//------------------------------// // tha first g5 (Sunny Starscout; Sad/Hopeful) // Story: Anthology of Graybles // by Str8aura //------------------------------// Laughter reflected down a sunlit hallway as a small filly ran between paintings hung on sections of wall divided by tall windows, soaking in their details before running down to the next one in turn, each portrait smiling sweetly down at her, as if even centuries earlier, the ponies immortalized knew exactly which little girl would be staring up at them with wide eyes hidden behind a fiery mane. Behind her, something far greater carried itself on barely moving hooves, gliding along the shining floor after her. Gold and jewels hung off her, her hair danced with the ebb and flow of moving water, and her every feature suggested a perfectly sculpted statue, an effigy of the perfect creature. Even the sun emblazoned on her seemed to flicker in the light. And yet she still gazed fondly at the filly as if it were her own, small smile the only betrayal of an amusement at her wonder. The hallway was nearing its end now, but four walls were still unfilled, one bearing only an empty golden frame, as if awaiting a greater purpose. Sunset stopped at this frame, cocking her head in confusion. "What's this one for, Princess?" "It's for you, of course." Celestia spoke kindly, stopping behind her student and turning to face the frame alongside her. "I preserve every student of mine in shades of color; I consider it my burden to them. I've taught them well, and in turn, they've gone on and changed the world. This is the least I can do for them." Sunset's eyes somehow managed to grow larger. "I'm going to be here someday? You think I'll be that good?" Celestia's neck dipped like a swan, and she pressed her cheek to Sunset's own. "I think you'll be better." Sunset beamed into the empty frame. ---*--- Fifty years later, that frame was still empty. In the section of wall next to it, a painting of a far younger Twilight hung. Lustre Dawn scanned the portrait up and down with an inquiring eye. "I'm going to be the next one?" "Of course, my student." Behind her, something far greater carried itself to her. Gold and jewels hung off her, her hair danced with the ebb and flow of moving water, and even the sparkles emblazoned on her seemed to shimmer in the light. And yet she still gazed fondly at the teenager as if it were her own, small smile the only betrayal of an amusement at her wonder. "The first one under your rule, right?" "Indeed." Lustre looked down the hall at the many, many others they had passed to come through. She had recognized every one. "What was Celestia like?" She asked. "What do you mean, Lustre?" "I mean, she lived to see all of those great ponies just die underneath her. She kept ruling knowing that she'd come to see even more. Did she ever seem bothered by it?" The question hung in the air for a long time before it was plucked out. "I think she was the happiest mare in Equestria, Lustre. But yes, I'm sure she thought of them sadly very, very often." Lustre looked to the empty frame, only two generations behind her. "And who was that?" ---*--- Sunny Starscout wandered a roofless hallway suspended on rickety supports high above the ghost city of Canterlot. through the nature made skylight, shining like a second moon in the night sky, she could see the lights of Zephyr Heights even higher above her. She turned back to the portraits, struggling to draw as many as quickly and minimalistically as she could; she couldn't spend too much time here, but she needed to capture these visages, many of whom had been forgotten by time. She suddenly stopped at one of the final paintings, her breath catching in her throat as she recognized it, and she threw her back over her shoulder in front of her, fishing through it until she hit plastic. She lifted the plastic Twilight toy up to the portrait of the purple unicorn. She had been a unicorn before an alicorn. The historical implications of this were mind boggling, but the thought appealed to her in a far different way. Alicorns, she supposed, were children too once. She flipped through her sketchbook, past the shoddily recreated sketches of the other portraits, and to a self portrait just before them, one she had spent considerably more time on. There was only one section of wall left, just past the pink mare she couldn't place from memory. There was no frame, but she didn't need one; whoever the empty golden frame was for, she didn't want to tarnish their memory. Instead, she took a strip of tape from her bag and slapped her colored pencil sketch in the final panel. Then, she trotted onwards.