In a valley far away
from much of everything
and near
not much of anything
only sitting
somewhat southward
so that some days
it rains
And it does today
but to the north
snow still falls
cities are suddenly quiet
even if magic has been returned
and ripped from the tyrant who harvested it
Snow still falls over the shallow graves
of unicorns who were buried
where they froze
in their mountain hold
as cold and gray as everything else
blurring and blending
into a horizon that cannot be seen
And the fortress-city
of ice-laden clouds
that forever hangs in the sky
according to the soldier-populace that resides within
is lacking in the ranks it once had
but it sill floats on
waiting to strike again
Westward, the ponies of the earth
stir like ghosts
across the near-barren plains
that they have called home
and though
sirens no longer haunt them
and sing their bewitching songs
but their treasured food
and meager wealth
was almost gone
and soon
their stomachs would be
nearly as bare as their land
as winter
dragged on
Away from the strife
but close enough so
that it is never forgotten
is a valley
where two ponies live:
heroes of the realm,
silent and greedy
meek and proud
and with them are mares
who shall have little recognition
beyond whispered rumors
The elder keeps secret
her meeting with the Reaper Queen
and the spell she had been given
to tear a hole past Tartarus's gate
and access worlds inhabited only by the dead
and some strange gods that desire not to be seen
but as each night passes
and the moon is yanked into the sky
she sees the eyes of ponies
and their faces before they burned
Celestia never looked at ashes
and dust
without knowing
ponies could become them
Distance only grew
between the two sisters
marked with the sun and moon
locked in a ward-sealed valley
The elder threw herself in the maw
of the Unicorn Court
with every chance she had
the floors an invisible game board
for her to play hero on
while wanting a world
where no ponies burned
In the window of the emptiest
quietest place to be
in the looming spire
where screams often echoed
from stone
the sister who spoke
next to nothing at all
watched the trees below,
waves of storm clouds
dancing above them
like the waves of oceans
she never forgot
Luna continued to say
more of nothing
with each passing day
but find meaning in
every little silence that came to pass
Carefully, she nudges the window
of her cage
open with a gentle hoof
the sound of rain beating the glass
with the sound of a hundred little notes
only she likes to listen to
to hear the thunder rolling by
and nose her head out into the storm
where rain drums on her face
so she can hear the mountains echo
dreaming all the while