//------------------------------// // Chapter Eight // Story: On the Nature of Alicorns // by Typoglyphic //------------------------------// Estimating the power draw of a particular spell was easy. Almost boringly easy. In fact, many ponies held that if a third of the population had access to magic, the least it could do is be as mysterious and otherworldly as it was in the storybooks. Twilight, on the other hoof, rather appreciated that magic worked by the same rules as any other part of nature. It was much easier to actually perform complicated magic if you could describe it with a formula beforehand. It stood to reason that, since Twilight had teleported from her bedroom to the Crystal Empire without any difficulty, a jump from the Crystal Empire to Canterlot would be even easier, given the relative distances. It was quite the unpleasant surprise when instead of the subtle pop of her new location melting in around her, she was met with darkness and a sensation similar to slamming full speed, muzzle-first into a brick wall. If that had been the end of it, Twilight would have assumed that she’d accidentally teleported herself inside of a very literal brick wall. Her stomach lurched as she rebounded. The feeling of gravity pressing against her was not a good sign, as teleportation didn’t—or at least shouldn’t—involve any kind of physical movement. Then, almost as suddenly as everything had gone wrong, things stopped going wrong. Twilight groaned. She felt as though her entire body had been beaten by an angry hardwood staircase. She tried to roll over onto her front but found nothing to roll over on. She was floating, or possibly dead. She brought a hoof up to touch her face, and was heartened to find that she did still have both a hoof and a face to touch together. That made death a significantly less likely explanation. “Identify thyself!” boomed a voice that seemed to come from every direction at once. Twilight swallowed. “Luna?” There was a gasp. Twilight shivered as her senses returned. The darkness faded and was replaced by a cramped room with unmarked gray walls and a low ceiling. Luna’s worried face peered down at her. “Twilight? Why art thou teleporting into our sister’s abode?” Her horn glowed, and Twilight was lifted gently onto her feet. “Celestia has declared that even I may not enter her chambers unannounced.” Twilight looked around. Now that she was standing, she could see the room’s furnishings. Small hooks protruded from the walls at around shoulder height, and chains dangled from one or two. Behind Luna was a metal door with far more locks than any normal door should need. A wooden structure that could only be described as a cross between a table and a coat rack crouched in the corner: Twilight couldn’t guess how it functioned, but its purpose was clear. Apparently some social cues transcended time and culture. “We are deep within Canterlot Castle,” Luna explained. “These halls are remnants of a more suspicious age, when my sister had a healthy collection of spies. I repurposed these rooms upon our return.” “Into what?” Twilight said, although the answer was obvious. “My personal holding cells and interrogation chambers, of course.” Luna tisked. “I was truly dismayed to find Canterlot without a spy master upon my return, and it is a duty I look forward to resuming.” A shadow fell across her expression. “It is very troubling that you are the first intruder I have caught. Please, Twilight. Under what circumstances do you trespass upon my sister’s quarters?” With considerable effort, Twilight pushed aside the implications of Luna’s ‘interrogation chamber’. She eyed the door behind Luna like a sleep-deprived student eyes her bed. She wanted to dive toward it, but knew it wouldn’t help her in the end. How had Luna caught her? Teleportation magic was undetectable. Twilight’s head sank. “Do you remember our conversation a few days ago?” Luna nodded. “My sister forbade you from investigating Star Swirl’s magic, and I gave you his journal that you might study it instead.” Twilight sighed. “Right. Well, a lot’s happened since then. You got my letter about breaking Star Swirl’s cipher?” “Nay. Apparently a large number of confidential documents found their way into the public mail service. All government correspondence has been redirected to Celestia’s office for inspection, including all mail addressed to or from royalty.” Luna grinned. “Blueblood wrote a strongly worded complaint to our sister about the disruption of his post. Or, I assume it was strongly worded. It has not been read, as it now sits in a pile in Celestia’s office along with all of his other mail.” “But I sent my letter by dragonfire.” Although that did explain why Cadance hadn’t gotten her letter. There was a chance that there actually had been an information leak, but it seemed more likely that it was all Celestia’s doing. “Dragonfire?” Luna frowned. “You are certain you used the correct signature?” “Yes.” There was no way both she and Spike had used the wrong signature. Something was interfering with Luna’s dragonfire. “Never mind.” Twilight peered at Luna in what was probably a rudely obvious way. How much did she know? Were she in on Celestia’s plans, or was she oblivious? “The journal you gave me was about…alicorns.” Luna raised an eyebrow. “Alicorns? Oh, you refer to the notes he maintained during the creation of his masterpiece. I am aware of its relation to alicornhood.” “And you gave it to me anyway?” Twilight said. “Even though you knew Celestia didn’t want me studying it?” Luna gasped. “Why, Twilight! You merely told me that Celestia forbade you from investigating Star Swirl’s spell book. If I had known that you were told not to study Star Swirl’s thoughts on the matter…” Luna shrugged. “Perhaps I would have acted differently.” Twilight had always been the smartest pony in class, so she knew when somepony was making fun of her. “Seriously?” “No more so than the situation demands,” Luna replied with a twinkle in her eye. “So, were the journal’s contents illuminating?” Twilight dropped back onto her haunches. It didn’t really make sense to keep Luna in the dark, but she had hoped to confront Celestia before the adrenaline from Spike’s letter wore off. “Basically, there’s a lot wrong with the spell I cast, and Celestia knew it.” Twilight froze. “And so did you.” “Did I?” Luna said. “Star Swirl involved both of you in his research—got samples from you.” Luna screwed up her face in concentration. “Yes… I do remember something like that. Star Swirl was never very compassionate to his subjects. I did my best to avoid his scientific attention. Celestia, on the other hoof, she was very interested in that particular project. They spent hours together, puzzling over a plucked feather or a drop of blood. I thought it was good for her. She was dreadfully serious back then, and quite boring. No hobbies, no friends besides myself…Sometimes I wonder how I was the first to go mad.” Well, if Twilight had suspected that Luna shared Celestia’s goals before, she was sure of it now. But why give her the journal? Was she working against Celestia to the same end? Twilight was getting tired of all these complex mental gymnastics. “What’s your angle?” she asked. Luna dropped her head and let out a chuckle: the kind of chuckle that was equally at home on a good-natured friend as on a charismatic villain. “Angle? Must I have deeper motivations than a simple desire to help?” Twilight tilted her head violently. Her neck let out a wince-inducing crack. “Really? You don’t want to rip my wings off? Or usurp the throne? Or turn Equestria into an authoritarian regime? Are you saying that you’re not possessed by a malevolent spirit that’s plotting to bring about eternal night?” Twilight was relieved to feel a second spike of adrenaline. She had missed the feeling. “There’s no conspiracy? Nopony is scheming or plotting or otherwise planning malevolently? Are you saying it’s all in my head?” Luna took a step forward, her eyes wide with concern. “Are you well, Twilight? You appear somewhat…unhinged.” “Oh, no. I’m fine.” For all the twitchy energy bouncing inside her, most of which she was channelling into her all but vibrating wings, Twilight was strangely calm. Mentally. For some reason the panic wasn’t hitting her like usual. “Honestly, I think I’d be almost disappointed. I came here to finally put an end to this little crisis, and if it turns out that I was jumping at shadows for an entire week then I’ll feel like a bit of an idiot. It’s like that time I sent myself into a panic by travelling back in time—did I tell you about that?” Luna’s mouth hung open. She took a step back, then reconsidered Twilight’s expression and took another one. “We…I did hear of that incident, yes.” Twilight sighed. “I just really don’t want this to be a repeat of that. I was too embarrassed to talk to Pinkie Pie for a week afterward. To Pinkie! And I’ve already talked to Cadance and Shining, so now they’re probably worried, and all of my friends probably think I’m losing my mind. Spike… Celestia only knows what Spike’s thinking. Literally. Celestia knows because she’s in Ponyville, looking for me, while I’m sitting here babbling to you. Celestia probably put off dozens of important duties to deal with my latest break-down, and now you’re looking at me like I’ve gone completely moon-mad.” Twilight swallowed because her throat was getting dry and took a few shaky breaths. “And now that I think of it, maybe I should get myself checked. I mean, I passed all the tests right before I moved to Ponyville, but that town isn’t exactly easy on a pony’s mental health, if you know what I mean.” Luna stepped forward and laid a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “You are not insane, Twilight,” she said. “Trust me. Madness is a matter with which I have much personal experience.” Twilight returned her smile and took a few more breaths, slower this time. “That’s… more reassuring than it should be. Thank you.” The hoof fell away and Luna’s face hardened. “Now, I am sorry to press you on this, but I must. Why did you attempt to infiltrate Celestia’s tower? Is your relationship truly in such dire straits that you cannot enter honestly?” She couldn’t trust Celestia. Probably. And no matter how friendly Luna seemed, Twilight was going to assume she was equally untrustworthy until she was proven otherwise. In the end, Twilight said, as if it answered everything, “Celestia’s in Ponyville.’ Luna raised an eyebrow. “I am aware. She expressed concern for your well-being and delegated all of her duties for the next two days before she departed.” Twilight shrugged. “Well, I’m starting to feel like an idiot all over again.” “Did you imagine Celestia disappeared from court without ensuring the safety of her subjects? She ruled Equestria alone for one thousand years, and it has flourished under her reign. She is not one to shirk her responsibilities.” Luna peered at her. “And you know all of this better than I.” Twilight’s face burned, and she jerked her gaze away from Luna. It landed on the wall behind her, and for a moment Twilight allowed herself to take in the details. The room was well-lit, and there wasn't a speck of dust in sight, nor even one tiny scratch on the walls. Everything about it suggested that it had never been used, and everything Twilight knew about Luna suggested the same. And yet, the room was here, ready to plunge Equestria back into the dark era of violence and shadow under Discord that even the frankest history books described with dreadful restraint. Because Luna’s judgement was in many ways still one thousand years out of date. What difference would it make if Celestia buried Star Swirl’s revelations for another thousand years? Equestria had flourished without them. What did it matter that there were once again torture rooms in the bowels of Equestria’s capitol? They would never be used. And yet… “Tell me, honestly. Do you know what Celestia’s planning?” Twilight asked. “About the spell,” she added as Luna opened her mouth. “About the spell? I imagine the two of us will together decide its proper place. We do trust you, Twilight, but you are not prepared to handle the subtleties of ruling a kingdom,” Luna said. Her face softened. “Would it assuage you if I swore to confer the details of our decision to you?” “Really? Has Celestia asked your opinion once in the past four days?” Twilight said from between her teeth. The answer was plain on Luna’s face. “She is planning something. And whatever it is, it’s big, and we deserve to know.” “I will not hold you here. You are a princess, and your judgement must be allowed to grow,” Luna said. “However, I beg that you do not trouble Celestia unnecessarily. Her mind and heart are heavy, and your investigation of Star Swirl’s knowledge has only added to her worries.” Luna stepped to the side and turned the door’s latch with her magic. Twilight took a few breaths. She wasn’t sure if she’d lost her nerve—it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between terror and confidence. She nodded to Luna and stepped out of the room. It would be rude to teleport away after Luna opened the door for her. She walked a short distance down the hallway. Dozens of identical doorways lined the walls on either side, stretching for hundreds of yards. She idly wondered whether there were enough holding cells here to contain the entire population of Ponyville, and eventually decided that yes there was, with room to spare. She stopped and glanced back to make sure Luna was out of sight, then closed her eyes and quietly disappeared. Celestia’s quarters were silent and empty when Twilight arrived, everything as neat and orderly as always. In contrast to the rest of the castle, the princess’ tower was awash with organic colours. The floor was made of soft, honey coloured wood, its surface worn by a thousand years worth of hoofsteps. The walls were covered by bookshelves, paintings, and other personal touches that hid the cold white marble of the castle beyond. The door to Celestia’s bedchamber was ajar, and through it Twilight could see a luxurious bed atop a frame of stained wood and gold trim. It looked untouched, and it was, because Celestia never used it. Before the fireplace lay a plush cushion, easily big enough to accommodate five adult ponies lying side by side—or one alicorn and a little filly, curled up together before a gently flickering fire on a cool autumn night. The fireplace was cold and dark now, and the cushion was mussed and lumpy. Twilight pulled the bedroom door closed with a small magical tug. The latch slid into place without a sound, and Twilight breathed a bit easier in the solitude of the study. Though she had been in this office hundreds of times, dozens of little details caught her eye that she’d never noticed before. Each bookshelf was filled from end to end, every book’s spine even with its neighbours. A picture-perfect library. Yet when Twilight took a closer look at the shelves, their order seemed completely random. She was no stranger to… inventive shelving methods, but these books weren’t arranged by title, author, publication date, or genre. During their lessons, Celestia had always requested books from the Canterlot Archives, and Twilight couldn’t remember there ever being a single book out of place on these shelves. She thought again of the dust that coated their perfectly persevered bindings. How long had these tomes been here? The dozens of envelopes and scrolls that had been Celestia’s desk the day before were gone. In their place lay several sheets of paper, wrinkled and covered in small, careful black hornwriting. Her notes on Star Swirl’s spell book. A layer of red ink occupied the tiny margins, written in similar, though not identical hornwriting. A pang of terror shot through Twilight, and her eyes darted to the top of the page, expecting an uppercase letter and a circle. She scowled and suppressed a growl. She wasn’t Celestia student anymore. There was much more at stake than poor grades. She slid the notes aside and pulled a fresh piece of paper out of a drawer. Celestia’s quill flew from its inkwell and pressed against the page. Celestia, This has gone on for long enough. I am waiting in your study in Canterlot. -Twilight Sparkle She didn’t bother to roll or tie the letter. It disappeared in a wash of green flame, and the lingering smoke drifted through the gap between the balcony doors. Twilight glanced around the room, then back at the tiny, squashed writing that covered her notes. She could make out a few solitary question marks, and a single ‘how?’. She stood and turned from the notes. Clearly Celestia didn’t know any more than she did. The seconds dragged by. No enraged white alicorn appeared. No disappointed blue alicorn came to scold her. Twilight fidgeted and looked around for a place to sit. Her eyes fell on the closed bedroom door. Dread knifed through her. She gulped, then her horn flashed to life, and she stepped forward, closing the door behind her. The room was just as cold and lifeless as before. The stale air caught in her throat, and chills broke out along her sides. She stepped forward. The clicks of her hooves against the wood floor resounded in the silence. There were two healthy logs in the fireplace. Twilight didn’t light them. She walked up and prodded the cushion with a hoof. It was as soft and plush as ever. She settled onto her stomach, sinking into the cold fabric, and closed her eyes. In the dark, she could almost pretend that nothing had changed. And had anything changed, really? How easy would it be to let it all go? To nod along to whatever explanation Celestia gave her? She had never stood up to her mentor before, even as a foal. She’d had a rebellious phase, like any teenager, but around Celestia she had always been agreeable and cooperative. She didn’t know if she could behold Celestia’s ire without crumpling. There was a crash from inside the study, and the darkness of the bedroom was interrupted by a pulse of golden light from under the door. Twilight opened her mouth, but her words caught in her throat. Loud hoofsteps walked around the study, then slowly approached the bedroom. The door glowed gold, then swung open, pouring light over Twilight’s prone body. Fear boiled in Twilight’s chest, and she looked up into Celestia’s eyes. Her multi-hued mane billowed in the still air, framing her flawless white coat against the warmth of the study. The glinting gold around her neck and hooves shone in her radiance. She stepped closer, peering down at Twilight. Her eyes were kind, indulgent, and her mouth was quirked into a carefully maintained half-smile. “You’ve been a very difficult pony to find, recently,” Celestia said, her voice overflowing with playful warmth. Twilight glanced away. She hadn’t changed a bit. Her fear curdled, and before she knew it she was on her hooves, glaring up at her former teacher. “I’m not the one who needs to explain herself, Celestia.” Celestia flinched back as Twilight said her name. She quickly regained her composure. “I didn’t ask for an explanation. I’m just glad you’re safe.” She moved forward and extended a wing, reaching for Twilight’s shoulder. Twilight stepped to the side, keeping her eyes fixed on Celestia. “Forgive me if I’m not quite as th-thrilled to see you.” Celestia’s ears flattened, her eyes widened, and she became the picture of a wounded angel. “T-Twilight, I just—” “No,” Twilight growled, “we are not doing this again.” She stomped a hoof. “I am going to ask my questions, and you are going to answer them!” The pretence drained from Celestia’s face all at once. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and, for the first time, Twilight saw past the teacher that she knew, leaving only the ancient monarch of Equestria before her. When she spoke, there was no anger in her voice, only frost. “I gave you warning after warning. I tried to distract you. I tried to command you. I even tried to scare you.” Celestia flared her wings, and Twilight shrank back against the cushion. “You ignored me. So, what are you going to do with your newfound knowledge?” Twilight shuddered, then whispered. “More than you ever did.” A half-laugh rose and died in Celestia’s throat. “Don’t try to lecture me, Twilight. I didn’t hide Star Swirl’s work without reason, nor did I send it to you on a whim.” Twilight licked her lips, gathering her nerves. “So tell me!” she demanded. “Why hide it? And don’t say ‘because it’s dangerous’. We both know that’s not true.” “Do we?” Celestia’s gaze shifted past Twilight’s face to rest on the wings folded against her sides. “Only two ponies have ever attempted to cast that spell. One died, and the other became an alicorn. Either way—dangerous.” The scientist in Twilight snarled. “A spell that spans an entire book, and a sample size of two,” she all but spat. “Over a thousand years and all of the resources in Equestria at your disposal, and you never did a single repeat experiment?” Celestia rolled her eyes. “Twilight, your own modifications to the spell prove that the Elements of Harmony are—” “Are the power source!” Twilight shouted. “Nothing more! There are dozens of magical artifacts that come close to the Elements in terms of raw energy, none of which require the same kind of attunement.” Celestia tutted and scowled in disapproval. “Twilight, I need you to calm down.” Twilight trembled, but held her tongue. “Good. Now, my letters may have seemed a bit… curt, over the last few days, and I’m sorry.” Celestia reached out and laid a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “I made this so much harder on you than it had to be.” Twilight swallowed. The urge to press forward and complete the embrace was hard to resist, but she didn’t move. She tore her gaze from the Princess’ forgiving eyes. What had Twilight been mad about, anyway? “You’ve always shouldered more than your fair share. Nightmare Moon should have been my responsibility, but you stood up and saved the day. Discord, Chrysalis, Tirek… I have failed so many times, and you have always been there to protect Equestria in my stead.” Celestia knelt, bringing her level with Twilight. “Forget Star Swirl. You more than earned those wings on your own.” And the anger was rekindled. Twilight knocked Celestia's hoof from her shoulder. "Earned?" She gestured to Celestia's desk, where her notes still lay. "Really? And what if I had gotten it wrong? What if I had failed, just like Star Swirl? Would that have been earned?" She leaned in closer. "Would that have been a fitting reward for a hero of Equestria?" Celestia sighed. “Twilight, listen to yourself.” She withdrew a few steps. “You’re angry that I didn’t reveal Star Swirl’s work to the public, and you’re also angry that I shared it with you? Isn’t that contradictory?” “You know what I mean!” Twilight pursed her lips. She sounded like a foal. “You could have at least warned me! Mentioned that the last pony who tried to cast the spell killed himself!” “And what difference would it have made? You succeeded. No harm befell you or your friends.” Twilight stomped a hoof. “You couldn’t have known that, though.” She let out a long, shuddering breath. She had to stay calm. “But you’re right. I survived, and now there are four alicorns instead of three.” Celestia brightened, a small smile returning to her face. “Exactly. Don’t worry, Twilight. The golden years of Equestria lie before us, not behind.” “And now that I’ve completed Star Swirl’s spell,” Twilight continued carefully, “who knows what other applications it might have…” The smile disappeared, and Celestia growled. “No, Twilight. Tampering with that spell is still dangerous, as you just said. Best to let it lie.” She forced the smile back to her face. “Besides, I can think of nopony else so worthy of ruling as you and Cadance. More princesses would just make the politics more complicated.” She finished with a convincing chuckle. Twilight stared at her for a moment. “There’s a pegasus filly in Ponyville. Her name is Scootaloo.” Celestia stared at her. “What—” “She can’t fly. All her classmates can. Her parents can. She can’t. Their family doctor says that its a rare condition. Unknown cause, no known cure.” Celestia licked her lips. “That’s… terrible, Twilight, but—” “I know why she can’t fly. It’s written plain as day. Star Swirl stumbled upon the answer over a thousand years ago, while searching for the secret to immortality.” Twilight stepped forward, flaring her wings. It looked impressive when Celestia did it, so perhaps the same would work for her. “But you wouldn’t know, would you? Nopony knew, because you were scared! Scared of what, I’m not sure, but you’re too smart to have not seen the possible applications of his research. So why?” One of Celestia’s rear legs crept backward, leaning her entire body away from Twilight slightly. “Even if that were the case, there must be just as many harmful applications.” “Thanks to that book, I might be able to cure a filly’s disability!” Twilight shouted. “After less that a week of studying it! Imagine if doctors had known about this for even a year. How many lives could have been saved?” She was starting to breath heavily, her heart pounding with fury. “You’re Princess Celestia! How could you let innocent ponies suffer like this?” “How dare you?” Celestia hissed. She drew in on herself, crouching like a cat about to spring. Her eyes blazed. “You have no idea how long I’ve planned this. How long I’ve waited to find somepony worthy of Star Swirl’s folly. I chose you among hundreds of thousands, and you presume to judge my wisdom?” The fireplace flared to life, the logs crumbling to ash in the intense heat of sunfire. The hot air swirled with the breeze coming in from the balcony. The flames cast harsh shadows over half of Celestia’s face, painting her in red and black like a creature from Tartarus. “What are you talking about?” Twilight asked, aghast. She jumped as the floor suddenly heated up, singeing her hooves. She cursed, then cast a quick temperature spell on the air around her. She sighed as the scalding ceased, then glared. “Celestia, I need you to calm down!” Celestia blinked and glanced around at the raging fireplace, then at the nearly invisible refractive bubble surrounding Twilight. Celestia took a few deep breaths, and the fireplace went out with a hiss. After a moment, Twilight let her spell fade. They stared at each other in silence. Celestia cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for.” “Yes, it was.” Celestia winced. “Haven’t I earned the benefit of the doubt by now? After all these years?” “I gave you the benefit of the doubt by coming here in the first place. I gave you a chance to explain yourself, and, so far, all you’ve given me are excuses.” Twilight grimaced and shifted gingerly. “And burnt hooves.” Celestia dropped her gaze to the floor. “I apologize, Twilight. It isn’t like me to lose my temper like that.” Twilight stared at her. “No, it isn’t.” Mood swings. “Are you feeling alright?” Twilight asked. “I am fine. I know the last few days have been trying for you, Twilight, but they’ve been no easier for me. I’m a bit on edge.” She chuckled. Twilight squinted at her, then took a chance. “Just because of Star Swirl’s work? Is it really that big of a deal?” Celestia’s face split between surprise and outrage for a moment, and then the room darkened as Celestia spread her wings, looming over her. “Of course it is!” Her eyes were wide and wild. “You read it! Studied it! How could you possibly fail to see its importance?” Twilight swallowed and did her best not to grin. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking.” She knew that she wasn’t a good actor, but Celestia seemed to buy it, leaning back and fluttering her wings uncomfortably. “No, no, I…” Celestia shook her head. “Do not apologize, Twilight.” A careful grin crossed her lips. “One would think that after almost two thousand years of politics, I would have learned to control myself.” Twilight shuddered. “Well, we all have certain subjects we’re sensitive about, I suppose.” She eyed Celestia. Her face slowly relaxed, her wings folded. Reset. “Still, it’s a shame about the journal.” “What do you mean?” Celestia asked. “Oh, it seems like the cipher is unbreakable. The key must be almost as long as the journal itself, and unless you know what that key is…” “B-but” Celestia stuttered, “you deciphered it. You know how he died!” Twilight tittered. “Lucky guess. Besides, the spell itself is archaic. Useless, probably.” Celestia’s jaw fell open over the course of several long seconds. “What?” “It can’t be.” Celestia whispered, her eyes darting back and forth. “How could you…?” Twilight shrugged. “Can you believe that I used to revere Star Swirl? The daft wizard wouldn’t be able to get published in a university journal if he were alive today.” “Why are you lying?” Celestia roared, her eyelids and jaw clenched shut as if she were in pain. “Star Swirl was a genius! I know that you broke his cipher, and you were just arguing about the applications of his spell!” Twilight stared at the her mutely for a moment. Celestia’s legs were twitching, her tail whipping, and her wings spasming in the air beside her. “You’re moon-mad,” Twilight whispered. It took a few seconds before Celestia reacted. She glowered. “Excuse me?” She rasped. “Fixative Paranoia Disorder?” Twilight stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “It all fits.” Celestia collected herself, pulling her wings in tight. She sighed. “Twilight, alicorns are immune to disease.” “Really?” Twilight snapped. “Then why is it named after Luna?” Celestia rolled her eyes and opened her mouth. “It runs in my family, you know? My dad’s side,” Twilight interrupted. She began to absently circle Celestia, who twisted her neck around to follow. “I did a bit of quick testing before I came here. I know that you’re not as familiar with Star Swirl’s work as I am, but my dad’s chromacord—you know chromacords at least, right? Anyway, his chromacords show similar, though not identical, deviations to those of alicorns. So do Shining’s.” She stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “I wonder what my grandfather’s chromacords look like. He was diagnosed with Chronic Fixative Paranoia Disorder over twenty years ago.” “Where are you going with this?” Celestia asked. Twilight paused. She turned back to Celestia. “You know the rumours about moon-madness?” “What, that the ponies who served Nightmare Moon—” “Yes. Do you believe them?” Celestia squinted. “N-no, of course not.” “Why not? What if the same ‘nightmare’ that haunted Luna really infected all her loyal subjects?” “That’s not—” Twilight scowled. “What do you think happened to your sister? That she was overcome with jealousy?” Celestia blinked in confusion. “I… yes?” Twilight snorted. “So jealous that she transformed into a literal nightmare? And what about you, just now? Do you usually snap back and forth between anger and calm like a cat in spring?” Celestia just stared, her ears flat against her head. Twilight sighed and glanced away. The tension drained from the room. “You know what? Forget it.” She licked her lips. “I’m going to go publish all this. Then maybe—” Her sentence died in her throat as the balcony doors slammed shut, the glass vibrating from the sudden impact, followed almost immediately by the crash of the bedroom’s door rattling in its frame. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the amber glow of Celestia’s horn. Celestia leaned down, and a crushing wave of magic pressed against on Twilight, forcing her to the floor. “You will do no such thing!” she roared. Her eyes were wide and wild, her mane whipping as though in a wind storm. She bared her teeth and hissed. “Those secrets will remain with us, even if I have to keep you here for a thousand years!” Twilight gasped for breath. The weight on her chest was immense, and she felt as though her spine was about to fuse with the floor. She choked out a laugh. “I think I know your personal… fixation.” Celestia blinked. The weight eased up slightly. “Even my grandfather isn’t this volatile. It takes a lot of coinciding factors to trigger one of his episodes.” Celestia flinched back, and the light from her horn died, leaving the room pitch-dark. The weight vanished, and Twilight slowly rolled to her hooves. She magically pulled the bedroom door open, letting light spill in. Celestia sat quietly, staring at the floor. She shivered. “No. I’m right. You are… something is wrong with you,” she murmured. “But I have everything planned out perfectly. With your notes and the journal…” Celestia swallowed, her throat clenching, her eyes squeezed shut. Her lungs heaved great gasping breaths. “I can’t be insane. It all makes sense.” “Of course it makes sense to you,” Twilight said kindly. “I think you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t tell anypony else because they’d see through it. The half-truths. The false premises.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. Just the thought of disappointing you used to be enough to set me off. You were never upset when I made mistakes as a foal, but I still so certain that one tardy friendship report would ruin everything.” Celestia peered at her. After a moment, her eyes widened in realization. “You mean…” Twilight nodded. “It all fits.” “So I’m…” “Like I said. Moon-mad.” A bittersweet laugh escaped Twilight’s muzzle. “Look on the bright side—you have something in common with Luna other than your age, now.” Celestia shivered again, but she let out a reluctant chuckle. “I suppose you have a p-point.” She swallowed and looked around. “So… what happens now?” “Uh…” Twilight stared dumbly for a second. “Where are Star Swirl’s books?” Celestia blinked. Her lips started to pull back, then she froze. “I… I left them in Ponyville.” She stared down at her hooves as if the world was crashing down around her. “I forgot to bring them.” “Okay…” Twilight said, slowly stepping around Celestia until her back was to the doorway into the study. “Then I’ll just grab my notes, and—” “Twilight.” Celestia looked up at her with focused eyes and strength in her voice. “We cannot just pretend this all never happened. We are unwell!” She gestured around. “All three of us. Perhaps even Cadance.” She fidgeted on the spot, still sitting on her haunches. “We can’t be trusted to run Equestria if—” “Princess,” Twilight interrupted. Celestia snapped her eyes to look at Twilight. Twilight raised a hoof. “Breathe.” Celestia exhaled shakily. “Okay. Good.” Twilight backed out of the room, never taking her eyes off of Celestia. “Now, you’re right. We can’t just ignore all of this. But for the time being, we need to relax, stay calm, and figure out what to do together.” Twilight smiled. “After all, you’ve managed to run Equestria for over one thousand years without… too much going wrong.” Celestia started to chuckle, then froze. A horrified expression settled onto her face, her eyes flicking back and forth. Questioning every decision she had ever made. Twilight retrieved her notes from Celestia’s desk. “In the meantime, maybe go and talk to Luna?” Twilight smiled ruefully. “She can probably relate to you right now.” Celestia nodded and clambered to her hooves on shaky legs. She trotted stiffly for the door. She turned back to Twilight once she reached the doorway. “I suppose I’m not really in a position to ask you for favours right now, but,” she hesitated, her muzzle twisting, “please don’t publish those notes. At least not right away.” Twilight nodded mutely, and Celestia turned and trotted down the stairs. Teleporting to Ponyville felt as natural as breathing at this point. Twilight glanced around the dimly lit mess of a study. Papers were still scattered across every inch of floor space, and cupboards and drawers were left hanging open as if they’d been subjected to a small hurricane. She carefully made her way over to her desk. Star Swirl’s journal and spell book sat side by side, just as she had left them that morning. She dropped her notes on top of the spell book, and grabbed every loose piece of paper in the room with her magic, arranging it into a random, but exceedingly neat stack which she dropped onto the floor next to her desk. She slid the chair out and plopped herself down. A small magically light appeared next to her as she slid her notes to the side and cracked open the cover of the spell book once again. All four princesses would have to meet and discuss how best to lead Equestria going forward. There would have to be redundancies, fail-safes. Maybe even a restructuring of the government itself. But for now… Twilight sat and read. It had taken Star Swirl years to write his final spell. She was sure it wouldn’t take her nearly as long to reverse engineer it. Maybe a year. Two, at most. She opened a drawer and produced a fresh sheet of parchment. A quill hovered in the air above it. As she reread the first few passages of the spell, she let herself imagine what the future might look like with this kind of magic—this science—rediscovered. How far could she go? She smiled. After all, who would stop her?