Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl

by Estee


Toxic

The citizenship classes would begin soon, and they would teach the girl something about how the nation actually functioned. A portion of what she initially learned would surprise her, because her limited experiences around the Princesses had mostly suggested the rule of royalty and to some degree, even with the mention of a 'Night Court' and the need to sign a law, it was something the centaur saw as an absolute.

The fault for this could be laid at the forehooves of stories. Her imagination galloped through realms in which a monarch's word was law: desires had a tendency to transmute into something closer to policy. In her experience, kings and queens generally did whatever they wished and in many cases, this went against the needs of realm, common sense, and sanity. (Her time spent in the dubious custody of Meroune's mother hadn't exactly helped there.) So there was a natural presumption that even with a visibly increased level of common sense, Princesses had an equal amount of free reign.

It was a natural presumption. It just wasn't how Equestria worked.

When compared to the governments of Earth, the most natural comparison was for those nations which had chosen to work with (and, as soon as the wrong people got into office, around) a trinary division of power -- but it wasn't a fully accurate simile. The sisters had legislative roles: each was free to compose their own bills, and they broke all ties in their respective Court. Some criminal charges forced them to watch from a judge's bench, and the younger had recently taken to hosting civil cases as a well-earned means of venting.

But it wasn't entirely unfair to see them as primarily serving the functions of an executive branch. They had the ability to issue orders (which, because there was still some aspect of royalty present, included occasionally telling citizens what to do). Both were at the top of the military chain. It was their choice as to whether any given bill would be ultimately signed into law, and it was also the final choice because neither had ever cared to implement a veto override system into the nation's founding documents. Both had agreed that 'no' had only one definition, and that was NO.

As with so many immigrants before her, the girl would carefully memorize that information and unlike so many of the natives, she would also fully retain it: both siblings had noticed that those who had to earn their citizenship tended to pay more attention to the functionings of a new government than the ones who had been born into it. But it wouldn't tell her everything, because the books she studied had been written for adults. Some facts were only learned by the very young, forever woven into their most basic understanding of the world around them. They weren't written down in books meant to be read by anyone older, because simply existing meant you knew them already.

But the girl didn't know. She had no awareness of those most basic things, information which nopony thought to tell her because no one ever needed to learn it. Some of the gaps in her education would take a surprisingly long time to fill, and the acceptance which natives gave the most crucial facts of their world...

That was some ways off. She would start with citizenship classes: the rest would only come with time. But it helped to think of the sisters as being the executive branch, because that gave her some basis for comparison. And there were ways in which the reflection was true -- including one of the most fundamental.

"So we just wanted to make sure we were on the record," Puff Weevil declared from his position at the ramp-aligned apex of the pony triangle. (There were fourteen others lined up behind him. The two most loyal had the best view of his tail, the three who had yet to fully master sucking up formed the next line, and so on all the way back to those who'd just gotten there, coming from the wrong shift, and didn't even know what his favorite snacks were.)

He forced his rib cage to swell as far as it could, because there was probably a way to substitute self-importance for height and the earth pony was going to figure it out any day now. Leaned his head back a little more so he could stare up the ramp towards the throne and, just as importantly, didn't lean back enough. It forced the occupant to change her own angle in order to properly look at him: something he regarded as having created control.

The alicorn on the throne tended to see it as punishment. (The usual silent follow-up question was 'Whose?')

"On the record," she carefully repeated, and automatically noted the position of her Guards relative to the gathering. "Fifteen of you, on the record. And that's mostly from the Night Court, Puff. I see three Day representatives in the group, but there's still a clear majority. So before you tell me what's going on the record, I have what feels like a very natural question. Why are you going on the record with me?"

Speckled white shoulders shifted. Combined with the rolling outskirts of a fairly overweight body, it gave him the look of cotton which had yet to have the seeds combed out. Rarely-seen faster movements tended to produce the impression of something which was being consumed by insects.

"Well," he tried, "it took most of the night just to get the basic form down. And then there were a few ponies in the Day Court whom we wished to confer with, in case there was any dominion overlap. So it just brought us into your hours. I'm sure you understand."

You stalled until you were sure you'd avoided Luna.

"Perfectly," Celestia agreed, and allowed the little smile to manifest at the same time her head tilted slightly to the right. Fifteen, and that's potentially just the ones who were willing to enter the palace. Enough numbers to imply they represent a herd. Puff is from a Tattler district, but some of the others... "So now we can talk about what's going on the record, especially since I'm sure the majority of you would like to get some sleep."

Her right forehoof politely gestured to the self-designated leader. He cleared his throat. She watched carefully, mostly to see if any bugs came flying out.

"We're against this," he declared, and stopped there because forcing her to ask the next question was also control.

"You'll have to be a little more specific," Celestia gently encouraged. Because you're from a Tattler district and that generally means whatever it is, you're against it.

There weren't many of those zones around Equestria. They typically formed when ponies decided that the truest sign of prejudice was others preventing them from openly indulging in their hatreds: this was quickly followed by the realization that an argument was something which implied others were allowed to speak against you, but an echo chamber meant every word coming back was one you were going to say anyway. Tight-knit, highly-loving neighborhoods were pulled together by a sort of spiritual gravity, aided by the fact that nopony else was willing to have them next door any more and if the property values were going to drop, they might as well all drop in the same area.

Put enough of those ponies together, and they would have an influence on Day and Night Court elections. So there were a few of what Celestia sometimes thought of as Tattler districts and because there were only a few, those representatives tended to speak all the louder. Volume didn't substitute for numbers any more than self-importance swapped itself in for height, but it did mean the stupidity could be heard at a greater distance.

She was used to dealing with representatives from those areas. (There was a lot of turnover, as their voters would inevitably decide that an insurmountable majority wasn't and therefore their chosen pony just wasn't getting enough done.) To seeing them enter her throne room in groups. Puff was from a Tattler district, and those representatives tended to cluster together in the same manner as those who'd voted for them. Also for the same reasons, and it was generally advised to pass that one office building at full gallop, preferably while holding your breath. He was capable of being truly loud, and so it was natural to see him playing at being in charge. It was just that... this wasn't his usual herd.

"The centaur," he stated. Several Guards shifted within their armor.

"Cerea," she corrected.

He ignored that. "You don't recognize what this is doing to Equestria," Puff declared. "You don't hear the Voices Of The People."

This was, to a small degree, true. The palace walls were mostly made from marble, and that meant sound only conducted so far. Being in the Solar throne room meant having to leave a lot of doors open just for the Voices to reach her as a background murmur. But there were others means of communication, and among the many reasons for wanting the contingent to leave was so she could get back to being wounded by the second kind.

"We do," he continued. "No matter what you may think it is, all anypony sees is that you've taken in a monster. One intelligent enough to wait for its moment to strike. Ponies are still thinking about Tirek, Princess. Some of them are still mourning, and now you've brought in a monster."

"An innocent," Celestia replied, mostly just to watch the words skim away from his ears. "Someone who committed none of his crimes, and is responsible for nothing he did --"

"-- we've written a bill," he bludgeoned. "Prohibiting it from serving. From living here, from being anything. It blocks all centaurs from entry into Equestria and deports any found within the borders. It's the only policy suitable to dealing with monsters."

She wondered how much effort it had taken for him to force the condescending smile.

"It's in the name of protection," Puff finished. "We're just trying to keep you safe."

Celestia took a slow breath, silently measured the temperature in the room.

"And do you have a majority?"

"It's not a question of --"

"-- actually, it is," Celestia cut in. "You would need a majority to get the bill in front of either of us. Princess Luna, for that dominion. And even if you do -- what makes you think she would sign it?"

Several of the ponies in the back row were fidgeting. Those right behind Puff were doing their best to both glare at her and not get caught doing it: in both cases, they had failed. And when it came to their leader...

His body shook for a moment: she wasn't sure if it was from sheer indignance or a failed attempt at weight redistribution.

"This isn't about whether it's signed," he stated. "This is about putting everything on the record. So that when it does attack, when we're finally proven right -- everypony knows who spoke against it. Who the only ones were to see sense. Even when dealing with a Princess who won't even let us protect her."

She thought about a few things, sitting quietly upon her throne. About how the worst politicians could be described as creatures which cared about nothing more than being reelected, along with whether it had ever been a good idea to grant salaries for such duties -- but of course, the other option had been dual Courts filled with nothing more than those who had no need for money, and that would kept so many of the best ones from serving. (Luna had foreseen one problem early, and so they were at least prevented from voting themselves raises.) She reflected on how Mazein's democracy had a dual recurring test for its voters: knowledge of the issues added to proof of basic sanity, and then she thought about how the Day Court had repeatedly voted down implementing any such thing in Equestria because it was probably going to take out their own bases. There was even a moment free for recognizing that this was just the first act of their little play, that which was being performed for the palace's record: the main stage would shortly be set up before the audience and printing press of their choice.

But mostly, she considered that no matter where you were in the world or which nation you might represent, if you were the executive branch, eventually, you were going to want to take the entire legislative body and punt.

"Done," she pleasantly agreed, and smiled all the more.

He blinked at her.

"You'll..." More blinking. Fundamental overturns of reality tended to produce that reaction. "...you'll sign it?"

There was actual hope in his voice, and it made the next part that much better.

"Still Princess Luna," Celestia smiled. "You really should know that, Puff. And I don't think she will, even if the majority comes in for you. I'm just agreeing to put it on the record. I promise, fully and unconditionally, that the names of all who vote to remove centaurs from Equestrian society will be permanently recorded. So that those who look back across history will know exactly who you were, and how you felt. I think that request is completely fair."

Anger quickly thrust through the veil of self-imposed delusion, then risked a hoof stomp as twelve additional ponies decided it was now worth openly glaring at her: the two most intelligent carefully began to back up towards the door. "But you're still not going to get rid of it --"

"-- and in the event that she should ever do something which adds the image of Equestria's newest heroine to the Hall Of Legends," she pleasantly stated, "or gains her own honor statue in the gardens -- that record will maintain. In the form of a plaque right next to it, something with exceptionally large lettering, as indestructible as magic can make it. The full list of everypony who felt she shouldn't have had that chance, and so it would also be the list of those who would have stood in the way of letting the People be saved. In the name of the People."

Thirteen were staring at her. Two tails desperately slipped through the doorway and flicked out of sight.

"That's not fair," Puff half-whispered -- then, at much higher volume, "If it ever -- that's not fair --"

"-- the record," Celestia informed them all, "is the record. And it's nice to see that you acknowledge the possibility of her making a contribution. I'll be watching the progress of your bill with interest, and that's as the pony who, strictly speaking, doesn't have to read the final result. But I will put it on the record. Because the record really doesn't care about what's fair. It just concerns itself with what actually happened."

Her smile met the force of his outrage, and crinkled a little around the corners.

"Go get some sleep, Puff," she told him. "I think you're going to need it."


She waited until he'd failed to kick the right-side door shut before dismissing her Guards for a while and sealing the Sunrise Gate behind all of them. A few seconds before the doors were closed, and then several more until her right forehoof stopped rubbing aching lips.

There were ways in which Luna's role felt like the easier. Somepony had to be the lashing tail behind the sunny smile, and somepony had to be the smile itself.

Strictly speaking, Celestia didn't have any problem with making threats. The hard part was stopping. Because a threat could feel so good, especially when everypony knew you had the ability to back it up. Threats made ponies react. The results could be immediate, and watching others scramble to obey came with a certain basic satisfaction. She could easily go through life threatening everypony and everyone around her to get what she wanted, constantly invoking pressure until it crushed anything which might have come from loyalty and love, simply ruling through forever turning up the heat --

-- and when that heat rose high enough to create a fever in those who could no longer stand her existence, the world would burn.

She sat quietly until the last of the anger had faded, because she knew that the next thing to take place would just make it rise again and there were times when it was better to start from the base state. And then her field fetched the bundle she'd hidden behind the throne just before the contingent had come in, carried it with her in a side bubble as she wearily began to trot down the ramp with every joint declaring that it had just recognized her true age and so the psychosomatic payback was long overdue.

It didn't take long to select one: random draw worked perfectly well when just about every possible result was the same. And then she opened the back exit from the throne room, reading along the way.

She didn't hear the Voice Of The People, at least not without heading towards a balcony first. But just before the legislators had arrived, she'd received the Words.


When you'd been trying to manage a society over the course of nearly thirteen centuries, there was a certain tendency to take personal responsibility for the ways it had come out. In this case, Celestia still wasn't quite ready to accept full blame for the postal system.

The palace received letters every day, and anything pertaining to the lessons which came from friendship was a distinct minority. For the most part, letters arrived with stamps, although some did their best to flow in on a tide of sheer rage. It wasn't quite a truism to say that nopony ever wrote the palace to say the sisters were doing a good job: for starters, there was always somepony who felt that the best service they could ever render to the nation started in that pony's bedroom, and those ponies usually felt the siblings were capable of providing a quality experience.

(Usually. There had also been a few who felt that they still had things to learn about sex and by an amazing coincidence, whoever had written them was the only capable teacher. Celestia had a secret filing cabinet stuffed with such letters, none of which were being saved for the historical record so much as they were being put aside for personal amusement and the day when Equestria found itself with a desperate shortage of the word 'fluids'.)

She often received letters from children: some wanted to thank her for Sun, others were laboring under a class assignment which said they had to write her and so tended to kick in just enough 'very's to fill out the minimum word count -- Twilight had started to receive some from that category and was under strict palace orders not to send them back corrected -- and a few were still operating under the illusion that she might stop by on Hearth's Warming to drop off a few enchanted gifts. All of those could be dealt with, and she sometimes took an afternoon to catch up on the most innocent of correspondence.

There were also those who felt that prayers whispered towards Sun might be lost in the susurrus of endless hope, and so chose to render their desperation in ink. Those were... harder. She did what she could, whenever she could, and knew it could never be enough.

But for the most part, it was complaints.

The palace had a known address and, until something over four years ago, a perfectly stable rulership. Ponies knew who was in charge, and so they also knew who to blame. The zoning laws had to be adjusted to their needs. A neighbor wouldn't listen to them, but might just pay attention to a Princess. There was Sun in their eyes and somepony had better move it.

Just about nopony ever wrote them to say they were doing a good job. But when something happened...

There was no sanity test for voting. You also didn't need to pass one in order to purchase a printing press, and so Mrs. Panderaghast had been busy. It was easy to pick out letters arranged by the head of Canterlot Unicorns Negating Traditional Swears (or, in the modern day, Canterlot Unicorns Need Equal Treatment, but Celestia was going to internally stick with the original name until it stopped being funny) because they were all the same. Mrs. Panderaghast claimed to speak for all right-thinking unicorns, which meant unicorns who agreed with her in every way about everything at all times. She also recognized that the best way to make sure she kept speaking for them was to make sure her donators never got a chance to speak for themselves, and that meant running off endless form letters for ponies to sign at the bottom. It was something which gave Celestia trouble in tracking the organization's membership count, but she had noticed several suspicious recurring styles of fieldwriting. It was always fieldwriting, because a group which claimed to be defending unicorn equality actually existed to make sure nopony else could ever be quite as equal, and so they mainly used their mouths for talking. It was just about impossible to make them stop.

Others had written her as individuals, and a moment of genuine curiosity brought her into the lower levels of the palace, still reading along the way. It only took a few minutes to reach the proper storage area, and then an hour spent in instructive contrast verified her suspicion: nearly everypony who was currently writing to protest Cerea's existence had also written the palace about Yapper. Some further research identified the near-total overlap in the set which had come in over Gerald Gristle's butcher shop. With the latter two cases, the only changes were frequently for the species being identified: however, when dealing with Cerea, a number of ponies (and others) had seen a need for fresh vocabulary, and Celestia lay down among the strewn debris of hate, reading along while she made a weary mental note to look at the nation's educational curriculum and make sure there was a year in which everypony learned how to actually spell 'apocalypse.'

The majority of the most recent letters were from Canterlot: those who mailed their fear generally didn't bother with express stamps. She knew she'd reached Ponyville when she spotted Thistle Burr's name, because he was one of the few who always put down a sending address: a stallion who knew the government was out to get him was also confident in its ability to figure out where he lived, and so felt he had nothing to lose through signing off on the lecture. By contrast, the Flower Trio usually tried to conceal their efforts in reporting fear, generally by using a mailbox on a different street.

The elder found a blank piece of paper, then spent a few minutes in tallying the number of times she was being accused of senility. There was a certain morbid curiosity about how many ponies were risking accusations of Nightmare, but that was Luna's mail and she would have to wait until the icicles started falling from the ceiling. There had been a point early in the Return when she'd tried to intercept anything sent directly to Luna, but the younger had caught her at it and...

...she tried to be there, so they could talk about it. That was the limit of what Luna would allow, at least for practical actions: a mutual visit to those who'd written her sister was generally impossible. Ponies who were accusing the younger of still being Nightmare tended not to provide a return address, just in case they were right.

Something over an hour just to skim through that portion of her mail, followed by just about nothing used for answering it: there was very little point in speaking to those who wouldn't listen to her, especially since any direct reply tended to reinforce their beliefs. (After all, if a Princess was trying to contradict them, then they had to be right.) Instead, she took the trot to the palace's Public Relations office and checked on the composition of the one-sheet, which was currently up to its ninth revision. They were still trying to figure out whether it was safe to include a picture and if so, how Cerea should be posed for it. There was an ongoing argument for nudity, simply because the majority of ponies favored it and so a centaur should reflect that. Celestia provided the counter-argument, which was that taking a girl who had a phobic reaction to undressing for measurements and putting her nude in front of a camera probably wasn't going to end well. And unless somepony with very high field strength was in the area, might not even end within the city limits.

She was still thinking about that image when she left the room, and only did so as a touchstone for all of the other short films playing out in her mind. There would be a terrified centaur galloping down the street, ponies would see her, and...

It took some time to get the screams out of her ears, longer still to banish the phantom scent of the girl's blood. And then she went back to the storage area, because there had been blank paper there and she had necessary correspondence to send.


...I recognize the reservations you probably have regarding this potential meeting. However, your class is an extraordinary one in many ways, and so I feel they may be well-suited as the first to greet her.

I know you're reluctant to step onto palace grounds again after what happened in the gardens. But I've never blamed you. For that matter, I don't blame them: we didn't know the bonds had been weakening. And in the end, that turned out to be a good thing.

Please tell Diamond and Sweetie that I can't give them an update on his condition.

I'm sorry

In this case, there's a single centaur mare, and I can safely say that no matter how nervous you are about protecting your students, she's equally as worried about doing something which might scare them. She needs somepony who can just trot up and face her -- and given all the things they've seen, that pony might be in your charge.

Please don't feel you have to say yes. No part of this has been an order. I'll understand completely if you decline, and I won't lie to you by saying you're the only teacher I'm contacting. But I've left the Gifted School out of it, because the only thing she needs less than fear is listening to first-years trying to verbally dissect her existence. I want everyday children who've had incredible experiences, because this will give them one more.

She's safe. More than anything else, she simply wants to go home, and the palace will do its best to help her. But until then, she needs acceptance. I'm hoping she can find a little of it in those who've already accepted so much into their lives.

Think about it, Ms. Slate. Please.


She watched the protesters change shifts.

It was easy to do, looking down from the tower. One group passed off the signs, the arriving parties fell into single file, and it took a few seconds to get the chants into rhythm again. A thin line of ponies marching in front of the palace gates, mostly getting out of the way when somepony needed to go in or out. Very, very slowly.

She couldn't hear the actual chant, and didn't want to. But the back-mounted signs indicated some degree of professionalism, along with the fact that Mrs. Panderaghast had been very busy.

They can't keep it up forever. Celestia had a great deal of experience with ponies who were trying to keep something going forever, some of whom had eventually resorted to working on a generational basis. The Equestrian record for a protest was --

-- winter's coming. We needed to balance the schedule after the snowfall and that made today perfect for protesting, but we'll be in the real cold soon enough. It's harder to protest in the cold.

They can't keep it going for three years.

Again.

...and it was down to that one old stallion who showed up every day to chant. It was the only thing in his life. Everypony else had accepted The Most Special Spell, or at least realized it was never going away. But he just kept showing up, because it was his Morals and The Last Thing He Could Do.

Nearly thirteen centuries of memories.

I looked down one morning and there was a body in front of the gates.

She'd never found a way to block any of them out.


...you should receive the full package today, but it's going to be sent physically: after several days of analysis and frantic conjecture, there's far too much paper to ask Spike to deal with any portion of it. I'm also going to arrange for Abjura to visit you tomorrow, as I feel you'll be better off if she explains her theories personally. She'll bring a transcript of Cerea's description for the passage.

Now, addressing Ms. Lulamoon specifically, and only in words which I know the other pony reading this should see:

I do in fact expect you to remain in Ponyville until the studies are complete. I am not asking you to live there for the rest of your life. It's possible that no matter what we do, there might be no way of sending Cerea home. In that case, you may return to the road.

However, this may still leave you in Ponyville for several moons, and you will be paid at the rate typical for a palace researcher while you stay. (I'm recommending you keep the caravan parked at the tree. I also feel you should move into the tree itself, for an extra level of security.) I recognize that this presents certain difficulties for you, and will be writing the police chief accordingly. There will be a town meeting soon, and it will concern a public announcement for the following: you are on probation, you are currently working for the palace, and anypony attacking you is going after a palace employee. That, along with the direct protection of Miranda Rights and her officers, should be enough to shield you from the masses. But -- and I'm being realistic about this -- I'm not expecting that you're going to be making a lot of friends. Not without taking the same apologies which you offered the Bearers and giving them to the townsponies. One by one.

I understand what drove you to the Amulet. I know how the device worked, and the fact that you were the one wearing it is the only reason nopony died. It's why I took a chance on giving you probation. But when it comes to Ponyville itself, it's going to take a lot more than a few fireworks.

To Twilight: I'm going to double the healing crew on the tree. Winter is approaching and while the current knitting rate shows the library is on the mend, I want to see more improvement before the cold sets in. Keeping a warm-weather zone intact for several moons is going to be a challenge for Rainbow's team, and it's natural for the tree to hibernate somewhat during the season. In that sense, it'll be better if it drops into its own sleep, rather than remaining at a forced higher activity level for much longer. I just want to make sure it's in a position where it'll be capable of waking up again.

For both of you: I expect you to eat. This may come across as a singularly silly thing to put in a letter, but it is also an order. I've had years to become familiar with what I'm going to charitably describe as Twilight's "study habits" and you, Ms. Lulamoon, have a storage locker full of spell theory in your hometown which is approaching some level of thaumic critical mass. It is a top priority to get Cerea home quickly and safely. Making sure the two of you don't work yourselves into a wandering half-coma of conjecture and dimming horn sparks falls under 'protecting a national resource,' along with keeping two mares alive. There will be no more than twenty hours per week spent in research for this problem, and that is ALSO an order. Spike will be tracking you, and enchantments will be provided to him which will create a means of kicking you both outside.

And part of that limit is because I have to ask you both to think about a side project.

We are going to need a working which suppresses herd instinct.

I don't know if it's possible, and I need you to keep that research secret: announcing that might go over about as well as the first journal papers released on Kalziver's Severance -- which was before we had this active of a press. I'm not going to be surprised if it has similar side effects for the caster, and I'll understand if you're both reluctant to pursue this. Because as with the Severance, I'm asking ponies to go against their most fundamental nature -- but also like the Severance, it's something we need. I can name three times in Equestria's history where a working which shuts down a single pony's talent for up to ninety-eight seconds was the only thing which staved off disaster. In this case, I need multiple targets on an exponential level, and what may need to be a significantly improved duration.

I know that on some level, I'm asking the two of you to think in a way which can nearly wound the soul. But we are currently in a situation where one misstep might set off a riot, and we only have so many ways of breaking them. If you can disable the herd response, then there will be individuals panicking -- and nothing more. We not only need that level of last resort, we may require it as preparation before Cerea can enter an area during an emergency.

It's asking a lot of you both. It always is.

I'm sorry

But I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe you could do it.

We'll all do what we can to keep everypony safe, until the day we can send her home.

Twilight, I'm going to be sending you a follow-up scroll in a few minutes. Please send Trixie out of the room.

The elder caught up on some paperwork. Two bills were signed into law: three were rejected, because 'no' still had a single definition and she was hoping that eventually, some ponies would figure out what it was. She met a class of fourth-year primary students who were taking a tour of the gardens and allowed them to get their pictures. A minor explosion at the Gifted School was registered and investigated, with the cause quickly determined as 'Gifted School.' Mazein's embassy asked for a meeting: she put one on the calendar and started to brace herself, because an ambassador who expressed what he felt didn't pull any verbal punches either.

All things she had to do during a normal day. But as her sister's hours approached, Celestia decided to take out the garbage.


YES. Yes, I am SURE. I recognize why you're worried. I was THERE. She is not Tirek. She is not related to Tirek in any way. The Doctors Bear feel she may not even be the same species as Tirek: still a centaur, but one which appeared independently, in a place we are unable to reach.

I read your letter. All of it. I understand your concerns. But that's why I'm not going to let you meet her just yet. Because until I feel you can be in her presence and see HER, the two of you are going to remain separated. And when it comes to the other, somewhat more directly justified problem --


The girl had just barely made a start on clearing out the barracks: there was a little hollow off the right of the doorway, and a circle of blankets on the swept portion of floor. But making that space had still displaced enough to drastically narrow the approach hallway: normal ponies could get past all the things which had been shunted into the corridor, and Celestia -- well, the palace was supposed to accommodate her passage at all times and therefore, she needed to enforce that. It also helped that she was one of the few who had the field strength to move all of the garbage at once and could recognize when something which needed to be saved had made its way down to the inadvertent dumping grounds by accident.

(She was tempted to just do all the work for Cerea, because there was still so much of it -- but she also knew that physical labor was a good way to settle the mind at the end of a long day, or -- to temporarily prevent certain thoughts from rising. It meant she would monitor the situation and step in if that level of help seemed to be required: for now, the girl would potentially find multiple benefits to the exercise.)

All she meant to do was clear the corridor, and she quickly discovered the need to make several trips: her field strength could manage the weight, but having that much trash floating about turned her into a trotting hazard to navigation. Teleportation didn't help: nopony teleported out to the trash pickup area because it was typically occupied by trash and even for somepony who could safely appear in midair, it was hard to be certain how high some of it had been stacked. (Springpole weaves for Lambvent were just about their own flight hazard, and that was when they were standing normally.) So she would trot, and the estimated total number of passages required would bring her to the start of Luna's waking hours -- along with what suddenly seemed to be an essential need to be there when the younger caught up on the mail.

But she was passing the barracks entrance with her first load of trash bobbing along behind her, and peripheral vision noticed the desk. The object resting on top of it, something she'd personally purchased --

-- she never would have opened it. The girl had so little privacy, and Celestia didn't want to pry. But it was already open, the cover turned aside to reveal the very first page. The initial image captured by the girl, something which suggested it had been the most important thing for her to draw. And there were erasure marks everywhere, faded remnant of lines begun and ended to the point where it seemed as if there had been a dozen attempts made upon the same page...

...but there was an image there.

She looked at it, because that much was automatic. Immediately felt shame, turned away --

-- glanced back.

She thought she could guess at what was being drawn, at least for the general category. There was a chance she even had a mouth grip on the intent. But she'd never seen that image before, she didn't know what it was supposed to look like, and...

It's wrong.
There's something wrong and she can't fix it.
She's been trying to fix that same sketch for...

It was all she knew. That there was something wrong, but not what. It made the image hard to look at, and when she tried to focus on --

-- maybe she hasn't started that part.

Back to trotting.

But she had to make several trips. She couldn't close the book, or the girl would know she'd seen something.

And every time she went by, that wrongness was still there.


I need you to trust me.

I know why you're angry. We all know why you're angry. It's so rare to see you that way. It has more impact coming from you, I think, just because it's so rare.

Reading your words means there's no way I can risk bringing you together. Until you're willing to have some faith trust me, you won't see her. It's not going to happen. So let Spike rest.

You have to understand that she isn't Tirek.

I also read the rest of it. I've been reading every letter you've sent me since it happened.

I still can't give you an update on his condition.

I'm sorry.