//------------------------------// // A Prayer For Spring // Story: Unworthy of the Sun // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// Sunset sat alone – dwarfed – within the pure white expanses of nowhere. She felt nothing. She didn’t dare to feel anything. Only the ghost of Rising Shine hovered over her, and the image of a city reduced to ash. What have I done? she thought. The question floated in the bleached world, its meaning fizzing away like metal in acid. Gone. Around her, the whiteness reminded her of what could have been. This was a prison Celestia reserved for only the severest of crimes. She thought of Moondancer, screaming and sobbing. A tiny spark lit up inside her. I have to confess, she thought. No more stealing. No more shortcuts. If I ever earn the right to walk among ponies again, then that’s the only course of action. Rising Shine’s ghost faded away. No, it isn’t, Sunset thought, without the demon’s influence. I won’t earn that right if I served the city for a hundred years. The spark dwindled. She might have been surrounded by snow, buried in an avalanche, slowly suffocating… Iron scraped against a steel frame. Sunset looked up. Ahead of her, a square of blankness slid back, revealing a grey block of a door. Through the grille – the only feature beside the rivets – she saw an undulating mane. Sunset looked down at once. She would not be caught staring. The door scraped aside. Hoofsteps approached. Both Sunset and Celestia were silent. Tell her. “I’ve been stealing artefacts.” Despite the frantic beating of her heart, Sunset strangely felt no shame. “For years. I wanted to tell you for a long time.” Behind Celestia, the door scraped back into place. A subtle sliding whoosh told her the whiteness had reclaimed its space. They were alone. “I guess you worked it out already from the papers,” Sunset continued to the emptiness between them. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but it was the only thing that gave me a real joy – no, a thrill – well, before I met you.” A surge of shame carried a blue face forwards. “No one else was involved. It was just me, acting alone.” Celestia sighed. She knows. “Please. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do community service, for the rest of my life if necessary. I’ll make it up to the city.” I’ll make it up to you. To her surprise, a glowing yellow floated before her gaze. Celestia levitated… it was hard to tell under the God’s aura, but it looked like the artefact she’d swiped from Blueblood. When Celestia spoke, her voice was one sigh, painfully extended. “Please tell me why you did this.” Sunset gritted her teeth, pressing so tightly that the pain almost drowned out the hot liquid rising up her throat. “You’re a smart and talented mare,” continued the subtle poison of Celestia’s voice. “Why did you think you needed this?” “I…” Sunset tried again, hoping she wouldn’t break. “I was good. I wasn’t – I used to think I wasn’t good enough. I wanted to be better.” “To impress me?” Sunset’s voice failed her. How could Celestia begin to understand? A scientist, bathed in years of study and theory and wide open forests and fields to tramp in and camp out in and connect together into fantastic webs of knowledge and contacts, might as well try and understand the mind of the meanest little ant. No. No more self-pity. Her words, when they came, waved as feebly as antennae, but were determined to catch the giant eye behind the magnifying glass eclipsing the sky. Maybe she had a chance yet of connection. “You compared me once to a mythical fire. The Everlasting Hearth of Life. I wanted to live up to that. That’s all there was to it.” Celestia hummed. It could have been thoughtful. It could have been doubtful. Sunset’s tiny ember flickered, growing slightly, testing for fuel. Guilt dropped a tighter face into her memory. All this time, and she hadn’t thought to ask… “How is Moondancer?” she said as though the words were glass. “Is she holding up OK?” “Yes.” What little poison had mixed into Celestia’s voice was slowly dissipating. Her tone was neutral. “But I fear she won’t speak with you for a long time. I wish to help her with the truth, but I didn’t want to tell her before seeing you.” “Is there anything I can do to help her?” Sunset wondered why she was still staring at the blank floor. Surely, she thought better of Celestia than that? Now the old smile brightened Celestia’s voice, cleansed it and sweetened its tones like sugar in water. “She’s a strong spirit, and though you might not agree, I think you two have much in common. If you two are willing, then I believe you’ll make the best of friends.” If only I could believe that. “And Trixie?” “Has more than earned that title, believe me. I understand she’s started a petition to have you released. Rest assured she has honourably taken a lot of thrown cabbages on your behalf.” Despite herself, a chuckle escaped Sunset’s tightening lips. That burst of mirth was out; she was too late to take it back. Finally, her gaze eased up, past the lithe legs that made her tingle just seeing their brilliance again, past the powerful chest that could breathe enough air for a gallop across the entire planet, up the swanlike neck to… Sunset might have tried staring at the sun. Pain and blindness forced her to avert her gaze. Suddenly, Celestia breathed in, and her breath was ragged, pained, and straining. “Sunset,” she whispered, and both the pain and the warmth shook her voice. “Look at me.” And finally, not daring to disobey, Sunset did. She saw half of Celestia’s face, gladdened with bright eye and delicate smile, her mane ebbing and flowing more smoothly than waves washing along a white beach. The other half – Sunset scrabbled backwards. Dark fur, punctured by a grin with fangs. Shadowy mane tied forcefully down like a restrained beast. And the black eye, with the burning flame of an iris lost within. “You?” In her haste to put as much distance between herself and that eye, Sunset flopped onto her back. Celestia and Celezyon closed one eye each. Celestia opened both her eyes again. The half-demon was gone. “Yes,” said Celestia, her voice sinking under the misery. “Every thousand years, she grows strong enough to escape my control, at least until I can find her and bring her down with my divine arrow. I created her, long ago – fool that I was – and now I must suffer with her for all eternity. As I should, given all the pain and suffering that she’s caused. That I’ve caused.” For once, Sunset’s face widened with horror, trying to grasp the sheer enormity of those words that vanished into the purity of her prison. The endless white seemed incapable of containing them. They were too astronomically vast. “But… why?” she said. “You’re a God! You don’t need a nagging voice in your head.” Celestia’s brow creased beneath the weight of her own thoughts; Sunset imagined she could see the images above her head, of planets colliding, of suns tearing each other apart with gravitational spirals of matter being ripped off each other’s surfaces. “Sunset,” she said at last. “You remember six years ago, when you carried me to the hermits of the hills? We were in their cave for seven days, waiting for their herbs to heal my injuries. You wanted to stay by my side. You refused to leave me, starve though you almost did. I don’t think even you knew why you did it.” “Is this about the all-loving lecture?” Sunset crept closer, never taking her eyes off the one half of Celestia’s face. Just in case… “Ah. You do remember.” Celestia nodded once, the imperial nod, and for a moment they might have been back at the Academy. “Yes, the hermit zebra who took quite a shine to you. She asked you so many questions, and eventually you asked her questions in turn. You remember she told you that there were many kinds of love, but the greatest of all was the all-love? Love, radiating out in all directions.” “Like the sun.” Relaxing, Sunset sat before Celestia again, ears cocked. “That’s… one way of putting it.” A sigh… and then Celestia glowered. A cloud might have smothered a midsummer’s day. “Bland, generic, shallow love, the love that drains you of all life and passion and bleeds you until you feel like an empty husk –” “Celestia!” Sunset covered her mouth with both hooves. “I-I mean, Your Godliness! How can you say that? It’s a wonderful feeling. Whenever I give to charity or do a kind deed, I feel good.” “Yes. Once or twice, I imagine it’s a pleasure. Now imagine feeling it forever, every second of every day of every year of every millennium, with no real deep connection. With no variation at all.” Sunset opened her mouth to argue. But then, perhaps she was still overreaching. Celestia must have lived at least a thousand lifetimes before she – Sunset Shimmer – had ever been born. Perhaps it would feel draining, sooner or later. Even dropping coins in the temple’s donations box, part of her had dreaded the idea that it wasn’t enough, perhaps would never really be enough. And what of the love for victims she’d never met, love inescapably tainted with the pain of imagining, just for a moment, what their lives might be like… An eternity of that could corrode even the purest gold. “I can’t imagine it,” she said, shrugging helplessly. For the first time, Celestia’s smile bloomed. “But then two exciting new things happened to me. Celezyon finally outsmarted me using a power of love that I’d never truly felt before. Then, using the same power, you saved me from her.” “I didn’t use any love power!” Sunset blurted out. “I just couldn’t sit by and watch you suffer.” Celestia regarded her. No further words passed her lips. “For all I know, I was just being selfish.” Shaking at her own speech, Sunset nevertheless felt her deepest thoughts expand to fill the empty whiteness. “You rewarded me with so many favours! I couldn’t believe my luck! I couldn’t even imagine seeing a God up close before. I barely saw any ordinary ponies, except for street types like Trix.” Celestia’s gaze never wavered. More silence demanded to be filled. “But I swear it’s not like that now!” Sunset gulped. “I don’t care what the city thinks. I don’t care how or why it started anymore. All I know is… that… that I w-want to spend the rest of my life with you. You could… You could… You could hate me for the rest of my life, or cast me into the Underworld forever, and I won’t stop… I mean, I’ll never… I could never…” She suddenly saw the faint glistening in Celestia’s eyes. Within her chest, the roaring fire dwindled. “I’m sorry,” said Celestia thickly. She blinked the drops out of her eyes. “That’s exactly it. So many ponies have worshipped me – loved me – and I love them too. But it’s all-love. At worst, it’s so thin it feels more like a calculated trade. But your love is different. It’s wild. Untamed.” For a moment, Celestia glanced up in thought. “Possibly even insane. I barely realized mortals could reach such dizzying heights.” She sniffed, and forced a smile back upon her face. “Sometimes, I honestly have no idea if I should be frightened or thrilled to be singled out by you.” Sunset reached forwards for a spontaneous embrace – However, the instant Celestia raised a forelimb as if to back away, Sunset drew away at once. I haven’t earned that right. Not yet. I know what she means. Sometimes, I frighten myself. What am I doing? I might as well starve; at least there’s a chance starving would end sooner rather than later. It wouldn’t drag out. Oh, listen to me. I can’t really be this pathetic. Rising Shine was right about that, at least. Celestia straightened up, as though waiting in the rank and file for orders. After a few seconds, she hissed and shook her muscles loose. “No,” she said. This time, her voice trembled with menace. “I won’t continue this charade any longer. Sunset, I… I…” Sunset watched those alabaster lips quiver with life. She didn’t dare move. To her horror, Celestia’s face died. She hung her head. “I… failed you. Please believe me; our bond these six years was genuine. What I told you on Delphi Hill was the heartfelt truth.” Sunset gritted her teeth while her image of the perfect God sagged, groaned, and crumpled into dust. How could she say that? This isn’t what she’s supposed to be. This sounds more like Celezyon, or Rising Shine. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, You Godline – Celestia. You can’t come in here and tell me you’ve failed me. Rising Shine was my responsibility. I was stupid enough to think that spell wouldn’t fail if I did it alone.” Celestia did not look up. When she shook her head, her mane briefly fell like a banner under a failing wind. “I wanted to spare you the pain I had suffered. I knew you were falling under corruption, so I taught you that spell in the hopes that it would help you improve your mind. For a time, I suspected Celezyon was trying to get to me through you – somehow, with some trick I hadn’t foreseen. But I could only glean the vaguest hints from prophecy. I panicked. I wasn’t thinking of anything but the risk of losing you too.” A sniff. A foreleg rose to wipe something away. “I promise you,” she continued, “if I had dared to look, if I had understood how strong your self-hatred and doubt had become, I would never have handed over such terrible power.” When she raised her head again, Celestia’s face was streaked on both sides, and her cheeks shimmered. “No, not just that. I was afraid of everything. I said your faith could rival the sun and the Gods themselves. Your love was worse. I… I didn’t want to encourage it. Something that strong had powered Celezyon once. I was frightened. I hoped distancing myself from you would grant it less fuel to burn, would save us both, but… but I was mistaken.” Sunset reached forwards again, but again stopped herself before her legs ever touched Celestia. This time, not a muscle twitched. “I didn’t know,” said Sunset quietly. “It hasn’t been easy telling you this.” Celestia swallowed, and held her head high once more. “Gods aren’t supposed to be weak.” “I don’t think you’re weak.” Honesty wrestled with tact in her head. “It’s a little crazy, maybe.” “Ha.” A chuckle shook some life back into the God. “Just like the ancients always preached. Passionate love was the enemy of reason. They always said it made you crazy.” Briefly, Moondancer’s sullen face and the cold marble floor of the temple rose up in Sunset’s mind. “Crazy. Yes.” Around them, the purity of the prison no longer suffocated. She saw some beauty there, perhaps the kind found in desert dunes, or in a whiteout during a mountain blizzard. “But Celezyon must be thousands of years old…” Sunset frowned at the floor. “So I’m not really the first.” “I have long since banished their memories. They existed near the dawn of civilization. All I remember now is what Celezyon whispers in my ear.” “I can imagine.” You’re not good enough. You’re a parasite. You’re incompetent. The usual clichés, I expect. Celestia groaned. When Sunset looked up, the God’s eyes were tightly shut. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “Sunset Shimmer. I did this to you. I let fear and doubt get the better of me, just as they did to you, but at least you’re a mortal. I should’ve known better. You would never have fallen prey to Rising Shine if I’d been half the God you deserve. I wish I could tell you to forget about me, but I know you never will. Even then, I wish with all my heart that you would.” Sunset stared at her, the once-godlike form abandoned to the all-consuming meaninglessness of the white world. To most ponies, the Gods were like mountains on the horizon, or like the sun in the sky. Fantastically colossal, beautiful, dangerous in their own ways, but basically just there. An entire civilization could live its life around them, rise up on towering palaces, and then crumple and disintegrate into desert sands, and the Gods would still be there, waiting. A God must be the loneliest soul in the world. How stupid can I be? Sunset’s flame burst forth, refusing to die. I must be blind. Everyone must be. Why should they have to wait? Love doesn’t care about time, or space, or any of that stuff. No one can put a chain on it. You might as well chain an inferno. And at last, she reached across for the third time and tightened her grip around Celestia. Life poured in. She could hear the distant birdsong. In that instant, she saw herself from long ago, dancing between ivy-twined arches and caressing the air with the Aeolian harp floating beside her. Except this time, the carpet of green blazed with bluebells, red crocuses, yellow daffodils – flowers of every colour of the rainbow. Celestia’s free foreleg wrapped around her shoulders. “How does it feel?” Sunset whispered. Under Celestia’s warmth, her insides were blooming once more. The scent of spring flowers tickled her memories of seasons long past. When she finally spoke, Celestia’s voice choked. “The same as it did… six years ago. I will never forget.” Sunset tightened her grip, wishing she could never let go, wishing she could merge with the pure white body. “Neither will I.” Long after they’d broken their embrace, long after Celestia had forced herself to leave, and long after the echoes of the slam had faded away, Sunset could still feel the warmth growing inside.