The pristine spires of Canterlot rose high into the night sky. Somewhere in the candle-lit streets sprawling below the tremendous towers, a child with nowhere to be made angels in the snow.
An old mare leaned out her balcony, sending a pile of snow falling onto the colt. The burning pang of the frozen railing ate into her leg.
A small, dark dot stared into the sky with wide eyes. The colt – but a little ant in the depths – could not see the mare set against the stars. When another lump of snow crashed into his eyes, he decided to stop looking.
Go on, run away, the mare thought. Run like timberwolves are chasing you.
That colt never learned not to play there, right under her balcony. And on any other occasion, he would get away with it, loitering and littering the tight alley a thousand steps under her home. For the mare, that was the same as doing it right under her nose. She despised that colt; his charcoal coat protected him in the dark.
But not tonight. Not when the city dressed in white to bring out the black.
And yet he kept coming back, after every Hearth’s Warming, tempting fate with his insulting little display. He made three angels this time. That was one more than he did last year. Come to think of it, the mare pondered, he started with one, three years ago. She had to wonder whether this was a joke aimed at her. How many angels will he get to before she finally drops?
Did he call those crude figures wings? Wiggle as he might have his hooves in the snow, he could never make an angel like the pegasi kids. No wings, no magic; all there was left was the audience’s imagination.
The frost stung the mare’s foreleg, making her step off the rails. Her old bones could not handle it any more. A shame. In her time, cold was her element. A smile appeared on her face as memories surged.
Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns was famed to be the hardest and most prestigious of schools; one that only those possessing the most finely refined skills, genius talents, and greatest ambition could finish. Through all her years there, she had been at the top of her class, unchallenged.
When she had covered half a wing in hoof-thick ice for her graduation exam, she was immediately expelled. Not a day passed before she had received a letter from Cloudsdale Weather Control, asking her to oversee snow production for all of Equestria. She made more a year than three of her ex-classmates combined.
And there, at least, she had been respected. Admired, even. But now that she was wrinkled and ugly, nopony cared about her.
Even the snow did not like her any more. She sighed. The small white cloud was blown away by a gentle wind. The tiny frozen droplets shimmered in the starlight before dissolving into the night.
Rubbing her hooves together, she stepped back inside.
Within the room, the mare was blind. She liked it that way. Curtains down, noise out. She refused to give her eyes the time to adjust – at their age, it would have taken too long – fumbling over to the bed. Once, she almost knocked her favourite vase over like this. Almost. Once. She had learned, early in her childhood, to be careful with such things.
Her hooves finally touched the blanket, laid out for her, by her, exactly how she liked it. It was getting late. She should not have been awake at this hour. But that damn colt… she just knew he would be there, did she not?
Then there was a knock on the door.
Not again.
The knocking continued.
With much irritation, she walked away from her bed. Not for the door, but for the window. It was right next to the balcony. That always made her wonder. What was the use of putting the two side by side? Maybe she should have become an architect. Then she could have righted such wrongs. Ice and snow have existed long before her, after all; they still would after she passed.
The mare pulled the curtain up over the window, gazing out into the night again. Between the ridges of the breaking clouds that blanketed the sky, the stars could shine through.
Oh, please, she begged the stars. Please, just make them go away. She never asked for them to come here.
“The fire of friendship lives in our hearts,
As long as it burns we cannot drift apart!”
Always with the singing. The mare was tired of it, tired of listening to the same old songs for weeks on end. A month before Hearth’s Warming, the kids have already been roaming the city, blowing the same, tired tunes.
She could, perhaps, understand that. There was a time when she, too, was captivated by the holiday season.
Why these children continued long after Hearth’s Warming, though – or why they picked to harass her, of all ponies, with their unbearable caterwauling – she had no idea.
“Yes!” the mare yelled to the door. “My name, I get it. It’s very funny. Now leave me alone!”
“Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few,
Laughter and singing will see us through!”
“It’s New Year’s tomorrow!” she screamed. “Don’t you think it’s time to stop?!”
“We are a circle of pony friends,
A circle of friends we'll be to the very end!”
They dragged out that last sound needlessly long. They always did. But that was the end of it. She thanked the stars for the shortness of the song. The apartment rumbled. Amidst high-pitched giggles, uncountable tiny hooves rushed down the spiral stairs around the tower.
Hit and run, the mare thought, that’s what these insufferable pests did. The stairs were really slippery this time of year, too. One of them was going to slip one time, and that was not going to end well. Hardly her fault, though.
She closed the curtain over the window. She could see a little better now, at the very least. She walked to her bed, and ran her hoof over the blanket. The soft warmth it seemed to radiate reminded her why she liked the New Year Celebration. Or why she used to.
She turned her head to the side. In the room’s darkest corner, as far from the bed as could be, was a little commode. On that little commode was a small frame, and in that small frame a tiny, faded photograph in black and white.
The mare’s eyes were far too weak to make the picture out in the darkness. In her mind, however, the image was crystal clear.
A petite unicorn mare, on the right, put her tongue out in a cheeky smile. The handsome pegasus stallion, foreleg encircling her shoulders, grinned proudly at the left.
The blanket grew more inviting with each passing moment. The mare yawned. Climbing into the bed would be quite a maneuver, but she was sure she would manage.
And then they knocked again.
They never knocked again. The mare ground her teeth, waiting, hoping that somepony merely had the wrong apartment. Stars know they all look the same from outside. The stallion one floor above always has “friends” of, suffice it to say, a more intimate distinction over in the wee hours of the night.
More knocking. It was the kids again, coming for round two.
The mare hated round two.
She walked, silently on the tips of her hooves, to the door. She had never opened it for them. Maybe she would surprise them this time. Scare them so they did not come back again. The least she needed was a round three.
Gently, carefully, she placed her hoof onto the doorknob. Now she waited until they knocked again…
At the first shake of the door, the mare tore it open, unleashing her tirade.
“Enough is enough! It’s late! Can’t an old mare… sleep…?”
Before her hooves, she saw no terrified expressions frozen onto the faces of startled children. There was only a set of legs, slender and dark blue. The silvery regalia that decorated them shone bright even in the night.
The mare gulped. Her gaze followed the legs upwards until it met the eyes of her visitor.
“P-Princess Luna?” the mare stammered.
“Your eyes do not deceive you.” Luna’s expression was stone cold, bearing no hint of emotion. “It is I.”
“W-what may I… help you with?” she asked.
Luna smiled. She then lifted a hoof, pointing the tip behind the mare. “May I?”
“O-of course.” Stop stuttering, she told herself. “Please, come in.”
Luna wiped her hooves on the doormat before stepping inside. “Thank you.”
As closing the door shut out the outside light, Luna’s horn glimmered. The darkness was replaced by an eerie, yet soothing glow.
“You should not strain your eyes,” Luna said. “Staring long into the darkness does them no good.”
The mare shrugged. “I’ll die sooner than cause serious harm.”
Luna raised an eyebrow.
“I mean,” the mare said, “it’s just the reality of life. We all have to deal with it, sooner or later.” Only saying that last word did she realise who she was speaking to. But it was too late to retract her words. Oh well.
“That is true,” Luna said. She wasn’t looking at her, however. She held her chin high, her gaze moving slowly from place to place, scanning the room.
“Not much to look at,” the mare said. “I could get more, but I’m fine with how everything is.”
She couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. To have her humble home visited – judged – by the Princess of the Night herself! Luna eyed her long bookshelves, stacked full of tales of great adventures and stories of other worlds. How mundane these fantasies must have seemed to her. How simple she must have seemed to Luna, to read such things.
Luna’s gaze lingered on the picture in the corner for a while before she turned back to the mare. The mare waited patiently, but Luna said nothing.
Suppressing her nerves, the mare spoke up. “To what do I owe the honour?”
“I accompanied the children,” Luna replied. “I find their songs warm my heart.”
“Well, they are… they are rather lovely, aren’t they?”
“Tell me, child, what is your name?”
Had she forgotten to introduce herself? First impressions have never been her forte.
“Carol,” she answered.
Luna tilted her head curiously. “Carol who?”
“Carol,” she repeated. “Just simply Carol.”
Luna eyed her up and down. “May I ask another question, fair Carol?”
“Certainly. Anything, princess.”
Luna nodded in the commode’s direction. “Is that you in the picture? The funny mare?”
“Yes. It is.”
“And who is the stallion?”
“He is… he was my husband.”
“Is he dead?”
The question stumped Carol. No, not the question, but the simplicity and detached nature of its delivery. Then again, she did just say it’s part of life, death. She shouldn’t have been so surprised.
“No,” Carol said. “Not as far as I know.”
“Why is he not here with you tonight?”
“He broke my heart. A long time ago.”
Luna’s slender legs carried her to the picture in a few steps. Carol followed on her own frail hooves.
Luna stared at the picture, making Carol wonder what it she possibly saw in it. There was nothing to it. Not to the princess, anyway. Still, looking at it now, even Carol saw things she hadn’t noticed in years.
Minute cracks raced across the surface of the photo; Carol had carried it with herself for far too long before framing it. The lower right corner of the picture was folded and stuck out distractingly. On the left, there was a small tear that stopped just short of the stallion’s neck.
It was better, thinking of it, that the picture was monochrome. Any colour would have faded through the years. Black, however, always stayed the same. True enough, there was a little yellow in the white by now. But what could you do?
“He broke your heart, you say.”
“He did.”
Luna looked into Carol’s eyes with a sincerity she hadn’t expected. “Then why is his picture still here?”
Carol pursed her lips. What kind of question was that? Did Luna expect her to break down, crying for love lost? No. She had it all wrong. Carol hated him.
“It’s so that I can look him in the eye,” Carol said. “To show him that he hasn’t won.”
“Hm.” Luna nodded. “Please tell, do you know what day it is tomorrow?”
Her constant questions were, truth be told, making Carol rather uncomfortable. Still, she couldn’t very well tell the princess to leave her alone; she’d have to play along.
“The New Year Celebration is tomorrow night, as I recall.”
“Do you know why that day is special?”
“It marks the new year, as the name clearly states. On this one night, the Sun and the Moon move across the sky together.”
“But do you know why we do it, my sister and I?”
“I believe I do.”
“Will you be watching?”
“No.” Carol glanced towards the balcony door and the window right beside it. “The apartment’s facing the other way.”
“You could come out and see it with the rest of us.”
“I’ve lost count of how many years it’s been since last I’d seen it. With all due respect, it simply does not move me.”
Luna’s answer was raising a brow again. Carol found that irritating. Condescending.
“Please,” Carol said, failing to disguise the impatience in her voice. That always shone through with her, somehow. “Please, dear princess, you haven’t told me why you’ve decided to pay me visit.”
“I have come because of the children. I have seen them be driven off, yelled at, even bullied. From a lady of your calibre, however, I would have expected better.”
“I’m sorry,” Carol said. She wasn’t being honest. “Would you like me to apologise to them? Is that why you’ve come?”
“I have come because I am concerned.”
“If what you said is true, princess, then the children are used to mistreatment by now. If their constant giggling is anything to go by, it doesn’t seem to affect them at all any more.”
“No, fair Carol, you do not understand. I have come because I am concerned about you.”
“About… me? Why?”
“Do you really not know?”
Carol knew. She knew exactly where this was going. She had heard rumours of the princesses – Luna, in particular – meddling with the personal affairs of their subjects. Once they decided that somepony was in need of a life lesson, they, high and mighty as they are, descended to “guide” them onto the path they saw fit.
Carol had been just fine all her life without their help, though. In her childhood, Luna – Nightmare Moon – was no more than a cautionary tale told to children to scare them into behaving. And now Luna presumed to teach her about the meaning of kindness. As if.
“Are you here to convince me to open up?” Carol asked. “To unthaw my heart by showing me just what kind of a compassionless old hag I’ve become? And when that doesn’t work, will you tell me that I’ll die alone and unloved? If that is the case, you’re late, princess. I know that already. You’re wasting your time here.”
“What makes you so convinced?” Luna asked. Her soft voice patronised Carol, serving only to aggravate her further.
“I just am, princess.”
Luna eyed her up and down slowly, chastisingly. Carol awaited her lecture.
But the princess stepped back.
“Good night, fair Carol,” she said with a smile and a nod.
Carol was too confused – too furious, too surprised – to respond with any sort of tact. She looked, flabbergasted, as Luna walked out the door, closing it without a noise. The uncanny light in the room faded away, leaving Carol blind once again.
Pah, Carol thought. As if she knew anything.
She climbed into bed with bothersome thoughts swirling, teeming in her head. They wouldn’t let her sleep. To shoo them away, Carol thought back to simpler times, to younger, pleasant nights and to days long lost.
Such it was that dreams overcame her.
❄