//------------------------------//
// Her Eyes Contained Heaven 
// Story: Mad, With Power 
// by Aragon 
//------------------------------//

“I loved her, but—”
    —Engraving found in the Everfree Castle



The cake was absolutely delicious.

“Right. Um.” Princess Celestia, age fifteen, looked at the table. “This cake is terrible.”

Luna, age eight, beamed at her. “Is it?!” Ears perked up. Tail wagging. Heaven in her eyes. “Is it?!”

“Uh, yeah. I mean.” Another bite. Cream and chocolate—light and dark, sweet and bitter—mixed in Celestia’s mouth and taught her that life had meaning. It wasn’t ‘great’. ‘Great’ was just a word. The cake transcended mere language. “Blegh.”

“So you do not like it?!”

Look at that wagging tail. Luna was going to sprain it at this rate. “No, no,” said Celestia. “Terrible cake.” Another bite. And another. And another. Oh, Stars, this was what bliss felt like, wasn’t it? This was love in culinary form. “Cannot stand it.”

“Hahah! Good!” Now Luna was jumping around. “Good! You do not have to finish it, if you do not like it!”

“No, no. I need to appreciate how terrible it is.” Another bite. “To. Uh. To understand the depths of its…” Pause to swallow. She tried not to moan. “Hnng.”

Luna cocked her head to the side. “Sister?”

“Its badness! To understand the depth of its badness.” Another bite. The last one. Pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering the cake, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time. “Yeah, wow, that was very very bad. I should, ahahah. Never bake again.”

“Hahah!” Luna, jumping again in glee. “You are so bad! Okay! Mine now!”

“Right.”

Celestia looked down at the table again. Next to her empty plate was another—with a monstrosity on it. A mass of blackened crust, of spoiled milk and dirty flour. Uncooked, and burned, both.

Despair, made food.

Celestia swallowed, and then licked her lips. “Oh wow. This sure looks good.”

“I think it is my best yet!”

“Certainly looks the part.” Celestia braced herself, grabbed the fork, and gave it a bite.

She winced.

She actually, literally, winced.

“Wow,” she said then, after swallowing. “This is delicious. Yummy yummy.”

“Yeah!”

“You are so good at this.” Celestia took another bite, and the only thing that made it remotely palatable was looking at Luna and focusing on her eyes. They still contained Heaven. “I think you have won this cook-off too. Congratulations. Fifth time in a row.”

Luna went on high gear after this. “Yes! Yes!” Jump, jump, bounce, bounce, wag, wag, where do kids get all that energy from anyway? A mystery for the ages, surely. “Can I try my cake too now?!”

“Nu-uh. You know the rules, Luna. Only the judge can taste.” Then, after another bite, and oh, Stars, why. Why would she do this to herself. “Maybe when you are older, and, uh. More experienced.”

“More experienced? I don’t know if I can get any better at cooking after this!”

“Right. Well.” Celestia looked at her plate. The cake seemed infinite in its foulness. “You can certainly try.”







The cake looked terrible.

“Wow.” Princess Celestia, age two thousand and twelve, stared at the table. “This looks wonderful.”

Twilight, age eight, beamed at her. “Does it?!” Ears perked up. Tail wagging. Heaven in her eyes. “Does it?!”

And Celestia smiled at the child.

The weekly cook-offs hadn’t been meant to become routine, but they had anyway—only this time, at night,under the Moon and its watchful Mare. It was how Twilight and Celestia spent their Wednesday evenings.

Twilight loved the cook-offs. Celestia did not. To pick at an old wound stings, but it’s worse than that. It’s unhealthy. It brings nothing but sorrow. 

It is addictive.

And so Celestia had allowed them to become routine. And so she picked up the fork, and brought Twilight’s absolute abomination to her mouth, one bite at a time. 

Because pain, the poet had said, is pleasure—remembered. Remembering, now, brought Celestia a lot of pain. But she’d do it all again in a heartbeat, just to know happiness a second time.

“Yes, Twilight,” she said. And she did not know if the smile on her face was real or not. “Truly, absolutely wonderful.”




“I loved her, but—I forgot to tell her.”

    —Engraving found in the Everfree Castle