Starstruck

by Vest

Chapter 3: Fugitives

A forcibly slammed door followed the wave of gasps and plops of reverent knees dropping to the floor. With her entrance into the lowly regarded wing of the Canterlot archive, the passive inertia of usual clatter made way for a held silence that choked the air into stillness. She advanced through the rows of books that lined the labyrinthian web of the archive, her eyes focused forward, knowing exactly where she needed to be.

Reflexively, Princess Luna would peer down an aisle while passing it, simply out of a meandering weariness as she searched out that usual familiar spot she yearned for. Upon the occasional spontaneous exchange of glances with another curious onlooker within the aisle, she would be immediately greeted by a shrill yelp. Before the Princess could utter a single word requesting their ignorance, they too dropped into a rushed genuflect.

To her... the usual greeting.

Yet the only greeting she desired, the reverence she only wanted at that point, only came from the looming bookshelves standing ambivalent and tall around her. Enveloping her, harboring her, maintaining their usual regimented watch within the voluminous Canterlot archives with the same tacit poise she'd grown cozy to. They didn't drop to the ground upon seeing her, they didn't show any semblance of fear towards her, nor did their ornate craftsmanship conceal within a vestigial conditioning demanding an astute display of magnanimous affection when a simple curtsey would suffice.

It was within the bookshelves nested the lone perch at the base of a massive window. It was a place nopony could find her. A hideaway tucked away just above eye level where she could recede into the wall like a ghost.

Beyond that window, she remembered many stressful days of peering out into the Canterlot skyline, the shadow of the towering palace creeping and consuming across rows of cottages as the sun descended in a dance of diminishing fiery light that cued her nightly shift into her nightly overwatch.

A last stop. A final reprieve from the afternoon’s bedlam to shake it all off before immersing into the night’s song she cast upon weaving the astral skyscape above.

And today, did she ever need it.

More sacred to her was that spot than the entirety of her royal reputation and character, for without it, the latter would crumble catastrophically around her.  All too often, she needed someplace where she couldn’t be bothered, not even by the overt courtesies of ponies who would intrude upon her personal space with misplaced respects by inquiring ‘Anything I can do to help?’

Yes.

Go back in time ten seconds, and trip over the banister on your way up the stairs!

She breathed out in a heavy huff, the alcove laid a seemingly impossible distance away, an expanse beyond her own psyche’s capability to push her panic-wracked sentience before exploding into a shrill tantrum of thundering words at every speck of dust that tickled her nostrils in the musty air.  Be calm, Luna.  Easy.  Just keep moving, and try to keep your patience intact.

Good luck.

She took a quick two-step trot backward as a light green blur spun into view before her. A unicorn quickly rounded into periphery, just barely gracing a fetlock against the bookcase's corner. Upon seeing the Princess, the unicorn got so caught up in her shock that an involuntary burst of cyan magic launched a tall pile of papers upward into a whirling blizzard of fluttering parchment. Her stunned silence was punctuated by the descending melody of papers speckling against the tile floor around them, framing the narrowed scowl of the cobalt Princess with a rippling halo of text.

And down she went.  Typical.

“My Princess, dearest!” Like the whole city held a meeting, inviting everypony except her.  “Sincerest apologies!”  To rehearse the same three lines when accidentally getting in her way.  Here comes the begging for forgiveness.  “I beg of your forgiveness!”

Be calm, Luna.  Easy.

The Princess stood with feigned patience before her, waiting for the green unicorn to finish with the usual pedantic groveling or pleading for mercy or what have they. Seeing the shuddering green unicorn not moving, her path blocked by the pile of fluttering papers still descending atop of her, Luna cleared her throat impatiently.

Another whiny peep crept through the rippling ambience of settling parchment. "Princess, I, I... I'm" The mare's voice cracked, attempting to drop to a lower, more dignified octave. "Sincerest of apologies m'lady, I did not intend to get in your way." She looked up with wide panicked eyes, the shrunken quivering pupils seeming to plead for her graces. "If you could... could forgive me, m'lady, for... for blocking you like that I, I-"

"-Then moveth!"

A jolt of sporadic motion flung another hooffull of papers skyward as she flopped back under her own fetlocks, floored by the Princess' sudden and vociferous command. The following descent of muffled silence only augmented the cautious withdrawal of a dozen ponies silently attempting to creep away in slow creaking steps. Each decibel carried with unfettered ease through the musty air as the Princess' words returned to her own ears in a crisp echo.

‘Then moveth!’ exclaimed the archive walls.

Her eyes grew wide upon the arrival of those prodigal syllables, her own ears detecting with the surgical precision of royal intuition just how much on edge she was.

A sudden chime of summoned magic sounded before her, and a cyan aura of glittering radiance embraced around the dropped papers. The green unicorn spun back onto her hooves, and with a sweeping arc of her neck, her horn sprang into a cyan glow. She frantically darted her head from one side to the other, attempting to hurriedly collect the papers before her, now more focussed upon getting out of the Princess' way than actually succumbing to an arbitrary obligation to reverent candor.

If only.

If only all the other ponies would just be on their way, treat her as an equal, not inundate her life with unexpected jumps, drops, squeals, and long drawn-out apologies for not having some methodically choreographed song number rehearsed for her every arrival. If only they could speak to her while skipping the unnecessary m'lady's and sincerest of something or another’s. Now was not the time to bolster her onto some pedestal, and she was certainly in no mood for peccant exhibitions of terror following every corner of every aisle she passed. Yeah. If only.

With her royal discipline yielding a precious second for the Princess to exhale out a knot of frustration, a sudden twinge of revelation sputtered to life within her thoughts. "Telleth me, dearest scribe," Luna looked down onto the green unicorn. Her scornful impatience washed away, softening to a sincere glance of interest. "What dost thou... ?" Luna tapped her hoof a couple times against her chin. It had been over a year since returning from a thousand-year banishment to the moon's imprisonment, yet if there was one thing the seemingly omnipotent Princess of the Night had difficulty with"What dost thou praytell... laboreth upon here?"… It was small talk.

"Oh!" The green unicorn jumped onto her hooves. “Labor?  Like... job?”

Finally some progress! The Princess beamed with royal Canterlot emphasis. “Yes!”

Whoops, too much emphasis. "H-yeep!" Startled out of her focus, another jolt of cyan telekinesis shot the messily bundled papers back into a fluttering barrier of descending parchment. "Oh yes, I... I, uh, I, here I"

If only.

Luna sighed heavily, unknowing that her temporarily harbored impatience had reasserted itself in her eyes. Picking up on her countenance, the green unicorn leapt into action recollecting the dropping papers with such fast jolts of her neck, her stammering devolved into jumbled incoherent yelps of panic. Some revelation that was. In attempting to offset the obvious discomfort of others around her, Luna had just made it worse.

"Hyee-eee, I, oh no, oh, I" She coughed, and upon looking up at the tall cobalt Princess looming above her with gradually narrowing eyelids buckling under their own fatigue, she noticed a single paper impaled with wavering dejection off the tip of Luna's horn. "A-yee-hee-eee!" She flung her neck up in a sudden terrified jolt, directing an immediate grasp of cyan magic around the impaled paper. "Absolute apologies, m'lady!" Lifting the stabbed sheet into the air, she nestled it back into the jumbled pile of floating papers. "Ah, yes, um since you asked about, my job yes?"

Maybe another day. Certainly not this one. This was no time for making attempts to helping her own feared image within the zealous reverence of the archive's ranks.

"Resumeth thine post."

"My name is Lily Boxtop, undersecretary to the secretary of development of-" The green unicorn's panicked rambling suddenly stopped. "-Wait, sincerest apologies, what was that?"

There it was again. "We accepteth thy apology." Yet another unnecessary apology from the usual fits of regimented groveling following her every step. If only. "Thou may proceed back to thy post." If only they could just act more like the bookshelves.

The green unicorn shot a look quickly back to the musty corner of her own deskspace, peering down at the several drones sorting through the long stacks of papers similar to that which she held with her own horn. Another echoing clang of a door in the distance brought her attention back forward. "Thank you m'lady, I most sincerly appreciate your-"

Yet the Princess was gone.

A cobalt blur quickly disappeared down an adjacent aisle of books leaving no trace behind, the only remaining sound piercing through the thick late afternoon air was the heavy thudding of approaching hooves. Thick, reverberating hooves. And... and something... something else...

Jangle. Jangle.

He could've sworn. Worked for three hours and the pile was only getting bigger. The dark unicorn kept shooting curious glances over to the stack of papers that signaled as some omniscient monolith the deliverance of yet another mundane evening running late into the night. He could've sworn. It was going to be an hour getting each one properly notarized, signed, and addressed to the next individual slated to sign it. For him, he was just another monotonous step in the unending dressage of bloated bureaucracy that inundated the inner-workings of the Archives.

A snooty red mare coughed loudly, forcibly tapping him on the shoulder. “Devon!” A hollow pop clicked in his ear, his cogniscience announcing its return from outer space. "I said, excuse me!" She called out to him, dropping a quill from her jaws. "Are you zoning out again?"

The dark unicorn tugged his head up. Being in a hung posture over the constantly cycling assortment of documents caused his neck to freeze limp in place. His shoulders strained to hoist his attention upward. How long has his attention been simmering away into the sea of paperwork? How long had he remained transcended into the consuming vortex of his menial job? He certainly didn't recognize the sudden intrusion of the orange afternoon sun, nor the realization of the muffled background noise of voices being turned onto him.

"Excuse me!" The red mare scowled with irritation. "Bookmark!" She twisted herself around the table, planting herself at the opposite side to face him directly. "Are you going to get the UC-77 forms sent or what?!"

His neck finally obeying his mental impulses, the dark unicorn shifted upward, flicking his head aside to wave aside the curled tendrils of dark blue mane from his face. "The, uhh, let's see umm, UC... UC seven... seventy-seven for, uhh"

"Gyugh!" The red mare groused. "UC-77 form! You know? For the authorization to commence the permission granting process for project commencement authorization... ?"

Oh bureaucracy.

"Oh" Devon winced heavily after a lengthy pause to run the very concept of such a form through his head. After all this time, the only thing his eyes ever picked up was sign here, initial here, and unlucky recipient's address here. Spending so many years in the dredges of a paper-pusher's lifestyle gave him the blessing to just guess what went where without having to navigate the abstract post-modern painting his mind interpreted from the rest of the superficial jargon swamping the pages. "Of course," he lied, "the, umm... process for commencement of project authorization."

"No!" She stomped a hoof. "Not the process for commencement! The granting process for project commencement-" she dropped her head, and sighed. "Listen, Devon, I really need to get going, I'm meeting quite the dapper stallion tonight, assuredly something that you don't fully understand but" she paused, seeing the wave of sporadic offense rippling through his facial features. "Buuut" The mare continued, ignoring the necessity to offer an apology for such a remark, "Look, you have time, I don't. So I'll just put this stack right here." With a wave of a forehoof, yet another mound of papers nudged against the existing pile. "And when you get the UC-77 ready, just put these alongside it okays?"

Devon raised a hoof in protest-

"-Okays." But he only got halfway up before she answered for him. "Thanks Devon for your understanding see you tomorrow." She quickly swiveled in place, whipping up a puff of air that unsettled the top sheets around a swooshing tail.

Devon got up, chasing her around the table down the aisle. "But-"

"-Have fun!" She waved a hoof over her shoulder, walking away between the falling gaps of more documents landing before Devon's hooves. He made a few quick bounds in an attempt to catch up to her, but after rounding the aisle's corner, saw a trademark cyan aura of telekinetic light descending down the Archive's main walk. The red mare was nowhere to be seen, having already eluded him through the cavernous labyrinth before his eyes.

Quickly shooting an agitated glance back at his own work station, he peered with a caustic depression upon the last few airborne documents swaying and settling dejectedly at the foot of the table. He could've sworn. The pile was only getting bigger.

“Bookmark! What in Celestia’s right front hoof are you doing?!” a new voice barked, shattering the chatter of the offices. It was a shrill cavalcade of decibels that could only belong to one overbearing Lily Boxtop. “That stack is way too big!”

“Well,” he began, a moment of confused relief washing into his voice as the possibility that his boss realized that he was helplessly swamped and might help aid the burden or even, like a hushed whisper, give him a raise. “Most of this isn’t mine. I had a U... C... seventy-something foisted on me and I have plenty else to d-”

“No no no!” Lily squealed, shaking her head furiously at her employee’s incompetent naivete. “This desk is way too cluttered! We have a VIP here!”

Woah, hold your haunches. “What? A VIP?”

“A Very Important Pony!”

Of course she missed the ‘who’ context of the question, and just assumed the ‘what’ to further condescend to him with a projected sense of his incompetence.  Eh might as well try to correct her, all knowing she’d just interrupt him three words in.  “I know what-”

“-There’s no way my career could stand her seeing my office like this!” As she rattled on, Lily rushed past Devon and into the depths of the offices.

“So...” Devon started, “does that mean the whole staff is going to come together in a big show of teamwork to get this task done and we’ll all appear amazing to the royalty?” Stupid question, but he had to fling it on out there anyway.

“Not quite. You’ll be doing the teamwork, Bookmark,” Lily replied with a delightfully pleased beam as she wheeled out a cart used to haul large amounts of books from one end of the archive to another. “Same deadline, just a new setting.” Pushing the cart to Devon’s desk, Lily strode past him and with a single movement that left Devon gawking with a slack jaw, sweeping his papers, scrolls, books, and forms from one unsightly pile on his desk into a terrifying heap on the cart.

“Gah... buh... but...” Devon sputtered in powerless rebellion.

“There! Now you can find some corner of the Archive where the Princess won’t go, do your work and I will have a pristine office to show off should she visit us!” Turning to see Devon gawping at the cart, Lily snorted. “Deadlines, Devon! Tick tick tick! Get going! And don’t think this gets you any progress or favors!”

Devon choked down an intruding snort. Funny she should imply anything wins any progress or favors with her.

Turning back to her office door, Lily lobbed a final salvo over her shoulders. “This is part of the job! Oh, and since you are out there...” Not even turning around, a cyan aura sprung in front of her, summoning a bundle of scrolls at Devon’s hooves. “... sort these in the spells archive, pronto!”

Another aura loomed ominously over Devon as a monstrous beast of swirling parchments ascended in a menacing countenance that dwarfed him.  With a twirling dive, the paper monster flung itself aggressively into the cart, leaving no space for any of his desk supplies remaining.  One particular scroll snagged on an errant wisp of air, and fluttered open in a dejected flop against his hooves.  A dark floor-colored eye in the middle of the parchment glared back up to him, the carpet showing through a tattered impalement through the words.

Devon motioned a forehoof at the document.  “This one’s got a hole in it, Miss Boxt-”

“-Stop wasting time!” Lily snorted angrily, adjusting another stack of paperwork along a shelf. “Just because you’re absolute pants with magic doesn’t mean I, too, have to mommy you every step of the way!” Yeesh, low blow. “Pick it up with your little hoof-sies and figure it out!  It’s not like Luna’s horn impaled every single letter on it!”

Devon impulsively leaped backward from the paper, slamming his tail against the cart.  A smattering of flopping scrolls cascaded in a thunderous symphony of noise that permeated across the musty air. The chaotic percussion grated the deepest recesses of Lily’s obliterated patience.  Yet Devon’s glance remained firmly planted on the lone paper in front of him, the edges of its frilled wound seemed to glow with imagined magic just knowing that it was touched by...

“... Luna?” Devon asked.

“Where!?”  Lily’s legs seized beneath her, propelling her upward in a subtle hop before landing rigidly on all hooves.  She slunk forward over her forelegs, and promptly flopped to her side in an involuntarily faint.  “Oh,” she murmured from the floor.  “Yes, Devon, her.  Now don’t go embarrassing yourself, and me, before her.”

A quick succession of hoofsteps trotted up around the corner, stumbling across a slowly meandering flock of scrolls migrating down the aisle.  A red mare quickly trot back next to Devon.  “Forgot my keys,” she quickly exhaled, “oh hey Devon, you see that your cutesy coltcrush just walked in?”

Oh Celestia, no.

“I don’t have a coltcrush on Luna!” Oh, he could just feel his pupils laughing tenaciously as they stabbed him in the back, their excited quivering clearly giving him away and conspiring with whatever malevolent trickery also caused his cheeks to tingle into a blush.

Lily’s eyes shot open. “Colt... cru-” She immediately cut herself off with a nicker.  “I mean it Bookmark,” she shook her mane, expelling the thought from her mind. “Just lay low and don’t make a mockery of us before the Princess of the Night, okay?”

The red mare twirled back down the aisle, kicking a few lazily rolling scrolls mindlessly out of the way.  “Again, thanks, have fun!” She darted out of view before Devon could conjure the appropriate tongue lashing.  Deep down, in his sincerest thoughts and memories, the slanderous teasing warranted less of a rebuttal, and more of a guarded stance over a wayward heat culminating over his face.  Her spontaneous bout of unfounded ridicule, albeit a blindfolded shot across the infinite miasma of improbable darkness, managed to transcend a galactic distance of insurmountable odds to land smack dab on a bullseye.

Lily glared down at him with accusing brows.

“I don’t have a...”

Busted.

“... I mean, she doesn’t...”

Keep trying.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Free from the rabble of the archival offices, Devon listlessly wheeled the teetering cart. Loaded well beyond capacity, the towering scrolls and papers barely wove through the tight corridors and hallways of the archives. Having survived another tongue lashing for inadequate reverence towards his superiors, he was tasked with the newfound tedium of wheeling each individual scroll back to where it belonged. He stumbled over his own hooves, his horn providing absolutely zero help with meticulously re-tying the strings holding the scrolls in a tidy tube and re-shelving them. It was a mind-numbing task, but at least it got him further away from Sergeant Boxtop.

He’d take any shred of optimism at this point.

“Look out.” Devon would wearily call while rounding into another aisle. The cart was so laden with scrolls and paper that his vision was limited to two slices of clear space to either side of the swaying monolith; nothing directly in front but the latest scribblings of magic or history bouncing carelessly atop the cart. He didn’t even really need to issue the warning, for the wailing squeak of poorly-oiled wheels served as a screeching siren that carried well past his voice. He issued warnings anyway, too meek to submit to apathy and plow through whoever wandered in the way. “Plus,” he mused with a small inward groan, “if I crashed, I’d be stuck picking it all up anyway.”

And talking to himself.

Hefting his head into the side of the cart, he barely managed the corner into a far-flung hallway. He had a destination in mind to finish his work. He had no hope of plowing through the shelving, his work, and the other work foisted on him, but at least he knew a spot that had a good couch.. If I’m going to suffer, at least I can have a decent place to sit while I do it.

It was his retreat, his place to get away, his sacred hole to disappear for small bouts of time to recollect his sanity and thoughts... but mostly sanity.  It was quiet, hardly regarded, and completely secluded from the outside world save for a small window tucked away in a deeply recessed alcove well above eye level.

And boy, did he need it.

A couple aisles away, a flowing cobalt mane twisted and dodged through the labyrinthian ensemble of shelves and pillars. Before every turn, it stopped, peering a curious head each direction before propping itself high into the air, navy blue ears twitching to absorb every decibel that reverberated through the proximity.

Luna paid no further heed to the startled bows and salutes of the archive staff. She was the most energetic thing in the whole building by far as she stormed through the hallways. Each step was rapid and powerful; no patience for waiting and no desire for the smallest delay. She walked faster, trying to shake the unsettling images from her mind.

With every blink, the musty insides of the Archives faded away, the visage of the Canterlot council chamber projecting onto her eyelids from her memory, a crushed train car tumbling to the side, a stone draconequus crashing onto the marbled floor...

... An errant twirling note hanging off the draconequus’ horn.  A drawing.  Five jewels, and an arrow pointing at a sixth in the middle...

Blink.

Try as she might, the note stuck in her head and its veiled threat to her and Canterlot was painfully clear. Inevitability. A prayer made in a jealous fury transformed into an eternity of exile, but that was not the end of it. Her fellow conspirators... the powers she brokered with... the forces she pawned away her free will to-

“Look out.” A voice, calling out in abject boredom...”Look ou--WOAH!” ... came up short when Luna barreled headlong into a squeaky cart. Still laden with scrolls and parchments, It exploded in a blast of drifting pages and twirling strings.  Set to the melody of screeching metal, the percussion of meaty thumps carried through the entire building. Papers and scrolls pirouetted giddily in the air as they gracefully showered to the floor, draping across the prone charcoal black form that groaned on the ground.

“Ugh...” he murmured, eyes rolling as he lifted his head to observe the damage. “Jeez, what a mess.” Slowly, he rose to all four hooves, wobbling a bit in a self-absorbed bubble created by a sudden impact and shock. As his eyes refocused, he caught sight of a long navy blue leg sticking out beneath a pile of fallen scrolls and, as if were a supremely insightful deduction, figured that its owner was the cause of the crash. “Ack, aw jeez,” he stammered, bending down to clear the papers from the blue leg. Part of him wished he could summon the rage of his boss at being so inconvenienced, but he simply let out an inward sigh as righteous anger fizzled and died. No point in it over a simple accident. Just wasn’t right.

As he cleared another load of scrolls from the fallen figure, it shifted and rose, shedding the paper with a single regal flick of the head. As the form revealed itself, Devon’s eyes widened and jaw fell. It was unmistakable who owned that shape and who just clobbered his cart. Doom filled his mind as Princess Luna rose from the piles of paper, the last scrolls rolling off of her muzzle as it twisted into a mask of confusion.

“Ah... I...” Devon blurted, eyes growing into large saucers as the Princess of the Night turned to face him squarely, her eyes evenly narrowed.

“Pray tell, be this thy cart?”

“Er... yes ma’-er Princess,” Devon replied with a voice that was so dry that he could practically feel dust in his throat. He watched as her expression wavered, flickering from a royal indignation to something more weary and timeworn. From her perspective, Luna saw the look of abject terror pasted across the unicorn’s expression. He was so stunned and frightened that he didn’t even notice his glasses were askew.

So... not going to forcibly genuflect to the floor?  Not going to deliver the same rehearsed three lines extending apology and begging for forgiveness?”

“Ow-w...”

Wait.  Really?  Seems she wasn’t the only pony who missed the ‘How to react when irritating Luna’ city meeting.

“We... er...” Luna hesitated, alien to the unorthodox approach this charcoal-coated unicorn was taking in her presence.  She chewed on her breath, picking her words carefully and slowly. “We noticed not thy... um..” She surveyed the overturned cart, the avalanche of Canterlot bureaucracy rampaging forth from it.  “Trash wagon?”

Ha.

Maybe it was the crippling jolt of sudden infatuation talking, but Devon had never before in his whole entire existence agreed so hard with anything ever before ever.  It was like she was the Equestrian champion of frighteningly accurate metaphors.

“Thou... appearest as a...” It was a clear struggle, both in finding the words and trying not to scare the cutie mark off of the shuddering unicorn. “Artisan of janitorial discipline?”

World champion.

“Huh?” Devon blinked, shaking his head in a bit of bewilderment as she spoke to him. The Princess speaking to him! “Well, it actually isn’t trash, Princess,” he replied, stepping towards the capsized cart. “It’s my... work. I got ran out of my office when...” he hesitated, deciding not to burden her with any details that might agitate her or cost him his frail position. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Basically, I was looking for a place to work here that was kind of out of the way.”

“But thou hast a veritable... cartload of parchment! Do not the archive laborers rest?” Luna blurted, the enormity of the paper stack becoming evident as Devon hefted another load into the righted cart.

“Well, sometimes,” he responded, risking a bit of sarcasm in a laugh. “Tonight I’ll be burning the midnight oil though.”

“How proud thy comrades must be of thee, then!” Luna proclaimed, her broadening smile faltering a bit as she beheld a weary set of eyes. “Er... do they not celebrate thy efforts and flood thee in appreciation and merits?”

Devon sighed, “Not exactly,” mispronouncing the word never.  As she spoke, Luna extended a hoof and hooked it against his lopsided glasses, brushing them back up to square on his face. For a moment, her hoof trailed across his cheek.

Did she...

Was her hoof just...

“Thine spectacles, allow me.”

Oh halcyon embrace, please vice this moment into eternity.

To the unicorn, it was like his mind simply broke right there. A culmination of all of Canterlot’s greatest poets and songwriters assembled to document the brief contact of hoof and blush-stricken cheek with a lengthy musical number. So what was left to do, then?  Idiotic stammering?

“Well I... um... should... before... my... b-b-buh...”

Idiotic stammering.

Unable to hear his words through boisterous music cascading through his mind. His mental capacities were too occupied to send the proper neural impulses to keep standing.  “I should get back to it... before...”

“By the cursed weight of a hundred plows!” A telltale reptilian shriek speared him.

“... My boss...”

“What are you doing?!” Lily Boxtop was on a rampage, her eyes blazed furiously at Devon as she beheld the unutterable crime of non-work on top of a mess on top of his hobnobbing with the Princess! “I told you to be out of the VIP’s way, not all up in it like some...” her mind ricocheted a few descriptors around, “... obtrusive, blubbering... you.”

Apparently, you was the most bitter insult she had at her disposal.  He wasn’t sure if he got off easy, or hit with the grandaddy of depreciating slander.

“Oh,” Luna chuckled softly, dismissive of Lily’s diatribe, “thou musn’t worry, t’was our own fau-”

“A complete disaster, and look who is right in the middle of it. This putz!” Lily’s anger was not lightly deflected. “Do you not have any consideration for others?! Do you realize what this is going to do to my career?!” A manic grin appeared across Lily’s face as a momentary mishap allowed her to vent withheld anger onto a pony unable to defend himself. The path of empathy? “What do you have to say for yourself, Bookmark? Nothing?”

Pfft, overrated.  The path of opportunity glimmers in gold once again; enjoy your march to the sea, Boxtop.

Luna blinked and swiveled her head to Devon. He peered away in dejection under the green unicorn’s scorn, and without any further words, lowered his head and started reloading the bulky cart with mouthfuls of texts and paper. She expected protest, or at least an indignant flush, but instead he just tried to load the cart.

The Princess observed curiously. Why doth he not speaketh back?!

“That’s right, you have nothing to say,” Lily huffed triumphantly.

“Prithee, thou musn’t make such a fuss...” Luna stammered, even her powerful voice resounded weakly against the tirade launched against the unicorn still scooping up loads of scattered parchment and scrolls with a foreleg towards his mouth.

“Don’t feel guilty for this... this associate assistant of assistants’ featherbrained mistakes!” Lily sneered, as if she were doing the Princess a favor by dismissing him. Immediately, her focus shifted the ire and venom back onto Devon. “Well...former associate assistant of assistants, I should say. Did you not even look where you were going with that cart? I knew I couldn’t trust you with even this simple job!”

“We accepted responsibility, Lady Boxtop,” Luna interjected, “t’was we... er... I who doth not watch our step.”

“And to run into a Princess! Princess...Luna! How foalishly inconsiderate, clouds for brains! You’re lucky I am in such a good mood today. Thank me for that! And apologize to the Princess while you are at it. And to me, too, since you are wasting my time, Canterlot’s time, everypony’s time!” Lily raised her chin, swiveling to face her.  “She’s to be treated with utmost courtesy and reverence!”  Her shoulders dipped, signaling the onset of another curtsey.

We prithee, don’t.

“Now we must protest!” Luna suddenly lurched into the green unicorn, a sickening sense of mortification twisting around in her gut as the manager forced the unicorn to further humiliate himself. “We understandeth thy frustrations, but tis we who are to blame!” With her forehead closing against Lily’s, Luna lit her horn to start lifting scrolls up and loading them on the cart, her focus not in the least breaking from the quivering pupils shying away on the green unicorn’s suddenly breached expression.

“Please, your Highness!” the manager cooed.  With a subtle wave her her horn, a cyan flash smacked into the side of the recently stacked scrolls on the cart, buffeting the side of the charcoal unicorn’s head. “I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to help our department, but this is his responsibility to fix.” She took a quick stride back to create a gap, lifting a forehoof to brush a stray tendril of her mane out of her face.  “You know, Canterlot bureaucracy and all.”

The words stung deep into Luna’s mind.  How often she heard it, but now was certainly not a time for often to be rearing its ugly monstrous head.

Seeing the pained reaction drill into the Princess’ candor, Lily scuttled to the side, nudging the charcoal unicorn forward to face her.  “Now don’t you have an apology to be making, undersecretary to the undersecretary?”

The unicorn paused in his cleaning, mumbling incoherently to the floor.

“I didn’t catch that, speak up so the Princess can hear your apology.” Poison dripped from every syllable from the malevolent leering manager.

The charcoal unicorn murmured again. “Princess Dearest.”

Line one.

“My sincerest of apologies.”

Line two.

“And...?” the manager sneered, nodding towards the Princess.

Another defeated sigh. “And please forgive my clumsy, lax attention to detail for running into you, your Majesty.”

And down he went.  Typical.

A heavy drape of defeat ensnared over the charcoal unicorn, his legs giving way under the weight of the rehearsed number pressed upon him by the decree of Canterlot, and the overbearing manager seeing to its enforcement.  The glisten of improvised interaction from just a few moments previous peeled away into burning embers, the stallion once more in line, in tune, in accordance to the rest of the mindless peons that surrounded her.

If only.

Be calm, Luna.  Easy.

The weight of orange sunlight pressed down upon her back, only the company of the looming bookshelves returned to her list of necessities.

Easy.

Devon lowered his head to pick up another scroll, painstakingly reloading it into the cart. His eyes were closed as he attempted to simply get out of the situation, but he couldn’t squirm. Learned helplessness caused him to simply endure and take the verbal blows as they fell, struggling would make it worse.

“But,” Luna raised a hoof towards the unicorn, his confidence in even establishing eye contact with her faded.  “We insist that t’was we who-”

“That was hardly an apology fit for royalty!”

Easy, Luna thought to herself.

“We insisteth that thou relent ‘pon this unicorn, he hath done no wrong!”

“And you didn’t even bow! What kind of Canterlot citizen are you?!”

Be calm.

“We implore thee to-”

“And now I look bad in front of the Princess, don’t you know what this will do to my career? Do you think I enjoy shepherding around peons like you?”

Just take a moment to-

“-We order thee!  Be silent!” With a stomp that sent a shuddering pulse of force through the whole archive and a crack of thunder, the Royal Canterlot Voice emerged

Lily and Devon only managed to turn their heads halfway towards before they received a complete verbal broadside, all guns blazing.

“By celestial decrees proclaimed by a thousand quasars!”  A shrill blast of wind careened down the aisle, every book pressed back into the deepest corners of its shelf with a resounding clap.  “Thou!  Art!  A most ungrateful wretch!”

Easy.

No.

Be calm, Lu-

No!

“Thine words infest and devour mine words like a shrill swarm of flaming locusts!  We’d prefereth a pox of ticks from a herd of camels than witness one more word of thine incessant petulance!”

She tried. “Dearest Princess.” Much to Devon’s humor, did she try. “I sincerely apologi-”

“-One!  Word!” Luna slammed a hoof into the bookshelf, a ripple of raw energy cascaded down where it cracked against the aisle’s end like a whip, summoning an explosion of books erupting into the air behind her.  “Hast thou gone deaf, or dost thou simply indulge thy idiocy for the sake of thine amusement?!” Luna’s rage boiled over, and every bit of it directed at the manager. “Thou dost continue to rabble on about nothing and for what gain?! Dost thou truly believeth that by abusing thy employee, thou earnest our favor?”

Peeking towards Luna’s face for a moment, Devon beheld a mask of unyielding rage.

“For wasting our time listening betwixt thine lashing and thine haughty touting of Canterlot’s redundancy like we careth about such rubbish!? Dost thou requireth glasses, dost we appear as some savage who might delight in such vulgarity?”

Beautiful.

“For all our time in this hovel of thy leadership, tis this unicorn who might even be consideredth as accomplishing any work! Thy leadership appeareth to be little more than trembling like a leaf before me and then roareth like a beast at those who thou controleth!”

Angelic.

“Where is thy bluster now that thou faceth us!? Where did such a fierce unicorn cower off to and who be this blubbering trifle before us?”

Sublime.

“P-P-P-P-P-Princess...” Lily stammered, her voice a dry crack. “I-I... Apologize sincerel-”

Rage.

“-We careth not! Save thy sniveling for one who might harken it!” Luna snorted, stomping down and sending a reverberating shockwave through the archive, a sister to the one caused by the Royal Canterlot Voice alone. “Perhaps thy tears would find better use polishing our chariot! Thou seemest to have those in abundance with thy vitriol, perchance thine true calling be in benefiting others in thine misery!”

Devon clutched a full armload of scrolls and papers to his chest as Luna stomped past him. She looked like she had immediately forgotten him, and focused solely on venting rage on his manager. As Lily withered like a plant in an oven upon being bombarded by the royal diatribe, Devon felt his own spirit soaring as Luna took to his defense. Perhaps it was inadvertent, but it was so striking, so unique and so beautiful in a natural disaster observed from a safe distance. Devon swore his heart skipped a beat, and not because of the fear of the royal rage burning mere inches from him.

“Now get thy haunches out of our sight, and unless thou wisheth to do something useful for us, thou whilst stay out of our sight! Get thee gone yon baby-boobie-blooey boots!” Luna roared, sending Lily skittering away.

As she slunk away, Lily looked over her shoulder, throwing an incendiary glare directly at Devon. He knew that look. He was going to pay for this.

A strangling silence settled over him, the musty archive air only disturbed by the settling and dropping of a book plopping off the kicked bookshelf.  Devon turned, but like it had all been a dream, only saw an empty aisle staring back at him, not even a hint of cobalt anywhere to be seen.  He advanced down the archives with whatever tattered remnants of his supplies could be piled back atop the cart, aiming for the corner refuge just a few rows down.  Nice couch, almost zero visibility from the main foyer, and hardly regarded considering the hideaway’s contents were ancient cookbooks of pre-Equestria earth ponies. Sure, everypony liked pudding, but not that much; not enough to adventure into the obscure recipes of old times.

Considering history’s greatness, there’s no denying that not all aspects of history truly deserved archiving, right?

Right?

Devon’s thoughts bubbled to the surface in spontaneous percolating wafts of recollections of history, and just how much seemingly unnecessary recounts of history surrounded him.  He couldn’t complain in all consciousness, though.  Sometimes the best role history will give somepony is a chapter in a book everypony avoids, and when you get enough of those unsung heroes of the mundane, you end up with...

... An unexpected refuge.

Devon rounded the corner to find himself alone, surrounded by a thick fortification of cookbooks penned long ago by eccentric earth ponies with frighteningly specific culinary tastes.  He tucked away into the corner sofa, feeling the long day evaporate from his nerves. The quiet felt strangely unfamiliar to him; no doubt the rest of the archive staff overheard Luna’s vociferous outburst, and cowered in terror comparable to Lily’s.

After all.  It was what they rehearsed.

Yet their stringent, regimented silence didn’t last long; a rhythmic sound of medals and chains drifted through the stacks in determined footsteps.

Jangle.

There it was again.

Jangle, jangle.

Definitely coming from three aisles down.

Jangle.

Pacing.

Jangle.

Hunting.

Jangle... jangle, jangle.

On the prowl.

The telltale sound of the Second Captain's rows of medals followed her every maneuver. She'd quickly turn down an aisle to bump into a startled citizen cowering before her, but would quickly wave desperately in fleeting motions pleading for them to remain silent. A rushed gasp from a petrified citizen would usher an uncomfortable break in the musty air that she could feel rippling outward; a ripple she knew the second captain was picking up on. She swiveled her ear after subduing the errant groveling of yet another patron of the Archives, and could hear the approaching steps shifting, turning, and quickening to her location.

Jangle, jangle.

Words failed. Royal decrees failed. Countless instances of flinging water, smoothies, pastries, and cider into his face failed. The Second Captain just couldn't pick up on the hint, couldn't realize how much she'd rather be left alone, how much stress he inadvertently summoned upon her, and how much stress she was already under without his burdening presence breathing down the back of her neck.

Her mind reeled at the very image of Stormblade chancing upon her. It's like she could already feel those burdensome puffs of predatory breath beating against the back of...

No wait.

Who was that breathing against the back of her neck?

“Ow...” Devon groaned as Chancellor Puddinghead’s Delightful Desserts Volume XIV Third Edition slid from his muzzle and clattered to the floor, still tinged with residual colbalt telekinesis. “Excuse me.”

“Ack! Sirrah, be you again! We... we thought thee somepony else!” Luna squeaked in mild shock as she made the simultaneous discoveries that her aim was unerring, and her target was not who she had envisioned when she seized the heaviest book she could spot and whipped it blindly towards the pony behind her. “Thou shant be needing another tome ‘pon thy head, methinks!”

“Well that’s good to know, I think,” the charcoal unicorn muttered as he stooped his head and seized the book in his teeth. With a heft, he hoisted it up to the shelves and slid it back into place, tapping it with his foreleg to slide it securely into place. Devon focused on his task of reshelving the misplaced book in a vain attempt not to stare at the Princess who had so recently defended him. He still felt the lingering moment of contact from her hoof when she adjusted his glasses earlier.

Huh, and there’s that music playing again in the echoing confines of his imagination...

After a good twenty seconds of nudging the lone books an awkward millimeter from side to side, he figured enough uncomfortable silence had passed to be worth bearing.  Stepping back, he noticed the Princess glaring quizzically at him. “What is it?”

“Pardon us, but why won’t thou use thy magic to lift yonder tome?” Devon suddenly found uncomfortable silence preferable. “T’would be easier and faster, mayhap easier on thy jaw as well.”

He sighed deeply. “Would if I could, m’lady,” Devon responded wistfully, smiling weakly and adjusting his glasses again. This conversation again. “I wasn’t exactly gifted with magic.” A mysterious force suddenly wrapped around his neck, seizing his words in place. “Wait, I mean, I was... I could..” Now centered in the Princess’ glance, it seemed his pride decided to make a cameo. “... You know, I... with magic, I could...”

Saw right through it. “Have not the ability, sir?”

“I... well...”

“I see.”

He faced back to the bookshelf, nudging a few slightly askew manuscripts with his hoof.  For another discomforting span of existence, he pressed against them, only watching gravity pull them back to their original angle.  “I went through school,” he huffed. “I just never really had much of the spark for it. That’s what all my teachers told me, anyway. And the tutors my mom made me see." Part of him withered at the blase explanation and struggled to cover. Jumbling his thoughts in the hopes to end his short sob story on an uplifting smidge of optimism he spoke out...

In a voice of, but not from himself.

“Maybe it’s just all being held back for something really big.” He smiled, finally able to face her head on. “And that’ll make it big for... me...”

Devon stopped speaking when he turned his head and found the Princess not even acting like she was listening. Instead, she leaned against a small reading couch, one that in this remote corner of the archive was never used. She stared out a window, cobalt mane flowing in languid waves. Polite urges and common sense drove Devon a few steps back towards the hallway, yet he dug in and spoke.

“Is... something the matter, Princess?” Startled, the Princess of the Night turned to the charcoal unicorn, regarding him like he had just entered the room from another galaxy. Battling down the urge to shout him out of the small room, she took a breath. Yonder commoner is not the irksome Second Captain. Nor does he maketh a scene. Mayhap we can speaketh with this one.

Luna screwed up her face and let out a little sigh as she turned to face the lowborn unicorn. She saw a face of casual concern, too busy and preoccupied to fawn over the Princesses’ worries, but willing to listen anyway. She decided to give him the abridged version, shortened and with a few convenient mistruths. "Oh, we're just... by our hooves done strainedeth, royal duty be a real pain upon thine posterior."

"Ah.” Devon smiled, thinking he understood immediately. “You too, huh?"

"Wait, thou art-?"

"No, I’m not another long-forgotten prince, but I know what you mean,” he quickly added, fighting the quiver in his voice as he elaborated, also abridged. “It’s more like I have issues with my duty, with my mom."

"Enduring quarrels with thy mother?" Luna’s brow slowly slide up her forehead.

"Yeah, she's a real shank in the flank," Devon relaxed ever so slightly, his reservations slipping, “I’m supposed to meet her at home tonight and she’ll have me out at a party and I just want to get to get caught up on my Daring Do.”

"Thou still liveth with thy mother?"

Wait.

“Ey-eh-heh, I...” Devon’s ego took a sputtering nosedive. Flush red danced across his cheeks as he mentally flailed for a brace. "Err-no, no, well, I... I take care of her."

"She's ill?" Luna’s face tightened from dismissal to concern.

"Oh, yes,” he exhaled in relief, seeing an opportunity to salvage himself.  “Definitely, very sick, needs me all the time." Devon spoke quickly, hoping to change the subject before she could press on. The blush simply was not leaving his face.

"Thou hast abandoned thy poor ill mother?”

Hold up!

“Err, I-yuh...”

Hayseed.

“Hitherto thine objection, sir,” Luna beganwith a slight narrowing of her eyes. “Thou soundest like one awful sort of kin."

"Oh! No no no no, she's fine! Really!" His cheeks burned like a forest fire now.

"Prithee sir! Whilst thou deciedth if thy mother is well or not?” Luna barked, stomping her hoof and extinguishing his stammering with a gust of wind from her voice. Heated blush quickly morphed into a cold sweat on Devon’s face. The charcoal unicorn squirmed and shifted uncomfortably from one hoof to another as any semblance of confidence withered.

Time to bail out. "So what is all this?” Devon started, swirling to the bookcase that Luna was standing near before the growing disaster that their conversation began. “Earth Pony Cookbooks, huh!? Why I... ahem, I do doth decree, eh heh, heh, heh."

"..."

"Tis some, uhh, fond awesometh reading, uhh, hither yonder forth yay!"

"Dost thou ridiculeth mine dialect, sir?"

"Oh! No no! I'm just, ya know, trying to... with the voice, and the words.” Devon stammered and stumbled over his words. He knew precisely nothing of the Old Canterlot dialect. Before his eyes, his attempt at imitating the Princess imploded spectacularly. “It's... it's very, umm, let's see... it's quite... enchanting m'lady." Devon fell silent. He tried to bluff her about lifestyle to no avail, his attempt to join hers failed and now her piercing eyes saw through him as if he were frayed paper.

"Enchanting?"

No point in hiding it any longer.

"I'm an idiot."

"Ah, at long last overdue, thou finally speaketh some truth to us!” The corners of Luna’s mouth pulled up in a small grin. “Now if thou hast finished with thy attempts to impress us, we shall proceedeth from there, mister... ah, uh"

It took a moment for Devon’s brain to react, and another moment to put together an answer. "Er-um, uh, ah! Bookmark!"

"Mister Erumuhah Bookmark?” Luna’s eyebrow rose. “Is that Scandaneighvian!" Luna couldn’t hide her devious smile now as, predictably, the unicorn’s face twisted in reaction to the intentional jump in logic.

"Oh! Sorry, no no, Devon.” The unicorn flailed verbally. “The name's Devon."

"Erumuhah Devon! Definitely Scandaneighvian!"

"I-"

"-Perchance thy sickly ill mother of Trotholm?"

"No, she's not."

"Ah, well, thou hast no blonde mane upon thee, dost thine fath-"

"None of my... they-!... Gyagh” He shook his neck, reasserting his frame back into the phsyical plane. “Sorry m'lady, I misspoke.” The charcoal unicorn cleared the slate, restarting his introduction. “My real name is Devon Book-"

Jangle.

Luna’s blood instantly turned to ice water and the conversation immediately ended. Lowering her voice to a husky, urgent tone, she grabbed at Devon’s shoulder. “Quickly! Thou must performeth a task forthwith!”

“Huh? Task?” Devon blinked as the urgent hoof began shaking him. His brain was about twenty seconds behind, still caught in the embarrassment of explaining that he wasn’t Scandaneighvian. But before he could even speak again, Luna spun away and scrambled at the floor, tunneling like some filly underneath a large, ornate carpet.

“We must not be seen by yonder jangling cacaphony. We implore thee! Tip thy cart onto the carpet, distracteth him, anything!” Her voice was a mere muffle now as the jangling march drew nearer to the small chamber where Devon and Luna were, until moments ago, speaking.

A final surrender deflated out of Devon’s short-term aspirations. These cursed scrolls were never going to see themselves sorted.

Acting on reflex and driven by her voice, Devon threw his shoulder into his cart, upending it onto the mound in the rug.

“Sorry!” he squeaked as he lay the cart on top of Luna, concealing her buried form and bending down to start collecting papers.  The jangling march came to a halt and a huffing, equine snort drew his attention.

“You!” barked Stormblade at a rude volume. “Where’s Princess Luna? Speak up!”

“Huh?” Devon feigned ignorance. “The Princess?”

“Yes, you know, the Prin-cess,” Stormblade spoke slowly, not bothering to hide the condescending contempt in his tone. “The one you knocked over, if I recall correctly. I was told she was up here.”

Told?  Why would anypony tell-Oh Lily, come on!

“Now where is she?” His tone seethed, accusatory and bitter.

“I...” Devon hesitated. It was a Royal Guard, a Lieutenant or at least close enough. He had enough trouble lying to his mother in saying that his work days were fine and he was enjoying his job. But as he turned his head to the upended cart, he swallowed hard and spoke. “I saw her, sir,” he mewled meekly, “she came through here a few minutes ago, blew over my cart and flew out the window.” He could clearly hear the telltale quivering of his lie, but in the presence of this burdensome jangling officer, he probably couldn’t call the sky blue without squeaking incoherently between every syllable.

Every photon bouncing from the Captain screamed unimpressed. “The window.”

“I think I saw her heading back to the palace. If you want to help me clean up, I’d really apprec-”

“Don’t even think of wasting my time! You got what you deserved for getting in her way, and...” Stormblade hooked a hoof into one of the shelves, and with a shove, scattered another dozen books down onto the floor with a tumultuous thud. “And there’s a little something for not stopping her!” Placing his foreleg across his face, Stormblade groaned in exasperation, turning to stomp out of the chamber. Devon heard as he strode out of the door and jangled all the way down the hall.

He was still until the jangling finally faded.

“Alright, he’s gone, Princess. You can come out from under that, now.” Devon nudged the cart aside and seized a corner of the rug with his teeth. He drew the carpet back further and further until the stone floor was bare underneath it. Time and neglect had left small clouds of dust hanging in the air, but despite its age, it was clearly no ordinary floor. Carved through the stone was an engraved mural, rife with symbols of stars, flowers, birds, and ponies of old.

“Wow...” Devon breathed. He recognized the style and methods used, it was something that resided comfortably in history books or museums. Old twitches of his school and education flared to life. Long lessons spent pouring through the histories of Canterlot and her architecture squealed, delighted to find use at last. “This must be at least a thousand years old,” he added in a hushed tone, as if any louder words would somehow destroy the art laid before him. Cast on the floor stood images of unicorns gazing at the stars. Etched centrally, and with obvious significance, was a stylized hummingbird set in front of crossed quills. Maker’s mark, perhaps? Every symbol was rife in the mysteries only a millennium could produce.

To Luna, however, the symbols were as fresh as if they were carved yesterday. Standing up, she whipped a forehoof outward, alternating between each leg to kick the dust off her shoulders. The hummingbird, the stars, the unicorns engaged with the stars bore significance that served as a reminder to just what a gap of time she had missed. She was silent, drinking in the same sight as the unicorn, but her focus scanned the symbols.

Dropping the hefty carpet, Devon stepped towards the floor mural. Murky memories from history instruction kicked out of a long dormancy. These tiles must have been laid when this place was first built! His eye danced over the inscriptions and carvings. Hummingbirds must have been the symbol of whoever built this, but why haven’t I ever seen these symbols before?

With trepidation, Devon extended his hoof and brushed it across the central hummingbird, the most prominent feature on the entire floor. The moment his hoof grazed across the stone, a flicker of gray magic snapped at his leg, the unexpected light forcing him into a wince to the side.

He opened his eyes to face it, and without a nuance of effort, another vestigial trigger fired in his brain.  The world blinked into a pinched singularity before him as a panging sensation racked up his face, and a searing punch of raw energy spiraled up a long forgotten adornment.

The engraving shifted, depressing into the floor with a small grind of stone. Luna’s attention was on the corners, and the charcoal unicon could only watch with growing horror as whatever he set in motion continued on.

Oh no. Ooooooh no. Celestia, what the heck did I just do? Stop. Stoooop!

Stone slid and clicked in place, moving another stone, and another in a perfectly choreographed display of ancient triggers and pressure plates. Spurred on by that tiny magical spark, the floor shifted unsettlingly, and Luna’s eyes widened as she jumped backwards, away from the moving stone.

“WHAT hast thou done, Mister Bookkeeper?!”

“I don’t know! I just touched the hummingbird thing and this star-”

“Dare not trifle with us, whelp! Thou shalt regret thy recklessness!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Devon protested again, but before the argument could continue, the entire floor panel sunk and tilted. Previously invisible notches and cuts in the floor twisted in granite origami, folding into a set of stairs that descended underneath the floor. The steps disappeared into a darkening helix, obscured from prying eyes for Celestia knows how long.

With a shuddering thud, the movement came to a halt. With how rarely visited this part of the Archive was, it’s doubtful any of the employees working there to that day knew of it.

For a long, quivering second, the two could only stare down into the opening. They should tell somepony! They should assemble the archaeologists and historians and-

Jangle.

They should run.

The charcoal unicorn never truly understood what Luna was running from, or why she seemed so panicked at the approaching rhythm of Captain... medal pants or whatever.  Yet he quickly found himself yearning for her advantageous head start when a second sound crept through the corners of narrow bookshelves.

“Dev’n? You’s up’ere?” Mother. “I heards fr’m yer boss that yer on night shift? I wanted t’bring ya a dinner t’go.”

Jangle jangle.

Luna bolted down the stairs, evidence of her presence only shown by the echoing clatter of hooves against stone and the subtle cobalt light emanating from her mane.

"M'lady, wait up!" Devon called, seconds behind her.

"Mister Erumuhah, why?"

"So I can get ahead of you!"

"Wait, so thou canst-what? Hold! Art thou so thoughtless!?"

"Yeppers!"

"No, wait, this path is fraught with peril thou must turn-"

Before Luna could finish, the stones shifted again. With a startled yelp, Devon threw himself away from the sudden upward swell of carved stone as the staircase transmogrified back into a floor and rose into place again. Each rising step stole the light from above until the final cornerstone fell into place, and Devon and Luna were swaddled by enveloping darkness. Only a lone cobalt glow pierced the surrounding black mire.