The train whistle blew, long and loud, in the cold, still air.
“Mom,” Luster said finally, her voice slightly muffled. “Mom, I gotta go.”
Celestia opened her eyes, and realized that some of the other ponies were staring. She was standing there on the train platform, hugging her daughter--and had been so for several minutes now.
Celestia lit her horn, opened her arms, and slowly lowered Luster to the platform. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“It’s okay,” Luster said, turning away to pick up her trunk, heavy with fresh school supplies, what was left of her Hearth’s Warming treats, and another two dozen chocolate chip cookies from Celestia herself, still warm from the oven.
As Celestia watched her daughter double-check that she had her new earmuffs in her pocket, she felt her lower lip begin to tremble. And there was that old fear again--here she was, watching the pony she loved most in the world, loved more than life itself, leaving her again for another six months. And who was to say if she would ever see her daughter again? Oh, she trusted the Equestrian Rail system implicitly--but Celestia would add far too many gray hairs to the jar before she returned…
“I think that’s everything,” Luster muttered to herself. She looked up at her mom and smiled. “Another hug?” she asked. “A quick one, though.”
Celestia bent down, and Luster reared up on her hind legs and wrapped her arms around her neck. Celestia put one arm around her and drew her close—
And suddenly, Luster spoke.
“Just send her a letter already,” she whispered into her mother’s ear.
Celestia froze. Slowly, she pulled away from her daughter’s grasp, just enough to look her in the eye.
“Send who a letter?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Luster blew a strand of mane out of her eyes. “The Princess,” she said. “She misses you, you know. She asks me about my mom a lot, though I play dumb, like I promised.”
Celestia nodded numbly.
“So just send her a letter,” Luster insisted. “She misses you, and you miss her. Just get it over with, already.”
That was another benefit of Luster’s social awkwardness, apparently. She had no concept of her own social standing, and thus, had no fear of offending others by getting straight to the point.
The whistle blew again, sharp and urgent, and both Luster and Celestia looked up.
“All aboard!” called the conductor, prompting a new flurry of panic among the ponies gathered on the platform. Luster rolled her eyes, then turned back to Celestia.
“Just write her, okay?” Luster said hurriedly. “Promise me? It’ll make you both feel better… and…” she shrugged. “Life’s too short to wait so long.”
Celestia’s gut turned to ice.
“Well… not for you, anyways,” Luster added, chuckling to herself.
And then, she was gone--nothing more than a flash of red-gold tail disappearing into a train car, followed closely by a trunk heavy with signs of her mothers’ love.
Celestia blinked, then ran after her. But the door slid shut before she could reach it. And, with a mighty blast from the whistle, the train lurched forward.
Celestia scanned the windows frantically, searching for her daughter, but the glare from the winter sun blinded her. Still, she turned and chased after the car, hoping against hope that Luster would somehow see her, see her and leap free from the train and come home again, home where she could care for her, just the two of them, mother and daughter—
The train was picking up speed, faster and faster--and suddenly, Celestia ran out of platform. She stumbled into the snow, nearly fell, and, after a few precarious seconds, resumed her chase. She hadn’t even said Goodbye, not properly--and that might have been her last opportunity to say it at all. She didn’t plan on kicking the bucket before Luster returned for the summer, but who was to say? And her jar was filling faster and faster…
As the train began to climb the hill out of their little valley, Celestia’s desperate gallop slowed to a trot, then a walk, until finally, she stopped moving altogether. She lifted an arm and waved at the train, but it was already too late--even if Luster finally had looked out the window, her mother would have simply been a speck of white-on-white, lost against the snow…
She stood there until the last of the train cars had vanished from view--stood there until, she imagined, the train had climbed the next peak, and the next one after that, and stood no chance of returning until its appointed time. And still she stood there, waving, a lump in her throat and a chill in her bones that had nothing to do with the snow.
Finally, when even she had to admit the effort was futile, Celestia retraced her steps back to the little town of Bobsled. She stopped at Filbert and Hazel’s for lunch, though her sandwich sat before her for nearly an hour before she could admit to herself that she simply wasn’t hungry.
And so, Celestia made her slow, winding way home, returning to the cold and lonely house that, just a few short hours before, had been a home full of light and warmth. She let herself in the front door and took off her parka, which she let drop lifelessly to the floor.
Celestia walked to the living room and shot a spark from her horn at the fireplace, making it blaze into life. She took her seat in the armchair and stared deep into the flames.
Celestia watched the fire burn down to embers, watched until the sun had set and the moon started to rise. Then, without a word, she stood and walked towards her kitchen table. As she moved, she lit her horn, and a small roll of parchment, a fresh quill, and a bottle of ink began to trail after her. She sat at the head of the table, then used her magic to smooth out the parchment in front of her, uncap the bottle of ink, and dip the quill inside. With her glow, she picked up the quill--set it back in the bottle--picked it up again--and set it down again.
She stared at the blank expanse of parchment before her--so small it had seemed, just a few moments ago!--and swallowed.
Finally, after several minutes, she lit her horn again, picked up the quill, and began to write.
Dear Twilight, she began, How are you? I know it’s been a while…