“To be a mother requires courage to face the odds, strength to raise a child, and love to make it work."
—Anonymous.
It was a formal event. Everypony with a name and title was there.
“Ggghk! Aghk—ggggghk!”
Luna unhinged her jaw.
There was a wet, sloppy sound, like a mop splashing in a bucket, and then a retch that echoed across the hall.
“Gggghk—ghaagh!”
An egg came out of Luna’s mouth, covered in blood and spit. It fell on the hard crystal floor, and rolled around until it hit a wall and stopped. It was big—larger than a pony’s head—and pearly white.
Luna retched some more, and then she stood up, put her jaw back in place with a loud clack! and coughed.
Nopony in the entire room dared say a word.
Luna noticed, and her ears went flat. “Ah. My apologies,” she said, grabbing her glass of champagne again and looking at Celestia, shrinking. “I did not wish to interrupt your toast, Sister. It was oh so very moving. Please, do not mind me.”
But Celestia wasn’t looking at Luna. She was looking at the egg, with the most curious expression.
“Luna?” she asked.
“Sister, I apologize again, I did not—”
“I am not upset. Do not worry.” Celestia waved a hoof in the air, put down the glass she’d been holding up all this time, and then pointed at the egg. “However, I am curious.”
“Yes?”
“Did you eat that at some point before we came in here, or were you pregnant and we simply never noticed?”
“Oh?” Luna perked up her ears and stepped out of the throne, approached the egg with equal curiosity. “I have no idea.”
Her hoofsteps echoed across the room—clack, clack, clack, against the hard crystal floor—and soon enough, Celestia followed her. Around them, nopony moved, nopony dared make a sound. They were frozen in place, following everything with their eyes only, still holding the glasses up for the toast that’d never come.
Some of them had stopped breathing.
The egg was still shiny with fluids, and it smelled like blood and roses. It was very obviously an egg, but not quite like a chicken’s—rounder, rather. Luna bent down and lightly poked at it.
The egg tumbled, and then went back to its original position.
“I do not remember eating this,” Luna said, looking at Celestia. “I am not familiar with it.”
“It is an egg, yes?”
“Yes.” Luna poked it again. “It is fertile. You can feel it when you touch it.”
“Oh? If I may?” Celestia followed suit. Immediately, she frowned. “You are right. There is something alive inside of it. But there is more, I think.”
“Sister?”
Celestia smiled at her sister, and her horn shimmered. “Yes,” she said. “It is ready to hatch.”
There was a flash of white.
The egg cracked.
First there was a crack going all the way from the bottom to the top, a single black line like lightning. Soon enough, pieces of the egg were falling left and right. Transparent liquid poured out of it, filling the room with the smell of sulfur and ammonia.
The thing that came out was fleshy and pony-shaped, and it kept screaming.
“IT HURTS.” Its voice was ragged. It was tiny, but its proportions were all wrong. Infants have heads too big for their body—not this thing. The head was stunted and deformed with two tiny bulbous eyes sprouting from the sides, pupils so small they were barely visible. “IT HURTS.”
“Sister!” Luna said. “It is conscious! It is alive!”
The thing looked at Luna, stared at her. “IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”
Luna kneeled down, and picked it up with her front legs, sat on the ground for balance. “Sister,” she said. “I believe it is like us?”
“IT HURTS!”
Celestia looked at it.
It had four legs, and two limbs that—maybe—could be wings. There was a bony lump between its eyes. It didn’t have a tail.
“IT HURTS!”
Celestia smiled, and there was awe in her voice when she spoke. “I think it is,” she said, sitting by Luna’s side. “I think it is, my dear Luna. Or, it might be. In the future. If we raise it well.”
“IT HURTS!”
And Celestia laughed. “Of course it does,” she said, cooing to the baby, gently caressing its uneven head. “You are alive. It always hurts. But you will get used to it.”
“My child,” Luna said, eyes wide, and then she smiled wide. “My child,” she repeated, looking at the thing. “Do not worry.”
“IT HURTS! IT HURTS!”
“You will sit by our side,” Luna said. “You will be loved and adored. You will protect our kingdom and reign over those weaker than you.” She grabbed one of the baby’s hooves. “I know your name. It is the only name for you. I knew it as soon as I saw you.”
“IT HURTS!”
“Mi Amore,” Luna intoned, half-sung. “Mi Amore Cadenza. That will be your—”
“Er. Luna?”
Luna blinked, and looked at Celestia. “Sister?”
Celestia pointed over her shoulder, somewhere behind them. Somewhere among the crowd of frozen ponies, staring in silence.
Princess Cadance, Prince Shining Armor, and little baby Flurry Heart among them.
Holding their breath in horror.
“Ah.” Luna blinked, and looked at Celestia, ears flat. “How embarrassing. I knew the name sounded familiar.”
Celestia smiled. “It can happen to anyone.”
“IT HURTS!”
Both Luna and Celestia looked at the thing in Luna’s arms. “This is awkward,” Luna said.
“Is it possible to give it another name?”
“No. That is its name. Mi Amore Cadenza.” Luna made a face. “Surely you feel it, too, Sister?”
“Yes.” Celestia nodded. “Any other name would be a lie.”
“A shame. We cannot have repeats.” Luna sighed, flashed her horn, and got up. The thing started floating by her side. “It would not be proper.”
“Hardly,” Celestia said.
“IT HUR—”
Luna dropped it on the ground.
The sound it made wasn’t as much a crash as it was a crunch; the sound of little bones breaking. The thing’s scream became senseless, wordless, and it pierced the ear like an icepick. It wailed, it screeched, it cried.
Luna rose a hoof, and stepped on the thing’s neck.
It sounded like a dry twig snapping in half.
The thing stopped screaming, and went limp.
“Well then!” Luna shook her hoof in the air to get some of the blood out. “That is that. Should we start all over again?”
“I do not think it will be needed,” Celestia said, smiling. “It was a rather long toast.” She might have blushed when she said this, which she hid by flashing her horn, and floating hers and Luna’s glasses towards them. “Maybe I can simply pick up where I left?”
Luna grabbed her glass, and chuckled. “I believe that would be for the best. Sorry again for the interruption.”
“No need to think of it twice. Ah-hem!” Celestia rose her voice to a more regal tone. “Princess Cadance!” she said. “You are the best niece I could ever ask for, and I am so very proud of you. You have achieved many great things, and I know that you will achieve even greater things in the future!”
She rose her glass. By her side, Luna did the same.
“So I wish you,” Celestia continued, “a very most happy birthday. And may your life be happy, now and forever.”
And among the frozen crowd, the staring ponies who did not dare make a sound, Luna and Celestia both drank the champagne at the same time.
It was very delicious.
“To be a mother requires courage to face the odds, strength to raise a child, and love to make it work.
To be a Princess requires only an accident of birth."
—Anonymous