Short Days, Good Days
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Princess Luna takes a breath and admires the air of the autumn. It is cool. It is crisp. It is sad. In it, there is rest. There is pleasure in it. There is remorse. Yes, it is good, she knows as she walks down a seldom traveled country lane.
The leaves are falling. They start out as green. Then, they turn an amber color, like the prison of a primordial insect trapped within sap, a tree’s blood. Foreboding. Then, they turn yellow. Some fall, drifting to the ground. Then, the last darken until they turn brown, dead, like perversely yellow mummies.
Princess Luna spots a family. First, there are the foals. Well, in this case, just one foal, a little one, not more than perhaps at most six meager years of age. The eyes are so bright, full of promise and life. As the foals bound around their elders, the energy is apparent. It is energy and enthusiasm, unbounded joy. It is unsullied by time or pain. The elders smile at the foals. They could not possible know what will be, nor what will come later. They might as well enjoy their happiness, fresh innocence while they can, just like she herself had done once upon a time. The day that had ended, though, not too much more than a thousand years ago…
She had been just a young princess then. She and Celestia had won the realm from Discord, and then protected it against Tirek. The EUP had been established. King Vortex had even acquiesced to abide with them. Peace seemed certain. The future was bright, with limitless possibilities. It seemed like spring, that most promising, optimistic, if oftentimes rather quite undeveloped season. It seemed like anything could be done, and indeed, that it would be done. Ahh, those were the days, weren’t they?
Princess Luna sees the next one, presumable an elder sibling, or perhaps a cousin, even. They stride quickly in that unique urgency youth has. Move move move. Fast fast fast. Hurry hurry hurry. The world is mine. Yes, she remember, that’s exactly the thing, the type.
She had been like that young pony, too, once upon a time, a time so old and ancient she could have claimed it to be naught but a myth, as she sometimes did in pursuit of humor. Sometimes, they believed her. Other times, they called her bluff. Just rarely. It was a brave thing to call out a princess. Truth, she could only remember a few ever doing it. Most recently had been this hard-bitten stallion named Sunny Breeze. He was a living casualty of the political games that she and her sister caught up the people in. Perhaps that was why he seemed like he lived in the bottle? What had become of him? More importantly, what had he seen to have become so implacable? She had seen him a few times since then, his dreams crossing her awareness with blood-red shock. She looked in once. She wishes she knew not. Mutual ends of innocence.
She remembers her reign, following King Vortex, into becoming Nightmare Moon.
Those steps had been marked by foolishness. No, not just foolishness, no mere stupidy. Anger, pain, hatred, resentment, selfishness, arrogance, and, oddly, admiration.
Admiration… Why?
Because Princess Celestia had been who she had always wanted to be. Or maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe she only wanted to be seen that way. Back then, she really had much to complain about. Despite ruling half the country and half the time, she got no respect. She held no influence, no favor, no support, no fame, no champions. Was she right back then? Maybe a little, she admits to herself. She had every right to be angry about her lot in life, resentful of her sister, envious, neglectful, but not murderous.
Princess Luna looks upon the adult. There they are, their shoulders weighted down, their eyes glazed. They walk. They walk, steeping along, placing one hoof in front of the other in a measured march. No, not a measured march, but a slog, a mechanical walk. Every step gets them further along, but the spirit is gone. This is walking for the cause of walking, doing for the sake of what stands behind the doing. Just like she had done, held the smile, stood in the regal stance, done as she was told for others. Be good. Don’t rock the boat -- don’t step on the hydra’s tail -- don’t feed the parasprites. It worked, for a time…
After all, shutting up had sufficed for preserving the peace. For thousands of years, she had held her silence. The kingdom ran. Equestria prospered. Celestia’s sun came every day like it always did, and ponies rejoiced in its light and warmth. Her own moon came every night and ponies headed for hom, failing to appreciate the gifts of the cool and the darkness. How did they not understand that unending sun would have baked them ultimately like cakes, or that unending sunlight would drive them insane? They had not understood that her moonlight was a mercy, a time to enjoy a softer, hidden world, and perhaps take a little rest. Alas, they took it as time to call it in and go home to sleep, scarcely appreciating the blessed hours under her moon, not even thinking to thank the benevolent princess who gave them that gift. But, regardless, she had done in time after time for millennia, for ages lost even to myth, to archaeology. She kept silent, the poison in her heart growing. After all, so long as she said and did nothing to upset things, everything would ultimately turn out fine. How had that all ended? Badly.
Princess Luna did not need to think. She had lost control in her greatest moment of shame. The parasite had entered her. No, that was a lie. She herself had called forth the darkness and offered it a place in her heart. In that moment, she would have done anything to get just one pony to thank her for her night, or perhaps get a single poem dedicated to her. But, in the next moment, she had changed. She no longer cared to get her share of the glory; all she desired was unending night. So what if she froze the world to death under endless darkness? They seemed to desire immolation from unending day. And would not death from eternal night be better -- a gentle slip into a cold sleep forever, than to perish in heat and flame.
Her sister’s sun hangs low and heavy in the early afternoon sky. A chill zephyr breeze blows in from the north across her cheek. It brings the reassuring smell of ancient earth.
Princess Luna looks at the old pony. She feels a resonance within herself. She is like that, older and wiser now. She was wizened, chastened, fallen and risen. There was that old optimism again, not knowing more than vaguely what lay ahead, but also no longer fearing, for she was ready for it. At the same time, perhaps that could be winter ahead, but then again, winter is just a prelude for spring. Those would be Celestia’s times. The fall and winter were her time, seasons where her night would display its unique charms. Short days and long nights. Short days, good days. After all, ponies liked to place their favorite holidays and take time off from work during these days, brought all together by her in the night, where it is dim but warmly beheld by hearts.
She smiles.
Princess Luna loves fall. It is the season most like herself. It is cold with a touch of warmth. It is the gathering dark that promises the return of the light. It is the end that promises a beginning. There is wonder, there is understanding. There is death, there is life. There is fear, there is comfort. There is regret, there is peace. Incongruous contradiction. Plus, it is purple, as is she. Fitting, is it not?
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The End