Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl

by Estee


Taciturn

There was a phrase which tended to crop up in human fiction, at least for those stories which were set within the temporal window which allowed the technology to exist. It usually came into play when an elite unit was about to be dispatched, and could even see some use when a more ragtag group was going out: the latter would generally be using it because the former said the words, and wouldn't necessarily know what it meant. Cerea generally didn't go for that kind of tale, but -- her reading selection within the gap had been limited, and there had been times when she'd just taken whatever was offered while silently noting the misuse of yet another Greek letter within the title.

You were going to be dispatched onto a mission. (She was in no way qualified to be part of an elite unit, and suspected that as far as words went, including her meant the definition of 'ragtag' needed a major shift downwards.) And someone would give the order to synchronize watches.

In stories, it tended to be something of a cliche'. It also dropped an indelible timestamp onto the text, because there usually wasn't much need for anything set in the modern era to synchronize smartphones. And yet it was one of the last things she did before she headed towards the departure point.

Cerea found what Nightwatch had told her was the most reliable clock in the palace, made sure the weight of her wrist-mounted timepiece was ticking along at the largest specimen's pendulum beat. And then she'd stared from one to the other, because placing one in rhythm with the other meant they were both lying.

She lied to me.
She told me a story to get what she wanted.
...half a story.
She called me a knight...

One full Equestrian day had passed since she'd last left the palace. Only one.

A single day in which the party had collapsed because her will had been too weak to withstand the griffons' unintentional assault. Which also happened to be the day when the first possible evidence of Tirek's return had been revealed, which just so also happened to be the day when Cerea had decided to leave the Guard. Oh, and by amazing coincidence, that was the day she'd attacked her friend, the night she'd had her dreams invaded -- again -- and gone to battle against her liege, but actually leaving the Guard was being postponed because there was a chance that Tirek was coming back, so it had also turned out to be the day when she'd allowed royalty to talk her into entering Tartarus.

Not the Tartarus which Cerea knew. The deep place almost sounded worse.

And it had all happened in one day.

(It was a holiday. The time when everypony tried to be with their families...)

Her palm automatically smacked the heavy watch, which ignored the impact and steadfastly continued lying to her. (She would have done the same to the clock, but it was palace property.) And then she closed the timepiece's lid, followed by glancing back along her lower torso's length.

Both carrying capacity and arrangement of supplies were always questions for those using armor. It wasn't that hard to modify a saddlebag into a crude backpack, but there was a fundamental truth to such items: whatever you wanted to extract would inevitably shift to the bottom. Even with centaur double-jointing, fishing for something which was being carried over your own upper spine could be distinctly awkward. And with armor... Cerea could find more messenger pouches, but straps would eventually become tangled. There was a waist loop of heavy fabric, and a few of her chosen items were within hanging bags -- something which could shift against the metal with every hoofstep. Another source of sound added to those produced by the armor itself. Something which was incidentally being worn by a species which nature had not intended for long-term stealth.

Armor didn't come with pockets. This particular wearer had a certain amount of forward-mounted storage capacity available, but couldn't go fishing in her cleavage through a breastplate.

The current solution was a small section of heavy netting, draped across the forward base of her lower back. She'd carefully pushed small segments of fabric into the near-invisible gaps between armor pieces, making sure it was anchored. Anything she needed to carry was then carefully laced through the gaps until it was fully secured -- but still held in a way where one strong pull would get it loose. For that matter, she'd spent some time making sure that one very specific pull would have the entire rig come free: she didn't need to have anything using the netting as a grip point to hold her back from behind.

When it came to holding Cerea back, the local expert resided within centaur skin.

There was one place where I was safe. One. And she...

(Her head felt as if it was spinning. Certain thoughts were moving in all directions.)

A single day. One which had crossed the border into night, and she had to go through near-empty palace halls and ramps until she reached the same departure point. Because there would be an air carriage there, she would be traveling with company and too much might depend on the impression she had already made upon everypony involved.

Again.

But this time, the white horse was waiting at the final door.


There was a small bubble of sunlight next to the mare's left flank, and Cerea should have been used to that: it was hardly unusual to see either alicorn carrying something along as they moved through the palace. A sphere of magical energy being used to hold papers -- that had become the sort of thing which the girl had relegated to the background of her forced environment. A little detail of the world, like the partial corona slowly shifting around the base of the mare's horn. Maintaining the minor effect.

The white horse had been waiting for her. (The girl's first thought upon seeing Princess Celestia alone was to wonder how long she'd been holding everything up.) The equine posture displayed nothing more than composed patience, the first words were calm -- but the olfactory world gave that the lie. And the alicorn was carrying some paperwork in a bubble -- something which generally moved when the mare did. A hoofstep forward, and the minimal burden kept the pace. With both legs and wings still, the bubble would simply float. Synchronized.

Field bubbles didn't vibrate, or shift ten centimeters in random directions while the borders expanded and contracted. Not until now.

"The others are already in their air carriages," the older Princess quietly told the girl. "The group will take off as soon as you board yours. It's the dark blue one." The pastel mane slowly shifted. "You'll be riding alone."

It's a mass issue.
It's just mass...

The purple eyes silently looked into blue. Glanced down, focused on what was being carried in the crook of the girl's left arm, pressed against a burgeoning swell of metal. The visor, and the ridge which presented itself in lieu of a face.

"You're not wearing the helmet," Princess Celestia noted.

Nightwatch pulled back...

"I have no current need of it within these halls." She would put it on when she had to. Not before.

That got her a slow nod.

"I told them I had a few last words for you," the Princess informed her. "And time in which to speak, as we don't have any reports of giant limbs tearing the ground apart. So... there's food supplies in the carriage. Along with canteens and a thermos. I want you to try eating something before you go in -- and after that, use the spray in the red tube to neutralize the scent on your breath. You can't die from hunger in Tartarus, Cerea -- but the pangs can become distracting. It's the same for thirst. But when it comes to drinking --"

The pause felt oddly awkward.

"-- as discussed during the briefing: unless something happens which -- accelerates matters -- you're all going to start by looking for the site where the ground carriage was attacked," the alicorn eventually continued. "I was going over the maps again while everyone was preparing, and I have a rough idea of where it might be in relation to the Gate: Twilight and Applejack have the updated path in. Once that site is found, take a drink." A steady breath expanded the white rib cage, rustled feathers. "And before you go through the Gate, find a place to relieve yourself. Everything you can manage, because that can also become distracting -- and you don't want to bring those scents into Tartarus, either."

There would have been a few small benefits to donning the helmet before going outside. A little protection from the tapering rain. A second testing of the locking mechanism. Fully concealing any and all blushing.

"...yes." She forced herself to look away from the placid equine features, tried to ignore the scents which were anything but. "Are those papers for the mission?"

The large head quickly glanced back, looked at the little vibrating bubble as if surprised to find that it was there.

"No," Princess Celestia said. "Anything you weren't already presented with is in the carriage. This is for..." Another, slower breath. "...after you go." The alicorn slowly turned forward again.

"After," Cerea echoed. It was something to say.

Something like the ghost of a smile briefly haunted the alicorn's lips.

"Once you're all safely clear and the rain has been dispersed," the Princess told her, "there's going to be a press conference. Since the press has a number of rather natural questions. Things which echo the fears of a nation. And even when all we can really tell them is that we're trying to figure out what's going on, that an investigation is under way -- we have to tell them that much. Even if the details are --" the ghost rematerialized, faded again "-- classified. They need to know we're doing something. It may help a few. Just..."

The tide of sorrow coming off the white fur intensified, momentarily overwhelmed the dominant reek.

"...not as many as it might have in any other situation," the alicorn softly finished. "Because we did tell them it was over. And now they're wondering if we were lying. If it's something we can stop."

The large head briefly dipped. Purple eyes closed, opened again.

"That's half of the papers," the Princess went on. "Notes for the conference, which are -- quite frankly, mostly there because some ponies feel marginally better if they see somepony working from notes. It makes them feel as if things are -- more organized." The snort was barely audible. "Some. Wordia would usually claim they're a sign that my memory is failing. But I'm not sure she's going to wake up in time for the conference, and I'm not particularly inclined to do anything other than let her sleep in."

"And the other half?" If only because the question seemed to be begging itself.

"The first drafts of international letters," the white alicorn evenly told her.

"International?" Because from what little she'd seen, distance communications was arguably the gap in Menajerian magic. Teleporters had range limits, those who flew had to rest eventually, and a letter going by ground could potentially take weeks to reach a destination --

-- oh.

"It's the same magic which I use to contact Spike," the Princess verified. "But without him on the receiving end to send a reply, it's one-way. And I generally have to know the recipient, or the scrolls could wind up lost in the aether. Some nations have more turnover in their government than others, the zebra kraals/city-states don't have a central contact point..." The tail twitched. "There's problems. But I have to try. Because we've been accused --" and this time, something about the flow seemed to flicker "-- with some degree of accuracy -- of keeping our various crises under diplomatic wraps until after they've been solved." The right forehoof briefly scraped at the floor, and the bubble darted to the side. "Tirek is a problem which could affect the world."

Destroy.
You put him in Tartarus because he would have destroyed the world.

The white ears weren't rotated forward so much as they seemed to have been tipped in that direction, with both skin and thin muscles tense. Stiff. For a horse from the girl's home, it would have been a sign of fear.

"So there's two rounds of scrolls, with the sendings split between governments and the buildings on Embassy Row: those have been getting the newspapers anyway. The first is similar to what we'll say at the press conference: that we are doing something, and not to make a move until we request it. We're not telling anypony exactly where you're going -- but world-threatening events have arisen in nations other than Equestria." One more snort. "I may ask Princess Luna to go over the full statistics, to see if it only feels like we get the majority."

"So the other nations have their own prisoners there," a hollow-feeling voice managed to semi-inquire.

The alicorn nodded. "And because they usually have to bring them just about all the way in, when transferring custody at our border may mean a temporary lapse in confinement -- most of the leaders of those governments know where Tartarus is. The more intelligent ones will make an extremely accurate guess as to where we're starting, and some of our allies will want to offer immediate assistance. And we need to keep sapients out of that area, because everyone who enters is one more person for Tirek to potentially drain. So that's the first round, Cerea. That we're aware of what's going on, we need them all to stay back, and --" A slow head shake. "-- it's getting ahead of another accusation. One with too much truth to it, which says we're a little too slow to ask for help. Right now, there's nothing they can actively do and with the one-way sending... very few have anything close to an immediate means of telling us whether they've come up with a solution. But they can start thinking. Preparing. Because in the event that your survey finds him absent, or... there's another factor..."

If the Bearers are drained.
If I don't come out.
If he does.

"...the second round is an alert. It'll say that we all have to come together. We have to think of something. Because if we don't..."

Her eyes closed again. The edges of the bubble compressed, began to crumple some of the papers.

"...I know I'm putting more pressure on you," the Princess softly stated. "I wish that wasn't the case. But you asked me. And... in the tradition of governments everywhere..." One last quirk of the lips. "...I'm saving the near-lies for the press."

The girl held her ground against the waves of scent. Sorrow, regret, and fear. Too much of the last was coming off her own skin.

Assess and evaluate.
Assess and evaluate.
Assess and evaluate.

"Last words..." the mare repeated, and the purple eyes opened. There was something weary in them. Something... old. "Did Princess Luna speak with you?"

Cerea was just barely able to nod. Kept her features as passive as she could, and the waves of sorrow intensified again.

"I won't ask what she said," the elder offered. "But before I give you my own -- is there anything you wanted to know, which you don't feel was covered in the briefing? Anything which might help?"

A spiraling mind tried to anchor itself upon the mundane.

"What does the weather forecast predict for that area?" Because it was nearly winter, she was wearing metal armor, and the underlayer of padding could only offer so much insulation. Within the palace walls, the amount she was currently using could quickly become too much, and the girl really didn't want to acquaint everypony on the Lunar staff with the smell of centaur sweat -- but she was hoping there was enough thermal protection for the outside air.

It was slightly odd, watching the white-furred face. The wires had never hissed: the words had been fully understood.

"...forecast," the alicorn repeated.

But something about the slow shifting of features suggested that the mare was reaching deep into memory for a term she hadn't heard in a very long time.

"We're hoping for clear," the Princess eventually continued. "Normally, we'd ask a weather team to break up any clouds in the area, but... that's sending in more ponies. And it should be fairly cold, because it's getting close to winter. But probably not below freezing."

They only know meteorology as an exact science...

Under normal circumstances, the realization might have felt like a lesser horror. But nothing about the last day had been normal.

"Is there anything else?"

The girl shook her head.

"My last words to you," the alicorn resumed. "Try to sleep in the air carriage. It's not the shortest trip, and you've barely rested. There's only so much coffee and wake-up juice can do. Any fatigue you bring into Tartarus will only increase with time. Rest. And clear your mind, as much as you can."

A nod was manageable. Internal agreement wasn't.

Sleep.
How?

"I'm probably flying down Princess Luna's air path on this one," royalty continued. "Along with repeating part of the briefing. But it needs to be repeated. You are authorized to use the sword in any way you see as necessary. Anything which might help you come out again. " A little more softly, "And remember everything we told you about the ways in which Tartarus attacks. It may help you to hold on when the torment begins."

It's the sword. It's not the wielder. It's just the sword.

"And..."

The white horse's right forehoof lifted from the marble. The leg shifted forward --

-- halted. Came back down where it had been.

The flow of both mane and tail stopped.

"...I'm sorry," Princess Celestia continued. "I'm not even going to try and narrow that down, Cerea. There's no need to do so, because it can apply to everything. I wish you were in your home. That you'd never come here, with everything that's happened to you. Everything you've had to go through. I could wish that no part of this was your problem, that you'd never heard of us, that... we were just a dream you had once. There are..." The slowest, deepest breath, and yet one which failed to move the mare in any way. "...ponies out there who tell themselves that we can grant wishes." With a sudden burst of bitterness, "That we hear prayers. We don't, and we can't. We're just... mares whose lives went down a different path. I can wish you were home and safe, and that none of this was happening. But I can't make that happen, not by wanting it. All I can hope is that we've given you enough to let you come back."

The corona intensified, just by a lumen or so. A second projection moved forward.

"I wish we'd been better to you," the white horse said. "Better for you. Because there were two sides to that vow, and -- we didn't keep ours."

The door began to open. The girl's legs automatically began to move towards the increasing gap. Something which meant she never saw the final expression to occupy the white mare's face.

She didn't have to. The scent was enough.

"Come back, Cerea," the alicorn sadly finished, "Even when it's for just long enough to leave."


She stepped into cold and fast-clearing rain, pausing briefly in a pool of odd-seeming brightness as she looked for her designated carriage among the waiting four. (None of them seemed lit from within, but there were probably spells to stop that. Thaums trying to keep the inhabitants of a wild zone from gaining one more means of spotting something on the approach, and also one more thing Tirek could potentially steal.) The door closed behind her, the light became brighter still, Cerea automatically looked up, and a full Moon slammed through her bloodstream.

The lingering olfactory tides of the white horse's regret began to sort themselves into individual currents. Her ears registered the decreasing beat of the raindrops, along with giving her audio locations for every section of armor which wasn't quite being tested by those impacts. Colors sharpened --

-- no.

She could see the shadows of airborne pegasi as they moved around the edges of the light. Making things ready for the press conference, and exposing more of Moon with every moment.

A Moon which wasn't real.

It's... psychosomatic.
I saw a full moon during the first press conference. My body reacted because -- that's what it does. There's a full moon, and just about every liminal in the world is affected. But my body reacted because my mind told it to. Because that's what I think is supposed to happen.
That isn't real. Nothing about this is real.

She took a slow breath. Waited to drop out of sensory overdrive.

The centaur felt rain hitting the exposed skin of her face. Several droplets merged into each other, and a trickle ran down her neck before being absorbed into the padding. It was possible to track the exact angle --

-- this isn't working.
I know it's psychosomatic and it's not going away.
Corps stupide.

Of course her body wasn't listening. When had it ever? She'd tried telling it to get past an infection in the forest, and that hadn't worked. Confront the confining dimensions of the human world, and no pleas for a strictly temporary reconfiguration would ever be acknowledged. When puberty had been approaching, telling her breasts to start growing already had done nothing -- for her age group, she'd been second -- and after she'd met a much-loathed minotaur, there hadn't been any improvement in response from merely telling them to grow faster.

Moon wasn't real. But as far as her body was concerned, it was real enough.

...then again, she arguably shouldn't be complaining. She was in a position where she needed every edge she could get, and the full moon did bring certain advantages. But at the same time, it was sensory overdrive, and -- unless the group didn't reach Tartarus until morning, she would carry that moon-touched status through the Gate. Something which might make it that much easier for the deep place to assault her.

It could be argued as an edge. But it was one which could so easily be used to cut her.

I could just go back inside and ask Princess Luna to have Moon not be full any more.

...no. She didn't know if it worked that way, she didn't want to go back and in any case, that thought seemed to qualify for actual lunacy. Besides, even if it was possible, the changed false celestial state would leave the group maneuvering on glowsticks -- and, for the pegasi, the minimal heat of winter. She'd just have to deal with the effects. A full Moon was in the sky, and her body had reacted. There was no help for it.

She spotted her carriage. The team of pegasi hitched to the front seemed to shiver somewhat in the rain as the centaur began her approach.

Wait.

She hadn't practiced in what felt like weeks. (Her mother would have been disappointed at the lack of effort, but the schedule had been so crowded with Lunar shifts and citizenship classes and language studies and -- her mother would have been disappointed.) But her body insisted that Moon was both real and full. Something which made it easier. All she had to do...

The girl took a breath, felt ribs and bustline swell against the twin cages of padding and armor. Held it...

...yes. She could manage that, at least for now. Some degree of the Second Breath was accessible.

She'd never felt as if she was particularly good at it.
There were centaurs who never managed the trick. Every stallion had seemingly lost the capacity, and most mares...
...she hadn't mastered it. That was what mattered. True skill required perfection. Always. But this was the only thing she had, no one here knew it was possible --
-- did I dream about it?
...I could ask myself that about every single moment of my life --
-- and perhaps there was a chance for it to make a difference.
One more attempt at which she could fail, at the very end.

The centaur boarded the air carriage. Closed the door, centered her body within the enclosed space and sank down. There were a few seconds when she could feel the towing pegasi trying to overcome both inertia and the sheer kilograms of her body's mass: a short series of half-lurches as their hooves tried to find purchase on the slick roof.

The dark blue carriage lunged. Wheels found traction. Gravity clutched, clawed, found its grip temporarily sundered. The palace dropped away.

Three of the conveyances were already in the air, traveling together. The fourth labored to catch up.


The usual light source had been removed from the fabric ceiling. There was an active glowstick clumsily stitched into place, and most of what it did was tell Cerea where some of the local chemistry limits were. The lumens came steadily enough, but she needed more of them. In conjuction with moonlight, she would have enough to read by or, given her dismal level of semi-literacy, to make out the words she couldn't understand. But by itself... just enough to find some of the details on a map, and that required some squinting. It probably would have been better with two or more, but... how much light could she risk in Tartarus?

It would also mean doubling the amount of sickly yellow-green coating her armor and skin.

Sufficient light to identify the contents of the carriage, and -- there weren't many items packed in with her. They couldn't bring magic. The vast majority of the armory was staying behind. A number of conventional items had been abandoned. And for what little could be carried -- that had been split between carriages, with some redundancy in the supplies. Just in case one of them... went down.

Even at this distance out, the air carriages were staying as close to the ground as they could. The centaur could hear the backblast of wind from frantic wings as it shook the close-skimmed bare branches below.

They'd only been in the air for four minutes. Enough time to check the supplies, examine the light level, shift her falsely-resting body against the floor, and look at her watch. The last had already happened three times.

Sleep.

How? Sleep was where the enemy lurked. Perhaps the dark mare would want a few last last words. And Cerea had the hairpins in place, but she couldn't be entirely sure as to how much they would do --

-- she's not my enemy.

At best, the Lunar alicorn had just been somepony who had repeatedly entered Cerea's dreams without notice or permission. The difference currently seemed to be rather fine.

The centaur's ears twitched.

Less rain hitting the fabric now.
Almost none.
We're clearing the designated Weather Bureau zone around the mountain. The borders of Canterlot.

Clearing...

...she was supposed to clear her mind, as much as she could. Not so much giving Tartarus less to work with as making the deep place labor somewhat more to find it. Buying time.

She'd tried some basic meditation exercises in Japan. It hadn't gone well. She always seemed to have too many thoughts, and they mostly got in each other's way. Lighting incense had mostly taught her about just how many impurities were in the cheaper varieties. All she'd been able to afford.

She needed something to do. Something which wasn't thinking.

The girl took out the sketchbook, opened it to the first page. Brought out a quill, fished in a netting-bound pouch for the ink...

...no. The carriage is fairly steady, but -- not enough for this. One jolt and I'll ruin the whole thing.
It's already ruined.
I've been trying to make this right for months now.
It has to be right.
...it's all I have left.
...why can't I...?

She put everything away.

Clearing her mind. The girl didn't consider herself to be the least bit funny, but ponies were the masters of unintentional humor.

Think about some things now, so they won't come up later?

Probably not the definition which the white horse had intended. But it was all Cerea had.

I wish I could sleep.

It wasn't supposed to be the shortest flight. (She wasn't sure why. It was possible that they were taking the long way around. Trying to avoid certain sight lines, or the other two Gates.) Spit in her palm once for every time she had that thought, and it might be possible to fill the gauntlet.

Clear my mind...

The dream of a sword hadn't quite been able to manage the feat.

On some level, she recognized that part of the origin for her anger. She had grown up in the gap, she had believed she would die there, and... she'd had secrets. Keeping information to herself in a place where every square meter which could be reached by hoof had been trodden upon thousands of times before: bury anything in a way where the concealing earth looked even slightly disturbed and someone would notice. If there was a knothole in any tree trunk, then hers hadn't been the first hand to explore it and with typical luck, someone else would be reaching within immediately after she left. And to hide something in her bedroom, the realm which her mother could enter at will...

Ultimately, her mind had been the only safe place. And even then, thinking anything she liked required keeping tight rein over her body. Would a stray concept produce an emotional reaction? Something which would automatically be mirrored in scent? Then the filly would have needed to think of something else. Quickly, over and over again, until she'd tricked herself into emanating a different signature within the olfactory world. Think about duty and honor, but -- not secrets.

Not about wanting to live.

Not just surviving within the gaps: one more liminal trying to hang on long enough to create a next generation of the trapped. Live.

Just for one day.

And everything had gone wrong.

There had been rumors in the gap, about a rare subspecies of centaur. Something which fed upon dreams. Other liminals were known to do it, and a few of the other species hosted stranger tricks than that.

Species, but -- not the household. Just about all the feats which the girls could accomplish were strictly biological. (For Cerea, the Second Breath fell into that category, and she was almost certain that aura-sensing was hosted by a few crucial extra neurons.) Even Suu's myriad abilities existed somewhere within the realm of the sciences -- at least in theory. But they were all aware of those whose differences crossed into the mystical, and when it came to Lala...

Humans knew very little about the liminals. Legends were just about the whole of it. And the liminals, with so few gaps able to truly communicate, when travel had been almost impossible... often felt as if they knew even less about each other.

You didn't always want knowledge. Not when rumors were enough to bring terror.

Why wouldn't any sane person be afraid of having their dreams invaded? An intruder within the only safe haven anyone truly had?

Is that why they think she's a monster?
Why the press was so shaken, when she took control. Why she said there were times when children screamed.
But that would mean it wasn't a secret -- and it isn't, because it's in her title. The Mare Of Dream. They would know she was capable of coming to their dreams, and -- they would just hope it wouldn't happen to them?

There had to be limits. Distance was potentially one of them and even if that was factored out, you had time. Cerea didn't know how long ponies dreamed for, but centaurs could stay in that part of the REM cycle for up to forty-five minutes at a stretch. Unless the dark mare was capable of splitting consciousness, invading multiple minds...

...no. Don't give her that much, not without proof, or -- Or it became that much more terrifying. It's probably one mind at a time. Maybe she can let people share dreams, but it might take a special effort. And she might need to be asleep in order to do it. Matching that person's cycle...

Too far. Too many assumptions, when even one could be deadly. Something which felt very much like just about every first meeting with a new species of liminal, one whose existence had been little more than rumor. There had been more than a few of those encounters within the crossroads of Japan, and far too many of those parties had taken some interest in their host. The most logical reason was that anyone who had seven girls in any visible degree of pursuit had to have something going for him.

I can't get it right...

But when it came to the dark mare... at the very least, there was a time factor. Dreams occupied a certain amount of the clock. Even if distance didn't matter, then time meant there were only so many dreams which the alicorn could invade on any given night -- and the maximum required a life free of both duties and paperwork. Cerea had likely been the focus subject for some time. The lone victim. Protecting everypony else by taking the brunt of the blows. Offering never-before-seen shows, a singular theater where both practical and special effects had never been previously witnessed on any stage. And the dark mare had certainly seemed to have some degree of interest in both the main character and the basic plot --

-- don't.

She said... she wanted to understand me.

Why didn't she just talk to me? I was right there.

I was never going to go anywhere else.

Her hands closed into fists. She wound up wriggling the left thumb a few times in order to get it unlocked, then adjusted the gauntlet's joints as best she could.

She wanted to understand me? To know me? What about her? And it was a false Moon, but the heat surging through her blood felt all too real. How does she expect anyone to get close to her when she's just cold and hard and arrogant and her main way of interacting with anyone she supposedly wants to know better is through giving orders --

-- Cerea's spine locked.

All of it. Neck to tail. In real time, the process took about a second. Within her mind, the surge turned the rising fire into a much slower burn.

The girl knew humiliation's heat as one of her oldest companions. It never abandoned her for more than a few hours. It seemed incapable of truly fading. And this time, it had an ally.

"Heed my words! Now that I am here, there will be many changes!"

Recognition.

...oh.
...no. Please, no...

Her arms had lifted at some point, without conscious notice. Cold metal pressed against the bare skin of her face.

...it was our first meal together, as a household. Less than two hours after I'd seen Miia and Papi for the first time, after he finished explaining why they were even there and...
...I knew they were my rivals. That I was in a competition where I had to win, finishing second meant losing everything, and...
...there were two girls in the household.
Girls who didn't know me. Who didn't know anything about me. Who hadn't grown up in my prison --
-- in my gap. A place where words just kept going around and around. You couldn't get away from them. One mare said something about me, and everyone heard it within hours. And that mare was usually my mother, so -- they believed it. All of it.
The only way you met someone new in the gap was when they were born. And once they were old enough to recognize words, their ears were steeped in stories.
Two girls. They were my rivals, but they were also girls. I'd been meeting new people almost constantly since I'd left -- usually for about two minutes each. I was going to live with them, and -- it was a fresh start, a chance to be around people who didn't know me, who'd never heard any of it, about how I wasn't good enough and couldn't live up to any expectations and just wasn't...
...wasn't...
...I trotted up to the table for a meal with two girls who didn't know me, and that was the first thing I said.
Because no one who truly knew me would ever accept me.
I had to take control.
All I wanted was him --

Something wet and salty trickled through one of the seams.

-- no.
I had to win. I needed to win, just once. The lone victory which would mean everything. And I told myself that I wanted them gone, at the start. But I'd already gotten some idea of how much damage the other girls could do. And it got worse every time someone else came into the household. We were a traveling disaster. Banned from all-you-can-eat restaurants? That was the start. Banned from stores and shopping arcades and there was more than just one sporting field. Every new girl made it that much worse, and someone had to keep control...

...all I wanted was him.

Liar.

Her shoulders were heaving. The armor shook as the carriage got a little too close to one of the others, was caught in the backwash.

I remember that first meal. Everything I said.
They were my rivals. I had to establish who was in charge. Who the leader was in the race. The ultimate winner. There was only one way to act.
Cold.
Hard.
Arrogant.
...all I wanted was...
...someone who didn't know me.
Someone who might accept me.
Listen.
See me.
please love me
someone has to love me
I crossed the world because it felt like it had been a lifetime since my mother
please be my
please be my
please be my friend.

The filly cried.

Cold. Hard. Arrogant.
I didn't know what to do.
I was afraid.
So I...
...I turned into my mother.

The girl wept.


Mirrors.

Tears could polish steel, at least for the silvering which existed after Barding had put it through the wash. (There were darkening agents in the carriage, which would need to be applied before she entered.) And there wasn't enough moisture to start the rusting process. But you still never left metal wet for too long, so... she was cleaning the gauntlets, until they assumed the sheen of a mirror.

Another mirror.

She wasn't afraid of me.
I didn't know enough to be afraid of her.

The alicorn had possessed no true fear of the centaur. But there had still been another kind of terror. The fear of exposure. Open approach. Vulnerability.

Just... being yourself. Something which was so frightening that any attempt to voice it could find the speaker locked into half of a conversation. At war against the voice in their head. The one which said they would always fail.

So you didn't approach. Not where anyone could see you. At best, you found a place to watch...

Hiding behind a cloud.
Hiding behind bushes.
And when you're seen...

It was possible that the dark mare had felt the only way to have the centaur present in her life was at a distance.
The distance of royalty.
The separation of fear.
On the other side of a gap.

What had the alicorn done, for ponies to be afraid of the dark mare?

"Or -- that which so many tell themselves was me. Is me. Still."

Or rather, what did the world believe she had done? For those words suggested the dark mare had taken the blame for something which had been the fault of another. The central character in a mistold tale, and the lie had crossed the world before the truth could find a farrier willing to attach shoes.

Something which everypony knew, but didn't necessarily discuss. Like Sun and Moon --

-- no. Not quite.

"Forgive me my curiosity, but... does she ever talk about... the thing? Which happened... that one time..."

They didn't discuss it openly. Not with someone who had been a member of the Lunar staff, not unless they were certain that the other party was willing to respond. A new source of gossip, and the dark mare had been surprised that the girl had avoided all of it. Probably not thinking about just how few ponies spoke to Cerea at all. The party had been the first real chance for anypony to extract stories from her, because it wasn't a subject of discussion in the palace and the press conference had seen other priorities take hold.

But some version of events was out there. The alicorn had suggested it would have eventually come up in Cerea's citizenship classes. So it was something which had at least entered modern history --

-- and that's another assumption, isn't it?

She rubbed her right palm against the fabric wall again. Checked the reflection, automatically glanced away.

Think about the way she was talking. Barricade point. A time which only two remember, with the third lost. And from her phrasing -- wouldn't that be the Princesses?

Was the third Discord? When was he the enemy? How long ago? You can't rebuild a society all that quickly. Not even with magic.

She smells like she's -- human equivalent, probably early twenties. But I don't know how long ponies live. Nightwatch could be ninety years old. And maybe alicorns live longer than the other three species. For all I know, this all happened decades ago.

Puff Weevil said there was a time when Princess Celestia was managing Sun and Moon. Within his lifetime? So if the lifespan and maturation rates are different, then -- maybe Luna hadn't been born yet.

Or she was still in training.
In prison. For something she wants me to believe she didn't truly do.
Exile...

There was so much Cerea didn't know. All of the things which nopony talked about, because they assumed everyone already knew. But there had been stories in her gap, ones which had contained lessons. Things she'd supposedly taken to heart. The code of a knight. That which said she was supposed to protect her liege against any kind of hurt, because the world had so many to inflict.

Including emotional agony --

-- she's not my liege any more. If she ever was. And I was never truly her knight --
-- she said she sees me as --
-- it has to be a lie...

They might never speak again. Simply seeing the dark mare felt unlikely. Even if the mission was somehow a success, if the Bearers managed to compensate for every error Cerea would make -- it was likely that the centaur would enter the palace, find herself surrounded by Guards ---

Not Nightwatch.
Please.

-- collect the last of her possessions (under supervision), and then she would be escorted to the border. All of which could potentially happen in daylight. Under Sun, while the dark mare slept.

I wanted to like her. You can't be too familiar with your liege, not on a personal level. But... I felt as if there was something likeable about her. And I wanted to think she -- at least approved of me. A little. Enough that, even if she hadn't spoken at the press conference, even if they didn't have to take me on... she wouldn't have minded keeping me in the palace quite as much. I would still be a burden, but -- not a fully unwelcome one.

But she didn't really know me. No one who truly knows me would ever --

Her shoulders were beginning to tremble again, with the long flow of her tail doing its best to tuck itself inside the armor.

She knew more about me than anypony.
Anyone. Ever.
She saw my life.
Every doubt.
Every failure.
And she wanted me anyway.

The girl shook.
She cried.
And when the tears finally ran out, she fell asleep.