Twilight Sparkle could see stars.
They hovered in her blurry vision, glowing with hot, white light, dancing like fireflies in the night. Everything seemed so hazy, as if shrouded in fog, but the stars themselves were surprisingly distinct. She could make out their outline quite clearly: sharp, pointed shapes that were not dissimilar from her own cutie mark.
Amusement tugged at the back of her addled mind. Heh. This would be a hell of a thing to get a cutie mark for. What a special talent that would be. The Crusaders would have been impressed, no doubt, but she couldn't help wondering what her parents would have thought.
Hey Mom, Dad, guess what I can do?
“Did you like that?”
Somepony was talking. Was it her? She didn't think so. Her mouth was dry. She wasn't sure she'd be able to speak even if she wanted to. So who was it, then? It was still so hard to see...
“I asked you a question, Twilight. It's impolite not to answer.”
The same voice. Definitely not hers. Warm, teasing, gentle. That was good. If it had been hostile, then she wasn't in any shape to fight. She could barely move. Her limbs felt sluggish, as if weighted down, and the dazzling glow of the stars in her eyes had only now begun to dim. Everything ached, and she was conscious of a peculiar tightness in her chest.
“Twilight?” The tone was different now. Questioning, curious.
The stars at last faded into the dark, and her eyes came back into focus, revealing the speaker.
Oh. It was God. God was talking to her. Of course. The nagging ache in her chest grew sharper, more insistent. It felt like something she ought to be paying attention to.
“Twilight?” God repeated. Worry crept into Her voice.
God was frowning. That wasn't right. Twilight thought God was much too pretty to frown. A face like Hers should always be smiling. If only Pinkie were here to sing Her a song...
God's expression grew stern. “Twilight,” She commanded. “Breathe.”
Twilight obeyed. Sweet air rushed into her grateful lungs, only to leave them again in a slow, shaky exhalation. Then another, and another, gasping, panting for breath, her chest rising and falling as she did so. The feeling of tightness began to ease, and then vanished altogether. Only when her breathing had become slightly more regular, and she was reasonably certain she was no longer in danger of asphyxiating, did she lift her eyes to the pony above her.
God smiled down at her, and all was right with the world.
“That's better,” God said. “Don't scare me like that.”
Twilight opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. She was slow to return to her senses, such as they were. Sight and sound had simply come first; speech would require a little more effort. She ran her tongue along her dry lips to moisten them, and made another attempt. “P-Princess...” she whispered, hoarsely.
God looked down at her. Twilight always thought She had the loveliest eyes. She had never seen such a rich, vibrant shade of violet. “We're alone, Twilight,” God said, gently chiding her. “I have asked you to call me by my name. I do have a name, you know.”
“I-I'm sorry,” Twilight stammered. “C... C...”
“Come on,” God coaxed her. “You can do it.”
“C... Cel...”
“Celesssstia.” The sound left Her lips in a hissing whisper.
“C-Celestia,” Twilight repeated, hesitantly. To speak it aloud almost felt like blasphemy.
“Good girl,” Celestia said, bowing her head to gingerly rub the edge of her muzzle against Twilight's own. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”
Twilight returned the affectionate gesture, a soft sigh drifting from her lips. “I... I don't think I'll ever get used to it,” she said.
“You'd better,” Celestia warned, her voice tinged with jest, “because if you keep calling me 'Princess,' then I'm going to start addressing you as 'Librarian'.” The sun goddess lifted her head, looking down upon Twilight through half-lidded eyes. “Everypony else calls me Princess,” she said. “The council, the nobles, the diplomats, everypony... but not you, okay?”
Twilight swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly nodded. “O-Okay,” she said.
“Then we have an agreement,” Celestia said. “Another treaty successfully negotiated.” She lifted a snow white hoof, fondly caressing the soft strands of Twilight's mane. “Are you all right? I was worried that spell might have been too much for you.”
Twilight shook her head back and forth upon the pillow where she lay. Her body still hadn't quite come down from whatever soaring peak it had been sent to, but at least she was coherent. All things considered, she could probably count that as a victory. “I'm okay,” she said. “I just haven't... I mean, I have, but not... never like that.” The purple pony's cheeks darkened. “Never that hard.”
Celestia chuckled under her breath. “You certainly seemed like you were enjoying yourself,” she said. “Perhaps we should ask the guards what they think? They probably heard you, after all.”
Celestia must have seen the look of abject, beet-red horror that came over Twilight's face, because her own lips twitched upward into a mirthful smile. “Oh, relax, Twilight, I'm only teasing. My chambers are protected by magical wards, including one for soundproofing. The only ponies who can hear anything being said inside this room are you and me.”
Twilight scowled. “That wasn't very nice,” she grumbled.
Celestia dipped her head forward once more, gently touching the tip of her muzzle to Twilight's. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, apologetically. “Forgive me?”
Twilight puffed out her cheeks, trying her best to look indignant, but it was impossible for her to stay mad at her mentor for long. “Still not very nice,” she muttered, non-committally, but she knew that Celestia would be able to see through any facade of anger that she put up, so she didn't bother. “How did you do that, anyway? I've read most of the books on magic in the royal library, and I always paid attention in conjuring class. I've never seen a spell that looked like that before.”
Celestia's warm smile subtly shifted into a something else, a kind of smirk that Twilight would have described as smug, if she had thought the princess to be capable of it. Celestia was many things, but never conceited; if anything, she had a reputation for being awfully humble, for a deity.
“You were always an excellent student, Twilight,” Celestia said, “and I like to think that I taught you well... but that doesn't mean I taught you everything.” She turned her muzzle upward and actually managed to look a little haughty. “A lady needs to have some secrets.”
Twilight couldn't hold back a giggle; oh, yes, that was smugness, all right. “You sound like Rarity,” she said.
“A generous compliment, to be compared to the Element of Generosity,” Celestia said. “I'm sure Rarity would be very flattered.” Celestia's hoof moved from Twilight's mane to her cheek, delicately stroking her lavender fur. Even though they were alone, she lowered her voice, as if she were afraid that somepony else might hear, magical barriers notwithstanding. “How did it make you feel?” she said.
“Mmm.” Twilight languidly stretched her forelegs above her head. “Like I was on fire.” She paused. “Well, wait, that's not right. I mean, I wasn't actually on fire, of course, and besides, that doesn't sound like it would feel very good. And it did feel good. Really good, better than anything I've ever felt before.” She thoughtfully rubbed a hoof beneath her chin. “What would be a better turn of phrase, then? Like I'd been struck by lightning, maybe? No, that's not quite right, either. I guess it might be more superficially accurate. It did make me feel all nice and tingly, which is what I imagine electricity must feel like, but being struck by lightning doesn't sound like it'd be any more pleasant than being on fire. Ugh, I hate misleading metaphors. Ponies should just say what they mean and—“
The press of Celestia's lips against her own silenced her. Twilight let out a brief, startled sound, muffled though it was, and then fell silent, allowing her eyes to drift shut. God, as it turned out, was a great kisser. Before, the exertion of the spell and the unsteady breathing that came with it had left Twilight's mouth feeling parched; the nectar she drank from Celestia's lips was sweeter than that of any flower, more nourishing than water from the purest spring. That was what electricity felt like, the buzzing hum of divine power against her mouth, the fiery breath that filled her lungs, intoxicating her already staggered senses.
She tasted like sunlight. Twilight didn't know how that was possible, and right now, she didn't care.
After an eternity—or maybe a few seconds, who could tell?—Celestia drew away from her, that smug expression still upon her face. “You talk too much, Twilight,” she whispered.
Twilight mumbled something about something. Dazed sounds tumbled from her lips. She was certain that they weren't words. So much for remaining coherent.
Celestia's wicked smile only broadened. “You're so cute when you're flummoxed,” she said. “I almost feel guilty about leaving you in such a state...” She lowered her head again, closing the distance between their muzzles until their noses touched. “... almost.” Celestia's lips brushed against Twilight's once more, fleetingly, then grazed across her chin, trailing a path downward, moving along her neck.
Twilight yielded herself to Celestia's tender mercies, quietly relishing the feel of the other alicorn's body against her own. Though she was the larger of the two ponies, Celestia weighed nothing atop her. Twilight herself sank down into the bedsheets beneath, but the mattress didn't even seem to register Celestia's presence. The logical, rational part of Twilight's brain—the one that was always annoying her—was reluctant to accept that, but she supposed that when you were a goddess, the laws of physics were really more like... suggestions.
Celestia's coat was amazingly soft, softer than the clouds that Twilight had only recently grown accustomed to treading upon, and even whiter. That was to say nothing of her mane. Celestia didn't have a mane; Celestia didn't have hair. Ribbons of shimmering light spilled from atop her head in waves, flowing over her shoulders like a great, glowing waterfall and pooling upon Twilight's chest.
Twilight Sparkle, scholar of magic, hopeless bookworm, and all-around nerd, could not describe the sensation. Her beloved words failed her. Those countless hours spent studying in the library, all wasted. “Should've sent a poet...” she whispered.
“Mmm?” Celestia made an inquisitive sound, briefly lifting her eyes to her student's face. Upon receiving no reply, she returned to her work, thoroughly grooming the crook of Twilight's neck and shoulder, lavishing intimate attention upon the younger alicorn's exposed throat, licking, kissing, nibbling, suckling. She tasted of lilacs.
Twilight shivered beneath the goddess's worship, laying her head back against the pillow and cracking her eyes open. Celestia's chambers were dark, the features of the room largely obscured by the curtains that surrounded her canopy bed. The bed was vast, easily large enough for the two of them, and of sufficient size to comfortably accommodate a third, or even a fourth pony. She wondered if it ever had. Celestia had never struck her as the sort to keep a harem, but even so, she was the ruler of Equestria. There was nothing stopping her from doing so except for her own (sometimes skewed) moral compass. If she were to poke her head out into the hall right now and ask the guards on duty, or a passing servant, or anypony else to join her, would any of them be allowed to say 'no'?
For that matter, would anypony even want to?
The bed itself was the incarnation of physical luxury. The frame was solid oak from the Whitetail Woods. The pillows and mattress were stuffed with cloud fluff. The sheets were silk imported from Saddle Arabia, the same material as the curtains. Apart from Celestia's divine body, it was the softest, most pliant thing Twilight had ever touched. Twilight loved Rarity dearly, but the Carousel Boutique had never produced anything of this peerless quality. An artist was only as good as her tools, and compared to this, the unicorn seamstress's finest fabrics might as well have been made of sandpaper.
(Twilight had overheard Rainbow Dash the other day weaving a perfectly ghoulish tale about how the princesses' beds were built from the bark of dead timberwolves, their pillows stuffed with the feathers of captured gryphons, and—of course—their sheets spun from the manes of unwilling fillies. Apparently, she and Dash would need to have a little chat when she returned to Ponyville. Twilight was certain that poor Luna, already the subject of too many horror stories, wouldn't appreciate her subjects thinking that she slept upon a bed crafted from salvaged body parts.)
Luna. Moonlight streamed in through the open window above the bed, the only source of illumination apart from Celestia's pulsing, rippling mane. The stars were out—real stars, not merely phantoms in her vision summoned by a mind-shattering petite mort. They dotted the black canvas of the sky, twinkling beacons for wayward travelers in the darkness, surrounding their mother Moon in a heavenly wreath. The summer night air was pleasingly warm, and there wasn't a single cloud to be seen.
An artist and her tools...
Celestia must have followed her gaze. “It's lovely, isn't it?” she asked.
“S'beautiful,” Twilight murmured. “Gorgeous.”
“Luna will be very pleased to hear that. She's really outdone herself tonight.”
“Mmm,” Twilight sighed, “the Moon is so full...”
A beat.
“Wait,” she said. “Why is the Moon full? We just had a full Moon two weeks ago.”
“I asked Luna to do that for us,” Celestia casually replied. “She was happy to oblige.”
“You can't dooooo thaaaaat,” Twilight half-heartedly whined. She really didn't want to—she was in too good a mood for that—but Celestia left her no choice. “You can't reset the lunar cycle just because you feel like it. That'll mess up the farmer's almanac, and the astrological charts, and we'll have to change all the calendars, and—“
Twilight felt Celestia's horn rubbing against hers, and her complaints died upon her lips. The young princess shuddered hard beneath her white counterpart, her mouth hanging open as a raw, ragged gasp of pleasure escaped her. Her eyes involuntarily squeezed shut. Celestia's breath was hot upon her face, hot like the fires of the sun.
“I am Celestia of Equestria,” the goddess said, speaking in a husky whisper. “I am fire made flesh. I can do whatever I want.” As if to illustrate the point, she tipped her head upward to capture the edge of Twilight's ear between her lips, nipping and nibbling upon it, lightly tugging it between her teeth before relinquishing it. Her voice fell into a low, wanton growl. “And right now, I want you.”
Twilight fought back the urge to keep from moaning out loud. She wasn't ready for that yet; her throat was still sore from the last time. As it was, it took every ounce of her willpower to manage a trembling squeak of a whisper. “W-why?”
Celestia blinked. “What?” she said.
Twilight's eyes opened a fraction of an inch. “Why do you want me?” she asked in a small, meek voice.
Celestia seemed taken aback by the question. She lifted her head, those violet eyes of hers gleaming in the moonlight. “Twilight,” she said, “why wouldn't I want you?”
“It's like you said... you're Celestia of Equestria. Celestia, the all-knowing. Celestia, the Mare in White. The sun literally rises and sets on you.” Twilight lifted a hoof, faintly stroking the pristine pearl fur of Celestia's neck. She was pale, pale as a ghost, but she radiated strength, and vitality, and love. “We both know that you could have anypony you wanted, so... why me? What makes me so special?”
Celestia looked positively crestfallen, like a scolded puppy. Her ears drooped, and her eyes grew large. “Twilight,” she whispered, mortified, “you don't think you're special?”
Twilight smiled sheepishly. “Not really,” she admitted. “I mean... I've been hearing that I'm special my whole life. I heard it from my parents. I heard it when I went to your school for 'special' unicorns. I've been hearing it even more now that I wear a crown. But I've never thought of myself as being anything more than just another pony. That's all I've ever been.”
Celestia smiled at her in return. Twilight recognized that look; it was the kind of knowing smile that Celestia wore when about to teach her a lesson.
“Twilight,” Celestia said, quietly, “what do you think I am?”
Twilight gave a start. “I... I just told you,” she said. “You're Celestia of Equestria. Celestia, the all—“
“Yes, yes, so I've heard,” Celestia interjected. “Forget who I am. What am I?”
A feeling of dread gradually crept over Twilight. This was uncomfortably like that recurring dream where she was taking a test that she hadn't studied for. “A... a princess?” she lamely offered.
“No, my dear, you're missing the point. Here.” Celestia's horn glowed, guiding Twilight's hoof to a higher location upon her neck, just beneath her chin. “Tell me what you feel.”
Twilight was at a loss. That particular spot upon Celestia's throat felt just the same as the other: soft, oh-so-soft, but otherwise indistinguishable. She got the impression that if this was a test, she was about to flunk it. “I... I don't understand.”
“Close your eyes,” Celestia urged. “Don't think about what you see. Think about what you feel.”
Twilight flinched, but did as she was told. Ignorance was a feeling unfamiliar to her, and she found that it was not to her liking. But she remained in the dark, in more ways than one; the loss of her sight had done nothing to reveal whatever secret wisdom Celestia hoped to impart upon her.
“You're soft,” she said, speaking slowly, thinking out loud. It was a habit she had developed during her days in school, something that helped her to work through particularly difficult problems. “And warm. I can feel your fur, and your skin.”
“What else?” Celestia prodded her.
Twilight furrowed her brow. “Your mane,” she said. That explained the feeling of... whatever that was. But there was something else, a steady, rhythmic throbbing just beneath the edge of her hoof. “Well, and your pulse, but—“
“Yes,” Celestia said, her voice tinged with excitement. “You can feel my heartbeat, can't you?”
Twilight crinkled her muzzle. It seemed like a strange question to ask. “Well, yes, of course I can,” Twilight mused. “You do have a heart, don't you?”
“Yes, Twilight,” Celestia breathlessly whispered. “I have a heart. It pumps blood through my veins. I also have fur, and skin, and a mane, and hooves, and a horn, and wings, and warmth, and want.” Her words came more quickly. “I breathe the same air that you do. I drink the same water. When I get hungry, I eat the same food. I enjoy the taste of roses, and of mint tea, and I have a terrible weakness for chocolate cake.”
Celestia's tone grew softer, almost wistful. “I laugh when I am happy. I cry when I am sad. I tremble when I am frightened—and contrary to what you may have heard, I can indeed be frightened—and I sleep when I am tired. And there are times when I feel so, so tired.” Her voice took on a note of pleading desperation. “I ask you again, Twilight Sparkle... what am I?”
Twilight's eyes shot open, realization dawning upon her as surely as the morning sun. “You're a pony,” she whispered.
Celestia nodded. “I am a pony,” she agreed. “A long-lived pony, perhaps, and one who knows more about magic than most, but in the end, still just a pony. That's all I am. All that I've ever been.” Her eyes locked with Twilight's. “Just like you.”
The anxious butterflies that had been fluttering in Twilight's stomach swiftly turned into balls of leaden guilt that felt heavy in her gut. “I... I'm sorry,” she said, her hoof moving from Celestia's thrumming pulse to tenderly caress her cheek. “I thought—“
Celestia leaned into Twilight's touch. “Don't be sorry,” Celestia reassured her. “I know what you thought. The same thing that everypony thinks. But I am neither invincible nor infallible. I make mistakes—I've made many, many mistakes, Twilight—but I try my best to learn from them, so that I can do better the next time. I am far from perfect. On the contrary, I am as gloriously imperfect as everypony else. It is our flaws and foibles that make each of us unique, and gives life, in all its wondrous splendor, so much variety. That is what makes us special, not a horn, or a pair of wings, or even a crown.” She gave a wan smile. “I'm not God, you know.”
Twilight was suddenly very glad that the room was so dark, or Celestia might have noticed all the color rapidly draining out of her face. But she said nothing.
“What I want,” Celestia continued, “is not a worshiper. Not an acolyte. Not somepony too blinded by misguided notions of faith or superstition or duty to see the truth. Not a groveling minion who will do nothing but follow my orders without thought or question.”
Celestia cast her eyes downward. When they rose to meet Twilight's once more, they glistened with moisture in the moonlight.
“I want a friend, Twilight. An equal. A companion to whom I can confess my deepest desires, and dreams, and hopes. Somepony who will keep me company when I am lonely. Somepony with whom to share the warmth of the fireplace when the night is cold. Somepony who will accept me for who—and for what—I really am.”
Twilight tilted her head in confusion. “I think I understand, but... what about Princess Luna?” she said. “The two of you are very close, aren't you? Don't you discuss any of these things with her?”
Celestia was slow to answer, which was unusual for a pony as well-spoken as she was. She tipped her head left and right, as if rolling the words around in her brain, choosing each one with care. “My relationship with my sister is... complicated,” she said at length. “I care about her very much, as you well know. And my trust in her is absolute. We have confided secrets in each other that neither of us would dare to share with anypony else, not even you. But, well...”
Celestia paused, biting her lip in contemplation, and then went on. “Think of it in this way, Twilight. You love your brother deeply, do you not?”
“My B.B.B.F.F.? Yeah, sure I do.”
“Well... you wouldn't want to bed him, would you?”
Twilight blushed furiously in response. “Of course not!” she blurted out, more forcefully than she'd intended. “That'd be... creepy.”
“Then you understand my dilemma.” Celestia trailed the edge of a hoof along Twilight's chest, tracing small, twisting patterns in her tyrian pelt. “You asked me why I would want you, Twilight. This is my answer. Now I have a question of my own, and I would sincerely appreciate your honest reply.”
Twilight's ears flattened back. “Y-yes?”
“If you were still formally my student, I would never even consider this. It would be very... inappropriate, to say the least. A terrible scandal, as our friend Rarity would say. But what I say now, I say not as your teacher, nor even as your princess, but as one pony to another.”
Celestia drew herself low, bowing her head near to Twilight's. Her eyes shone like amethysts in the light of the Moon above.
“Twilight Sparkle,” she whispered, “would you have me?”
Twilight was quiet, for a time, regarding her former teacher with an expression that was paradoxically both eager and uncertain... restless, yet content and blissful all at once.
A contradiction in terms, her brain lectured her.
That's love for you, her heart replied.
Then Twilight smiled at her—a sly little smile that was a match for any smug smirk that the elder alicorn, in her prouder moments, might see fit to wear.
“Dear Princess Celestia...” Twilight murmured, lifting her forelegs to slip them around the other mare's neck, “... shut up and kiss me.”
Celestia of Equestria, the all-knowing, was not accustomed to being surprised. Her eyes widened, and her jaw went slack in a gasp of shock; the look on her face was one that Twilight would long remember. But then she smiled back down at the young monarch, and moved to oblige her.
“As you wish, my little pony...” she breathed.
Lips to lips, good and long and deep. Lips to chin. To neck. To shoulder. To wing.
“Oh, Princess...”
“What was that, Librarian Sparkle? I'm afraid I didn't hear you. You'll have to speak up.”
“... Celestia...”
“Celestia!”
“Celestia!”
From its lofty perch in the night sky, the Moon dutifully observed them, silently watching and listening to the lovers at play. It guarded them closely, as it had been instructed to do, a bright, shining sentinel among the stars, until its Mistress at last beckoned it to rest, and it slowly slipped beneath the horizon, heralding the dawn of a new day.