The only parts of the play Luna’s aware of are the voices; the light streaming in through the crystal walls and ceiling, though less intense than outside, remains enough to make the room, actors and audience blinding. The world before her squinting eyes is light, and nothing else.
And thinking that she liked them not,
Roseta spoke onto the mob,
Vowing to put their claims to scorn;
She'd find again the sunken hoard
Of old Queen Platinum.
Her lips twitch as a yawn tries to push past them, but she does not release it, knows that she must not release it. The opaqueness of the light makes it impossible to tell if anypony’s watching her, and another diplomatic setback, however minor, is something her sister’s unlikely to tolerate. She has, after all, been sent here to smile and look pretty, to look as close as possible to a princess of the Crystal Empire in some machination of her sister’s designed to win support for the Equestrian Diplomatic Mission.
In practice, it just means that when her nose itches, she can’t scratch it. Her sister has also managed to stuff her in a dress that rubs against her coat intolerably, as well as chafing the feathers of her wings. The colour’s ugly too, but a close enough match to the traditional Crystal Empire colours that she’s been forced to wear it nonetheless.
Luna suppresses her groan and smiles weakly, knowing that she should have double checked the wagons they brought with them. Her silver horseshoes jingle lightly as she dissipates the tension in her cramped legs.
She journeyed down into the rock,
Down far beneath the frozen top,
And sought her way through ancient mines
That had been carved before the time
Of old Queen Platinum.
There’ll be an intermission soon, surely. An intermission in which she can escape, unnoticed. And if not... well, she is a princess. One of the Princesses, in fact.
Luna sits up a little straighter as a small amount of courage stirs inside her heart. If she is a Princess, then surely she can just... get up and go? Her front hooves shift slightly as her body weight tilts. Yes. She can just get up, walk towards the exit and... Ah.
Luna’s eyes dart everywhere she can see, but there is no substance there but light, light intense enough to keep the gap ‘tween her eyelids as a crack. She can make nothing out, which leaves her plan with one large problem:
She has no idea where the exit is.
The spring in her front legs dissipates, and she slumps back into position, an open frown drawn across her forehead. She puffs out a breath of air, blowing her dusty-blue mane off of her forehead.
Wait for the intermission it is, then.
Princess Luna, crown askew and dress slightly torn, slips out of the door, closes it quietly behind her – though she’d have prefered a slam – and then grins like she’s never grinned before.
She pauses in place, back pressing against the decidedly not crystal door, and listens: by the sounds of it, the play is already restarting. Which hopefully means nopony has yet noticed her escape into the gloriously dark room, one of the few places in the city not made of crystal and thus not flooded with a near oppressive level of light.
Luna lets out a happy sigh, lips still curled upwards. She's free.
Celestia will be angry, though hopefully more over a Luna gone missing than a Luna not watching the rest of the play. Still, if her sister is going to be angry, she may as well capitalise on it... No point in angering her twice, after all.
There’s a flash of light, and Luna reappears two full paces to her left, crown in place but dress very much not. She scoops it up before it reaches the floor, crumples it into a tight ball and then sets it on fire.
Celestia will be furious. That is more than likely the only dress in Luna’s size they have.
Which is why, of course, it must be burnt.
Its burning does, however, serve another purpose; namely that of lighting up the room. Luna looks around, flaming mass bobbing as she twists it here and there, illuminating walls and scattered props and dresses. Cobwebs hang everywhere, trapped particulates of dust glinting in the strands; her movement stirs up more like it, so then the air's left smelling murky mixed with burning dress. Eventually, the door appears between a wardrobe and a semi-dismantled dummy – head perched mournfully on a distant dresser. She maneuvers towards the exit.
She opens the door, and finds the world outside to be just as dark as the in. Her eyes widen, neck craning forwards and out, crown slipping as the angle of her head tilts. She floats the burning remains of her dress out, and a dirty wall and floor are revealed, with great piles of rubbish placed here and there along. She steps out, and something splatters up her silver horseshoe, muddying the sheen.
The outside’s almost like a second street, except one that’s noticeably unkept and rotten. It stinks, too – enough that she's surprised she couldn't smell it before – and the air is thick with dust and the oppressive heaviness of unclean air. Her eyes swivel round, and she spots, with some concern, shadows moving just out of the ring of light.
“Hello?” She moves towards them, burning dress drifting ahead like a tame will o’ wisp. “Who's there?” Her hoof kicks rubbish ahead of her: a child’s broken toy and a clattering fragment of blue pottery, as well as the moldering decay of fecal matter and rotten food. And yet, the shadows are not made clear. They keep pace with her, staying just out of the lit circle as a constellation of reflected light.
She stops then, and frowns. A mush of something drops out of the sky and lands inside on her mane; she flicks it off with barely a second thought. The action causes her horn to flash, and the light released by the magic bounces off the shadows, revealing the ponies they all are. Their manes and coats are patches of muddy fur and worn skin, as if they'd cut off chunks of their own hair, and whatever natural colours they once were are now stained into a collection of browns and blacks. All sets of eyes – though for a few, there is only one – are fixed on her, and on her silver horseshoes and crown in particular.
Then the brief flash of light dies and the visage goes with it, returning them to a scattered group of wet glints. Luna smiles at them, and it is a cold smile without warmth. She concentrates, and with a brief pulse of horn, the alley becomes filled with light.
“Luna!” Celestia’s on her the instant she walks through the door, all fussy and wings bristling like an overgrown mother hen. “Where in the world hast thou been? There was very nearly an incident after I insisted the royal guard be allowed to patrol the streets looking for thee, and then thou wander’st in off the street!” A white wing cuffs her round the head as one of her sister’s forelegs scoops her into a sudden hug. “I was so worried...”
For the briefest moment, Luna dares to hope she might escape un-reprimanded. That hope soon passes as Celestia nicks at her neck – not violently, but hard enough to hurt.
“Never do that again.” Celestia’s words are muffled, coming as they are from the midst of Luna’s mane. “I will tie thee to my horn otherwise, and then we’ll both look ridiculous.”
Luna lets the show of affection continue for a moment more – perhaps two – before she presses her hoof against her sister’s chest and nudges. Seconds later, her head rises out of Celestia shock of pink mane – fuzzy now when usually well groomed – and their gazes meet.
“There are Equestrian’s in the alleys,” she says, and Celestia’s expression shifts. “Earth ponies, mainly. A few pegasi and a hoofful of unicorns. They’re starving, Big Sister.”
Celestia rises up, only stopping when she’s reached her full height – easily twice that of Luna’s. “How many,” she says, turning and walking back into the room proper.
“Easily a hundred. Perhaps more.” And then Celestia's lack of surprise hits her, and she frowns. "Thou knewest, didn't thee? Thou knewest and didst not tell me."
The room is richly furnished, with tapestries strewn across the walls and ceiling keeping out the ever-oppressive light, grand settees stocked with fat cushions and rugs laid here and there. An uncovered wall on the far side lets in a little light, as well as letting them look out onto the city itself, bearable now as the sun finally touches the horizon. It is this part of the room that Celestia heads towards; Luna follows after, half in and half out of her sister’s shadow.
“Yes, I knew. Though not quite to the extent thou speakest of. I confess to hoping it would not be a problem." Celestia pauses in front of the wall, and her reflection on the it is in no way pleased; Luna dodges past the sudden swish of a pink tail as she draws closer. "But still... Thou wentest amongst them all alone? Luna–”
“Several attacked me, seeking either my coin or crown, yes” – Celestia's lips press into a thin, pink line at Luna's interruption, but she stays quiet – “but I am not so weak and helpless as thou think'st that they could overpower me.” Luna turns her head and looks up, and then up a little further. “I know I may not look it yet, but I am nearly as strong as thee, Big Sister.”
Celestia tosses her head, further messing up her mane. Luna has to suppress a smile at that. “So they attack thee, and yet thou still think’st to help them?”
Luna interrupts again: “I am often bitten by flies, Big Sister, yet I’ve never declared war on the insects. Thou art still in a bad mood over my defiance, art thou not?” Her horn lights up, tugging at Celestia’s mane and bringing her head with it. And when she has drawn level, Luna whispers, “If thou wantest, I could always go and ask the kitchens to bring us cake. I’ve heard their chocolate is to die for...”
A sudden snigger breaks the frozen look on her sister’s face. “I’ve already asked, Little Sister,” she confesses. “They don’t add enough sugar.” She sighs, and then rises back up to her full height. “Still... One hundred Equestrians, in the middle of the City. This could complicate things.”
“It’s our fault they’re here,” Luna replies, following her sister’s gaze out onto the city. Her eyes catch the reflected rise of an eyebrow. “Our wars drove most of their ancestors here, I mean.”
“So they are our responsibility alone, then. We are the source of every action committed by those we lead, the sole origin of every hurt suffered and wrong unrighted?”
“Thou knowest I don’t mean that, Big Sister.” Luna nuzzles against her sister’s legs, and the reflection’s frown washes away. “But they are our responsibility; they are our citizens. We must save them.”
“Save them? Luna, what dost thou intend to do?” A splash of yellow grips hold of her chin, and Luna finds her head turning as Celestia kneels down beside her, till the two are at eye-level. “This is not our city, Little Sister. We are not free to act freely here, and if thou triest to, thou wilt undo the very purpose of this mission. We are not here to make war, and thou riskest it if thou–”
“I am not that big of a fool, Big Sister.” Luna nods her head forwards, brushing her cheek against Celestia’s. “And it does thee wrong to think me so. No, I will not risk war with the Empire over this.” She pulls back. “But still, I shall save them.”
Her eyes dart over the city, ignoring the great gleaming centres of light and focusing on the cracks in between them, the places where the gloom of blackness lurks and the forgotten citizens of her country – her people – make their homes.
“Yes,” she says, self-assuredness flaring in her mind. “I will save them.”
And then Celestia asks, “Little Sister, where is thy dress?” and Luna cringes.