Nothing was normal any more, and so neither was she.
Snowflake had seen the Princess before, of course: just... not from this close. She had visited Las Pegasus years ago, taking a tour of the Spiral, and his parents had made sure their only foal got a glimpse. But a glimpse had been all there was: the population had gathered to see their ruler, and one of the many problems with a crowd of viewing pegasi was that every sight line got used. If you could think of a place to watch the procession from, then three other ponies had thought of it before you and even if you'd picked something which wasn't in midair, everypony else's flapping wings would block the view from your perch. When it came to Las Pegasus, Snowflake's memory of the Princess centered around feathers getting in the way at exactly the wrong time.
In Ponyville, you were more likely to spot Princess Luna. The younger of the Diarchy supposedly found the settlement to be comfortable, felt she was more accepted there than anywhere else, and so it was possible to glimpse a star-streaming tail slipping into bakery or Boutique or wherever the Bearers' card game was being hosted that season. But with the elder... well, that happened and for Snowflake, it typically happened when he wasn't in the area. He'd had one sighting and with the sheer number of Guards who'd been accompanying her added to the flow of citizens around them, he'd mostly gotten a glimpse of her tail.
But there were always images. The front cover of the first history textbook a foal would ever see featured the mare who created the living link to every lost year. More pictures would be in the book itself, although you didn't have to go very far back in time before photographs turned into reproductions of engravings and paintings. For an adult Snowflake's part, a glimpse of the Princess' embossed metallic silhouette was especially welcome because it meant he was being paid.
In many ways, she was a background presence -- but you could say the same for the sky and in both cases, at the instant you truly thought about it, you started to feel the weight. She was there. She had... always been there and without her, nopony would be alive at all.
When it came to something other than images, he'd mostly seen her tail, and that but briefly. But it had left an impression. The shifting borders, the way the colors moved. Nothing ever quite blended: the hues remained distinct, even if the overall shape did not. That mane and tail could exist as something close to aurora borealis... that stayed with him.
He was following her now, down a narrow dark stone corridor, and there were no Guards. (He wasn't sure why. He thought she always traveled with them: based on the evidence, Princess Luna was the one with a penchant for ditching her protectors.) He had an unobstructed view of that tail, and...
There was no attraction. (He never thought about it. In many ways, he couldn't.) He was looking at the tail, not what was behind it. The stilling of the flow. The hints of sound which arose when it contacted her body, as if the impact had nearly been solid. The murky brown which seemed to taint everything.
He'd never seen that in any picture. He didn't understand why her tail and mane looked like that now, his first suspicion was illness, and the thought of the Princess getting sick sent spikes of fear deep into his heart.
They were slowly moving through the prison, her with no Guards and he having left his behind. Perhaps it was because she was surrounded by another sort of guard, in a structure designed to protect. But that protection was meant to keep things inside. Making the rest of the world safe.
It also trapped you with everything which lay within.
"I wrote you a letter once."
He looked up at the words, at her. She wasn't facing him. Staring forward.
(It had been more of a note, and it had been attached to saddlebags which had been loaded with bits. Compensation for every bone-deep discount he'd ever given Fluttershy when he took over the cottage, and a promise that the palace would pay from then on. He still had the note. It was one of the dearest possessions of his life...)
"We shouldn't talk here," the Princess quietly said. "I had considered asking to use one of the visitors' rooms, but... they're designed for observation: they have to be. And there are those who would never spy on me if given the opportunity -- along with those who would simply tell themselves they were trying to protect me. Watching just in case anything happened and if it didn't, then it would be their pride to keep overheard words in strictest confidence."
Shoulders and hips sagged. The spine seemed to curve inwards.
"Until the moment they didn't," she softly finished. "And even with total privacy, a prison is a poor place for speaking to the innocent."
He was in pain, a wound which had breached the soul. But he understood so many kinds of agony, and so there was a well-trained part of him which was silently evaluating her musculature. It wasn't quite the same as any other pony: it couldn't be, not if it was going to support her mass. Her physical strength was visible, and so was the need to refine it. She would require specialized workouts to get rid of some of the aches which were probably present at the end of any long day. Perhaps during any day at all, for she was hurting now, and...
...maybe it came from another kind of burden. A weight which she'd been carrying for a very long time.
"Are you willing to let me teleport you?" she quietly asked, still patiently regarding him over her left shoulder as the browning mane fell flat against her neck. "To trust that I'm taking you somewhere safe?"
If she wanted to hurt me...
He didn't seem to know how to deal with that thought. He initially knew he would have lost, and then images of how began to stream through his mind. None of them took very long to pass, as he was subconsciously using his estimates for the duration of the actual fight and so had to slow things down enough for anything to be visible.
"...yeah."
Her lower lip briefly twisted. The right forehoof came up for a moment, went down again.
"Can you be teleported?" It was a question which mostly seemed to have been addressed to the still air. "Is that even possible?"
He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't even understand why the question existed, and all that happened was his mouth slightly opening before closing again.
She took a deep breath. Muscles moved along her rib cage, and they didn't move enough.
"Have you ever been teleported before?"
He shook his head. He'd seen it happen: Doctor Gentle generally departed from Las Pegasus in a flash of corona light and in Ponyville... well, eventually Twilight was going to be in a hurry. But it had never happened to him.
Another breath, and he watched a mare who'd spent over a thousand years in speaking for a nation openly search for words. "There's... a potential reaction. It won't be painful. Disorientation is normal for those traveling through the between for the first time, but in this case... some ponies experience a sort of -- inner wrenching. It can make you feel nauseous. Like something's been -- pulled away." More hesitantly, "It's... most common with earth ponies. And since you're..."
She stopped, and did so at the exact moment her foreknees started to bend.
"...I don't know," she softly told the air. "I don't know what the rules are any more..."
He knew when somepony was hurting. He knew about pain. And so he recognized the sound of a new wound, something which might never fully heal.
Snowflake wanted to say something. To approach, offer what comfort he could. But his own agonies were too fresh, he had never been good with words, and... it was the Princess. He barely knew what to say when it was a normal pony, could hardly make himself talk most of the time. He didn't know what words he possessed which could heal the oldest mare in the world.
The huge body tried another breath, and then another. Neither seemed to provide what was needed.
"It... shouldn't hurt you," she finally said. "But it's a risk, because I don't know. If you're not willing to take it, we can fly back together. But -- living in Ponyville, with everything that happens... you may have a day when you're forced to find out. Evacuations or worse. You may feel it's best to learn now, or you might want to avoid it. Just know that nopony was ever truly hurt by the transport itself, not in all the centuries it's existed. And if something does happen, we'll do everything we can to help you."
She turned then, in the stone corridor. (It took some time, mostly for finding enough room.) Faced him directly.
"No --" and the word barely emerged "-- experiments without your permission, Snowflake. It's your decision. Do we try?"
It could kill me.
...no: that was going far beyond what she'd suggested. It was looking upon the darkest possibility as something close to a certainty, and with that thought in front of him...
(He wasn't supposed to be alive.)
(He wasn't real.)
"...yeah."
She moved a little closer. Her mass seemed to loom.
"Close your eyes." She readily spotted his confusion. "The between holds nothing to look at. Nothing to hear or feel. To every sense you have, it presents nothing more than vacuum, and teleportation takes a little time. If you're not experienced in dealing with it, closing your eyes helps. Take a breath when you see my corona starting to flare, then hold it. And..." One more breath. "...think of a memory. Something you want to recall, something happy. The best day you can bring back. Wrap yourself in that memory, as if you were living it all over again. And when that ends... we'll be there."
Something happy. His life had been shredded and he was supposed to be thinking of something happy. A single good moment in a life filled with pain --
-- but he had it.
He wasn't a pegasus. (He never had been.) But there seemed to be a chance that he was still some kind of pony, and there wasn't an adult alive who didn't have one truly good memory. The moment which defined every day of their life to come.
"Ready?"
"Yeah," he mostly lied, and her corona began to flare. He took a breath, closed his eyes, did his best to send himself back --
-- and magic pried the world away from him.
-- there is nothing beneath his hooves. Nothing truly solid. Nothing.
But on that day, there had been nothing in Las Pegasus which welcomed his touch, not in the schoolyard. The same as it had been on every other day, and so it was a day of torment. Exactly as they all had been, and perhaps would always be.
Until it became the best day --
-- the carpet was plush enough to allow a degree of sinking. The air was warm, drifting from right to left across his back. He could feel Sun's light against his fur. He could feel, for there were things to feel again, and so he felt --
-- this time, all four knees buckled, and the abrupt tilt had the carpet brush against his ankles --
-- power touched him. A solid body pressed against his own, and the snout (proportionate, but still oversized) nudged him back up.
"Talk to me," the Princess urgently said. "What happened? Do you need a doctor?"
He shook his head: it was already starting to pass.
"What did it feel like?"
It came across as an order, and so he did his best. "It..." He swallowed. "It was like... having the world drop away. Like I stayed in place and everything else fell. But there isn't any pain."
She was quiet for a moment.
"We'll try not to do that again," she told him. "Emergencies only, just like all the other ponies who -- have reactions. Open your eyes, Snowflake."
In design, the room had been meant as an office and in the scale of the central workspace, it was one which had been constructed for a single mare. In intent, it came across more as a playroom.
The furniture was plush: every bench had been padded, with legs wrapped in cushioning fabric. The windows were huge, and a skylight added to the feeling of openness. There wasn't a sharp angle to be found in the entire room: the edges of bookshelves had been gently curved, and the texts themselves were bound in cloth. Becoming mildly injured in this room would require a willful effort, and the pony looking to seriously hurt themselves would need to stick their snout in the carpet and hope to suffocate.
There was an extra option available for that. Sun's light streamed into the room, and so millions of dust particles visibly shifted through the air, caught in a dance which only they understood.
"This is a judge's chamber," the Princess quietly said. "Mine. One of them. I... seldom act as a judge. There's a few charges where the law requires it, but -- they rarely appear. But there are times when I know a pony shouldn't be on trial at all. That the law failed simply in bringing in a case so far, and it's my job to stop things before they go any further. This room is for the innocent, Snowflake. It always has been. And that's the first thing I want you to understand."
It was bright. It was colorful. It was welcoming. It was also a space where he was alone with the Princess, on the worst day of his life, and so every other factor seemed to lack something.
But she backed away from him, just enough to put a little space between them. And then the huge body slowly folded at the knees, steadily sank down until belly and barrel were pressed against the rich carpet.
"That you're innocent," she softly told him. "That nothing which happened was your fault. That you're not on trial. None of you are, not for existing." The purple eyes slowly closed, opened again. "And I've... been waiting to say that. Hoping for somepony I could say it to, and -- wondering how many would hear me in the end. But you're the first from the list, the first chance. So I'm speaking to you without experience, without recital. Saying things for the first time..."
Her eyes closed again, and her mane's borders fell still.
"Join me." She nodded to the carpet. "Please."
Slowly, he sank down, faced her and matched the position. It still left her taller than he.
"You're not on trial," she repeated as her eyes partially opened, just about halfway. "I need you to understand that. There are no charges. There's no restrictions placed on you or any of yours, not for existing. In the end, it'll be as it is for every other pony. It'll be about your actions. And you've done nothing wrong." A steady voice now, which almost made it possible to ignore the tremble in her feathers. "We're trying to find them, Snowflake: everypony the doctor experimented on. But it's not to herd them. Not for imprisonment. You're a citizen of Equestria. You won't be tried without a crime. Nopony will make you vanish. We're trying to find all of you because -- you need to know."
Silence, with her watching him. Waiting for him to speak.
"A... citizen." A monstrosity --
A half-smile briefly moved the right side of her mouth up.
"As Princess Luna recently took the trouble to remind me, two of yours were chosen as Bearers," she told him. "And if the Elements accept the hybrids, then it would seem to go against Harmony itself for the palace to do any less."
He blinked. It was all he could do, and it felt as if it required all the strength he had.
"Equestria will change," the Princess softly continued. "And some of that will be hard. Because Harmony has accepted you -- but not every pony follows Harmony. Some simply listen to their fears, and so many will always be afraid of the new. It's part of why we're trying to keep things secret, why we're trying to find as many as we can before the news gets out. We have to be in position to protect them, and we can't do that without knowing who those ponies are. And even for those who learn about what happened to them in privacy, while protected -- there's going to be upheaval. A change to their lives, to their very being like hardly anypony --" stopped. "Nopony..." Again. "...very few ponies have ever known. We're trying to find therapists. Some way to help them adjust..."
She stopped. Forced her wings back to the rest position.
"In your case -- you're on the list. We knew where you were, and we left it to Fluttershy to tell you. We thought -- it would be easier, to hear it from her." A little more quietly, "Even when it would have been nearly impossible from just about anypony."
"What's..." He swallowed. He barely spoke to anypony to start with, it was the worst day of his life, and he had to speak with the Princess. "What's the list?"
"The ponies we know to be hybrids," she carefully told him. "How much did Fluttershy tell you?"
"Everything --" This gulp didn't seem to go all the way down. "-- she said she could. And that it wasn't all of it, but it was as much as she could say."
More than enough. Too much.
"Did she mention the --" and he saw her face twist with disgust "-- presentation?"
"Yes." The moment which had shattered his near-sister's life. And the cracks were still spreading.
The Princess nodded. "During his 'lecture' --" it was possible to hear the quotes "-- Gentle Arrival listed several hybrids: those from the first few years of his experiments. Some of those listings came with pictures. You were named directly. But it's a very partial list, Snowflake. The full one only exists in Gentle Arrival's memory, and he's been deliberately holding it back. Somehow, he still thinks he can bargain with it. I've visited him a few times, and he likes to drop hints in what he sees as the certainty that nopony will be able to figure them out. But he's not as subtle as he once was. He's less -- controlled."
He's gone...
Or perhaps he had never truly been there at all.
"But there's commonalities," the Princess continued. "For starters, all of you were high-risk births, and a significant percentage of such deliveries found their way to him. A number would have had follow-ups with real physicians. Additionally, he occasionally mentioned names: ponies whom 'his' simply had to meet if they traveled -- and any such name brought up in front of Pinkie is now in our records. At this point, we're up to two dozen whom we're fairly certain of. But there may be hundreds..."
Her head dipped, and sunlight seemed to caress it. The brown darkened.
"I'm talking too much," the oldest mare in the world told him. "You have to have questions, Snowflake. Ask me what you need to."
Can I be made --
-- no. It hadn't happened the first time, and Fluttershy had made it clear that there was no more of a cure for this.
"How is..." Nothing seemed to moisten his throat, especially with so much dust drifting into it. "How's his -- daughter?" And even that felt strange to say.
"Recovering," the Princess quietly answered. "It's... going to take a while. We'll have her meet as many of your kind --"
It was starting to reach him. 'all of you.' 'your kind.' As if he was part of something separate.
"-- as we can, especially for those we're not sure of. Her presence -- can potentially confirm a hybrid. But we already knew about you, and -- when she isn't recovering, she's training. In both cases, she needs time." A soft sigh. "You won't meet her today. But I think it'll happen eventually. She sees you all as being something of a... family. And she needs that."
He had a daughter.
He kept her underground.
She never saw Sun until...
The Princess was looking at him. It was a rather careful, patient regard, and the weight of the age in that gaze still pressed against him.
"Is there anything else?"
He shook his head. (There was. He would think of so much else, and would also realize there was no point to saying any of it.)
"It speaks well of you," she gently said, "that you asked about her."
That heavy gaze moved across him. Went down, found a place to rest.
"Gold hooves," she quietly observed. "Gold hooves without golden fur. It's very rare. I knew a pony who had that trait... well, I suppose I've known ponies with just about every trait, at least for the traits we knew about. But gold hooves..." Her eyes briefly closed again. "...one in particular. Somepony I was very close to."
He didn't know what to say.
"You're nothing like her," she dryly added -- and a little more quickly, "It's not a bad thing. She was a great pony. But there are many ways to be great, and most of hers aren't needed any more. I think she would be glad for that. She wanted a world where she wasn't necessary. And maybe we'll get there one day..."
A little shrug, and then she looked up again.
"You won't be used as a research subject without your permission," she semi-repeated. "But the palace has always tracked unusual talents, Snowflake, just in case they're needed. And we already knew about your mark, but that came from Fluttershy: it's an icon easily misunderstood, and so just about everypony does exactly that. Determination... including yourself, there might be three ponies alive with that talent, and yours is for the physical. There might be a day when Equestria has to call on that. I hope you'll be ready."
...called on?
What could he do? He was labor-for-hire. He hauled, he pushed --
"-- and it's more than that," she continued. "Across the centuries, we've looked for unique magics. Unicorns bring their tricks into the world, and some of those workings never appear again. Spells are lost. Some pegasus techniques have never been replicated. And with your kind -- essence blends, and the new emerges. We knew that was --"
Stopped again. Her tail thumped against her flanks.
"With the presentation," she resumed, "we already know of one earth pony who may be capable of countering unicorn castings: we're trying to find him, but he travels. There may be so much more. But you're here now, Snowflake. I know the question will feel personal, invasive -- but you don't have to answer. I just hope you want to, for the sake of your nation." Another breath, and she managed what almost felt like a friendly, reassuring smile. "Have you noticed any unusual magic in yourself?"
Part of him understood that she was trying to make him feel better. Put him at whatever degree of ease could still be found. And none of it prevented the next words from beginning a new shattering.
"Other than your flight," she finished, and waited.
And then he was staring at her.
"I'm strong," he immediately said. "I know what my wings are like. But I found a way --"
The big head dipped. Purple eyes squeezed shut, and yet the horrible weight of that gaze remained.
"-- you don't know," the Princess whispered. "Sun's flares, you don't know..."
"-- there are books," he pressed on, wondering at the rising desperation in his own voice. "Exercises. It takes years, but with enough strength, it's possible to fly --"
"-- you can't fly."
It was a simple statement. An expression of fact which made broken remnants flare, blurred his vision as his thoughts went into a spiral.
"Not the way you think you can," she quietly continued. "Math was never my province, Snowflake. Physics... I understand thermodynamics fairly well, and that took a while. But the sciences were always Princess Luna's dominion more than they were mine. I still look at budget planning as going to war against an enemy who's only pretending at truce. But I've been flying for -- a long time. Longer than anypony alive. And I know most ponies don't question things, especially when they feel magic is involved. Some don't question much of anything. And pegasus flight... it's always been a combination effect: magic channeled through the proper anatomy. Take away the magic, and a pegasus can't fly. An old friend explained it to me once. They're simply too heavy. There isn't enough wingspan to account for that much mass. And you..."
Her eyes were still closed.
"I hate this," the oldest mare whispered. "I hate being the one to tell you. I hate knowing I'll be the one who tells so many. Snowflake -- you've spent a lifetime in lying to yourself. You found a theory, something you believed would work, and it turned into a channel. An excuse. Because you added strength -- but you also added mass. No matter how strong the muscles behind your wings are, you don't have the span. And even if it could somehow just be strength, when physics makes that impossible... I researched your life, as best I could. You got through the first stage of the Wonderbolts practical auditions, before your lack of techniques flunked you out of the Academy. I know what the Wonderbolts do in their routines. What you would have had to do, and clearly managed because you're alive. Snowflake, even if you believe it's possible to fly with what you have, just by flapping harder than anypony else -- how are you gliding? What does strength do to guide the flow of air, when the wingspan isn't present?"
He was shaking again, and the soft world absorbed most of the vibrations. Feathers trembled, and the dust sped its dance.
"But ponies don't think," she sadly continued. "I'm starting to wonder if that's actually a side effect of the hybrid process: that as long as you deny it, then so does nearly everypony around you. Even Spitfire didn't question it, not as much as she could have. Snowflake -- you fly because you're determined to. Because that's how your talent channels your magic. It's like a foal getting into the air on a Surge: the magic is so strong that it overcomes the limits of their wings. You fly on a Surge that returned to an adolescent, one you summon and dismiss at will. You control that --"
The sound of disintegrating denial was a rush of words, speaking faster than he ever did, a near-chant of syllables trying to hold the last of his life together "-- it's my training, it has to be, nopony just ever tried it before --"
"-- when did you first fly?"
It's exactly the right question. It's exactly the wrong one.
It takes him to the memory he brought forth for the between.
And then he is there again.
They laugh at him from the sky.
He has been training for over three years. His bulk is impressive, although the word 'distended' can be substituted and for those in the mind for insult, he just keeps presenting them with more options. They used to make fun of his wings, the fact that they would find the sky and he never would. Now they have and he never will.
Some would call it recess, when young adolescents are temporarily released from class. Others look at it as a chance to practice, because those so new to flight shouldn't be kept from it for too long and so regular breaks are scheduled. And during the breaks, the others fly. They soar above him and project their mockery down, for he's always been an easy target and these days, an increasingly-large one.
His size doesn't matter to them, nor does his strength. He does his best to remain stoic, especially when it's just hearing things which have been called out thousands of times before: none of his tormentors are particularly creative. But there are times when he winces, because he's generally in some degree of pain: the workouts do that, but the others see it as victory. Others when his guard is a little lower than usual and a different kind of agony gets through. And none of it means anything when he can't reach them. All they have to do is stay above him, out of his jumping range, and he hates jumping on clouds: the surface has too much give for him, always makes it feel like a hard landing would put him on the verge of going through.
Every day, they're released to go outside. But there's only so far they can go before the alarms go off: they have to stay within sight of the school and teachers who really don't bother watching what they presume is the fun. He has nowhere he can hide. Nopony willing to stand at his side and defend him, much less fly just above him and deflect. He is their plaything of old and in the intoxication of youth, they are unable to perceive any future change in that status. He is crippled. He always has been. He always will be.
He hurts. Every day, he hurts himself because he's supposed to be stronger in the hurt places and muscle has come, but flight hasn't. He keeps pushing himself because
Carry the burden.
Shift the weight.
Overcome.
That's the mantra, the words he repeats to himself over and over as he forces himself onwards through pain. But it's also a mask, and he knows which phrase lies beneath. The most desperate wish, the thing he can never have.
I want to be whole.
He never will be, and so it changed into something he told himself he wanted nearly as much.
I want...
Moisture lands on his head, soaks into the mane. It could be rain, triggered by one of the more talented students. It usually is rain. But they're feeling especially bold today, for they are young and immortal, while he is crippled.
It could be rain. But the smell tells him it isn't.
The fillies are gasping and for a few, it's in real shock. It never goes this far. And so far overhead, well beyond what he could ever reach, three whose minds will never let them be true stallions are laughing. The way they always laugh. The way they always will.
He wonders what lies beyond urine. How long he has before he finds out. And one of them is breaking off, going for a fragment of cloud, aware that the evidence has to be washed away, he can't get into the building in time and nopony will talk about it and it'll just keep happening and --
I want to reach them.
(The broken remnants of his wings are buzzing. The laughter is getting louder.)
I want to stop this.
(The clouds are so tacky under his hooves: a touch he hates, wants to get away from.)
I want...
(Faster and faster, flapping harder than ever, muscles burning.)
I WANT TO FLY.
He will never be able to fully describe it: few ponies ever have, for the experience is both universal and unique. For him, it's a gate opening. Shackles falling away. A direct kick to gravity's intangible face. It flows through him, starting at the core and moving towards the surface and at the exact moment his hooves part from the clouds, it emerges in a dual blaze of light.
The false stallions are screaming. Some of it is shock. Most comes from fear. Because he's rising, too fast and too high for a mere jump, he is coming straight towards them and they scatter, two of them streak beyond the bounds of the schoolyard and set off the alarms, the third is trying to get away from him and he's catching up because he's faster. He's not sure what he can actually do when he reaches the about-to-be-former bully, but just being able to chase has destroyed their confidence because
he's flying.
He can fly.
It's been years to reach this. Years which pay off all at once, on the best day of his life.
The day he finds his
"...the day I found my mark. The instant..."
The Princess gently nodded.
"It's your talent, Snowflake," she quietly said. "It always has been. Determination channeled into a physical result. Because that was your goal. And when you set your mind to a goal..."
I wanted it.
I wanted it more than almost anything.
But I never succeeded. Not the way I thought I did.
Worse: if he'd known...
I could have flown without doing this to myself.
It had been the best day of his life.
(It would never be again.)
He closed his eyes, felt the shaking stop. Fought the tears back.
He heard the Princess shift closer. Offering presence. The invitation to rest in her shadow, take comfort from something greater. He didn't accept it.
Sun moved. Dust worked its way into the few feathers he had retained.
Finally, she said "I know you're strong. Do you know how strong?"
He shook his head, for he had always held back.
"Are you strong enough to live?"
His eyes shot open.
She was looking at him again. Outwardly calm and openly sad, browned mane completely still.
"You've been through the upheaval of a lifetime," she quietly observed. "There are reasons we're trying to find all of yours. In your case, I was hoping that having somepony you cared about be the one who told you... it would make things easier. But others are going to hear it from strangers. And their lives will break. Everything they knew about themselves changes. They wake up on one morning knowing who they are and by Sun-lowering, they're wrong. And they can't go back. Some of them might do anything in trying to go back..."
He recognized her tone, and a new kind of horror saturated the false softness of the room. For she wasn't projecting or predicting: she was speaking from direct experience.
"...and others may decide... they can't live that way. They're going to need support. And the more of yours we gather -- the more of that support will be there. It's a heavy burden, to be different -- only this time, there may be hundreds who can share that difference. But it's going to take all of you. It's going to take you. So..."
Her right foreleg unfolded, and the giant hoof gently touched his left shoulder.
"...how strong are you? I know how much you take on yourself, just trying to help Fluttershy. Can you carry this? Can you help the others through lifting some of their share? Are you strong enough to live, Snowflake? Or should I call for a different kind of doctor?"
For one horrible, endless minute, he thought about it. Suicide was... easy. Even before he had found the sky, it would have been easy. Most pegasi just went up, locked their wings against their sides, and came back down. All a young Snowflake ever needed was an unwatched edge.
Death was easy.
Life was hard.
"...how?" he finally asked. "How do you live, when everything breaks? When you're not who you thought you were, when you can't be? How does anypony go forward from that?"
And the Princess said "When I --"
Stopped, and the huge body shifted backwards by a single hoofwidth as wings trembled from inner agony.
His own pains were momentarily lost. "Princess? Is something --"
"-- it's nothing," she immediately said. "Nothing you need to worry about. You just asked... an old question."
The other three legs unfolded, pushed until she was standing over him.
"Gentle Arrival has been giving out his cryptic little clues," she told Snowflake, "while under the delusion that nopony can figure them out, and so all he's doing is making his knowledge seem more valuable. One of them was for the ponies whose essence was taken for Fluttershy and yourself. He thinks I can't work it out -- but I've been alive for a long time, Snowflake. Long enough to have known some ponies personally. I think I have an idea. I won't commit to it yet. But for now..."
She looked down at him, with that ancient gaze full of weight.
"If they are who I think they were," she said, "they were siblings who cared about each other. Who carried each other through so many troubles, who won because they were together. You're on a new road, Snowflake: eventually, all of you will be. And I won't lie by saying I know where it goes. But I still remember how to travel through chaos, when all you have is a goal and you don't know where the true destination is."
Her forelegs bent, and she slowly knelt down, lowering head and horn.
"You turn to the ones who love you," she whispered as the hornpoint gently touched his forehead, "and you let them go with you."