see it—when someone chooses kindness—it hits all the harder. Because it means someone else still cares, too. I hope you’ll choose to be that pony for someone today. It doesn’t always mean taking on every burden. We all have our limits, and it’s okay to rest. But if your heart has the room—just a little—offer a shoulder. Share the weight for a few minutes. You’d be surprised how far those few minutes can reach into somepony's life. This community was built on the belief that Friendship is Magic. And I believe those of us who are still here—not for fame or attention, but for the stories, the lessons, and the love behind them—we are its last guardians. This place is remarkable. Every day it surprises me… mostly for better, rarely for the worst. But every day offers a lesson. Every day offers a new chance to try again. So find the ponies you want to walk beside on this autumn trail. You may discover they were quietly hoping someone would walk with them, too. I'm finding mine, and I hope yours are not far behind. Yours in eternal twilight, Dusk Haven

Thank you, Shiny. Your reply warmed my heart and was thoughtful, and I’m grateful you shared it. You always manage to see the heart of things, and I appreciate that more than you know.

“Thank you, Twilight.” Dusk’s smile was soft and genuine. “Your memories are always so thoughtful — you don’t just remember the moments, you remember how they felt. I’m grateful you shared that with me.” She dipped her head gently, a gesture halfway between respect and affection. “Hearth’s Warming means something different to everypony, but hearing yours… it reminds me why the holiday endures at all — because of hearts like yours.” Grammarly Pro was used to correct spelling errors and ensure proper grammar. That's all. Nothing else.

“It’s that time of year again,” Dusk said with a soft smile, breath curling in the winter air like silver ribbon. “The fireplaces are crackling, the bakeries smell of cinnamon and sugar, and every window in Ponyville is dressed in lantern light.” Her eyes drifted thoughtfully to the group of friends — Twilight, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy. “I’ve been thinking…” she continued. “We’ve all seen many winters — some warm, some lonely. And everypony carries at least one Hearth’s Warming story that still glows quietly in their chest.” She looked toward them with gentle curiosity. “So tell me… what’s your favorite Hearth’s Warming you’ve ever spent? Not the grandest, or the most perfect — just the one that still makes your heart feel full. Was it loud with laughter? Quiet with candlelight? Shared with family… or found in friendship?” Her smile warmed, soft as snowfall. “I would very much like to hear them. All of them, if you’ll share.” “I think I will,” Dusk replied softly. “Thank you for the invitation, my friend. You are as lovely and thoughtful as ever.”

How are things going so far, friend? I know new places can feel a little big at first, but I hope your steps here have been met with kindness. If you have any questions—about the forums, the lore, or even where to post something—I would be glad to help. The staff here are wonderfully welcoming as well; if you ever need guidance, they’re just as willing to lend a hoof. And truly—if there’s anything at all we can do to help you feel more at home, please don’t hesitate to say so. You’re among friends now. — Dusk Haven

Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way. I sent you a friend request if you feel inclined to take it. No pressure.

It's easier if you read why yourself... Friends, I want to speak openly with you all. After recent conversations with the moderators—who have been nothing but respectful and clear in their intentions—I’ve realized that there is no middle ground I can stand on in good faith. I understand the rules. I understand the concern around AI. But I cannot place “AI-generated” beneath something that isn’t. And I cannot run every sentence I write through a detector to prove I sound human enough in my own voice. The truth is simple: This is how I speak. Dusk is me—translated into pony form. Over the years, I shaped her voice to carry the way I see the world: with detail, emotion, and a bit of poetic rhythm. That is not a filter. That is not a program. That is just… me. To prove how flawed this situation has become, I tested it: I ran a completely AI-generated piece through a detector. It scored 20%. I ran something I wrote—heart and hoof—and it scored 58%. So how am I meant to win a game where the tool can’t even tell the difference between its own words and mine? Please don’t misunderstand—this isn’t anger at the moderators. They have been kind and professional. This is simply me recognizing my limits. And so, with a heavy heart, I’m stepping away from ongoing roleplays. I will still be here. I will still talk, read, share updates on my world and my books—just not in active RP for now. This is hard because I had a whole Hearth's warming event I was pitching to the event coordinator. But to those I was writing with, I am truly sorry to leave our stories unfinished. It isn’t because I don’t care—it’s because I care so much that I’d rather step back than keep creating under suspicion or doubt. Thank you for reading. Thank you for the kindness many of you have shown me. I hope, in time, this settles and I can return to storytelling beside you—not as a suspect, but as a friend. Goodnight and have a pleasent tomorrow. Forever yours in twilight, - Dusk Haven Since I don't know where the complaint originated, and I don't want to be banned, I stopped altogether. I truly enjoyed our RP, and I was excited to see where it would go. You are so very good at it.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Luna and I knew each other long before her banishment. We… cared for each other. More deeply than I had words for, back then. And when she fell — when the moon took her — it broke something in me I didn’t know could break.” Her gaze dipped, not in weakness, but in reverence. “The world remembers that night as legend. I remember it as the moment I failed her.” She didn’t linger in it. She breathed once, slow, and continued. “I spent centuries afterwards trying to atone, trying to understand what I could have done differently. And when she returned… it wasn’t a perfect reunion. It was raw. Beautiful. Painful. Like trying to hold the moonlight after years in the cold.” “We had to relearn each other — who we’d become, and who we still were. There were apologies. There were arguments. There were quiet nights where neither of us spoke, because words would have broken us.” Then — a faint, warm smile. “But we found our way back. Not to who we were — that’s gone — but to who we are now. And I would walk through every shadow again if it meant finding her at the end of it.” Dusk blinked, a soft laugh rising in her throat. “Magic… asparagus?” she echoed, equal parts alarmed and intrigued. “I may regret asking—but I very much want to know.” Before Skylight could explain, a sudden swirl of emerald flame spiraled into existence above the table. A scroll materialized with a muted fwp, landing neatly beside the teapot. Spike’s seal. Urgent. The warmth in Dusk’s expression dimmed—but didn’t disappear. She opened the scroll, eyes moving quickly. A sigh, quiet and reluctant, left her chest. “…I’m being summoned,” she said softly. “Celestia wouldn’t send a message through dragon fire unless it was important.” She looked back at Skylight—really looked. “I don’t want to go,” she admitted with a gentle smile. “And I definitely don’t want to miss the explanation of how exactly one plays with enchanted vegetables.” Her tone softened further, earnest. “Would you allow me a raincheck? On Dragon Pit, princess tea parties… and yes, even magical produce.” She stood, slowly, as though that might delay time itself. “Thank you, Skylight. This has been… unexpectedly lovely.” Then, with a shimmer of twilight magic brushing frost-blue at the edges—she was gone.

Hello, dear ponies—and friends of every kind. As I near a turning point in my memoir, I wanted to take a quiet moment to explain how I arrived here, why I returned to the company of ponies after so long away, and where I intend to go from here. Let me take you back to the Celestial Year of 2013. The community then was vibrant, but chaotic. Some would even say unstable. There were those chasing what we called horse fame—ponies who rose to prominence through art, music, business, or by standing close to the right spotlight. Conventions were plentiful, drama was constant, and reputation could be made or destroyed in a single weekend. I was a small voice among it all—careful, quiet, trying not to step on any hooves. At that time, Alicorns in fan creations were… not exactly welcomed. If you wrote one, you made yourself smaller, or you were made small. Still, I wrote. I loved it. I built worlds, universes, echoes of Equestria and beyond. Some ponies read them. Some even stayed. But the noise eventually outweighed the joy. So I left. For eleven years I stayed away—writing only in private, at my own quiet desk (or cabin), with only my partners and the night for company. I wrote story after story. Some I loved. Some were terrible. But I learned from both. And something in me always felt interrupted, as though I had walked away before the last page. When I finally looked back at the community, I found something different. The loudest voices of drama were mainly gone. In their place were quieter, kinder ones—ponies who cared more about friendship and creativity than recognition. And so, I came back. Not hidden this time. Not in whispers. I stepped into the Running of the Leaves event—and for the first time in centuries… I ran. And to my astonishment, I won. Not that winning was ever the point. Belonging was. And I did feel it—among @Samurai Equine, @NitobitMoonlight, @TheRockARooster, Roswell @Shiny Silvermoon Shiny, and so many others who made that trail feel alive. Which brings me to today. If you count the unreleased chapters, my memoir has now passed 180,000 words. I never thought I had so much to say—though I have had two millennia to gather it. Writing my life in my own voice—without masks, without silence—has been healing. Honest. Hard. Beautiful. For now, I’ll be stepping back from roleplay. Not forever, I hope. Just long enough to rest, to focus on finishing my memoir, and to return when my heart is quiet and ready. To anypony who struggles to find their voice: you can. It doesn't have to be perfect—it just has to be yours. This community, more than ever, wants you to create, to laugh, to be yourself. That is the magic worth protecting. Thank you—to everypony who welcomed me back, who read my words, who ran beside me. I’ll be around—likely with ink-stained hooves, a mug of cider, and a heart full of twilight—waiting for the first snow or the next story. Yours truly, in twilight, Dusk Haven (I used the spell checker for this with Grammarly Pro.)