Princess Celestia stood atop the windmill awkwardly, trying her best to find the right place to stand. It had been years since she’d had to resort to such a ghastly exercise (Widow’s Windmill, that particular windmill had grown to be called over time), but thankfully she knew this time would be the very last.
It had been over a decade since Twilight Sparkle first uncovered the Continuation Portal, and much had changed since. Celestia had stepped down as ruler of Equestria, leaving Twilight with the heavy mantle. Her protégé had even settled down in the years since, marrying Big Mac of all ponies and bringing to glorious life adorable foals Little Mac and Littlest Mac.
Finally balanced on a beam, Celestia took a breath and held it, letting the warm morning sun hit her face and chest. She could smell fresh grass on the lazy breeze as it passed. She then watched as the early risers in Ponyville awoke to start their busy days. This was not to be a sad goodbye, but a necessary one. For it was simple.
Celestia was tired. And more than anything she wanted a rest. Whatever “rest” came after not “continuing” in the Continuation Portal? Come whatever may, she would take it. Gladly.
Thousands of years of work could do that to a pony, even a pony as powerful as herself. And with the knowledge that Luna had agreed to at least another hundred years of watchful service helped make up her mind. Finally.
With a sigh and a faint hint of a smirk, Celestia breathed, “Goodbye, my little ponies.”
And one quick jump later…
***
“CONTINUE?”
The same white letters atop a perfectly black background. Celestia had grown to know them well over her lifetime—whether that meant she needed a helpful new skill during her many clashes with the villains of Equestria, or whether that meant a particular date hadn’t been going to plan and perhaps a bright new hat might change everything while she quickly visited the little mare’s room.
Celestia let the Continuation Portal continue.
Continuation Portal, or CP, as she normally shortened it to.
“CONTINUE??” it asked again.
“CONTINUE???” it asked for a third time.
She snickered a bit. Whatever happened next was going to be fascinating. Soon the countdown begun and she let it tick by without a word. One by one the numbers fell. Seeming to almost slow as they went.
“5… 4… 3…”
Celestia exhaled. She was nervous, yet it was a good kind of nervous.
“3… 3… 3…”
In the pitch-black dark, Celestia raised a brow. “CP? You’ve already counted that one. Two comes after three, remember?”
“2… 2… 2…” The countdown slowed down even further.
“Everything okay, CP?” Celestia asked.
“1… 1… 1…” Slower still.
And after a very long pause.
“???”
With all the warmth she could muster, Celestia smiled at the floating question marks. “It’s alright. I know what I’m doing. I’ve decided not to ‘continue’ this time, is all. But I’m ready. For whatever comes next.” Then she added with an assured nod, “Really. It’s alright, CP. I know what I’m doing.”
But it didn’t seem as if the Continuation Portal believed that, displaying no further messages. With another tired sigh, Celestia used her horn to flip the “YES” option below “CONTINUE???” to the “NO” option.
It was strange. She could almost feel a strong resistance as she made her selection.
And the moment she flicked her head forward to confirm her answer, did it hurriedly slide back to “YES”.
The standard series of events followed. The all white world. The glossy hovering screen. The classic “Choose your character!” shout.
But Celestia hadn’t wanted any of that.
Angrily, she stomped a hoof on the ground, making not a sound in the bizarre place. “Are you even listening to me? That is not what I selected!”
The first screen had always been the same: mare or stallion. Only now did a third box appear—one with a flashy “NEW!” logo overtop of it. Celestia didn’t even select it willingly. It was already selected for her.
“Filly Edition!” it happily read it sparkling letters. Below the title was an adorable foal that looked exactly like Celestia had when she was first born. Small crown and necklace included. “For a limited time only!” was the second bargain thrown in.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Celestia shook her head from side to side. “I understand you’re having a hard time understanding when someone doesn’t want to ‘continue’, CP, but this is not what I want. And not even the notion of being a filly again changes that.”
The filly Celestia disappeared and returned much the same. Only now with a small brown puppy.
“Puppy Bonus unlocked!” the mysterious announcer said.
Celestia growled in her throat. “Stop this right now! Do your job, darn it!”
Eventually, the filly Celestia vanished and the screen was black again, although Celestia wasn’t a hundred percent sure if that was a good or bad thing. Until another picture of Celestia appeared on the screen—this one fully grown and graceful as usual.
“Now what?” Celestia barked. “No amount of new scarves or socks can make me continue, CP! I’ve made up my mind this time! Cease this immediately!”
Up on the screen, the shiniest, most ornate armor in existence slapped itself around the image of Celestia, giving her a mighty and robust look she hadn’t held in centuries. It even came with a sharpened, color-changing spear. Mighty Dragon Slayer Armor, it was called.
Celestia faked a laugh. “More customs? I’ll pass, thank you very much. I can’t even recall the last time I actually had to slay anything. Maybe a slice of cake or two during some luncheons at best.”
In the blink of an eye, the armor rearranged itself. Now bright pink with a colorful cupcake decal on its glimmering chest. Mighty Cake Slayer Armor, it renamed itself. The spear was now a giant fork.
Celestia pursed her lips. “Honestly, this needs to stop, CP. I highly doubt I could even afford such a garish thing.”
Curious, she glanced at her current Friendship Points: 2,367. She was right. She couldn’t even afford it. Even after the Continuation Portal took a full fifteen percent off the armor set.
Both parties said nothing for a while
Celestia asked, “Are we done here? Whatever you want to offer me next, I’m not—”
“1000th visitor!” the voice announced randomly. “Collect your prize!”
And just like that Celestia’s Friendship Points count shot up to 12,367. 10,000 more points than before.
“Enough!” Celestia roared, shooting out a beam of pure energy towards the screen; it sparked, then blackened entirely, leaving Celestia with an uneasy feeling in her gut. Had she finally gone too far? The screen remained dark, until a single message popped up. If one could even call such a thing a real message.
“:’( ” was all it read.
Steadying herself, Celestia took a step closer to the screen, lowering her voice to a gentle whisper. “I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting, CP, but I’ve made up my mind on this. I’ve given it a lifetime of thought, and this doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me—regardless of some of your Friendship Point price increases—but I know what I’m doing. Honest. And don’t think that you won’t still have alicorns to help continue on their way. There will always be more of us that you can help ‘continue’ on their journey. So, I will say this for the very last time, I, Princess Celestia, choose not to continue. Please and thank you.”
The world returned to black and one last message appeared. The most ominous of them all. “GAME OVER”, alongside a faint splat sound for some reason.
And Princess Celestia knew no more.
***
Until the aroma of fresh coffee pulled at her.
Is this what lay beyond? Celestia thought numbly. Truly? Fresh coffee? Was this really the final resting place? Allowed to drink coffee and travel throughout Equestria as nothing more than a thought or an emotion? Drifting between time and space, allowed to check in on all her little ponies for the rest of their days and beyond?
Celestia thought she might just like something like that. To view the world as little more than a feeling or a cloud or a cloud made of feelings. One that had coffee, too. Unlimited coffee, hopefully. What a strange combination it would be. At least she’d be able to watch Twilight as she continued to grow and lead and spread the magic of friendship.
Then she felt the pain in her neck and the bit of drool leaking from her mouth.
“Huh?” she mumbled, pulling her head off her desk and noting the drool puddle below. She wiped at it with a hand. A hand and not a hoof. Four fingers, a thumb, and all. “Oh, no.”
Glancing around the room, Celestia found herself in an office, far smaller than the one she had back in Canterlot. Windows. Shutters. A desk covered in stains and scratches. And, yes, a single cup of coffee cooling near her desk lamp.
She studied her hand for a moment, then traced it back to her fully clothed torso and legs.
Humanoid. More human than human, it would seem.
Using her newfound fingers, she spun her name plaque around.
“Principal Celestia”, it read.
Celestia scanned her brain for the appropriate response.
Poo. No. Not nearly enough.
Darn. Come on now, Celestia.
Oh, crumbs. You’re alone in an office, remember?
Finally, Celestia settled on, “Shiiiiiii—”
Until her office door opened and a blue haired woman rushed inside.
“Oh, good. You made it,” she said, as familiar as could be. “That portal was being quite the jerk, wasn’t it?”
Celestia blanched. “L-luna? You’re here, too? Does… does that mean?”
Luna nodded. “That I chose not to continue, too? Yes. Yes, it does. You thought you could just leave me behind with all your work? You knew full well I’d never get along without you.”
“But… but the windmill. I didn’t see you there.”
“There are more than one windmill in Equestria, Celestia. Like… four, last time I counted.” Luna paused, glanced at the closed door and hallway beyond. “Answer us a question, if you will, dear sister. Just what is a vice-principal and how much to they get paid?”
It took both sisters close to forty minutes to turn on and operate the computer, but eventually they uncovered just how much both principals and vice-principals made. Afterwards, they each selected their preferred curse word and spoke.
“Shiiii—” Celestia began.
“Crumbs,” Luna said flatly. “Be a dear and open up a map, Tia. Time to see where the nearest windmill is.”