Wallflower always felt a sense of dread coming back to this place, even though it was for something so important. At the very least, she could be thankful that the main entrance was now at what used to be the back of the school. The old main entrance, and the statue standing in the middle of it, was now the most well-guarded place on Earth, and she wouldn’t have been able to access it if she tried.
Not that she ever would have wanted to see that place again.
She suppressed those thoughts as she approached the pair of guards stationed on either side of the building entrance. Both men were wearing identical blue-crested helmets, identical uniforms, identical stern expressions. They could have been clones, which Wallflower supposed was what they were going for. They were not individuals. They were the organization represented by the three-letter acronym emblazoned proudly on their chests. The one everyone just called “the Foundation”.
Wallflower offered up her visitor pass to be scanned. Which seemed a bit ridiculous, considering she’d had an escort leading her ever since being let in at the perimeter. The man on the right spoke.
“Wallflower Blush.” It wasn’t a question. “The Director is ready for you.”
That surprised her a bit. She knew it wouldn’t be Twilight greeting her beyond the entrance as usual, since she was on compassionate leave, but she’d expected Micro Chips or some other junior researcher. Or even Twilight herself, though that would have made her feel even more guilty than she already did for having called her in a panic two days ago. Her escort led her down a sequence of hallways that still felt eerily familiar, despite all the changes. She could recognize the blank spots where lockers or vending machines had once been installed. And she could recognize the old frame of the door to the Principal’s office, despite said door now looking very imposingly fortified.
Another guard was stationed at the door, which opened up automatically beside him. Her escort nodded wordlessly to her, and Wallflower went halfway through before doing a double-take as she recognized the guard. Though she was looking at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, Flash Sentry betrayed no sign of recognizing her in turn. She shook her head to clear it and continued inside, the door closing automatically behind her.
She recognized the desk, which was something not many people on Earth could say. Though none of them would have any trouble recognizing woman standing behind it. The most famous face on the planet. That most famous voice, which in its calm and measured tones told the entire world that it was going to die. The woman who she had known for years as Principal Celestia, but now knew, as did everybody else, as the Director of the National Science Foundation.
The most powerful woman on Earth greeted her with an apologetic smile. “Wallflower Blush. I am so sorry for making you worry. We should have warned you that your journal’s connection might have been interrupted when we ran our phase shift experiment.” She picked up the journal from her desk and offered it to her. “It should be all fixed now.“
Wallflower gratefully took the journal from her, cradling it in her arms. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, not knowing what else to say. She continued to stand there, hugging the book to her chest, as Celestia’s smile turned into a frown. “Wallflower,” she said with concern, “you can talk to her in front of me, you know.”
Shaking, her eyes brimming with tears, she opened the book to the now-blank first page and put pen to paper, feeling so much relief at seeing the letters glow green as she wrote.
Sunset!
Wally!
She almost dropped the book as she brought a hand up to her mouth to cover a relieved sob.
It’s okay! I’m here now.
A dot of orange glowed beneath it, and Wallflower struggled to hold her trembling pen steady against the page as she held the book open with her other hand.
“Please.” Wallflower looked up to see the blurred image of Celestia gesturing to the front of her desk. “Sit.”
Wallflower collapsed into the chair, able to hunch over the open journal now that it was flat on the desk.
I was so scared. I thought I lost you.
I was scared, too. Is everything all right?
Celestia said so. Everything should be fine.
I’m so, so glad! I don’t know what I would’ve done. I love you so much, Wally.
A happy sob escaped Wallflower as a smile broke across her face.
I love you, too.
I’ll be here until you get home.
They held dots, Wallflower’s hand now steady. She looked up at Principal Celestia, who had been sitting right in front of her the whole time.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.” Being reminded of the thought of it made her uneasy again, and she looked back down at Sunset’s dot to calm herself. Celestia spoke.
“Human intuition is an odd thing, isn’t it?”
Wallflower looked up, confused.
“It wasn’t a choice at all. What could one life— two lives matter, balanced against an entire world? But seeing what it cost in front of me is difficult. I am so sorry, Wallflower. If there had been any other way…”
“I—I understand. We both do.” Wallflower looked back down at the glow of Sunset’s dot. “I’m grateful for this. I always have been. I just didn’t know how much until I—until I thought I lost—”
“Grateful.” Celestia looked at her with a frown. “That makes sense. You must feel so powerless here. Like this is something that could be taken away from you at any time.”
She’d never thought of it that way before, but realized it was true. Wallflower nodded, noticing her own trembling.
“That is our fault. We keep so much from you.” Celestia smiled at her gently. “Please, have my word that it won’t be. The link between the journals draws on the ambient magic remaining in our universe. If it stops working, our universe will as well, not long after.”
Wallflower didn’t say anything, and cast her eyes down at Sunset’s dot.
“Wallflower.” Wallflower looked up at her. “I really am sorry, you know. That we had to keep so much from all of you. That we had to make decisions that impacted your lives so much.“
She recognized that tone of voice. The voice of someone who was staying strong against the overwhelming burdens on her. She’d heard it before. She looked at Celestia’s face and somehow saw for the first time the fatigue and quiet despair in her eyes. Were they always there? Or had she not seen them because she had been seeing Celestia as something more than human?
Yes, that is how she had been seeing her. How could she otherwise? How could she think of her as a flawed, mortal being making decisions with imperfect knowledge? How could she think that of the one who told her that she would never look into the blue of Sunset’s eyes again, never hear the comforting brass of her voice, never feel the softness of her hand?
When Celestia spoke, it was the flawed being speaking. “And not just your lives. Everyone’s. Did you know that we considered not telling the world that it was going to end at all?”
Wallflower could tell. She wasn’t talking to her. Not really.
“There was a moral argument for it, you see. When the end comes, it will be too fast to feel any pain or dread, too fast to notice. So why not let everyone live their lives as they always had, ignorant of it all? They would never know. They would just be here one moment, and gone the next. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful, to spare them the anguish? The dread?”
Celestia’s stared off into space for a few moments, before turning to fix Wallflower with her gaze.
“We could have done it, you know. Covered up even the stars going out one by one. A moratorium on professional astronomy, secret satellite networks. Those are the resources at our disposal. That is what they entrusted me with to deal with all of this. That is what is within my power. Can you imagine?“
There was a pleading in her voice that made Wallflower feel uneasy. It did not seem right.
“The only reason we told the world was because it wouldn’t have been enough. Nothing we could do would have been enough to keep them from panicking, from despairing, from knowing that everything was coming to an end.”
Tears welled up in Celestia’s eyes.
“We had no other choice. We couldn’t let the children keep being born.”