//------------------------------//
// Chapter 20: The Parade 
// Story: The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak 
// by Unwhole Hole 
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The maids and nurses had formed a veritable swarm. While Penumbra did her best to sit still, as she could not suppress a desire to squirm at least slightly. 
“I can apply my own makeup, miss,” she said, trying to push the hoof of a crystal mare away from her. 
“Forgive me, princess,” she said, dodging Penumbra’s block. “But you’re ordinary format is certainly not adequate for the occasion. Your father requested more complexity for your eyes. It will look better at a distance.”
“You will refer to him as ‘king’, ‘Witchking’, or ‘his majesty’. Referring to him as my father is uncouth!”
One of the several crystal ponies adjusting Penumbra’s mane sighed. “I remember that attitude,” she laughed. “My daughter went through the same phase.” Her expression darkened. “She’s in the mines now.”
“My mane is also adequate. You are pulling it!”
“There has not been a Crystal Princess in ten centuries, my princess. We have waited so very long for a chance and an occasion to use this hairstyle.”
“It is important for our traditions,” said another. “If you wish to curry favor with the crystal ponies, you would do well to style yourself as one of us.”
“I am not one of you, and I do not need respect!” squeaked Penumbra. “I need FEAR!”
The nurses laughed as they pulled Penumbra’s black-dyed mane back into a veritable pile of gemstones. 
“And this armor,” groaned Penumbra, trying to shake her hoof free of the hideous travesty they were dressing her with. “It is neither practical nor defensive. I have two pairs. Cannot I not wear Lord Emeth’s version?”
“This armor is not meant to be ‘protective’,” chuckled one of the mares. “It is ceremonial.”
“Yes,” said the youngest of the maids. “Surely you do not intend to enter the arena fights!”
The entire group froze and fell silent. They glared at the maid who had spoken.
“Do not speak of that here,” hissed the lead nurse. “Now now. Not ever.”
“I- -I am sorry, ma’am.” She bowed to Penumbra. “Forgive me, princess. I spoke out of turn.”
“You all kind of are. But I guess it’s acceptable. You are all helping me so much, after all.” She paused. “I am not sure if you are aware, but this is my first parade.”
The ponies laughed, but awkwardly. “Of course, princess. You are only six months old. Of course this is your first.”
“Oh. I had forgotten that part.” She looked down at her partially-armored hooves, then up at the maids. “How old are all of you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Fourteen.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twenty four.”
“Twenty six.”
Penumbra blinked. “That’s a lot of months!”
The maids giggled. “No, princess, you have misunderstood! Those are years!”
This boggled Penumbra’s mind completely. She had no concept of that length of time.
“You are all ancient, then!” Something pulled at her wings. “Pain! Stop pulling!”
“My apologies, princess. You simply need to be preened.”
“And your wing-tips redyed.”
“Pluck them completely if you wish.” Penumbra spread her wings. “They are useless anyway.” 
Something knocked on the chamber door. Penumbra looked up, expecting Crozea. Instead, a white stallion opened the door. 
“Lord Twilight!” cried one of the maids, rushing to the door. “Forgive me, my lord, but the princess is dressing! To have a stallion here, why, it simply- -HMMFF!”
Luciferian had cast a spell. When the mare turned away from him, her eyes wide with panic, it became apparent that she no longer had a mouth. 
“Considering that our species, as a whole, is nude most of the time, I think my presence here is hardly uncouth.” He entered the room. His normal officer’s coat had been replaced with a sort of armor. It was not quite the same kind that Zither wore, which was meant to cover him entirely, but rather a system of seemingly abstractly placed plates carved with impossibly fine runes. He also wore numerous bands of metal and jewels, all of which were dark and unappealing in color. The only part of his normal uniform that remained was the collar of his shirt, the edges of which were decorated with blood-red stars. That, and the armored boot he wore over one of his front legs. 
Penumbra was glad that she had possessed the inadvertent foresight to raise her wings in advance. He was astoundingly handsome, and he had not only converted the ridiculous braid of his mane into a more modern, bound form, but he had applied eye makeup of his own. His eyes looked enormous. 
He bowed. “Princess. Even with the work incomplete, your presentation is astounding. Terrifying indeed.”
“Thank you, Lord Twilight. Forgive me if I do not bow in return, but my maids are apparently attempting to armor my hair.” 
Luciferian smiled as he straightened himself. “I see your mind can now handle synthesis. The progression is remarkable, even if there have been...difficulties.”
“My body was conflicting with my programming. Lady Crozea has compensated.” 
“Well, as long as the mistake has been corrected. I had intended to check on you earlier. I heard of the attempt on your life. Simply terrible.” He shook his head. “I was engaged in distant research at the time. If I had only known...”
“The situation was handled. But I thank you for your concern.” 
“I assure you, when the culprit is found, I will deal with him or her personally. Though you shall never know my anger, I am told it is quite devastating.” 
“Lady Crozea says that anger is a distraction.”
Luciferian frowned, but only momentarily. “Of course she does. And Scarlet Mist, no doubt, claims the opposite.”
Penumbra looked up, surprised that he knew. “Yes. That is true.”
“I make it a point to understand my colleagues.” 
“Really?” An idea occurred to Penumbra. Perhaps it was devious, but she had become somewhat annoyed at being dressed in a material that would surely fail to stop swords and maces. “May I ask you your opinions on one in particular?”
Luciferian smiled devilishly. He had not realized it would be this easy, and he had planned his response carefully for maximum impact. “Of course, my princess. It would be the very least I could do for furthering your education.”
“Tell me about Lord Al’Hrabnaz.”
Luciferian almost literally stumbled. That had not been the pony he had been expecting her to ask about at all, and his response was completely derailed.
“Al’Hrabnaz? Well, I suppose he is a competent archaeologist, though his ideas border on conspiracy theories. His mathematical skill is highly flawed, though he is effective at making toys, I suppose.”
“Toys?”
“Yes. His machines.” Luciferian chuckled. “Such obsolete dreck. The world has moved beyond machines and technology in their own right. They are tools for the weak.”
“Then what do the strong use?”
Luciferian leaned forward. “The future is magic, my dear. Magic users like you and I will rule the world.”
“You mean the Witchking. Lord Sombra will rule the world. Not you or I.”
“That is not what I have been told.” Luciferian masked his displeasure, just as Penumbra masked a sudden sour feeling she felt coming over her. She knew little of the resident mathematician, but at least felt pity for him. Luciferian clearly did not.   
Luciferian smiled. The same smile he always smiled, as if he were trained in it. “That is why I came here, after all. To congratulate you.” 
“On what?”
“I have been informed that Sombra wishes to have you at his side for the military parade, and to sit with him to oversee the Games. It seems he has taken my advice. You are moving up on his list of priorities.” Luciferian paused. “However, even if he had not wished to take you, I would have asked you myself. To be beside me instead.”
“I appreciate the gesture.” Penumbra paused as something deep within her mind stirred. “Perhaps you can walk with your own daughter instead?”
Luciferian’s gaze suddenly hardened to the point where several of the maids recoiled. Even Penumbra was surprised; she had never seen a pony make such a horrible expression before. He hardly even looked like a pony, and for just a moment, Penumbra could almost imagine the sight of liquid silver dripping from between his teeth.
“You must be mistaken.” He had partially regained his composure, but his voice was icy. “I have no daughter.”
“White and purple, with a striped mane. A unicorn. But with only three legs.”
Luciferian’s eyes widened, as if he was both terrified and enraged. “How- -how do you know that?” He coughed into his hoof and, though shaking, managed to produce the same smile he had before. “Oh. Well, you are indeed confused. I am the only member of House Twilight. I do have a ward, an assistant, you might say, but she is very sickly and not able to leave my home. Certainly too weak to walk in the parade, especially in this weather.”
“I see.” Penumbra made a slight bow. “Forgive me. Inquiring into your personal life was out of line. I apologize, Lord Twilight. I understand that our relationship is purely professional.”
Luciferian winced, but mostly managed to conceal it. “I would like to think that we could be friends. I would be happy to teach you as many spells as I can, if you are willing.”
“I am not programmed to make friends. I am programmed to purge the heresy that his Celestia and Nightmare Moon. Also apparently to be dressed in armor that is not armor and to have my main tugged until my multicolored-roots are showing.” She looked up. “Although I have the magic for only one of those things. I appreciate your offer, Lord Twilight, but there is nothing you can teach me. I am a failure in every respect, except in looking cute.” 
This had not been in Luciferian’s plans. He had no idea where this was coming from, but he internally cursed himself for having waited too long. He had been attempting to woo a princess on a normal time-scale, a process that required years of careful planning and maneuvering. He had failed to account for the fact that this princess’s growth had been accelerated, in more ways than one. Only a few months before she had been a blank, empty shell. Now she had apparently grown an annoying level of wit. 
It also occurred to him that she was probably old enough to begin producing heirs of her own. 
“Quick!” whispered the yellow pony, who was drooling slightly. “Take her by force! DO IT NOW!”
Penumbra’s large eyes flitted to the side- -as if she were actually able to see the demon. Luciferian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If she could see it- -
“Well,” he said, smiling and bowing. “I am afraid I have several things to finish preparing for the parade. I am afraid I will have to leave you, for now. Although, as always, I will be sitting at Sombra’s right during the Games, and I do so look forward to seeing you there.”
“I look forward to seeing you too, Lord Twilight.” 
Luciferian had no idea what to think, but he made his way to the door. Penumbra stopped him.
“Also,” she said, “please unstopper my maid. She, like the others, serves an important function. I do not take kindly to you damaging them.”
“It was only a joke.” Luciferian’s horn flashed, and the maid’s mouth reappeared. She immediately gasped.
“Taste! I can taste things! SO MANY THINGS!”
“Very well,” sighed Luciferian. “May your day go well, princess.”
“It shall be eventful,” said Penumbra, leaning back as the maids redoubled their efforts to dye both her wings and tail to the correct color. “It already has been, to an extent.” 

The parade was more grand than anything Penumbra had ever seen. She understood that its primary purpose was to showcase the Empire’s military might, to reassure the crystal ponies that the freedom Sombra had brought them was, in fact, eternal, and that no external or internal force would ever dare to defy it.
It was also the first time Penumbra had ever been allowed outside the castle grounds. She had seen the kingdom from a distance, but it had looked small, like a model. She was surprised to learn that it hardly looked different from atop her perch beside her father. 
In any normal, sane parade, the king and his daughter would ride on a float of some sort. Something decorative, perhaps even festive. In the Crystal Empire, though, festive meant only one thing: absolute military domination. 
The vehicle they rode upon was a hulking mass of steel and crystal, its innards alternatively humming and screaming from a crystal-driven engine. The sides of it were painted black and adorned with the king’s heraldry: the mark of the Red Crystal. 
To Penumbra, it looked like pictures she had seen in books of a ship, or boat. Except that no ships were made of steel, and so very few could fly. Her review and training of standard ordinance told her that it was a levitating artillery unit, a rather small frigate but one of the newest line. There were, of course, larger ships; the ones too wide to float above the road drifted high in the sky, vast dreadnoughts leaving shadows as dark as night as they followed their commander. 
Behind walked the golems. The largest of them were type-O, armor-plated behemoths whose heads towered above the roofs of the highest buildings. They walked down the street slowly, like enormous, lazy ponies- -but their motion was precise, mechanical, and terrifying. Emeth had done good work. 
Contingents of soldiers made a significant bulk of the parade. The majority of them were large units of thralls, all moving in perfect formation, not deviating even slightly. At the front of those units walked the precious few military units who did not need control masks: loyalists, specialists, and technicians. Those trusted to command, who were invariably gaunt, cold, and sneered at the crowd with the most frightening of greasy smiles. They were the middle class: those who could do something apart from the interchangeable tasks given to the pure slaves, and had been given the freedom to work in less strenuous tasks. Not one among them was a crystal pony; the majority were unicorn mages drawn from throughout Equestria.
Some of the technical units marched in their own formations, or, rather, in representations of them. It was of course forbidden for crystal-forgers or armorers to be outside like this, for fear of attack or outright theft. Only the prettiest and least useful specimens were allowed to be represented- -or those that belonged to one of the Dark Thirteen.
Necrophilo of Canterlot had sent his students, clad in green and gold, to march and to demonstrate his prolific generation of lesser necromancers for the Empire. Supposedly, Buttonhooks the Mad had brought his own disciples, although they were chained to him and muzzled to prevent damage to the spectators. 
And there were indeed spectators. Penumbra had never seen so many ponies in one place. They lined both edges of the street, watching in somber silence. This was the one day that they were freed from their assigned tasks, and the thralls with spears that lined the streets ensured that they were able to maximize their freedom. Attendance to the military parade was of course obligatory. 
Penumbra watched them from above, standing on the bow of the artillery frigate with her father. This was the thing she had wanted the most in the world since the day she had been constructed. And, for the most part, it was worth it. He had, like her, donned ceremonial armor, and his flowing mane had been adorned with ornaments of onyx and realgar. He was beautiful and regal, and watched the marching units before him with both pride and inexplicable disdain. 
Yet something felt wrong. Penumbra could not place it. She supposed it was confusion at being in a place she had never been before, to be positioned beside the tilting, uneven crystal structures that made up her father’s kingdom. Something in the blank, sunken eyes of slaves, though, made her heart ache. She felt the weight of the iron colors on their necks as if they were instead on hers. And when they looked at her, the black-maned and black-winged alicorn princess of the Crystal Empire, they shuddered and recoiled in fear. Though Penumbra was the happiest she had ever been, she had begun to hate her own existence.
“My king,” she said. “They fear me.”
“Of course,” replied Sombra, smiling. “You resemble our most fatal enemies.”
“And do they fear me because they fear I will rob them of their freedom?”
Sombra looked out at the path before him. The Arena was drawing near. Had Penumbra looked back, she knew that she would only barely be able to see the Heart of Darkness, now fully entrapped in Al’Hrabnaz’s newest engine. 
“No,” he said at last. “They fear you because you represent what they will never become. A superior being. Seeing you reminds them that they are lesser beings, that their lives have no worth beyond their capacity to serve us.”
“And do they not realize I am a machine? No more alive than this frigate?”
“They do not need to. Now go. Show them. Bright out their rightful fear.”
“Yes, Lord Sombra.”
Penumbra stood straight beside her father and spread her wings. When the crowd saw the abomination that she was, and understood that Sombra’s power had created such an atrocity from the child that had just half a year earlier brought them such hope, they shuddered in terror, and would have wept if they had yet any tears remaining. 

The parade portion of the event terminated at the Imperial Arena, where the Games and various exhibitions were to be held. Penumbra knew the Arena well, as the only exception to her confinement had been her permission to watch the trial that had led to Thirteen of Thirteen being inducted into Sombra’s elite forces. 
The process was managed with exacting precision, being run and operated by the steward and her underlings. Penumbra was aware of the schedule, and she wandered from her father’s side when she began to see familiar faces in the staging area. He hardly seemed to notice; logically, if any harm came to her, she deserved it and was not worthy of her role as a goddess-slaying weapon or as a royal. Even then, she did not stray too far. 
While passing down a hall, Penumbra found Emeth staring out a window at the later remnants of the parade. 
“Lord Emeth!” Penumbra bounded to his side, and then bowed. “I am glad you were able to participate.”
“Participation is obligatory,” replied Emeth. “More or less. But in my case, I greatly enjoy parades. They are so very festive.”  He looked down at Penumbra. “Did you enjoy it, too?”
“Yes,” lied Penumbra. “Our Empire is so much more vast than I was aware.”
“And you have only seen the shortest road of it.”
“And it’s so small compared to all of Equestria...” Penumbra suddenly felt dizzy, and shook her head. She smiled and looked out the window. “What are you looking at?”
“I am assessing my performance.”
“You mean of the golems.”
Emeth nodded. “I am a golem, the golems are myself, and so on.”
“Have they performed well?”
“Adequately. They are really more intended for more useful things.” He paused, and his mechanical eyes narrowed slightly. “I always find it surprising. The ponies are always so much more impacted by the type-O or type-N golems.”
“Those are the largest,” noted Penumbra. “And the most powerful in war.”
“But also the simplest. The least impressive.”
“Then what is your favorite?”
Emeth looked confused. “Favorite?”
“Which one impresses you the  most?”
“I understand what you meant. I simply never thought to phrase it that way. How amusing. The answer, though, is my phase-3 prototypes. The ones that can actually think.”
An image crossed the back of Penumbra’s mind, of a world of ash and lethal flaming mushrooms inhabited only by golems. “Were they here today?”
“There is no reason for them to be. Ponies find them the least impressive. I wonder why our opinions differ.”
Penumbra thought for a moment. “Because you made them.”
“I made all these golems. I am all these golems.”
“Except for the others. The new ones. You said they could think. You can’t be the same as them, then, like the others.” Penumbra paused again. “It’s like...it’s like they’re your children.”
Emeth paused, and his eyes grew distant. “I had not thought of phrasing it that way,” he said, at last. “How peculiar an idea, and how obvious. Yet I never saw it.” His tone cleared. “Nevertheless. If the analogy stands, then I will hardly consider them to have been born until they pass out of the prototype stage.”
A shadow was cast over the arena, and immediately the only light available came from the dim crystal lights in the hall and the fires placed outside. The sky was growing gray and preparing to snow, but this darkness was not a phenomenon of the weather. Rather, a dreadnought had just passed overhead. 
“That would be the KSF Allegory,” said Penumbra, looking up at it excitedly. “It is getting in position for our king’s ceremonial entrance.”
“So you know the name of our flagship.”
“I know the names of all our king’s ships.” Penumbra watched as the vast, crystal-plated machine hovered overhead, its unholy engine humming in a way that made her mouth taste like metal. “Lord Emeth, do you know who built the ships?”
“I did.”
Penumbra stared at him, wide-eyed. “YOU?”
“And myselves. All except the drive systems.”
“You mean the engines.”
“They are far too sophisticated for that word, but yes. Those were designed and constructed by Gxurab Al’Hrabnaz. The mathematical idiosyncrasies of the design are far beyond me.”  
“He’s smarter than YOU?”
“Does that surprise you? Why should machines like ourselves exceed the living in every aspect? The drive cores are truly a work of art, machines assembled in eight dimensions around the inconsistencies of perfect natural crystals. The slightest mistake, and, well...the effects are horrific. The made stallion actually believes those formats have applications.” Emeth stared up at the passing ship, and almost imperceptibly sighed. “I have distant memories. Ones that have grown hazy in my age. Of days when flying ships like these ruled the sky.” He paused, then smiled. “Perhaps I will see that day again.” 
Penumbra felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see one of the steward’s underlings, a crystal pony considered aesthetically pleasing enough to be allowed indoors. “Lady Princess,” he said, bowing deeply. “The ceremony begins in five minutes. Your entrance is in exactly six minutes and seventeen seconds. We graciously request that you prepare yourself.”
“Thank you, slave.” Penumbra bowed on instinct, forgetting that she was not supposed to for the servant. He seemed severely taken aback, and Penumbra realized that beneath his beaten-in air of professionalism, he was terrified of her. 
“Y- -yes, Lady princess!”
He retreated at once. Penumbra sighed. As she did, she looked across the staging area and saw that it had mostly been emptied. Only Sombra remained- -and he was standing in a dark corner, speaking to Crozea. Even at a distance, Penumbra saw her father smile for the very first time. The emotion she felt was distinctly unusual, at once horribly unpleasant and exceedingly happy. 
“Is it true?” asked Penumbra. 
“Is what true?” asked Emeth. “That your entrance is scheduled in six minutes and two seconds? Yes. That is indeed true.”
“No. That the king and Lady Crozea...that they have...you know...”
“It is,” whispered Eternity who, as always, was watching and inside Penumbra’s head. “I get to watch!” He tone fell. “Or I have to watch...filthy zebra...I’m probably a zebra...I don’t remember anymore...” 
“You would rhyme if you were,” said Penumbra. She saw that Emeth was confused. “My apologies. Lady Eternity was speaking.”
“I assumed so. But if you are referring to the king and the witchdoctor’s relationship, yes. There is one, to an extent.”
“I don’t understand.” Penumbra’s brow furrowed, because she knew she needed to. “The king has stables of mares, as is his prerogative. Why her, then?” 
“The stables are stocked with beautiful slaves. But ponies have needs. I have learned this through thousands of their lifetimes.” 
“What kind of needs?”
“Physical ones,” whispered Eternity. “THEY RUB HORNS!”
“I do not need to hear her to know that Eternity is surely telling an untruth. To a pony, beautiful slaves are pointless. They do not solve the need for companionship. The relationship that Sombra and Crozea seek is one requiring mutual respect. To comprehend each other’s power, and accept it as such, but to realize just how lonely it makes one.”
“Lonely...”
“Crozea is powerful, ancient, and skilled. As is Sombra. Those are qualities the pair of them have rarely if ever found in another. It is a matter of friendship, but something beyond even that.” 
“Then why does it make me feel so strange seeing them together.” Penumbra the red gem over her heart. “I feel...like I want that, to be there instead of her...but I feel so happy that she is there too. Why do I feel like that? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. You have asked a question that is beyond me. I lack empathy of any sort, as I am a machine.” Emeth paused. “However: if my prototypes are like my children, then what is Crozea to you?”
Penumbra paused. There was a word, surely, but she did not know it. “I don’t know.”
Emeth began walking to where he was scheduled to be. “Answer that question, and perhaps you will know what I never can.”