The Death of Perfection
Chapter Two: In that Moment . . .
Stormy visages crossed the light princess’ mind as she viewed her reflection in the mirror. Why was she suddenly looking so damned old? she wondered. In the back of her mind, she was sure that something, other than her, had to be not-quite-right. Then again . . . That may just be my vanity talking.
Well, enough of that for one morning. It was a beautiful mid-July day. Certainly she wouldn’t let a few wrinkles spoil a day off, let alone one with her beloved Twilight Spark—
And, once again, Celestia found herself inwardly fuming at herself. What was this nonsense about her loving Twilight Sparkle? Oh, sure, she was a talented, brilliant, studious, amazing, gorgeous mare . . . Oh, no! Not again!
Without any mercy for the flustered princess, a swift knock came at her door. Oh, fiddles. “Yes?” called Celestia, addressing her guardsponies outside. “What is it, Sun Spear? Long Shadow?”
“Your Highness, Princess Celestia,” began Long Shadow; “Twilight Sparkle requests your presence in the dining room at 10 a.m. this morning,” finished Sun Spear. Celestia laughed lightly at the two friends, always finishing one another’s sentences. It was quite amusing to hear, as Sun Spear’s voice was airy and tenorous, if high-pitched, while Long Shadow had a beautiful baritone, nay, bass way of speaking. Oh, and sometimes the two would hum, or even, blessedly, sing! Barber shop duets, they shared to pass the time away . . . It was truly amazing, their talent and excellent fit.
“Highness?” a breathy, bright voice ventured. “Princess Celestia, it’s a quarter ‘til 10 o’clock,” the honey-thick, though tentative, reminder came.
Double fiddles. A not-so-princessly harumph could scarcely be heard through Celestia’s door, and, for that, she was very glad on that particular morning.
Yawning and stretching, Twilight waited patiently, due in no small part to the book under her nose, for the princess to arrive. She was early, yes, but they’d made plans to reconvene here, at this time, yesterday evening. It was very unusual for Twilight to ever beat Princess Celestia anywhere.
On that note, Twilight was very concerned. Of course Celestia had taken care of raising the Sun, as was her duty, but . . . She never went back to bed after raising the Sun. Never. Twilight plaintively searched her memory, finding countless examples of 4 a.m. wake-up calls so she could begin studying with the princess a half hour later. Then again, maybe she just needed to sleep in today?
But, still. That internal clock of hers had to have something wrong with it. It had to.
It wasn’t long afterward that Celestia meandered her way into the dining room. Bags clearly visible under her eyes, wrinkles blatant upon her brow, and mane a mess of tangles and frizz, she plopped down opposite Twilight.
Eyes wide in undisguised horror, Twilight’s lilac fur grew ashen. She had never, in all of her years studying under the princess, seen her mentor in this . . . This utter disarray.
Yes, Twilight nodded to herself, Something is definitely wrong. Luna was right to be so concerned.
Hidden from any scrying eyes, as it were, by a vast amount of unfathomably ancient and powerful dark magic, a lone pony sat upon a throne made of all manner of equine fossils. A plethora of skulls jutted out to make foreleg rests, femurs and small joints of all manner lined the seat, and every other bone imaginable cradled a hideous stallion in a loving, disgusting heart of seemingly still-rotting enemy trophies. That stallion was massive, larger even than Celestia, even despite a battered and crippled back leg.
With eyes of awful, stagnant swamp water, or perhaps the roiling blood of an ogre, or (worse still), the tainted hue of a mindless, deadly gelatinous ooze, eyes that shone the worst shade of whatever green they happened to settle upon (for they were forever shifting according to the light and how one viewed them, never staying the same shade for long), he searched the darkness of his Tomb. Oh, his Tomb had once been a true tomb, long ago, when a foalish pair of nearly-twin princesses had robbed him of his glory, banished him for his great and vast power.
And what right did they have? To banish him, the greatest of all alicorns in might and power?! Him, the most awesome and venerable Prince of Undeath?! And simply because his was a talent of necromancy, a command over life and death, over balance, over existence itself?! These were reasons to be loved and feared, but not hated!
He seethed in black fury, as endless in depth and hate as the Tomb that now made itself his womb.
Turning his ill-pleasing, dark, almost imperceptibly purple head, the wretched form of Hedon the Dead Speaker lurched to its undying hooves. His head a mess of dark grey brain matter falling out of a cracked and jagged skull, limp, stringy silver mane falling down around the centuries-old wound, now frozen forever in time, and his mouth twisting up to reveal a sickening combination of missing and, alternatively, moldy, horribly rotten and yellow-green teeth, the stallion lurched toward the large, glowing orb before his throne of horrors.
Muted, the dull and eerie luminescence of the crystal ball matching that which surrounded his horn, added a faint yellowish-brown haze to the scene. He chuckled softly to himself as the eternal youth of Celestia, the so-called Sun Goddess of Equestria, faded quietly into the ever-flowing river of time. Yes, Hedon veritably cackled aloud now, soon, my pretty one, I will have you yet. No one can deny me. Alive, perhaps . . . But this is easily remedied. At this he stomped his splintering forehoof into the ground for emphasis, the sound of bones crunching drifting pleasantly to his tattered ears.
Ooh, yes, my love. You may have denied me while I was in life, but in eternal undeath, you can never resist me. And so, I will crush you, and then I will have you, my—oh, my! Hedon gasped, staring in awe at the beautiful alicorn that came into view of his scrying spell. She had the loveliest lavender coat, a silky-looking violet mane, and the most becoming fuschia stripe lining the side of her horn. She was breathtaking.
Oh. Oh, no. Oh, this is too perfect! Hedon lost himself to another cackle of satisfaction. Oh, how positively perfect! This mare is obviously close to that damned Celestia. And she outshines even the Sun in beauty! His eyes lit up once more, quickly spotting the connecting lines just as if they were constellations written in the sky. I wager it will hurt that so-called “goddess” more than any wound I could ever inflict upon her to see me have her. I will have her as my bride instead, after I snuff out the light of the Sun and her twin moon, after I usurp their undeserved throne. He eyed his own trophy-composed throne appraisingly, ugly eyes lighting up with the vision. Besides. Mine will look much better in the heart of Canterlot Keep’s throne room.
Twilight couldn’t quite stifle her squeak of horror at her princess’ appearance. Celestia couldn’t have missed it if she tried. Frowning, the princess looked down at her hooves, too embarrassed to say anything.
Oh, oh, oh, tardiness! How could I let myself do that?! Twilight conked herself in the forehead with a sharp THWACK! and steeled herself to sheepishly chance a glance at the other alicorn once more. She wasn’t even looking at her, too busy studying her luscious-looking ivory hooves.
Wait . . . Luscious-looking?! Twilight gasped again, this time in sheer horror at herself, at her thoughts, and THWACK! She added another lump to her mounting bruises.
She couldn’t quite help it, though. Since Celestia wasn’t looking at her . . . She found herself studying the elder mare’s incredible features. Her softly-sculpted cheeks, her sweet lips, her deeply riveting eyes, the sweet curve of her long neck, the trail of her lovely pink mane drifting down to her strong ches—AAH! Don’t finish that thought, Twilight!! Wait a minute . . . Her pink mane?!?!
Bolting upright, Twilight caught the princess’ face in her hoof, intending to tell her—!!
Suddenly, without any warning, the princess, in all her beauty (for she was still just as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so, in her vulnerability, if only to Twilight) . . .
She did the unthinkable.
Princess Celestia of Equestria, in all her grace and elegance and timeless, ageless beauty . . .
Leaned forward . . .
And . . .
Kissed . . .
Twilight.