Twilight Sparkle was in Heaven.
It was the only explanation that made sense of the truly wonderful week she was having; it was just too wonderful. Not only had she completed one of Starswirl the Bearded’s spells – a thought that made her squee with fanfillyish delight – she had also somehow been crowned the newest Princess of Equestria!
Twilight’s delight at this life-changing event was matched only by her paranoia. Quite frankly, she was terrified. It was easy to see why: she now held responsibility for all of Equestria, shared with her two peers. It was her duty to be as good a ruler as she possibly could.
And so, as she did in any educational crisis, Twilight Sparkle visited the library.
As she scanned the shelves with something approaching reverence, Twilight picked out several leatherbound books that would serve her purposes: Royal Responsibilities, Duties of a Diarch, Meet the Elite... All of them and more joined Twilight’s floating whirlwind of words.
A whirlwind that froze in midair when she saw the book.
Normally, Twilight would simply see the book, read the cover, estimate its value, then either disregard it or add it to the pile. This one, however, was completely unremarkable. It had no author or title, or any of the fancy decorations that were typical of Canterlot Library books. Instead, it was just a featureless and tattered journal, lying on top of the neat and orderly rows.
Simply put, it was a mystery. And Twilight Sparkle loved a mystery.
Dropping the collection of books on a desk, the purple alicorn gingerly cracked open the ancient diary. She was immediately struck by the date of the first--and only--entry. To Twilight’s delight and disbelief, the diary was written over a thousand years ago.
The hornwriting didn’t escape her scrutiny either; Twilight was sure she had never seen it before, yet it was oddly familiar. Intrigued, Twilight sat down on a cushion and started to read.
Dear Diary Princess Celestia,
Oh dear. I have barely even begun writing, and I have already made a mistake. Or did I? I am still undecided on whether this is, in all actuality, a diary entry. But I am not really trying to communicate with a diary, surely? At the very least, It would make for a poor pen-friend.
I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Of course, you’re probably chuckling as you read this, looking back on our your mistakes with a fondness borne from aged wisdom. Wisdom that I have yet to attain, even in all my years of living.
I really must stop dancing around the subject matter, lest we end up waltzing for eternity. This is the first time in a while that I have been alone with my thoughts, and to waste it would be foolish.
Remember this, and remember it well, Celestia.
For I you we have sinned...
****
I remember thinking that it should have been a beautiful morning. The birds should have been singing, the sky should have been a perfect blue, and our little ponies should have been going about their day with blessed ignorance.
Instead, it was a storm-ridden nightmare, both literally and metaphorically. Instead of singing, there was only screaming.
Our ponies were at war, and we were drinking tea. Watching. Thinking.
A long time ago, a pony once said ‘Glory to our Goddesses who have shown us the light.’ It was a sermon, I believe, told by some nameless and forgotten zealot. I had heard similar verses before, of course, but there was something about this one that stuck with me.
We were pondering it over our tea, I remember. Pondering, while others were dying. What was our little excuse again?
Ah, yes. ‘It is a mortal’s destiny to die. They may as well be useful while they’re going about it.’ Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either.
Occasionally, a soldier--whose rank could be divined by the garishness of their armour--would clank up to our little balcony and say something along the lines of ‘the enemy is advancing on our position’ or ‘our troops managed to push back the enemy’. We would respond by nodding archly and immediately forgetting whatever vital tactical information we were offered. Such was life.
We did not acknowledge the existence of the raging battle happening just outside our window, for that would only complicate things further. Instead, we would drink our tea and consider pointless things, despite the fact that brooding and philosophising was always Luna’s forte, as it were.
It did not work, however. It never did. That little tug at the corner of my mind was always present, and a battle on the scale of this one just made it more insistent.
That was when the Night Goddess herself took to the playing field.
We were too busy sipping tea to notice at first. After all, according to our tactical generals, cowering inside the war room as they were, our troops were pushing back against the assault. The uprising would be over in a cup of tea or two, if all went to plan.
As such, the blast of eldritch black lightning followed by a disconcertingly large number of our troops being wiped off the face of Equestria garnered a raised eyebrow or two more then it should have.
The first thing I felt when I saw her in battle: surprise at her appearance, that of a ebony alicorn that possessed an almost dangerous beauty about her form. A star-filled mane curled and writhed as if it were truly alive.
Surprise turned into shock as she swept our little ponies aside like ants. Lightning, fire, darkness itself were her weapons. Occasionally, she would resort to simply crushing skulls with a silver-shod hoof, as if the armour wasn’t even there.
And she was smiling. Laughing, even.
She was elegant, beautiful, deadly, and utterly merciless. To see her slaughter was akin to watching a picture in motion, and the awed expressions on her victims faces showed that they thinking the same thing.
And oh, how we envied her.
We envied her freedom, most of all. She had surrendered to her base urges, given up her self-control, and this was the result.
I wished to smile like that. I longed to dance the dance of death.
The tug became more insistent, and our teacup shattered along with our self-control.
And we attacked with a bloodlust kept carefully locked up for countless centuries. How many ponies died with that first attack? We didn’t know, and we didn’t care.
We looked into our demented sister’s eyes and saw that smile reflected in them.
And we laughed.
****
I don’t know how much you have grown since then, Celestia. I don’t know if you managed to subdue our true nature.
But whatever you do, do not forget your roots. Do not forget who you are.
That was enough. Twilight slammed the diary shut, dropped it to the floor, and bucked the horrible thing out of sight.
“Ah, I see you finally found it then.”
Twilight shrieked, reeling around to see her mentor looking at her with pity.
“Princess! What in the world was that? Some kind of sick joke.”
Celestia, to her horror, shook her head. “Tis no joke, Twilight Sparkle. I wrote that, many, many years ago.”
Twilight was trembling. Her mind raced as it fought to make sense of this new information. “Well, you only did it to defend your ponies, didn’t you? It’s not like you had any choice!”
Celestia, if anything, looked even sadder at that. “Does it really justify how I slaughtered hundreds – thousands – of my own kind, and laughed while doing so? If you do, then you’re no better than I am.”
There was nothing else to say. Twilight sank to the ground, trembling mightily. She could feel an odd buzz inside her head, as if something were trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t quite decipher it. “But… why?”
Celestia leaned down, and said: “We alicorns are not gods, Twilight Sparkle.”
“We are monsters.”