>A weary-eyed Lyra makes her way down the staircase, making sure that sleepiness did not interfere with her motor skills.
>As she enters the dim foyer, she looks out the window at the crisp night sky.
>The moonlight pours into the room, leaving enough light to guarantee a safe venture to the kitchen.
>Entering the room, she gives the light switch a flick, letting the light deplete the darkness from the room.
>She walks to the sink and grabs a pot from the rack overhead, taking a moment to look at the reflection in the pot’s shiny covering.
>Staring back at her was a tired and worn-out mare.
>Her usual neatly-tucked mane was out of place and ravaged wildly on her head, showing clear signs of stress and lack of sleep.
>She rips her sight from the reflection and partially fills the pot with water before leaving the sink.
>Placing the pot down on top of the stove, Lyra ignites the pilot to start the boil.
>That’s all it took to make the motionless water move rapidly: A small flame.
>She prepares the contents for this accursed late night snack.
>Reaching into the refrigerator, she grabs the carton of milk with a magical aura, laying her eyes upon the white liquid inside.
>It smacks against the sides of the cardboard container, splashing about with neither care nor remorse.
>It was neither spoiled nor fresh; it had been the fridge for about three days now.
>Lyra continues to watch the liquid stir as she moves the container towards her prep station.
>Placing the milk container down on the counter, she opens the cabinets in search of her utensils.
>A measuring cup, a heatproof bowl, a wooden spoon: they were all essential to prepare this “fourth meal”.
>She peers into the pantry, looking desperately for the most important parts of the concoction.
>Without them, the pudding was null.
>Digging into the cabinet of food, she pushes aside boxes of spaghetti, bags of flour, and canisters of spices before finding the ingredients she needed most: cornstarch and a bar of chocolate.
>Levitating the necessities with her magical grip, she proceeds to bring them to her small work station.
>She grabs the measuring cup, carefully measuring out the desired amount of ingredients to make a bowl of pudding.
>Placing the contents into the bowl, Lyra begins stirring them together, ensuring that everything was evenly distributed.
>She takes the bowl and places it over the now boiling water, making sure not to drop it inside the pot.
>The chocolate begins to melt, changing the white mixture into a murky brown.
>Change is important; it meant that things are progressing forward.
>But that didn’t necessarily mean that the progress was good.
>One time, Lyra allowed the chocolate to sit for too long, which resulted in the chocolate melting, but not in a desirable way.
>From that day on, she learned that progress is to be monitored to ensure that there are no mistakes.
>If only she had learned that years ago.
>The brown is now turning into a darker shade, evenly spreading across the pudding.
>Lyra’s belly begins to rumble, practically begging for the pudding.
“In due time,” she tells her stomach, as if it were a pony itself. “Patience is key.”  
>The stomach ceases its impatient growls and casually waits for its meal to be finished.
>A small pitter patter echoes throughout the room, ringing in the mare’s ears.
>Bonbon must be awake, wondering where Lyra had run off to.
>She does not taking her focus off the pudding as the sound of hooves clopping come down the stairs.
>Lyra continues to stir the delicious treat as Bonbon enters the room, confusion spread across her face.
“Lyra?” she whispers, looking at the mare with concern. “What are you doing?”
>Lyra mentally scoffs, thinking about how ignorant of a question that was.
>The action was being committed before her eyes!
>How could she not see it?
“Making chocolate pudding,” Lyra grunts, not taking an eye off of the bowl.
>The liquid was now thick and ready for consumption, yet she continued to stir it without a care.
>Bonbon looks over at the clock on the wall inside the kitchen, checking the time.
“It’s four o’clock in the morning. Why in Equestria are you making chocolate pudding?”
>Lyra holds back the urge to yell at this point.
>Did she not see that chocolate pudding was an essential part of her life?
>She couldn’t begin to even understand her love- neigh! Her need for chocolate pudding.
>It is such a complex concoction, yet simple to make! Just its existence brings questions to the mind.
>Is it a liquid, or is it a solid?
>Who thought of creating such a thing?
>These thoughts ravage the mare’s mind, as if life itself revolved around the snack!
>Chocolate pudding is love!
>Chocolate pudding is life!
>Then it hit her.
>The realization is like a cart smashing into a wall at a hundred miles an hour.
>How could she not see it all this time?
>Her life didn’t revolve around pudding.
>Pudding is just a treat!
>A delicious, simple treat.
>Nothing more, nothing less.
>The moment brought an ache to her heart.
>If chocolate pudding isn’t a necessity, what purpose did she have in life?
>What did she have to live for?
>Staring into the center of the mixture, she stops her stirring.
>Lyra refuses to remove her eyes from it; it is like losing sight of a lover.
>Bonbon raises an eyebrow, wondering what is taking Lyra so long to respond.
>At that point, Lyra didn’t want to say it, but she has to.
>They always say that the most important part of overcoming a problem is admitting that you have a problem.
>Without showing a shred of emotion, she continues to stare down into the late night snack.
>Bonbon takes a step back, scared of her friend’s expression, but does not leave.
>The words leave Lyra’s lips with a monotonous ring.
“Because I’ve lost control of my life.”