Dusk Haven

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.)

Greetings @cookiesandcremebakes Nixa, It is a joy to welcome you to our little corner of Equestria. I am Dusk Haven, and I truly hope you find comfort and inspiration here among us. Take your time exploring the forums—wander where you will, and join in wherever your heart feels at ease. There are many kind souls and helping hooves here, and I’ve no doubt anypony would be glad to lend assistance should you need it. Once more, welcome. I’m happy you’re here. - Dusk Haven

She nodded slowly, expression thoughtful. “Yes… expectations can be just as heavy as any command. They don’t need a single voice — they settle into your bones like a script you never agreed to read.” Her tone gentled. “And that is what I meant. I don’t tell ponies who to be. I just… remind them they’re allowed to remember. It's not my place to judge. I want any pony that shares space with me to understand there is no better company than a genuine one.” A quiet, amused breath escaped her. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, eyes brightening with playfulness. “Age is strange when you’ve lived long enough. Sometimes I feel as old as mountains… and sometimes like I’m still learning how to stand.” Dusk shook her head gently. “Oh, it can still be real and gentle — what you and Twilight have sounds exactly like that. I only meant… truth isn’t always soft. Sometimes it asks things of us. But if it’s held with care, like you hold each other — then yes. That’s real, too.” “That speaks well of you,” Dusk replied gently. “Not everypony allows themselves to be helped. Twilight steadied you — Pinkie reminded you joy wasn’t something you had to earn. I’m glad you didn’t face it alone. It's a terrible path to walk in the dark... ” A soft laugh. “Careful. Confidence before the first move is dangerous,” she teased playfully. Then, with a nod, “Something fun sounds perfect. Twilight will complain if we start without her… but she’ll forgive us if there are snacks involved. Name the game. We can see if Twilight is up for it when she returns.”

It's hard to pull off a horror movie like that when it takes itself too seriously, but they did it. I went in with low expectations and was happily surprised.

What an excellent film. I didn’t expect to recognize the farmhouse, and then, realizing it was the same one used for Dolores’ home in Westworld, it felt like finding a memory tucked inside someone else’s story. I’ve been releasing some of my own writing as well — I started back in September. It hasn’t made a grand entrance into the world, but it grows, little by little. And truthfully? One kind review was enough to make the whole journey feel worthwhile. This holiday reaches every heart a little differently, I think. It means something unique to each of us — memory, comfort, grief, hope. I’m just grateful I get to share it in such good company. Yours in twilight, Dusk Haven

Amazing! Please let me know when or if you get an opening! I'd be super appreciative!

Dusk’s posture softened. She didn’t press, but her voice stayed warm. “Those feelings don’t vanish just because we’ve grown past them,” she said quietly. “Sometimes the body remembers before the mind does.” She rested her cup in her hooves rather than her magic — a small, intentional grounding. “And feeling safe doesn’t always make it easy… just possible.” A faint smile touched her lips. “That matters.” After a heartbeat, she tilted her head slightly, not prying — inviting. “If you don’t mind me asking… when you say you had trouble figuring out who you were — was it because somepony tried to tell you who you should be?” Dusk’s smile softened at the admission. “There’s no shame in that,” she said gently. “Plenty of ponies wear adulthood on the outside while still trying to grow into it on the inside. Time doesn’t make somepony whole — choices do. And you’re making good ones. Some of us choose to remain young at our center.” She let a breath out, amused in a quiet, self-aware way. “As for me… I’m older than Twilight. Older than her prior library, and the trees it was made from.” Her tone stayed light, not boastful — almost playful. “I stopped counting years a long time ago. But I still feel young some days. Lost on others.” Her eyes flicked back to Skylight, warm, honest. “So if you feel like a child sometimes — you’re in good company. We all are, in our own ways.” Dusk’s expression softened, some of the intensity in her eyes easing. “We are,” she agreed quietly. “Lucky… and tested. What we have wasn’t handed to us. We had to break a few times to understand how to hold each other without shattering.” She drew in a small breath, steadying, and a faint smile curved her lips. “But I wouldn’t trade it. Not the arguments, not the silence, not the long nights of trying to understand each other again. It’s real. And real things are rarely gentle, but they’re worth it.” Her gaze lingered on Skylight, open but calm. “Do you have that? Somepony who sees every part of you—the easy and the difficult—and chooses to stay anyway?” Dusk huffed a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Touché,” she said, lifting her cup in mock salute. “I’ll give Twilight this — fate may nudge, but she is the one who pulls out a quill and makes introductions happen on time.” She leaned in just a little, voice low with amusement. “So perhaps the trick is balance — let her make the schedule… and then ignore half of it when real life gets in the way.” There was fondness in her eyes, not just for Twilight, but for the small miracle of moments like this. “Either way, I’m glad she did. Otherwise, I might’ve missed the chance to sit here with you.” Dusk’s smile deepened at that, relieved to see the blush replaced by confidence. “We will,” she said, a quiet hint of challenge in her tone. “Though fair warning—if you beat me, I reserve the right to claim I was being gracious rather than outmatched.” She lifted her cup again, swirling what little tea remained before adding, more softly, “But I’d still like to learn what ‘play’ means to you. Properly. Not just the polite version ponies mention over tea.” Her gaze held steady—inviting, not pressing. “So when you’re ready… show me.” Dusk let the quiet settle between them for a moment, peaceful rather than awkward—a comfortable silence, softened by candlelight and the faint clink of teacups. Then — a soft, buttery scent drifted through the air. She glanced toward the kitchen door, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Smells like Twilight managed to rescue the scones before they burned. That means they're nearly done.” Her gaze returned to Skylight, thoughtful and curious. “While we wait… may I ask you something?” She set her cup down with a soft tap. “When you were figuring out who you were — did you go through it alone? Or was there somepony who stayed… even when it was messy?” There was no pressure in her voice — just quiet sincerity. “You don’t have to answer. I like to understand the shape of the stories ponies carry.”

On the surface, we all know what this holiday is. Beyond the booming business for every vendor crafting delightful, sugary treats, it marks a change of season — and an excuse to indulge in far too many horror movies. From time to time, I like to step back and reflect on what this holiday truly means to me — and this year, I have the privilege of sharing those thoughts with my new (or perhaps returning) forum family, as well as the wider MLP community. And maybe, in doing so, hearing what it means to all of you, too. As a general rule, I rarely speak out of character. Dusk is me — just in pony form. My quirks, fears, and passions, even the odd turns of phrase and rhythms of speech, have all been shaped to reflect who I would be if I’d been blessed to live in a world of pastel ponies. Yet, on this celebratory eve, I’ll break tradition to speak plainly, as both myself and her. This night — this Nightmare Night, this Halloween — is, at its heart, a time to face and even celebrate fear. I’ve had many fears in my life, and I still have many to face. Beneath the modern festivities and costumes lies a long history: a pagan celebration of the turning year, later shaped into a Christian day of remembrance for the saints. But through every version of it, the theme endures — it’s a night when the things that frighten us seem to live again. It’s a night of trickery and treats, of laughter and unease, and for some, a rare chance to be. On a night like tonight, we can become whatever we wish. Yes, the tradition leans toward the eerie and macabre, but there’s freedom in it — a space where masks reveal more than they hide. Maybe you’re a pony fan who adores their fursuit or costume, usually kept tucked away in the privacy of your home. Perhaps you’re someone who feels different inside than you appear on the outside. Be that tonight. Celebrate it. Tonight, no one looks twice. Sometimes I think we see more of people on Halloween than we do any other day. Some dress as monsters for fun — others to show the part of themselves the world rarely allows. Some wear costumes for a thrill; others wear their truth in silk, feathers, or heels. In every case, it’s an act of expression — a small rebellion against fear itself. I remember my Halloweens as a child. Of course, I loved the candy — but honestly, I could have gone without it. What I remember most were the decorations, the people, the dress-up, the energy of the night. Sometimes it was so overwhelming I’d cry — not from sadness, but because it was sensory overload in the best possible way. Halloween let me experience life as someone other than that awkward girl who barely had a friend in the world. I could feel powerful, in control, part of a community that joined in celebration of the same night. It was freedom. (Even when I clothes-lined myself on a wire I couldn’t see, running full speed through someone’s yard — I remember lying on my back, looking up at the sky and thinking, “The sky looks nice tonight.”) I would be remiss if I didn’t honor those who celebrate tonight as a sacred observance — those who keep Samhain and all it represents. Some of my best memories are from those gatherings: bonfires crackling against the dark, shared food, and sleeping beneath the stars. The witches, warlocks, and covens practicing their craft, those reaching across the veil to feel or commune with loved ones — it all came together to form a night that was, in every sense, magical. My appreciation for this single night of the year runs deep. I spend months planning and anticipating — not just for myself, but for everyone who finds meaning in this holiday. For those who use it to express, to connect, to heal, or to remember. I hope tonight brings you blessings and joy. That amid the world’s noise and hardship, this night offers a reprieve — a moment to exist as you wish to exist. Because that, to me, is the true magic of Halloween — of Samhain, All Hallows’ Eve, Nightmare Night — a night when, at last, we are all free to shine in the dark. Yours in twilight, Dusk Haven

On the surface, we all know what this holiday is. Beyond the booming business for every vendor crafting delightful, sugary treats, it marks a change of season — and an excuse to indulge in far too many horror movies. From time to time, I like to step back and reflect on what this holiday truly means to me — and this year, I have the privilege of sharing those thoughts with my new (or perhaps returning) forum family, as well as the wider MLP community. And maybe, in doing so, hearing what it means to all of you, too. As a general rule, I rarely speak out of character. Dusk is me — just in pony form. My quirks, fears, and passions, even the odd turns of phrase and rhythms of speech, have all been shaped to reflect who I would be if I’d been blessed to live in a world of pastel ponies. Yet, on this celebratory eve, I’ll break tradition to speak plainly, as both myself and her. This night — this Nightmare Night, this Halloween — is, at its heart, a time to face and even celebrate fear. I’ve had many fears in my life, and I still have many to face. Beneath the modern festivities and costumes lies a long history: a pagan celebration of the turning year, later shaped into a Christian day of remembrance for the saints. But through every version of it, the theme endures — it’s a night when the things that frighten us seem to live again. It’s a night of trickery and treats, of laughter and unease, and for some, a rare chance to be. On a night like tonight, we can become whatever we wish. Yes, the tradition leans toward the eerie and macabre, but there’s freedom in it — a space where masks reveal more than they hide. Maybe you’re a pony fan who adores their fursuit or costume, usually kept tucked away in the privacy of your home. Perhaps you’re someone who feels different inside than you appear on the outside. Be that tonight. Celebrate it. Tonight, no one looks twice. Sometimes I think we see more of people on Halloween than we do any other day. Some dress as monsters for fun — others to show the part of themselves the world rarely allows. Some wear costumes for a thrill; others wear their truth in silk, feathers, or heels. In every case, it’s an act of expression — a small rebellion against fear itself. I remember my Halloweens as a child. Of course, I loved the candy — but honestly, I could have gone without it. What I remember most were the decorations, the people, the dress-up, the energy of the night. Sometimes it was so overwhelming I’d cry — not from sadness, but because it was sensory overload in the best possible way. Halloween let me experience life as someone other than that awkward girl who barely had a friend in the world. I could feel powerful, in control, part of a community that joined in celebration of the same night. It was freedom. (Even when I clothes-lined myself on a wire I couldn’t see, running full speed through someone’s yard — I remember lying on my back, looking up at the sky and thinking, “The sky looks nice tonight.”) I would be remiss if I didn’t honor those who celebrate tonight as a sacred observance — those who keep Samhain and all it represents. Some of my best memories are from those gatherings: bonfires crackling against the dark, shared food, and sleeping beneath the stars. The witches, warlocks, and covens practicing their craft, those reaching across the veil to feel or commune with loved ones — it all came together to form a night that was, in every sense, magical. My appreciation for this single night of the year runs deep. I spend months planning and anticipating — not just for myself, but for everyone who finds meaning in this holiday. For those who use it to express, to connect, to heal, or to remember. I hope tonight brings you blessings and joy. That amid the world’s noise and hardship, this night offers a reprieve — a moment to exist as you wish to exist. Because that, to me, is the true magic of Halloween — of Samhain, All Hallows’ Eve, Nightmare Night — a night when, at last, we are all free to shine in the dark. Yours in twilight, Dusk Haven

Dusk’s smile gentled. “That kind of struggle… it leaves marks, doesn’t it?” she said quietly. “The world can make you forget who you started out as. Having ponies who help you remember—” she exhaled, eyes soft, “—that’s something to hold onto. I’m glad you found that.” Dusk noticed the shifting. "Is everything alright? You seem nervous. No, that's not the word. Anxious? She nodded, expression thoughtful. “Living by those values can cost you something,” she murmured. “It asks you to be kind when you’d rather be right. But the world’s quieter when you do, isn’t it? You start to hear yourself again. What was your experience? Dusk laughed softly. “Oh, so you and Twilight share the same compass—spinning wildly, but somehow always landing north.” She tilted her head with an amused grin, eyes glinting in the lamplight. “It’s not a bad way to live. Thinking too much means you care; jumping too fast means you’re alive. Between the two, you’re doing just fine.” She gave her teacup a slow swirl with her magic, watching the reflection ripple. “If I may be a bit forward,” she added, her tone curious rather than prying, “how long have you lived, Skylight?” Her gaze drifted for a moment, touched by memory. “Long,” she said with a quiet laugh. “And layered. We’ve fought, forgiven, fallen apart, and found our way back again. She’s the reason I still believe in second chances. More so for myself than anypony else.” Her eyes met Skylight’s again. “She reminds me what it means to trust the dark and still look for light. What we have burns fierce and bright, but it can rage out of control if not tended carefully." “You and I both,” Dusk said warmly. “She has a way of pulling the best out of ponies without even noticing. Just don’t let her schedule it,” she added with a conspiratorial wink. “Friendship doesn’t need a checklist.” Dusk’s ears twitched, catching the shift in Skylight’s voice before the words even settled. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. “Mmm,” she murmured, swirling what remained of her tea, “I think I understand what you meant.” Her tone stayed soft — kind. “Play takes many forms, Skylight. What matters is that it comes from joy.” She looked up, violet eyes warm and steady. “And you’re safe here, in case you were wondering.” Then, just to ease the weight in the air, she added with a small grin: “Though, for the record, I’m a dreadful sport at most games. Except chess. Maybe."

She smiled faintly at the comparison. “Yes — I’d say that’s quite accurate. They help others find their truth, just as I try to help others return to it. The spirit doesn’t always need to be discovered; sometimes it only needs to be remembered.” A quiet laugh escaped her. “Then you and Twilight make a fine pair — she defends fiercely those she loves. But remember, protecting yourself isn’t about expecting harm; it’s about honoring your own worth. Even the gentlest heart deserves its own guard.” Dusk’s gaze softened, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her muzzle. Steam curled lazily from her teacup, catching the light like drifting starlight. “I meant,” she said gently, “which calls to you more — the moment when the unknown becomes known, or the understanding that follows?” Her eyes flicked to Skylight’s for a heartbeat, then down to the cup again. “Some chase discovery like lightning, brilliant and gone in an instant. Others linger with it, learning every small echo it leaves behind.” She looked up again, curiosity warm rather than analytical. “I wondered which you were.” Dusk tilted her head slightly, touched by the sincerity. “Kindness is a lesson I had to learn the hard way. It’s easy to fight for harmony — harder to live it. Thank you, though. That means more than you know.” Dusk laughed softly, the sound low and genuine. “Oh, I mean we’re both impossible in our own ways,” she admitted, still smiling. “Twilight has this habit of diving headfirst into ideas — she’ll chase a notion halfway across Equestria before stopping to ask if it makes sense. Incorrigible.” Her eyes softened with evident affection. “And me? I question everything. I prod, I nudge, I refuse to let go of a problem until I understand it. Luna calls that insufferable. She’s right, of course." Dusk took a small sip of her tea before glancing back toward Skylight. “It’s part of how we love each other, I think — the push and pull. Luna teaches me to leap; I remind her to look before she does.” Dusk nodded approvingly. “That balance is rare — and precious. When two ponies can challenge and soothe each other in equal measure, they create harmony the world can feel. Twilight is fortunate. So are you.” Dusk’s ear twitched faintly, catching the whisper. Her smile deepened — not mocking, only amused. “Playing,” she echoed softly. “A noble art. Most adult ponies forget how.” She took a sip of tea, eyes warm. “You’ll have to show me what kind of play you mean sometime.”