Mag stubbed out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray she'd brought with her into the woods, and didn't light another. The air was wet and the trees dripped and rustled in the breeze. The rain had stopped for now but would start again in a couple of hours, and this was the time to take a break, or so Mag had decided 20 minutes ago. Her boss wouldn't be coming back to the Quik Eats until Monday, so she was tempted to close for the weekend. There wasn't much traffic on route 371 this far up the mountain, especially at this time of year, so she could plausibly tell her boss no one had come while he was gone. As for the needs of customers, well, if someone needed wiper blades or an ancient hot dog then they could just break in, couldn't they?
She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her long winter jacket and studied the contents. Half the pack remained, but she didn't like menthol. She pocketed it again after a moment’s consideration, not bothering to take another cigarette, and continued down the dirt trail to the lake.
She thought about the cold front rolling in next week. She thought about going home and falling asleep in her bed, or perhaps on the floor if she couldn't be bothered to walk to her bedroom. She thought about television static and the sound of tires in snow, and wondered if she'd be less bored in the evenings if she got a cat, then decided not to get a cat because she wouldn’t be able to smoke in the house anymore, and because she wasn't sure she wanted another living being in her house, making noise and wanting things. Mag didn't want things, generally speaking, or nothing she was willing to put into words, and it made her house a peaceful, silent place. She also didn't want to clean out a catbox.
The lake was around the next bend in the trail. Some days she stood at the edge of the lake and watched the birds and bugs if they were out, and that was her plan this afternoon.
Today a soupy white fog covered the lake. Mag couldn't even see the other shore. The sky was partly cloudy at most and the lake had never been foggy in the day. The water was too still. Mag squatted next to the shore and decided to light another cigarette after all.
Now a tiny light glowed in the fog. Mag lit a cigarette and grimaced; she hated menthol. The light got bigger, or perhaps closer. Mag watched it. There weren't fireflies in this part of California, and this wasn't the season for them anyway. Perhaps it was someone with a lantern. But why a lantern in the daytime? Mag tried to put her plain red Bic back in her pocket and accidentally dropped it in the mud.
The light grew and changed. It was a warmer, rosier shade of white than the fog, and brighter than a lantern, so bright that Mag had to shade her eyes with her hand. It resolved into the most beautiful thing Mag had ever seen.
It walked across the water on four thin legs and burned with a corona of smokeless pastel flames.
It had light for skin and suns for eyes.
The water rippled with each step.
Mag fell backward and hid her eyes in the crook of her elbow. She couldn't breathe.
“I don't believe in... I don't believe in...” She couldn't finish the sentence. She uncovered her eyes.
The burning archangel, the goddess, the apocalypse of Mag's worldview stepped onshore and walked up to her. As it walked the light faded.
The fire shrank and became a horse's mane. Light turned into pearl fur and the suns burned down to pupils.
It half-fell into a resting position. Two white wings slackened open into the mud. It also had a long, straight horn—and a crown.
It opened its mouth and whispered, “Help them.” Quiet as the words were, they echoed oddly and shook pine needles from the trees. Then it—or she, judging by the voice—passed out.
Her head fell to the ground and Mag tried to catch it, but got poked by the horn. The angel-goddess's head splatted into the mud.
Mag crawled away, stood, stepped back, tripped over a rock, and dropped back to the ground. She stayed there and stared.
The creature seemed smaller now. Mag realized belatedly that the being looked as much like a horse as anything else. A unicorn? She had wings and a crown. The queen of unicorns?
She'd asked her to help “them.” Who? Mag peered into the mist, looking for someone else, and realized the fog was growing thinner. The opposite shore was visible now and looked the way it always did. They were alone.
Mag stood up again and took a few deep breaths.
“Help them,” muttered Mag. “Okay. Okay.” She leaned over the whatever-she-was. “How?” Whatever-she-was didn't answer. She looked too heavy to lift.
“Wake up,” Mag tried. Horse-Thing didn't move.
“Wake up, your majesty?” Nothing. Mag stepped back for a better look.
Her majesty was definitely horselike. Her mane had stopped moving but still looked slightly insubstantial, like a rainbow in a sprinkler, but with the thickness of skim milk. Her horn was the approximate length of Mag's forearm and hand. There was a stylized sun painted on her flank. These were all just details, however; what mattered was that she was the most unbearably beautiful thing Mag had ever seen. Mag wondered who she would have grown up to be if she'd seen this creature when she was younger.
She reached out and brushed the queen's ear with the tip of her fingers. The ear flicked and Mag pulled her hand back. Then she poked the ear again. The ear flicked again. Mag stuck her finger in the ear proper and the queen's eyes opened. Her majesty silently regarded Mag with one eye. Mag pulled her finger out of her ear.
“Sorry,” Mag murmured.
“Human?” Her voice was normal, now. She sounded like a cross between Galadriel and someone's mother.
“I go by 'Mag,' actually,” said Mag.
Her majesty stood up—the mud didn't stick to her fur—and looked around. “Earth, then.” She faced Mag. “Mag, my name is Princess Celestia.”
“A pleasure,” said Mag, sticking her hands in her pockets. They stood a few feet apart.
“There's no need to be intimidated,” said the creature.
“I'm not intimidated.”
“All right,” said her majesty gently. “Mag, I have a request.”
“It's not 'Take me to your leader,' is it?” said Mag.
Celestia's eyebrows went up. “It is. Have you dealt with this sort of thing before?” She looked behind her. “Is this lake a crossroads?”
“No and no. Probably.” She thought about it. “You know what? Maybe it is some kind of crossroads. I don't know anything anymore.”
Celestia gave her a pitying look. “Human, please relax. I can see this situation is making you uncomfortable, and for that I'm sorry, but I really do need your help.”
“I'm not uncomfortable,” said Mag. She started to step back, and stopped herself. “Anyway. What do you mean by 'leader?' Are you looking for more of a mayor, or the governor, or the president, or what?”
“I'm afraid I don't know his or her proper title,” said Celestia, “but I would prefer to meet with the leader of the humans if you can arrange it. Or perhaps you could simply point in the proper direction, if you'd prefer.” She blinked and her legs wobbled. “Or where I can find lodging. I've been walking through the fog between worlds for... quite some time, now.”
Mag shrugged. “Humans don't have a leader. We have the UN, I guess, the United Nations. As for lodging...” Mag tried to imagine the princess getting a hotel room and failed utterly. “Well, I guess there's, uh, my house?” Come to think of it, she couldn't imagine that either.
“Oh, I wouldn't want to impose.”
“Well, aren't we Ms. Manners,” said Mag.
Celestia wrinkled her immaculate white brow. “I'm afraid I don't follow.”
“Nothing, sorry. I just get sassy when I'm intimidated and uncomfortable.”
“Ah,” said Celestia.
Mag scuffed at the ground with her hiking boot. “Okay, listen. You are really, really, really, really weird. No offense meant.”
“None taken.”
“And kind of overwhelming. No offense.”
“I apologize.”
“You're forgiven.” Mag took a few deep breaths. “Right. Yeah, you're freaking me out, but I think I do want to help. I wasn't doing anything important anyway.”
Celestia bowed her head. “You have no idea how relieved I am.”
* * *
Mag led the princess back up the path.
“My world ended,” said Celestia.
And what could you possibly say to that? “Oh.”
“I was set to guard it and guide it, but all things end, I suppose. But why did I outlive it? Worlds have ended before, but its regent always goes with it. It's the way of things.” She looked up at the light of the setting sun cutting through the leaves of trees, then down at the dappled shadows. “Maybe it's not the end yet. Maybe this is something I can heal.”
“I don't know how I can help with that,” said Mag.
Celestia smiled. “You already are.”
It took a moment for Mag to recover from that smile. Every little thing Celestia did, every glance and every step, did that much more to crowd Mag out of her own head. “I don't even know what you're looking for,” she managed.
“Perhaps you'd feel better if I walked further away,” said Celestia.
“I'll get over it,” said Mag. “But seriously. What am I really going to do for someone like you?”
“You mentioned a couch I could use, to begin with. After that, I would like to know more about your UN.”
“We didn't talk about it in high school and I sort of dropped out of college,” said Mag, “but I can tell you it's a kind of, I don't know, council that sets up and sometimes enforces agreements between nations. If it's got a leader, he's probably elected.”
“Then that's not who I need to speak with first,” said Celestia. “It sounds like your regent prefers a light touch, or tends toward subtlety. We have until sundown tomorrow to contact them. If it takes longer, diplomacy is going to be a bit rocky.”
“Rocky?”
“A bit. How warlike would you say humans are?”
“We're a murdering pack of absolute bastards,” said Mag.
“Colorfully put. In that case, I'd rather we moved quickly. Your regent is likely to be very human indeed. Are you afraid of heights?”
“About as much as most,” said Mag. “Wait. Are you serious?”
“I'm afraid so. Which direction is your couch?”
“The same direction as my home. Go north over the straight road through town. Pass the huge wooden bear through the woods and look for the white house with the fewest pine trees, no lawn and no car in the driveway. That's my place.”
“What is a car?” said Celestia.
“You're going to see a lot of examples on the road. That should help.”
“Understood.” Celestia flared out her wings. “Climb aboard and hold onto my neck.”
Mag really wasn't up for this, but helping the princess was obviously more important than her feelings. She climbed aboard and focused on taking deep, slow, even breaths.
“Be brave,” said Celestia. She flapped her wings experimentally a few times, then launched straight up through the trees. Pine needles and cold winter air rushed past them and then Celestia burst out above the trees. She hovered in place for a moment, looking around for the road, then glided toward it.
“The air is very thin here,” said Celestia.
“What?” shouted Mag over the rushing wind. God, it was cold up here.
“There's the road. Goodness, is that what a car is? How interesting. And there's your town.”
Mag didn't enjoy the next few minutes in the slightest, but at least it went quickly. Celestia touched down in front of Mag's place, panting, and Mag rolled off Celestia's back and onto the ground.
“Cramp,” said Mag through gritted teeth. “Cramps. My world is cramps.”
“That,” said Celestia between gasps, “was a decision with quite a lot of downsides. For Heaven's sake, please give me somewhere soft to collapse.”
Mag tossed her house keys to Celestia without getting up from where she lay on the ground. Celestia caught them in a field of magic. Mag stared. “What was that?”
“Magic,” said Celestia.
“Okay, but what was that?”
“I'd be much happier to discuss pony biology in the future, as opposed to right now, when I'd be happiest to hear which of these keys opens your door.”
Mag staggered up her driveway, plucked the keys from Celestia's field (surprisingly easy, slightly tingly), picked out the correct one, and opened her door. She gestured for Celestia to follow her inside.
She preferred a clean house, and it was easiest to clean a house without much décor. She had no pictures or posters or flowers on her table. The walls were white and the carpet was beige. It was simplest this way.
“Thank you for inviting me,” said Celestia. She surveyed the front hallway. “You have a lovely home.”
“This way,” said Mag.
Celestia stopped when she saw Mag's living room, which was entirely bare except for the couch in the center of the room, which faced a large CRT television sitting on the floor against the opposite wall. Celestia, true to her word, walked up to the couch and collapsed into it. Mag realized at this point that she couldn't watch TV while Celestia slept and had nothing else to do for the night, so she sat down next to her TV and tried to knead the pain out of her arms and legs.
Oops. She'd forgotten to close the store. Oh, well.
Unicorn royalty slept softly on her couch. Mag felt numb. She usually did, around this time of day, but this was different. Tomorrow she was going to do something that mattered. She'd promised and she knew she wouldn't flake this time, because she didn't dare, not because her majesty seemed like the “Off with her head” kind of royalty but because making a unicorn sad was one thing she didn't want on her conscience. This was why she preferred to never get involved with anything important; yesterday there was a broken slushie machine and nothing on TV; today there was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful Mrs. Ed and an ominous deadline.
The princess's world had ended, so she'd walked until she found a new one. How long had it been since she'd rested? What did it feel like to lose everything you'd ever loved? Even in her sleep she looked tired.
The heater had been on all day, so it wasn't as cold as it could be. Nevertheless, Mag went to get two blankets out of the plastic tote at the foot of her bed, one with a Powerpuff Girls pattern and the other a hazy shade of seafoam green. She unfurled the Powerpuff Girls blanket over Celestia's still form and kept the green one for herself, curling up again next to the television. She realized she'd never had a house guest before.
“I'm sorry for being afraid,” she didn't say, and slowly fell asleep.