Sundance held his face beneath the faucet until drenched—but no amount of cold, flowing water could quench the searing fires that burned beneath his face and ears. The sight of the brand had proved to be too much to bear and now, as he stood with his face shoved into the sink, it felt as though his own flesh suffered the hot brand. Such a visual reminder of suffering, misery, and degradation threatened to cauterise his expression into one of permanent rage; it was as if the flesh of his face was but a wax smile and this great heat threatened to melt it away to reveal the bony foundation of naked fury beneath, a bare skull incapable of joyful expression.
Water dripping, ears sodden, he slowly raised his head to look upon his reflection in the mirror over the sink. The sound of the water running was difficult to hear over the ringing in his ears. Somehow, he'd held himself together just long enough to leave the room. How he managed to do that was unknown to him, given the sort of meltdown he suffered right now. If he could just somehow get himself back together, he could go have lunch with his new wards.
But right now, he had to worry about his face melting off.
The pegasus in the mirror was almost a stranger. His waterlogged face twitched, convulsed, and contorted as all the muscles beneath blazed from the emotional inferno. Sundance's right ear—on the left in the mirror—twitched in time to some unheard tempo. A sharp exhale produced a fine mist from Sundance's flared nostrils and left tiny beads of liquid splashed on the mirror. He stared at himself, panting, his sides heaving, fearful of the stranger in the mirror, this rage-beast that he did not recognise. For a few seconds, as he gasped for air, he thought that he might vomit because of his wrath—but the feeling was quick to pass.
Was this what it meant to be a pegasus?
Or was this how a pony should react to the evidence of evil in the world?
Where did the pegasus leave off and the pony begin?
Again, he shoved his face beneath the faucet and allowed the frigid water to flow over his head with the hopes that it might cool off the furnace within his skull. There was so much that he still didn't know about himself, and this was a stark reminder of that. Never in his life had he reacted like this; why, he could barely even recall leaving the room and the details were hazy recollections at best. Was he a pegasus or a thundercloud? Some threshold, now crossed, was an unknown point of no return that just crept up on him from out of the blue. One moment, he was Sundance, a pony who had some awareness that there was trouble in the world. The next, he had to wrangle his sudden outburst of truly murderous rage so that others wouldn't see, so they wouldn't know.
A long viscous ribbon of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth and hung down into the sink.
In moments just like this one, he could almost hear the voices of his mother and his grandmother, all those things they told him about what it was to be a pegasus, and he recalled how he dismissed those things because he was so submissive and passive. Now, with his head crammed into the sink below the gushing faucet, he wished he'd listened. There was probably a lot of good advice passed along, and he could vaguely remember his grandmother warning him that pegasus ponies were angry hotheaded brutes. It was something that he would have to learn to cope with. Like right now, at this very moment, he was not prepared for the beast that lurked within, the terrific tarrasquian temper that tormented every fibre of his being.
The ribbon of drool swayed from side to side as Sundance trembled.
Trapped in the world beyond the mirror, Sundance's doppelganger had a baleful bloodshot stare. His long, shaggy blue mane gave him an unkempt appearance, and the fuzz inside of his ears hadn't been trimmed for quite some time. There were no barbers in the barony. Much to his surprise, he found a scar on his chin, one that he couldn't remember getting. It could not be seen, not exactly, but the evidence of its existence was a tiny tuft of fuzz that went against the grain and pointed in the wrong direction. Being thoroughly saturated with water had turned his sunny ochre hide a damp shade of sodden orange.
The pony in the mirror was not the pony that had left home to visit his distant grandmother, oh no. That pony was now a face on a milk carton and little else. A memory as ephemeral as crispiness on toast when smothered with butter. Sundance had trouble remembering all of the past versions of himself, his school-age self most of all. That kid and his jutting underbite was gone. After so many years of torment, he'd finally grown into his jaw and didn't look like such a dweeb. As much as it shamed him to admit this, Sundance was glad to see that loser go, because he was the worst.
Chlorine stung his eyes; it had been a while since he was last exposed to city water. Vision blurry, he mumbled a curse and more glistening droplets dotted his reflection. But the blurriness did not abate; it did not go away. If anything, his smeared vision grew worse. The sting went away with but a few blinks, just as it always did, but the pony in the mirror remained indistinct, distorted, a stretched parody found within a funhouse mirror. Sundance squinted to see himself better and the bouncy string of drool finally broke free from the corner of his mouth.
Curiously, his reflection turned blue. It was just a hint of blue at first, as if a blue light had been cast upon him, but then the bluification intensified into something bluetastic and bluetiful. Such a soothing shade, a hue that hindered his harrowed thoughts and restored a sense of calm. So this was what blue could do. Sundance watched as his reflection's face rippled, changed in size, and turned oh so very blue—and did so with calm detachment. A horn sprouted from just beneath his forelock and rapidly gained length.
He could not help but notice that the horn protruded from out of the mirror, into his space.
There was a princess in the mirror, Princess Luna more specifically, and she regarded him with an almost sorrowful expression. Sundance couldn't help but notice that she wasn't exactly in the mirror; she'd come out of whatever world that lay beyond and invaded this one. A feeling of unsettling disorientation overcame him as he pondered the notion of who was a reflection, and who was not. Was Princess Luna just looking into a mirror and did he happen to show up? Which side of the mirror was real? These thoughts threatened to turn his legs into noodles—or maybe they had always been noodles, but noodles that made the choice to be legs. Perhaps only now they returned to their natural state as reality asserted itself.
Everything felt really weird.
"Having a moment, Nephew?"
Unable to do much else, Sundance blinked.
"You are shaken, yes?"
In response, he managed to nod and then say, "That was you in the painting."
"Indeed, it was. What a peculiar revelation to remark upon when one's Greatest Aunt emerges from the mirror."
She was close enough that he felt her hot breath upon his nose.
"Out of all the ponies in Equestria, you just had to mess with my day. Should I feel flattered?"
"Oh, goodness no, Nephew. Do not believe yourself alone, or special. Right now, I am napping, yet even as I do I am appearing before thousands of others in their moment of need."
"That's some kind of power you got," he said to her, and them immediately worried about how he spoke. Got? He should have said 'have' so he wouldn't sound like an uneducated boob. "So… Princess of the Night and the Princess Who Occasionally Jumps Out of Mirrors."
"Power?" One princessly eyebrow arched to a state of impossible perfection. "You have no idea, Nephew. I am asleep in Canterlot right now, yet I can see you quite clearly, and hear your voice. Power beyond comprehension. Which is exactly what troubles you, is it not? I mean, that is the cause of this breakdown you're having. The nature of my power… my sister's power. Our power, to use the Royal We. You find your faith in us shaken. I can see it, clear as night."
These words gave him pause as he considered what brought him to this state. It was the brand; that awful, awful brand. Scarred flesh. An indelible mark, one of ownership. Yes, he was quite troubled by it, disturbed that the Sisters could allow such a thing to happen. Was this not Equestria? How could such awful things happen with the Sisters in charge. Face dripping, ears limp and slopped against his temples, he focused upon every breath that he felt upon his face from the pony protruding from the mirror, whose face was but mere inches from his own.
"Yes, yes… you find yourself asking… how could We?"
"How could you know this?" he asked.
"You've had a psychic awakening and your mind has opened. Nephew, your thoughts are loud. I am unsure of the cause, but I am aware of the effect." Her lips puckered for a short time, and then formed an inquisitive exaggerated moue. "So very loud. That is why I am so clear and so real to you right now. Your mind wants me to be real. You desire reassurance after your faith was shaken."
"It was? I had faith?"
"What else might one call it?"
"That mark—"
"That mark"—Princess Luna's tone turned imperious, cold, and austere—"is the mark of the Separatists. Yes, those Separatists. The very ones that scarred your land and despoiled your holdings. Those who waged war not just against Equestria, but against the very idea of Equestria. Three unicorn horns, points outward, held within a ponyshoe. Your land remembers, Nephew, and so do you."
"Why do they still exist?" asked Sundance. "How could they exist? I mean, we won the war. We won the war and they lost… so they shouldn't exist. How could you let them exist?"
"They exist"—her words trailed off as the princess grimaced with disgust—"because unicorns go to bed at night hungry. Because they have dreams that are unfilled. Unicorns labour away in factories and other workplaces doing the jobs of many while getting paid to do the job of one. They languish in poverty, wallow in despair, and remember a time when they ruled simply by virtue of being born with a horn. A horn was practically a crown… and for some, it still is. They suffer, as many suffer, and grow bitter with resentment because they believe they deserve better."
Unable to respond, Sundance waited for Princess Luna to continue.
"So long as those conditions persist, the Separatists will thrive and find those sympathetic to their cause. Such is the way of things, Nephew. You remember them trampling your sunflowers, do you not?"
Caught off guard, Sundance hurriedly searched his memories, and was immediately overcome by an avalanche of vivid imagery. Explosions. Tanks. Airships. Fire. Smoke. A sky turned grey and the horizon left obscured by the fog of war. The sea of swaying sunflowers set ablaze. Down in his hooves, he felt tremours, the sensation of tens of thousands of hooves marching, pounding the earth, an approaching army. His ears pricked at the sound of the stuttering chatter of gunfire. A whiff of smoke threatened to make him sneeze all over the princess in the mirror.
"You saw the brand, and it made you remember… fascinating."
"How could all of that be allowed to happen?" asked Sundance. "Why was nothing done? How come… how come it still survives? Why isn't it rooted out?"
"It is dealt with—"
"No, it isn't." Emboldened by his interruption, Sundance gulped down some air so that he might continue. "If that were true, Flax would not be branded. These ponies exist… and they should not. Why can't you do something? Why hasn't Celestia done something? You have all this power… you can pop out of my mirror while I am having a breakdown… but you can't fix… this?" He spat out his final word with such vehemence that Luna recoiled.
"It's not that simple—"
"I don't believe that! You're an all-powerful being! What's the point of having all that power if you do nothing with it?"
"Nephew…" Luna's tone softened considerably, and something that was a lot like remorse could be heard mid-syllable. "I wish I could make you understand—"
"You could if you wanted to," he spat out. "I mean, you're messing with my mind right now. You visit me in dreams. With you being… whatever it is that you are, you could make me think whatever it is that you want me to think and do whatever it is that you want me to do. If you wanted to, you could make all the bad parts of me go away. Not just me, but everypony."
Eyes almost closed, an expression of intense sadness spread over Luna's face like a funeral shroud. "Nephew, how wrong you are, but also how right. I could do that. And have. I have. Trust me, I have."
"Is it so terrible?" he demanded.
"Oh, it is," she replied without hesitation. "It would be disastrous were I to free you from the darker elements that exist within your psyche. I could suppress them… or even excise them completely. I could cut them away like a tumour. But the consequences… oh, the consequences of such freedom would be—"
"I don't believe you," Sundance said with all the force he could muster, which wasn't much at the moment.
Eyes now open, she raised her head high until she looked down upon him, and said, "Freedom and goodness cannot be imposed upon a pony. That was my mistake. When I tried to impose freedom and goodness upon others, to bring them around to my way of thinking, that was when the Darkness took root within me. Freedom and goodness must ultimately come from within. It is a choice to be made. My sister, wise as she is, figured this out long ago. I did not. It was only recently that I learned this for myself.
"So you ask, why do I allow for bad things to happen? So that you can choose to do good. If I made that choice for you, if I took that from you, I would rob your life of meaning."
"I still don't get it," he said as he averted his eyes and stared down into the sink, where he left the water running.
"It was little things at first," Luna said to him in a confessional whisper. "I thought them harmless. My soldiers, loyal to me, I thought to make them more so. I dabbled with their minds… just to see what might happen. It started off with so small a thing. I enhanced their loyalty to me… but took nothing away. I was just reinforcing what was already there.
"But that was not enough, Nephew. They were soldiers. This… justified my actions. Soldiers must be able to fight. So I began trimming away their free will. They followed orders. Distasteful distractions such as fear were suppressed… and then removed entirely. I began to collect an army of foals because their minds were so much easier to shape… to sculpt.
"I saw so many improvements in my soldiers that I began to work on the commoners. Little by little. I wasn't hurting them, I was making them better. They were burdened, and so I sought to relieve them. Was that not my duty? As I delved more into this, I began to lose myself. The Darkness overtook me… it whispered such sweet things into my ears about a perfect kingdom, and a perfect princess.
"As I shaped others, so too did the Darkness shape me."
"But look at how much of a mess everything is…" Heart heavy, Sundance dared to look the princess in the eye. "Surely there's a middle ground."
"The only solution is to work on the root of the problem," Luna replied, "which you are already doing. My sister and I, we can guide you. We can help you save others. You can save yourselves. It is possible."
"So this is why Princess Celestia takes a hooves-off approach. This is why Equestria's Civil War happened. She let it happen and she sat there in Canterlot while we sorted all this out for ourselves."
"Goodness triumphed—"
Infuriated, he snapped at her, "But what if it hadn't?"
"Then my sister would have bided her time, waited patiently, and would have fomented a resistance. She would find the good in others, the fire that would not be quenched, and through them, she would restore light to the world. But make no mistake, you would save yourselves—"
"A day will come when we fail to save ourselves, and we'll have lost while you do nothing."
"Do you really believe that, Nephew?"
"I…"—he hesitated, his words bitter and unpleasant in hindsight—"don't know."
"Ponies like you are the reason why my sister remains an optimist. You are filled with a desire to do good. To be good. But make no mistake, it is a choice. When you do good, you make the choice to do so. Your goodness would have no meaning were I to take that choice from you. Every day, you rise, you greet the dawn, and you make a choice to do either the easy thing, or the right thing. Evidence suggests that you have yet to pick the easy option. You will suffer, Sundance… oh how you will suffer. Dark forces will align against you and every day the choice to do the easy thing or the right thing will grow ever-harder. One day, it might very well cost you your life. Living will be the easy option."
"That's not very hopeful."
"My sister is the optimist, not I. I'm the dark one, remember? All gloom and doom."
"Realism is not pessimism," he said to her, and much to his satisfaction, Princess Luna seemed to consider his words. "Realism is not pessimism. You can know how things might be but still not expect the worst."
After several long seconds spent in thought, she replied, "I am grateful that Twilight has aligned herself with a realist. As much as I love my sister, all of her efforts thus far have smacked of idealism. She was out of balance without me. The scales were offset by her weighty ideals. One thousand years of Equestria ruled by idealism. Sure, we've prospered… but look at the mess that was made."
"And you?"
"I'm a pragmatist. Which, I'll confess, has caused me no small amount of trouble. But my pragmatism and my sister's idealism balance each other out. Night and day. My sister dreams up grand ideas and I find practical solutions to make them a reality."
"Funny," he replied, "that the Princess of the Night is not the dreamer."
"Oh, but I am… but all my dreams and cunning schemes have caused no end of trouble. I no longer trust myself. Without my sister's optimism, all my dreams would lead to the ill-tidings of dark ends."
"What now?" he asked.
"You'll wake up," she replied. "This is not a dream, but it is not so different. You are having a moment. Mere seconds have passed. Cadance's psychologists would call this a 'soft break', followed by a hard reset. You saw the brand and were then overcome by memories not even your own. The old enemy presented itself and you remembered a war that you were not present for. 'Tis but a curious thing. Perhaps the tree is to blame. I shall seek out Twilight's advice on the issue."
"I don't know if I want to wake up," he responded with all the honest earnestness found within him.
"Go make friends…" Luna's tone was dismissive, but also sincere and caring. "The rewards of doing right await you. The only reward for doing what is easy is convenience. Steel yourself, Nephew. Now… go make friends. Go do good things. Do the right thing. And let not your heart be troubled. Now, on the count of three…
"One...
"Two…
"Three."