The doctors were out.
The briefing had gone on for some time. Maps had been examined: the designated landing site for the air carriages, multiple points of potential extraction if the group found itself exiting on the gallop. The little alicorn -- Twilight: names had emerged in their natural course, which had felt somewhat easier than having to memorize eight at once -- could take passengers with her in a teleport, but her range didn't reach anywhere near as far as that of the Princesses. Cerea also represented a potential challenge to her mass limit (which was apparently much lower for teleports), and... it was all too possible that teleportation wouldn't be available as an option. Nor would flight, or anything other than desperately fleeing. Trying to stay ahead of a living mountain, when every mocking stride of pursuit might cover a tenth of a kilometer --
-- Cerea was beginning to regret having heard Diamond's letter. It had given her imagination a foundation for future constructs. And when it came to picturing what could happen...
The Princesses had also reviewed what was currently known of the deep place's corridors, and designated what they were hoping would be Cerea's primary path: something which wound about a few times, took a few odd detours and dips. This was followed by sketching out alternate routes, because they couldn't be sure. The warps apparently tended to be gradual, but it had been enough years since the last survey for 'gradual' to have potentially created any number of changes. There was a chance that no previously recorded path could still be trusted and in that case, Cerea had two instructions. The first was to simply keep going down, because the warps had never been so severe as to change the level where a prisoner was kept: Tirek was at the bottom. And the second...
...there was another route marked on her map. It made use of unnatural staircase formations, stone ramps carved by cruelty. The path was the closest thing available to a straightline route, the single fastest trail to Tirek -- and she was only meant to use it as an exit.
Because it was Tartarus. And across the history of Menajeria, there had been more than one attempt to destroy the world.
If all maps failed, then Cerea was supposed to follow a pair of primary instructions. Keep going down, and... if at all possible, stay away from the larger caverns. From those who were imprisoned within. The deep place kept them from escaping, but -- they could still lash out. A number of the smaller ones were known to be capable of stretching a limb through the gaps between the pillars of fused minerals which extruded from ceiling and floor. With some of the largest, their writhing was enough to shake the stone: actually slamming an appendage into rock...
There was a direct route, and she was only supposed to use it if she was running for her life because the Struga would take her past too many of the monsters. Her designated entry path wound about in a way where she was only supposed to see three, they'd briefed her on those, and...
A few pictures had been available. None had been created via photography, there were markings which designated scale, and there wasn't a single image which could truly be looked at for very long.
Cerea suspected the original creators of those renderings had considered leaving the finer details out as an act of mercy. It hadn't quite worked out that way. Her imagination had a sadistic insistence on trying to fill in the gaps. And there hadn't been much discussion of what she was supposed to do in the way of battle tactics, in the event that one of them was somehow loose. It was presumed that the sword would do something to weaken their magic. It might even do the same to the party which possessed it. She had the theoretical potential to make them -- slump forward. And when her opponent was the size of a small hill, 'slumping forward' became its own problem.
She'd been given names. Details on what they were capable of. Providing the reasons for their imprisonment would have become repetitive in a hurry. And there were things which were known to temporarily ward them off, because 'temporarily' certainly included a duration of three seconds. But you could count on gaining those seconds. Generations of researchers had contributed to the tactics which guaranteed them, and had presumably done an equal amount of work on the unavailable spells.
There hadn't been very many substitutions available, and the primary one was known as 'legs', rapid movement thereof.
The fastest way out led her directly past nightmares. The presumption behind a catastrophe exit was that whatever was chasing her would be worse.
She'd forced herself to listen. After a while, she'd asked for paper so she could make notes: she couldn't read or write enough Equestrian to get by, but transcribing spoken words into French was simple enough. Cerea had repeatedly caught the little alicorn trying to sneak glances at her handwriting.
They'd worked out a code system for the compressed air whistles: a short list of possible messages, and the number of seconds which would indicate each. Cerea had briefly considered trying to teach them Morse code, but had quickly realized three things in order of increasing humiliation: spelling things out letter by letter would rapidly expend her entire canister supply, the system hadn't been designed for the Equestrian alphabet, and she didn't really know Morse code.
And there had been portions of the briefing which had been meant for the Bearers, because --
-- she didn't want to think about it. She was going to do everything she could to avoid sending that signal. But the Princesses had seen it as a possibility, it had to be included on the list, and if that message was going to find a response...
...the core idea behind sending Cerea in was that Tirek couldn't draw upon weakness. No magic. Nothing he could steal.
They can't come in after me.
The full briefing had taken about two hours, with every last moment taking place within a cloud of fear. And with the steadily-decreasing length of the late autumn days --
-- at least they aren't personally adjusting the planet's axial tilt --
-- it was getting close to sunse -- Sun-lowering.
The palace couldn't risk a morning dispatch. There was some time allotted for final preparations and after that, they would be sent out under Moon.
Final preparations. Concluding measures.
Last words...
The motley group had scattered. Cerea was fairly sure as to where the light blue -- as to where Trixie had gone, because there were ways in which the palace had to be its own city. In this case, that very much included a room with a heavily reinforced, extremely closed door: something where all of the extra weights and seals didn't quite keep the stench of fast-mixing chemicals confined. Most of the low muttering also managed to escape, and the disc steadily supplied Cerea with a constant stream of translated invective until she made it out of range.
(She was trying not to think about the disc.)
Cerea didn't know where all of the others were. The presumption was that at least a few had to be trying on protective shoes. But there were things she had to do prior to departure, it got her away from the stares (and when it came to the yellow pegasus, there was the option to capitalize) and the scents, and... she'd started with the Royal Physicians.
Or rather, she'd meant to. The office door was unlocked, but -- there was nopony there.
The girl suspected the two unicorn stallions were somewhere in the palace. They'd probably tried to go home for the holiday -- which home might have been a coin flip -- but providing medical services for the Princesses meant a life of being perpetually on-call. Her guess was that they'd arrived during the briefing, had collected all of Cerea's medical information, and were presumably providing it to Fluttershy. Just in case any of it needed to be used or, with Fluttershy involved, kicked into reverse --
-- focus.
Last chance before we leave.
Before I do something which makes everything go wrong --
-- focus...
They were being sent in with supplies. But the Princesses had also told them to take whatever they felt might be needed -- as long as none of it was enchanted in any way.
It was probably safe to assume that Fluttershy was being issued a medical kit. But most of the contents would be meant for the potential patients who could be treated.
That has to include Spike.
If there's enough of his species to form a nation, then there's medical lore. Even if he's the only one in the capital, there should be --
-- does his species have a nation?
And given what the yellow pegasus had said to her, Cerea wanted to carry a few things of her own.
The papers from the briefing were already in Ms. Garter's best approximation of a messenger bag. (Humans would have made a point of openly noting the way in which the strap cut across her breasts. Ponies were generally silent on the matter. Cerea's mind kept inserting words where the silence should have been.) They were quickly joined by two small bottles of topical disinfectant. After that... ponies knew about willow bark extract, so it was just a matter of getting enough of it. Needles, thread, and sterile wrappings -- she didn't want to be in a position where she had to stitch her own wounds and she'd never actually tried it, but she at least understood how it was supposed to be done --
-- there they are. Right out in the open. No protective wrapping --
-- it took a moment before she managed to pull her palm away from her blushing face.
-- because from what Doctor Vanilla Bear said, they've been enchanted to stay sterile until they're actually used.
Would touching the sword to the medical supplies fully dispel the enchantment? There hadn't been all that many experiments upon enscorcelled objects, likely because the palace simply didn't want to lose too many things. It was possible that the spells would only be neutralized for as long as the blade was in direct contact. And the one time Cerea had been (retroactively) sure she'd permanently cancelled a spell, the hairpin had gone into the lock. She could presumably try jamming one through the wrappings and see if she got another fountain of sparks, but the best possible result would leave her carrying freshly-contaminated cloth.
There was too much magic around her. It wasn't just part of the environment: it managed the environment. Trying to find the mundane solution in a world saturated with thaums --
-- they use magic on just about everything.
Every tail strand felt as if it had just locked in horror.
They've been trying out spells on the metal. Barding told me that.
My armor. I can't be sure there isn't anything active on it, or that the short-term spells didn't leave any lingering energy. I can't go in without --
Think.
Trinette had done everything possible to teach her, guiding Cerea through the art of working steel. The girl was still fully certain that nothing she'd created in Equestria was up to the standards of a true smith, but -- some things were basic. Because when you were making armor -- well, your creation was presumably going to wind up in a battle at some point. And even if it didn't, normal use could put strain on pins and seams. Even with centaur-created steel, it was still possible to have metal fatigue come into play. Add in the chance for dents, joints frozen by an impact at exactly the wrong spot, and you never made one full set of armor.
You made at least two.
Magical experimentation had been focused upon the pieces she wore every day (usually on the inner surface), because the casters needed to see how the results worked in practical use. But go into the smithy, and there was a spare pauldron, an extra vambrace -- enough armor to assemble a complete second set, because it was easier to swap in the new than wait for the damaged section to be repaired. And everything she hadn't been using was untouched by magic.
It also hadn't been fully field-tested.
...actually, given the way unicorns talked about their coronas, it hadn't been fully field-tested and it hadn't been fully field-tested.
No magic...
She gathered everything, assembled it as quickly as she could and donned the lot. All of the joints seemed to be moving properly. The spring-deploy across her lower back felt a little slow. She resolved to leave the helmet off for as long as possible.
Back into the empty basement corridors. (She hadn't seen or scented a single pony since she'd reached the lower levels.) She wasn't quite done.
Her brother.
Her mind kept going back to the reptile. Some of that was frustration over the way her protest had been treated. Other portions felt like perfectly natural questions.
So they either have very liberal adoption policies or the pony life cycle has a metamorphic stage.
Perfectly natural, somewhat sarcastic questions.
The next stop was the armory, and just about every glowing glass bead designated its nearby item as being in the same category: completely useless. All except for the ones which shone white, because that color had been reserved for the things with no magic at all.
She knew that, but... not what most of it did. There was just too much in the armory. That briefing was still ongoing, and her superior officer would never have the chance to complete it.
Nightwatch...
Cerea carefully worked her way past the large sphere with the red bead, examined a number of smaller ones. Picked up a sample of each from their crates, weighed them in her gauntlet-covered palms.
Maybe...
But it was a question of figuring out how to use them. And in order to have any chance...
The little knight was still asleep.
Centaurs weren't built for stealth. It was possible to muffle the sound of hooves upon the natural surface of a forest, and camouflage colors were available, but -- there was just a lot of body to hide. And with the barracks, it left Cerea moving far too slowly, all while wishing she'd gone to the smithy as her last stop. Every shift of her body, every metallic sound felt as if it had to wake the pegasus, and then the girl would need to explain...
But the potions did their work, and the little knight slept.
Into the bathroom. It took some work to get the drain covers off, and -- she was right. There was a trap. But it was just the two of them using the pool, and that meant there wasn't enough.
Back into the sleeping area. One more look at black fur, and a glance at visiting white. The rippling of dark strands across dreaming breaths.
How old is she?
Cerea had never asked.
How old is Spike?
They're sending him out there --
-- maybe lizards live to be three hundred. He's in his thirties but still hasn't hit puberty yet --
-- puberty.
Her teeth almost ground against each other.
Va te faire foutre, Luna --
-- this time, her hands semi-silently slammed over her mouth.
I didn't say it.
I didn't say it.
She's not my liege any more.
I could say it --
Her arms, unaccustomed to holding back the weight of rebellion, sank down. Cerea looked around the room.
It took a minute to find the final remnants of her original clothing. A simple selection from her airline-limited wardrobe, meant for a morning run. She hadn't worn any of it for weeks and with the steady supply of new pieces from Ms. Garter, there had been no need to attempt repairs. All she had to do was tear it a little more. Create strips, and then sterilize them with boiling water from one of the kitchens. And there was at least one other use. As long as she was already going to be obliterating what was left of the skirt...
He usually didn't mention what I was wearing.
...I had four outfits and a swimsuit. There was only so much he could have said --
-- the sketchbook was resting on one of the empty beds.
She looked at it for a few seconds. The clockwork mounted on her wrist ticked off every one.
It was... tradition of a sort, wasn't it? There were numerous terms which could be used to describe Tartarus: 'deep place' and 'prison' were the leading contenders, with 'horror' coming up on the outside. But there was also the option for 'dungeon'. And if you were descending into a dungeon...
At the very least, it was something to draw on. Add something to draw with and she could make her own map.
Sir Folliot would have understood.
Deep place. Prison. Dungeon. There was another term. For the Tartarus she knew of myth, it would have been the original one --
-- she collected the sketchbook. Almost automatically flipped it open, glanced at the first page, looked away and closed the covers as quietly as she could.
There wasn't enough in the pool.
Where?
It was her first time in the locker room showers.
There were no ponies in the area. Normally, it would have been getting close to shift change, but -- there was a crisis. Standard hours were probably becoming confused, or Guards were being briefed at the moment they came through the doors: something which prevented them from reaching the lockers. She wasn't sure what she would have done if she'd found the place occupied. Asking for donations would have been right out --
-- there were no ponies, and yet nothing about the washing area felt empty. Echoes of casual conversations seemed to radiate from the walls. Old gossip had soaked into the sponge panels, and there was a steady drip of ancient laughter running from the showerheads. Some of the more recent outbursts of mirth had probably been at her expense.
She'd... been nude in front of the other girls. Quite a few times. A number had even been voluntary...
I'm never going home.
It was easier to get the drain covers off this time, but the catch-trap was set deeper. She pressed belly and barrel flush against the floor, bent at the upper waist as much as she could, tried reorienting her body and leaning to the right...
..on her side. On a floor of a group shower. With one arm down a drainpipe. In full armor.
She'd told her last friend that she could sleep on her side. This was true. She'd also said that there was a lot of twisting involved with getting up again, and multiple fresh scrapes worked their way into the floor.
She rinsed her haul, mostly to get rid of lingering soap traces and the fact that she'd brought it up through a drainpipe. Bagged everything, and then the armor was wiped down. A few hoofsteps brought her back to the lockers and the honor shelves.
The only one there, and yet... she wasn't alone. Not when it felt like that one helmet kept staring at her.
Somepony's coming. I can hear the hoofsteps. But she couldn't scent them, and that seemed odd. She didn't spend a lot of time in the locker room, but she was fairly certain that the air currents generally washed in.
Metal on the hooves. A Guard going off-shift. Or this may be one of the Bearers. Looking for me.
She was just about done with her preparations anyway. Cerea moved to the exit, opened the door --
-- the alicorn on the other side quietly looked up. Took a breath as redirected air currents wafted every bit of scent backwards, and dim stars flickered within a nearly-still mane.
There were four words. Each had been created from ice, and the tremendous effort required to push them forth nearly froze two souls.
"I am the monster."
And Cerea didn't move.
She couldn't move. She had two paths: one went back into a locker room which had no other exits, and -- the mare in front of her was no longer her liege, but that still left royalty blocking her path...
"I had... said that I would discuss it," the alicorn softly said. "But not in front of witnesses. Not at the door to the gardens, when another could come across us at any time. Not at the briefing. I knew your approximate location, at least in that you had descended to this level. I kept all others from following you. Because it is not something I can say in front of another. Not even my sister. She told me that I had to speak with you, that the words needed to be mine alone, and -- It is... not something I say. Simply a thought, one which may never fully depart. A thought which makes a home in thousands of frightened hearts. And yet I said I would discuss it, and..."
The mare took a slow breath.
"...this -- may be the only chance. My sister... told you her reason for wishing you to remain among us. I have my own, and..."
She stopped. A thin layer of corona rippled at the base of the horn, then winked out again.
"...Princess Celestia -- wanted to think that you had respected her. Your sworn service to me is ended. I know that. But... I would like to believe that you swore to protect the life of somepony you... did not hate. Not at that time. The liege has an obligation to those under her charge, and... you are going to a place which feeds upon torment. I must try to lessen yours. Especially when so much of it is my own fault."
I heard you.
I'm going to remember that dream for the rest of my life.
I may be afraid to dream --
"Cerea," the dark alicorn forced out, and the girl could hear the effort, the strain involved just in saying a name, "if there was ever a time when you did not loathe my very existence..."
The left forehoof scraped backwards. The mare's head, ears tilted back and down, forced itself to raise.
"...will you listen? Will you grant me that much, for the minutes which remain to us?"
The girl felt her fists clench. A split-second later, she knew the mare had seen it.
Three of the stars went out.
You were in my mind.
Over and over.
If I hadn't spotted you...
In her blood, the heat was rising. In her mind, cool air coated feverish skin, as dead leaves flew up from the forest floor.
...you let me live.
You -- showed me mercy.
You were kind, when you had no reason to be.
Capture instead of kill.
I didn't do anything to earn that...
"Yes."
The mare blinked. The equine head dropped, and then the dark eyes squeezed shut.
"Not enough time," the alicorn whispered. "No matter how long any may live, there is never enough time..."
One more breath. This flicker of corona got about a sixth of the way up the horn before vanishing.
"You -- expelled me from your nightscape in the middle of a sentence," the Princess told her, with eyes still shut. Staring at something which could not be seen. "You heard only the first part. The full context changes everything. This is the whole of it, Cerea: 'If I could somehow make the public accept one monster, then they might accept a girl who had never truly been a monster at all.' I am the monster."
You're --
The Princess was blunt. Controlling. She seized the moment and if both moment and centaur weren't cooperating with the fitting, then her field seized something else.
She was direct. Often uncomfortably so. The mare went directly for the uncomfortable truths and pulled pony faces out of the warm waters of delusion into cold reality: something which happened with such force that some felt drowning represented safety.
Dreams were invaded, because she could. And when it came to those intrusions, she answered to no one in the world. Cerea had grown up among legends of those who supped upon nightmare --
-- she wanted me to be her Guard.
She didn't know what I was like. That I couldn't...
...she...
...she was in my dreams.
She saw my life.
And she still wanted me.
No one ever --
Some of the fur around the base of the eyes had darkened.
"And -- you did not know that... did you?"
The alicorn opened her eyes again. Stared up at the girl, as two more stars collapsed in on themselves.
"I could wish that you never knew," the alicorn softly said. "But then, you already represented the granting of a wish: the wish to find someone who did not -- and I did not summon you for that." Darkly, "Even had I somehow been so selfish, I am not so foolish. Not to believe it would last. That wish is one I have broken, broken for a lifetime -- but only somewhat before the natural shattering." Bitterly, "Because you would have learned of it, eventually."
There was no scent. The altered wind was carrying every bit of the scent away from Cerea and she didn't know what the mare was really feeling --
"Or rather, you would have heard a tale," the Princess bitterly declared. "Classes or gossip: I can hardly believe that you avoided the second for so long. That which ponies have told themselves is real. And would you have approached me, in hopes of learning the truth? I think not. They do not seek the telling from me, Cerea, and... I do not speak of it."
There was anger in the words now, and something flared within a nebula.
"Out of fear."
But there was no scent. And the girl couldn't tell who the anger was for.
"I don't understand --"
"We fought in the forest," the alicorn broke in. "There was very little fear in you then, but..." Just for a moment, the mare's lips twitched. "...not only did you not know who or what you were facing, but you were galloping a fever. But then, when we spoke afterwards... there was respect, for somepony who held a throne. But you were not afraid. I spoke to you, I tested you, I was --" her head dipped again "-- less than kind. I... have a number of bad habits. Forcing others to face their fears can often be chief among them. I might have -- should have been more gentle with you at the fitting, and... you still did not fear me. Because you had never heard of me. Anything about me, or -- that which so many tell themselves was me. Is me. Still. And..."
It was only a laugh on technicality.
"...they look at my Guards. My own citizens, those in every nation because the stories travel, they travel across gallops and years as they trample truth. And they wonder... what are the Guards on watch for? To protect my life? Or are they looking for the first sign of reversion?"
She looked up again. And the mare almost smiled -- but the near-expression was just like the laugh. Something with no real humor at all.
"Never enough time," the Princess softly said. "And still I canter about the edges of it, out of fear. Because my staff, my Guards -- I can say that many of them care for me. They come to know me, and the fear lessens -- but something remains. Something which has been with them since the years in which they began to recognize words. To hear stories, and how many wonder what they are truly guarding against? To protect me?" A galaxy vanished. "To protect the world from me? For I cannot tell them what truly happened. I came with the thought of telling you, that I had to speak, and..."
The horn lit up, and the corona went backwards. Twin bursts of glow surrounded crown and regalia.
"...I cannot. I am trying, I am trying, I --"
The metal flew left and right. Bounced off the walls, and the crown skidded to a stop against Cerea's motionless left forehoof.
"...I can't do this," the Princess whispered, as if there was no one there at all. "I want to. Why can't I...?"
Stopped. Blinked, until the moisture was once again absorbed by fur.
"A monster," the alicorn repeated. "Believe that about me, Cerea, if my unwelcome presence in your dreams had not been proof enough: join the herd at last. That I am a monster. It would certainly take a monster to send a child into battle, would it not? But... there was a world once, which only three remember --"
The girl hadn't moved. There was nowhere to go. Nothing she could do. No words were the right ones, no motions would ever serve, and...
...the mare had been in her dreams. The mare had said almost nothing real, and could still be lying about everything. The mare was a mon --
-- she's crying.
It felt as if she'd both always known that and just realized it. At the same time.
There were too many thoughts in her head, and none of them made any sense --
-- a monster would cry. As a lure.
I...
...you can't touch royalty.
...she was in my dreams, over and over --
-- you can't reach out --
Another non-laugh.
"Two," the Princess bitterly stated. "Two, now. A world where to be alive was to seize agency for your own survival. You fought for that, every day. We grew up too fast, if we wished to have the luxury of reaching maturity at all. And the reward? The burden of bearing the next generation. More who could suffer. But the proof of our victory? Now we have children who can be children. And yet..."
Two more tears.
-- I don't understand, I don't want to be here, I --
"...there are always those whom destiny calls upon. Inflicts, if you will. Spike is among them. He is worthy of the burden, but... it is a burden. And yet he would follow his sister no matter what we did. For the same reason I left the refuge/fortress/barricade point, to follow mine."
What? What's a barricade --
-- her eyes are so young.
Her eyes are so old.
"Out of love."
The girl didn't move. Neither did the mare.
-- you can't hug --
Finally, the alicorn sighed.
"I wished for you to stay," the Princess said, "because you were not afraid, and... perhaps that would have lingered for a time. But there was more than that. I told myself that we had something in common. I saw this aspect of myself in you: that we were fighting the same battle. Waging war against stories. But yours is the younger. Still spreading, but -- with fresher pages. It felt as if there was still a chance to change the final words. Perhaps all you needed was an opportunity, and -- somepony to provide one. You could still win..."
The dark eyes closed again. Every joint in the wings sagged at once, and the head bowed as if the horn was a foreign weight.
"...but not me. Never me. Because I am the monster. And there is a jest at the heart of it, Cerea: the darkest of jokes. Because the failure is dual. If the public tolerates me, acknowledges my role in the Diarchy... then they do so because my sister has told them that I have a place. Something they hear as an order. They have taken me in, because they feel they must. I thought that I could make them see who you truly were -- when I have yet to make them accept me. When everything came because I lost the last one who knew me, and I could no longer accept myself --"
She stopped.
The wings refolded. Her head jerked up. The horn lit, and metal shifted.
"I should have spoken to you," the mare finally said. "In the waking world. I wanted to know you, and... one would think that speaking is the easier route. I wish that we had spoken. I wish..."
Crown and insignia settled back into place.
"...but wishes do no good," the alicorn finished. "To be a part of dream is to walk among wishes, because wishes are dreams. Something with no impact upon reality. And what is at the heart of nearly all of them? The same sentiment. Let this become different. Let it not have been. A wish is a prayer which the heart whispers to itself. And like every prayer, it goes unheard."
She slowly shook her head. Dry eyes looked up for the last time.
"My final order," the Princess told the girl. "Protect yourself. Do anything required to come out again. Even when your only desire is to be quit of me, when we will never see each other again -- this ends with a centaur emerging from Tartarus. I would prefer for that to be you."
She turned, every dark limb working with perfect precision. Began to trot away --
-- glanced back.
"...I thought I would fail," the alicorn said. "Perhaps that is why..."
A fast, hard shake of the head. Ears lofted, and two constellations came back.
"There are no more orders," the Princess observed. "There... cannot be. But I was your liege, if only for a little while. And you -- wish to be a knight."
It was an automatic response. Something which rose from the girl without thought, and so it reached her voice. There was enough pain without having to think.
"I'm not --"
"-- let us define a knight," the alicorn cut her off, "as someone who does what is right, because they feel that they must. And they do it when no others will, regardless of the price. A lady owes something to her knight. To the one she pledged to save..."
There was a moment when all of the stars were gone. Mane and tail were nothing more than rapidly-collapsing strands of a soft light blue. And then it all came back.
"I release you from your vow, Cerea," the Princess told her. "But I do not release myself. A lady owes something to her knight. Grant that I see you as one. And..."
One more breath. The wings rustled, and the air currents changed. Reversed, with everything flowing towards Cerea, everything which had been held back until the very last. Until there was no time left.
"...you hate me now," the dark mare decided, and the accompanying soft laugh was finally true. Some of the best humor was birthed in graveyards. "I am fully aware of that. Perhaps you will even be afraid. But for the hatred... that will never fade. Because there is so much I could not say, and for the one thing I still can... you will loathe that I can say it. That I am the only one in the world who could. And yet... and yet I find myself capable of speaking these words, if no others. Perhaps because you might see them as the final proof of a monster."
The girl had room to move now.
She didn't.
"You look so very much like your mother," Luna stated. "And you feel that your mother is beautiful..."
The armor felt so very heavy. And there was scent wrapped around her limbs. Endless tides of shame had locked all four knees, while self-hatred unending bound the arms.
All of it was familiar.
Relatively little was hers.
The alicorn trotted away.
I'm not.
I'm not.
I'm not...