//------------------------------// // Celestia and Luna's Existentialism: Chapter 1 // Story: Scrips, scraps, and other unfinished miscellania // by Pacific Penguin //------------------------------// Truth. Universally so? Perhaps. Only time will tell. Only time does anyway… Truth and life, they are one and the same, are they not? As life is always a quest for significance, for meaning. I can no longer tell. It’s been a long time. And very long time. Celestia willing – oh, wait, I am she. I still hold on to their colloquialisms too, it seems – it might as well have been forever. It’s too bad I don’t even know what forever feels like. I still inhabit this grandiose room, carefully etched, decorated, in my favor. They did their job so terribly well, I’m afraid. The structure is still sound, firm. A sure testament to whatever-kind used to live here. So many things that are lost to me over the years... But, well, it’s been so long. So long since I’ve seen a true equestrian form, other than dear sister. The details are mundane, trivial. They are just that: details. What matters now, is that my life consists of but two souls: that of my sister’s, and that of my own. Aforementioned sister’s face looks calmly into the distance. Her wings, outstretched, now fold neatly and gracefully. Her eyes stare into the distance, not focused on anything in particular, but not unfocused, either. Her mane flows cooly like it never has… or perhaps like it always has. There was a time when her form – as well as my own – were restrained. Shackled, perhaps isn’t the way to put it. We had… regalia? Yes, regalia would fit. Regalia to weigh us down. Stunning trinkets. Each catered to our own forms. But we threw those away. Carelessly let them go. They were only ever… symbolic. They weren’t true. They represented something that we never really were… we ended up being treated too… all mighty, all power, and godlike. Unburdened by these trivialities, it has left us utterly free. Free. Except, what is this existence? There is vast expanse, no responsibility to any particular entity, space, vastness. Nothing is required of us anymore. We roam. Do as we whim. But is there… purpose? Drive? For what? To what end? There is no end. There wasn’t ever a beginning, either. It just is. Such as it was, as it ever will be. From now until then. It is flow! I stand on what clearly was all a manner of opulence, whatever this was. A few steps run down before me, and a long chamber goes forth. The walls reach up and curve, touching at the ceiling, so high above me. Behind me, a most accommodating chair sits, built into the floor itself. But creatures no longer regularly inhabit this place. I raise my wings. Luna turns at the sound. She understands, there are no words to say. She rouses to leave. We slowly walk to the end of the room, and out the open doorway. Faster now. The carpet becomes stone, the light becomes bright. I leap, and then she does too, like a ghostly shadow of mine. But she is. Younger, but only in as much as that she comes second. Before I came along, she had to have already commandeered the moon. So that I could go next. Thus so on forever and since ever, for always. They… we… are two sides of the same coin. Youth is only actually an appearance. It is true she has stumbled more than I, but such things are irrelevant once the lesson is learned and couple hundred years have passed. And Celest – why is this colloquialism so persistent? – I know that learning stems from failure. It was jealousy, sharp and cold. A keen deluge, and relatively, only a moment of overwhelming spontaneity. It was ‘Our subjects think Dear Sister’s radiant Sol is more important!’ this, and ‘We rule creatures of the day, not night!’ that. She did not want to be an orbital of her sister. She did not want to be known throughout the ages as just a… satellite of the sister, the lesser one. She did not listen when I insisted that there were plenty of creatures of the night, such as herself, that we ruled over, but tended to shy away from watchful eyes. She wouldn’t have it. So she sought to take some of my light. To roll slowly in and push the light to the fringes, so that she could have the black spotlight for herself, and to cause the shadow to become the star. It was a matter of mass, though. Her capacity for magic was nothing in comparison to mine. But she was formidable beyond compare, being the exact compliment of myself. So I tricked her. Into doing her duties. And she ended up on the moon. That way she could do her duties. Because it was the only thing she could do. Other than think. Reflect. I know how she was, now. It’s the only thing I have time for now. The only thing we don’t have time for, either. Free, perhaps. Free to think, and explore every nuance of our mind and soul. Of the abstract, and the concrete indiscriminately. But thinking can be dangerous. Do it too much, and you may make yourself miserable. Within the confines of your own head, there is nothing to reassure you. No one to say, whether it means anything or not, that it’s okay, and everything will be all right. Nothing to stop the past from replaying, over and over, in your head, nothing to talk to and challenge. Nothing to prove, except to yourself. I forgave her. I forgave her a long time ago. But, that is my existence now. However, it might as well be just my solitary self, because we are true compliments to each other. And we are so close, we know, and there is nothing to be said most of the time. Our minds might as well be linked. We are one and the same, but we are different. Separate entities of the same force. What would we even say? All avenues of dialogue have been exhausted so many years ago. We fly through the lands. They might have had a name once, but they’ve flowed away with the passage of time. Like many other things. Do I miss it? Yes, sometimes I have to say, I do… There was true meaning then. Problems that always needed addressing, other nationalities to deal with… but, oh, the paperwork, the paperwork. It was so dynamic though. Can’t say the same can be said about… now. Can I change that…? I digress. There is freedom now! We soar over the lands, coasting along… the green extends for miles, up to the mountains, reaching to the lazily moving clouds in the sky, ones reflecting the orange from the falling sun. It’s been awhile. I’m still moving the sun down, and soon, Luna will bring the moon up. Is this the only thing keeping us going? Doing the task we were graced with since the beginning of time? Keeping the cycle going? It is critical to the lifeblood of the world around us… Our responsibility… it graces the plants, allows them growth. Its rays touch the whole domain, encouraging it to sprout forth… it keeps the tides regular, a constant ebb and flow. It moderates the weather, making it even and temperate. Would it be the same without us? What if we… just didn’t move those beautiful orbs in the sky? We’ve considered it before, but habit thousands of years in the making just keeps us raising them up, setting them down… Is that really freedom? Why don’t we do it differently? Because this is comfortable? Would we have enough… faith for that? What if the world fell apart? What if the sun burst into an trillion tiny flames? No. It wouldn’t. But I don’t know that. No matter. I’m confident enough the world could survive that. Flames… that reminds me of a creature. Exactly what the creature was called, again, is beyond me, lost to time. I’m not entirely sure what happened to it. But I know it came back. It always came back. Its life cycle was based on its death. Because, as it grew older, it died. It died, so it could come back to life from the ashes, stronger than ever. Philo… Philomena, was what I had named it… The only creature ever fitting for the immortal… a re-living, immolated being. Hah. Good description of immortality. I don’t know what happened to it. I think it went to the center of the earth, to find its kin… I haven’t seen such a beautiful creature in a long time. Beautiful… the creatures that used to inhabit this place made such a beautiful civilization. It worked like clockwork. They took care of eachother so well. The townships were simple, minded by mayors. If anyone had a pertinent problem, they went to our capital to petition it.