Monsters

by JawJoe

Once Upon a Time...

How dare he. That had been my first thought.

How dare he.

I turned around, leaving the heart for the fool; he could have it if he so desperately needed it.

Oh, what I would have given to kill Nightmare Moon, to rid the world of her blight forever. But I was not like her. The Children of the Night thought that killing innocents was an acceptable sacrifice for a brighter future. I would not prove them right by doing the same.

I called upon the power of the Sun to banish the spirit of Nightmare Moon. New Page's body writhed in agony, every last muscle contorted and all of her being burned from the inside with the might of sunlight. I burned a path through the space beyond spaces, and the Elements of Harmony reclaimed Nightmare Moon's wretched soul, sealing her back into her heavenly tomb.

In her last moment under the skies, Nightmare Moon swore she'd return. She would return, and she would kill me.

I would be waiting.

An enormous cloud of black smoke poured from New Page's mouth, swirling and swelling in the air. The light drove it out of the Archives and up into the sky through the clouds and the space that divided Equestria from the heavens above. There her prison awaited the rogue spirit. As the Mare in the Moon reappeared on the Moon's surface, I wished she'd never return.

The Mare in the Moon never disappeared on that night, not for a second. It did not because I declared it did not. The EBSS was quick to quell rumours to the contrary spread by foolish ponies. I would strike that hateful night from my mind – or if I could not, I'd strike it from the pages of history.

For such is the way of the heart: so impulsive and spiteful one moment, and longing and regretful the next.

Oh, what I would have given to see my beloved sister, to dance again with her across the heavens. As I looked into the eye of the Mare in the Moon, my immortal mind failed to find the words with which to express my love for her.

I sent the body of New Page to the laboratories beneath Canterlot, and had our most brilliant unicorns tend to her. With the help of an eldritch tome the EBSS had earlier confiscated, they were able to place her heart back in her deformed body.

But she did not wake up.

Years passed; they fly by so quickly. The ponies in the labs begged me to get rid of New Page. She would never wake, they told me; she merely took up valuable space and magical resources that could've been far better used for other purposes. I rejected their pleas time and time again. In all the time I'd kept her unconscious body alive, I'd allowed her mother to see New Page exactly once.

She never asked to see her again. She could not bear to look at her baby child, not alive yet not quite dead; a travesty, a husk, a puppet of the daughter Veiled Quill loved.

Swift Sweep, I sent to the mines.

I enjoyed the thought of his suffering; anypony who dared speak in such a tone to the one great Princess of Equestria deserved as much. I'd often visit him and watch with perverted glee as he toiled away with a blunt pickaxe at the thick crystals in the dank, torch-lit depths.

He did not deserve sunlight. He did not deserve anything. For those unfit for anything else, physical labour was their redemption. The crystals they unearthed would help Equestria rise from the ashes.

I hated myself for his torture; I knew deep in my heart he did not deserve it, yet I refused to admit it. He was the only reason I ever ventured into the mines, the sole reason that I ever saw all these ponies deemed undeserving of my presence. Their bones were plain to see under the thin skin that hung loosely from their bodies, and their limbs trembled under the weight of even the smallest tools.

At least the overseers found it in themselves to hide the whips and spiked chains when I arrived. That was good, I thought; I didn't want to see them anyway.

Three years, four months, and sixteen days: that much time passed before New Page first awoke. Although her body had regressed much from the monstrous shape the Nightmare had left it in, she was by no means in good condition.

Her thinned bones had become frail over the years of inactivity, and her atrophied muscles barely carried their own weight. Her bat wing had shrivelled and fallen off, and it would take another year for New Page to walk on her own.

Twelve years, seven months, and three days: that is how long it took for me to finally break. I had Swift Sweep released from the mines – the first of many over the coming decades. I called him to see me in the Palace.

I still remember the way he looked at me. The hateful arrogance in his eyes that he'd shown me on that fateful night was long gone. He was old, and looked older still; the mines had been unkind. He looked at me with the eyes of a broken stallion, with nothing but emptiness behind his glazed, blank stare.

I remember his first words.

“To the EBSS?” he asked.

I shook my head. “In your absence, you have been... dishonourably discharged.”

His brows furrowed deeply, making the wrinkles in his wizened face run even deeper. “The gallows?”

I shook my head again. “You are free to go, Swift Sweep.”

“Free?” He looked at me like he'd forgotten the meaning of the word. “But I am guilty.”

“You have served your sentence.”

“No,” he said. “No!” he burst. Ah, and there it was – the pride again, resurging even after all these years. “Old dogs don't walk free. We have to serve to make up for our sins. To atone.”

I nodded. “You have, Swift Sweep. You are free to go.”

He fell silent.

It took much effort to convince him of his own freedom. When he walked out the door into the sunlight, he swayed slackly side to side as though he'd found himself on a rocking ship. He sat down outside the gates of the Palace. It had long been finished in Swift Sweep's absence; this had been the first time he'd seen it in all its glory. For a while, he simply stared at the sky and the pristine spires of Canterlot. I let him have his peace.

I had great plans for the ages that followed. In time – when I no longer required their services – the EBSS would be dismantled. In the wake of generations, some secrets would be revealed, and many more would be forever erased in flames. For I was Equestria: its rising Sun and its watchful Moon, and the dawn of a new day atop the ashes.

Swift Sweep told me he no longer wanted to be a monster. I came to realise how close I was to slipping on the razor's edge and becoming one myself. Such is the power of a single sentence.

Centuries hence, Equestria would be paradise again – for I was not a monster.

As for New Page... she would play her part as well.

Most of that fateful night was a blur. Celestia had removed a part of my very soul. She shattered my mind, and when I picked up the pieces, I found memories I'd never had before. Tiny pieces, scraps, half-thoughts appeared and faded every time I closed my eyes.

I was cold. Always, perpetually cold; ever since the fragment of Nightmare Moon's soul left my body, somehow I could never feel whole again. I'd grown too used to it, I suppose. Over the decades, however, I adjusted to the emptiness. I never dreamed of the mare in chains again.

Yet even in Nightmare Moon's absence, her thoughts and feelings ate themselves into my mind. The fires of her anger had burnt out, and in the embers remained only loneliness. I no longer feared her, neither did I hate her. If anything, I pitied her.

I found my little rat hole in the mountainside untouched after being released from the labs; Celestia had seen to it that it was not disturbed. The first thing I did, I remember, was fish out 'Memoirs in the Night' from under my bed.

I recognised these names now, every Night Guard. Nightsong and Crimson Cascade and Silhouette and Dusken Caverns and Crescent Strike and all the rest – I saw their faces before me when I closed my eyes.

When I pictured Crescent Strike in my head, he stared right back. Something about him made my heart flutter. For a long time, I could not tell what it was.

Mama visited me, of course. She would have cried all day on my shoulder, but I told her it hurt. She cried clutching the pillow instead. And it was then, when we were having dinner, that I looked into her eyes and realised why the name of Crescent Strike resonated with me so.

My spoon fell from my hoof, splashing the soup and clattering against the bowl. Mama asked what was wrong.

But there was nothing wrong. In hindsight, it had been obvious.

Ah, but I was busy. I had many lost years of studies to catch up on. I even got a job in the Canterlot Archives – and over the years I rose in the ranks. Eventually, I could peek into scraps of confidential information that confirmed my old suspicions. The logs of Project Bookworm were most eye-opening.

Apparently the scrying crystals had never been removed from my apartment, not even after I'd moved out. Their signals slowly waned through the years until, one by one, they gave out. They'll give somepony a proper fright, I figured, when the obfuscating enchantment fades and the gems become visible.

I don't think I was supposed to get my hooves on the files of Project Heartbreak, but Celestia thoughtfully looked the other way.

I never sought him out, however. Not for a very long time.

I can't remember exactly how many years I let pass. Twenty-nine, or thirty, maybe?

A letter arrived that bore the seal of Princess Celestia. At first, I thought it was a joke. I soon realised how foolish that was, of course. The letter had in it a request: a private assignment of the highest order directly from the Princess herself.

It was late in the afternoon that I climbed to the peak of Canterlot Mountain. Even the beautiful spires of the Palace did not reach so high. I cursed that my lone wing was unable to carry me. But luckily, I'd managed to train my legs enough to make the trip.

Atop a rocky outcrop that overlooked the world, there sat an old, grey pegasus. I don't think he heard me come. His attention was focused solely on the canvas that stood before him, and the brush that stuck out from his mouth.

He dipped the brush in paint, then drew another line across the canvas. Somehow, his painting of Equestria seemed even more beautiful than the real thing.

“It is lovely,” I said.

His ears fluttered, and he turned to face me. The moment our eyes met, he quickly turned away and hung his head.

Gently, I placed a hoof on his shoulder. His wings fluttered in fright.

“I know, Swift,” I whispered. “I know.”

He didn't turn. “I'm sorry,” he muttered around the brush between his teeth. He pretended to work on the painting, but I saw that the tip of the brush did not touch the canvas at all.

“I was wondering if you could help me.”

Meekly, he looked at me. “W-what could I do for you?” His gaze fluttered, looking here and there, never able to look me in the eye for more than a second or two.

“I have been given a task by Celestia,” I said. “I am to write a history book.” I snorted, unable to keep a straight face. My mane fluttered in a gust of wind, and I had to throw it over my shoulder. “Well, not a real history book. A simplified account, if you will. Something for the children of generations to come.” And something that underplays the horrors of true history while shining Celestia's image – but I could not say that out loud.

He turned back to his canvas, dipping the brush in paint. “I'm afraid that I... I don't study history.”

I chuckled. “It's not like that. Like I said, this is for children. It's going to need illustrations, and, well, I've heard your paintings are among the most beautiful Equestria has to offer. I am certain you could help me.”

He didn't answer, instead pressing his brush into the canvas, circling it around inside the Sun. He added orange, yellow, a touch of red, and subtle shades I did not know the name of – I enjoyed watching him work.

When he was done, he leaned back a little to look at the whole picture. His eyes scanned the great Equestrian vista below us, and he nodded to himself.

“You really think...” he mumbled without turning. “You honestly say that I could help you?”

“Yes, Swift.”

Slowly, he turned to me. He sniffled. A tear rolled down his cheek – and then another. The old, wizened stallion broke down crying in front of me, and his wavering lips formed a smile as he nodded and kept nodding, on and on.

“It would be my honour,” he said.

“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there were two regal sisters who ruled together and created harmony for all the land. To do this, the eldest used her unicorn powers to raise the Sun at dawn. The younger brought out the Moon to begin the night. Thus, the two sisters maintained balance for their kingdom and their subjects: all the different types of ponies.

“But as time went on, the younger sister became resentful. The ponies relished and played in the day her elder sister brought forth, but shunned and slept through her beautiful night! One fateful day, the younger unicorn refused to lower the Moon to make way for the dawn.

“The elder sister tried to reason with her, but the bitterness in the young one's heart had transformed her into a wicked mare of darkness: Nightmare Moon!

“She vowed that she would shroud the land in eternal night. Reluctantly, the elder sister harnessed the most powerful magic known to ponydom: the Elements of Harmony.

“Using the magic of the Elements of Harmony, she defeated her younger sister and banished her permanently in the Moon. The elder sister took on responsibility of both the Sun and the Moon, and harmony has been maintained in Equestria for generations since.”

A young unicorn lay on the lush green grass. Her name doesn't matter. She scanned the book opened in front of her, her eyes going over every line and illustration time and time again, trying to discern the little histories so many had forgotten. She cared nothing for the ponies of the bustling city around her. Lost in thought, she poked a hoof into the book.

“Hmm,” she pondered, “the Elements of Harmony... I know I've heard of those before.”

She looked up to the sky and the pristine spires of Canterlot, hoping to find her answers there.

“But where?”