//------------------------------// // Memory: The Day She Put On The Mask // Story: Celestia XVII // by brokenimage321 //------------------------------// The mare in the bed lay still. Her mane was bluish-silver, and her coat a deep, almost navy blue. She was ancient, her face so wrinkled you could almost call it shriveled. But she had a strange sort of beauty about her, too. Not to mention the black Peytral around her neck. Or the fact that she had both wings and a horn. I glanced up at Twilight, who sat beside me. She looked nervously at me, then turned back to watch the mare again. The mare had collapsed soon after the Nightmare had vanished... after she had… appeared… and no one was quite sure what to do with her. I’d ordered her brought back here, to the Palace Infirmary, but mostly because I wasn’t sure what else we could do with her. Beyond that, well… The Infirmary offered other benefits, too. The nurses were mostly used to dealing with scrapes and common colds, but they could do one thing Canterlot General couldn’t: keep the public out. I’d asked the guards to keep visitors away, including and especially the media; I didn’t want word of… of whoever she was getting out until I knew for sure whether she was a friend or an enemy. And I’d asked the rest of Twilight’s friends to stay in Ponyville; though I could have definitely used their help, it didn’t seem the right time for a crowd. I’d asked Twilight to tag along, though—the mare seemed to know her, somehow, and I wanted to know why. And besides, It just felt… right to have her here. So the only ponies in the infirmary were me, Twi, one doctor, two nurses—and a mysterious Princess that none of us had ever seen. I glanced down at the mare’s chest—down at her Peytral. I had never seen it before in my life, but I’d read about it before… and I’d be willing to bet more than I cared to admit that it was the long-lost Peytral Ferrum, the Iron Peytral. And in it, the Moon Stone… Though, what she was doing with it, I  was afraid to guess... The mare in the bed stirred. I sat up a little straighter, and Twilight gasped. I heard the nurses behind us stop chatting. It seemed like the very room itself held its breath. And then, the mare opened her eyes. She stared up at the ceiling, then blinked owlishly once or twice. Slowly, she sat up a little, then looked around the room, saying nothing. Finally, she looked at me. When our eyes met, she flinched a little. I watched her carefully; she still looked like she couldn't see past the end of her nose, but she had apparently seen enough. Something about me scared her, though what that was, I couldn't begin to guess. And then, she slid her gaze over to Twilight. Instantly, she brightened—but, just as quickly, she deflated. The joy on her face gave way to a guarded disappointment, a sort of sorrow, only half-expressed. The mare dragged her gaze back to me, then swallowed. “If you please,” she said quietly, “what are your names?” “I’m Cece—” I began. Her ears twitched, and she winced. “Please,” she said, “not so loud. And…” She held up one trembling hoof, shading her eyes from the sun. I turned around to see one of the nurses, holding a clipboard, standing a few feet behind me. I nodded, and she scurried over to the window and drew the curtains. The mare in the bed sighed deeply. “Thank you,” she said. I swallowed. “Like I was saying,” I said, quieter this time, “I am Princess Celestia.” Her eyes widened. “Celestia,” she repeated slowly. “That… that was my mother’s name…” I wasn’t sure how to respond—there had been lots of Celestias, after all—so I said nothing. After a moment, Twilight coughed a little. “And my name is… Twilight Sparkle, Ma’am.” She shook her head. “Your Highness.” The mare nodded graciously at the title. “My name is Luna, of Equestria,” she said quietly. “I am Princess of the Moon.” I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Twilight, however, looked up sharply. “Really?” she asked. “The same Luna from a thousand years ago—?” “Twi,” I hissed reproachfully. The mare—Luna—froze. She stared at us, eyes wide and unblinking, for several moments. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “I… see,” she said finally. “A thousand years. That is… unexpected.” For a long time, none of us said anything. Finally, Luna swallowed. “Please,” she said into the silence, “where are we?” I looked up, glad of the distraction. “In the infirmary,” I said. “At the Palace in Canterlot.” When she heard the name, her eyes widened. “C-Canterlot?” she breathed. I nodded. “Yes.” She stared at me a moment longer, then slowly lowered herself back onto the bed, letting out a long breath. For several seconds, she stared wordlessly up at the ceiling. I glanced uncertainly at Twilight, who stared silently back at me. I turned back to Luna—and frowned. Something very strange was happening. Luna was tall, no doubting that. But, ever since we’d brought her here, she seemed… slight. Fragile. Delicate. It was almost as if a stiff breeze could break her apart and blow her away. And, ever since she’d woken, her eyes had been full of a sort of frightened deference, like she was scared to impose on ponies she had just met. But now, there was a scowl on her face, and a growing fire in her eyes. She sat up again, but this time, she drew herself up to her full height. She took a deep breath, and, as I stared at her, her gaze hardened. Twenty years fell away from her in an instant. Before my very eyes, she turned from bone china to steel by pure force of will. She stared down her nose at me. “I should prefer to make my convalescence in privacy,” she said coldly. “I ask that you free up a private bedchamber for me at your next convenience. With the attendants and furniture a bedchamber for a Princess would require, of course.” “B-but—” I stammered. “If you please,” she interrupted. “And I should like an appointment with a lens-grinder as soon as can be arranged,” she continued. “I am in need of a new pair of spectacles.” I stared up at her, bewildered, even as I felt a growing rage in my own heart. I’m the Princess. Who does she think she is, to order me around—! I nodded. “Yes, of course,” I said delicately. “A-at my next convenience.” I swallowed. “Anything for a Princess…” * * * In the months since, I’ve occasionally reflected on that moment—on the first time I heard Loonie’s voice, and on how quickly her demeanor shifted. I asked myself, for months, why I hadn’t taken her sudden demands as a warning, and somehow shut things down right there. But now, as I hobbled back from the hospital myself, I started to wonder… I’d always thought that the most telling moment in that entire visit had been the moment she stared down her nose at me, the moment I first saw the real Luna. But now, I found myself wondering whether the real Luna wasn’t the one that made the demands, but the one that lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, hearing that everything she had ever known had slipped away from her.