But there is another moon, Twilight Sparkle. One only here, in my head, and there it will remain. That moon still bears the stains that Nightmare Moon poured upon its surface. If ponies knew what they were, they would not wish for them to adorn my moon once again.
They were bodies, Twilight. Stone corpses in effigy of those ponies who refused the glory of my night. Shaded from the sun, its surface was carpeted by an army. Fathomless battalions dreamt into being by hate and hewn from stone, eternally bowing before me, with my own self standing victorious over what anypony would recognize as my sister.
No, Twilight. I’ll never mark the moon again. Never.