Sharing the Night

by Cast-Iron Caryatid


Chapter 17

Sharing the Night: Chapter 17

☼ ☼ ☼

“Anathema?  Me?  Why?” Celestia asked in surprise.  “No, forget about that,” she said, shaking her head and looking Harmony over.  “Are you alright?”

Harmony was taken aback by the dismissal of her hate-filled declaration, and took a moment before she could actually answer the question.  “I am…  whole, yes,” she mumbled with a click and a whir from deep in her throat that seemed to startle even her.  “What am I?  Why am I inhabiting this clockwork machine?”

“You don’t know?” Celestia asked, honestly surprised, as she had thought that the other hoof directing harmony’s magic was wilful and deliberate.   “I’m afraid this outcome is quite beyond my planning.  I had envisioned making do with a statue at best—a container, until better could be arranged—but this animated assemblage of gears and joints… it was not my doing.”

“Animated?” Harmony repeated, and tiny bearings worked to widen her eyes.  She brought a hoof to her face to feel the action, and then moved it up to one of the the delicate golden ears atop her head, which pivoted and swiveled automatically under her touch.  Crystal wings like topaz flecked with gold rose up at her sides, and she looked at her hoof as if it were an alien thing.  “I…  I can move!”

✶ ✶ ✶

“Now hold on here just one second,” Applejack interjected.  “Ah get that some stars were a part of other ponies in the past, but there’s gotta be plenty that ain’t never been.  The ones in the sky, at least?”

Twilight gave a grimace and shifted uneasily from one hoof to another.  “You’re not wrong, but I’d really rather it not be any of those.”

“Why ever not, dear?” Rarity asked from the other side of the room where she was lounging in one of the beds.  “It seems like the ideal solution, doesn’t it?”

It wasn’t.  It really wasn’t.  “It’s just that… it’s kind of personal,” Twilight said.

“Twi, this is what goes on in our heads that we’re talking about—the possibility of remembering things that ain’t never happened to us,” Applejack argued, going straight to the heart of the matter.  “The stars—they’re yours to do with as you want, and Ah won’t tell you otherwise—heck, they’re probably better off staying that way—but Ah don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for an explanation.”

Twilight let out a heavy sigh, wondering if the lack of understanding was because she was holding back.  “No—I mean, I wasn’t being coy.  Those stars, they’re… personal.  They aren’t as pure and virgin as you think; just the opposite.  Those stars have only ever been a part of Somni, Fati, Nightmare Moon and… me, so if anything does happen, that’s what you’d see.  I haven’t even gone over everything they remember, myself.  I’d just… rather the stars came from literally anypony else.  Anywhere else.  Anything else.”

“Anything?” Rainbow Dash asked, raising one eyebrow.  “What, are there ‘sleeping spirits of star and stone’ lurking in the secret corners of… the… uhh.”

“Yes, Rainbow,” Twilight remarked in a droll, unenthusiastic manner, “I think we’ve been over the fact that my life is literally a Daring Do book these days.”

“Yeah, um, I realized halfway through what I was actually saying,” she admitted, rather embarrassed and hiding it poorly.  “So, I could have the stars of, like, Cygnus or Draco or something?  That’d be cool, I guess.”

Twilight considered that for a moment.  “It’s not a bad idea, actually,” she said.  “Those stars took on new identities when they fell—enough that even I saw nothing about Somni or Fati when I reclaimed them.  They were… simplistic and mostly instinct-driven.  If they were to influence you, you’d recognize it instantly.”

Pinkie Pie seemed to brighten up at that.  “Ooh, like a werepony?”

“That’s… not inaccurate,” Twilight said, measuring her words out carefully so as to avoid getting distracted.  It didn’t last, though.  “Well, I mean—the name is entirely inaccurate and a crime against literacy, but there are parallels between the concept of a werepony and what would actually happen,” she added.  “Ideally, it should never come up, but… I’m still going go be reserving the Ursa Major for Fluttershy, if she wants it.”

Fluttershy blushed.  “Oh my.  I think that would be nice, yes.  I felt just terrible when you mentioned what happened to her.”

“Now hold yer horses here for just one second,” Applejack interjected, straightening up from one of the cushions where she’d been briefly resting her legs.  “Y’all can’t seriously be considering going through with all this before we’ve even seen how it goes with Pinkie Pie.”

Twilight nodded, appreciating the careful approach.  “That is a good point—though no one had committed to anything just yet.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Applejack said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.  “Anypony who’s picking out stars like dresses before a ball has already made their choice.  Don’t y’all all go gettin’ invested in something that ain’t meant t’be.”

Twilight was taken aback.  “Applejack, where is this coming from?  A half an hour ago, you were laughing off any suggestion that you had a problem with how things turned out.”

“An ah don’t,” she insisted with a noticeably forced sternness as she looked away from Twilight.  “Ah just don’t think ya’ll should be getting yer hopes up, is all.”

Twilight took a step back as she watched her friend’s posture shift uneasily.  “It’s not just that, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Applejack asked, laying down her ears.  “Look, Ah’m sorry if Ah came off a mite rough, but it ain’t no big thing.  Ah’m just grumpy, is all.”

Twilight looked around for effect, noting that Applejack was standing apart from everypony else.  “You’re not okay with this, are you?”

“Well, Ah ain’t gonna do it, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“Aw, come on, AJ,” Rainbow Dash complained with more energy than any of the ponies present had displayed all day.  “Don’t you want to be a group again?  Instead of the Elements of Harmony, we can be, like the ‘Knights of the Zodiac’ or something—how cool is that?”

Twilight coughed and held up one hoof to interrupt.  “Err—I’m not really comfortable getting astrology involved, Rainbow.”

“Oh come on,” Rainbow Dash said, making an exaggerated gesture with her hooves.  “They’re real!  It’s real!”

The hair on Twilight’s back bristled.  “It’s not real real, Rainbow,” she insisted, forgetting entirely about the matter at hoof.  “They were stories first.  The starbeasts just copied the stories.”

Rainbow Dash threw up her hooves and scoffed.  “That’s horseapples.  I bet you can’t even find any of the original stories any more.  All the modern stories have got to be about the real thing.”

“Some,” she allowed.  “But it hasn’t been that long.  They fell after Luna was banished—they’re not even a thousand years old.  Besides, even the ones that are inspired by the real thing are still only based on rumor and superstition.”

A smug look came over Rainbow Dash.  “Hey, it was long enough for people to forget about ‘Nightmare Moon,’ wasn’t  it?”

“Look,” Twilight said, covering her face with one hoof.  “If you want a name, then fine, you can come up with a name,” she told her, trying to steer the conversation back on track.  “I just don’t want ponies getting the wrong idea.”

Applejack seemed to have a similar idea.  “But making us some kinda demigod secret police, that’s okay?” she said.

“Is that what this is about?” Twilight asked, half glad to finally have the truth out, and half exasperated at how ridiculous it was.  “Applejack, look at me.  I’m a goddess who runs the most literate country in the world.  Libraropolis doesn’t need secret police, and neither do I.”

Unfortunately, that seemed to wake Rarity up, as she had her own two bits to add.  “Oh!  Au contraire, Twilight—it’s regular police you don’t need.  A small group of ponies of exceptional character and authority who report only to you, on the other hoof, would be very beneficial.”

“You know,” Rainbow Dash added.  “From what I’ve seen, I’m pretty sure Libra-whatever-piss already has secret police.”

Even Pinkie Pie found something in that to comment on.  “Ooh!  Are they so secret that even Twilight doesn’t know about them?”

“Pinkie, even if that is the case, it wouldn’t really be saying much,” Rarity interjected.

Twilight was taken aback at the conversation that was running off without her.  “Um, rude?” she said, wondering what had happened to the nice, sedate and sensible conversation they’d been having.

“Oh, darling, you know what I mean,” Rarity said, attempting to mollify her.  “It is not as if you actually run the country.”

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t run the country?’  Of course I do—I’m the Archlibrarian!” Twilight declared wholeheartedly.  Then she actually heard what she’d just said.  “That sounded less like a five year old filly screaming from on top of a book fort in my head.”

Rarity had the decency to look uncomfortable.  “Yes, well, I wasn’t going to go that far, dear.”

“Look, Rarity—girls—I know the whole librararchy thing is ridiculous,” Twilight said, leaning into the table where she was sitting.  “It started with a clerical error and all snowballed from there—I know.  It was a sweet and stupid gift from Luna and I adore her for it.  Maybe I should have put a stop to the whole thing back when it started, but if ponies are going to act like idiots around me any way, they might as well be humoring a ridiculous fantasy that I actually enjoy.”

Rarity’s eyebrows raised a tiny bit, and it took Twilight a moment to realize what she’d just said about Luna.  Well, whatever.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyway.  “Ahem,” Rarity coughed in  order to fill a brief silence.  “Yes, well, you must know that it can’t last.  You really don’t seem to actually be in charge of anything, and I’m just worried about what will happen when those that are decide that the—err—joke is over.”

“From what Luna tells me, it hasn’t happened yet,” Twilight said with a bit of a wry smile.

Rarity cocked her head to the side in question.  “It’s good that you have her watching over things for you, but it has only been a matter of days.  It’ll be some time before we see how it really plays out.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean Libraropolis.”  Twilight’s smile split into a wicked grin.  “I meant Equestria.”

“Hah!” Rainbow Dash barked while Rarity’s face colored.

“Anyway,” Twilight said, changing the subject once she’d made her point.  “Back on the subject of the whole secret police thing—it doesn’t matter because nobody is becoming a demigod.  I’m just going to be filling a hole in you—those of you that want me to—and that’s it.  You should feel exactly like you did before.”

Pinkie Pie shot up to lean forward over the table and give Twilight an intense look.  “Exactly exactly?”

“Well, maybe not exactly exactly,” Twilight admitted for the sake of accuracy.  “But it should be pretty close… unless the stars interact with your extant magic differently than the elements of harmony did… which they might if were an offshoot of solar magic.  Hrm.  Okay, that would explain why the primary symptoms are fatigue and lethargy.  Do any of you feel colder than usual?”

Fluttershy raised her hoof slightly.  “Um, yes?”

“Fluttershy?” Twilight said, surprised.  “Why didn’t you say something?  No, sorry, I understand, but as a pegasus, being cold this out of season… that’s pretty telling.  I’d be willing to bet that the elements of harmony were resonating with the ‘fire of life’ in ponies that Solaria granted them.”

“Wait, so what does that mean?” Rainbow Dash asked, glancing with concern over at Fluttershy while rubbing her own hoof up the opposite leg to ward off a sudden chill she’d just become aware of.

Twilight took a deep breath as she stopped to think.  “I’m still confident that filling you with stars should relieve most of your symptoms—the cold might linger for a while—but I’m now also pretty sure that it won’t actually give you back your missing vigor.  Instead, well…”  She hesitated, chewing her lip out of nervousness.  “Depending on how big a star you have now and how much you’ve developed your connection to it, I’m guessing we’re talking about your magic increasing in power and capacity by two, maybe three orders of magnitude.  Hoo boy.  Um, yeah.”

Rarity was looking up at her horn, but Applejack was eying Pinkie Pie.  “When you say magic…” Applejack said, letting the idea speak for itself.

“That’s all of you, yes,” Twilight confirmed, following Applejack’s gaze with her own glance at Pinkie Pie.  “Earth pony magic, pegasus magic or unicorn magic; it all comes from the stars.”

“But I don’t understand,” Rarity said, finally managing to pull her attention away from the instrument of magic on her forehead.  “Why the disparity?  I understand that the two are different things, but we were never that much more sprightly and fit than the average pony.”

“What you have to understand is that the fire of life is… well, I don’t understand it very well myself, but it’s just magic.  It infuses you at birth and circulates through your system, but it’s static and finite; it eventually weakens as you grow older, and I’m guessing it might even be possible for it to be completely exhausted.

 “Stars are different; they’re the actual primal essence of a goddess—me.  They aren’t just magic, they produce it, and for that reason, the pony body has adapted and specialized to make use of it as a source of energy to a much greater extent.  I can guarantee that if you could pour liquid sun into your veins, it’d be every bit as spectacular as I realize now that this will be.  Briefly.”

“No offense, Twi, but this is exactly what Ah’m talking about,” Applejack said, picking up where she’d left off.  “Give it a thousand years and I’d still say no, but at least y’all would have a better idea what yer dealing with.”

Twilight frowned.  “No, you’re right, Applejack.”

“Ah am?” she said, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.  I… I’m going to have to excuse myself, girls, and I’m sorry—I need to reconsider this.  I’m not sure if I’m ready to have demigods.”

☼ ☼ ☼

“Help me up,” Harmony rasped, her previously measured voice grating with the harsh grinding of gears.  “So that I can hurt you.”

Celestia’s head drooped, even as she held out her hoof.  “This again?”  she asked, weary from the effort it had taken to come this far.  “Why?  What did I do?”

Harmony pulled herself up with a lurch, and, in the same motion, thrust her golden hoof with a clatter against Celestia’s matching peytral.  “You know what you did.  You know why I forsook you.  You hurt her.  You hurt her, and you used me to do it.  My own child… our child.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow at that.  “Luna is my sister, not my child, but… yes, I did, and though it pained me to do it, I would do so again, because it was the right thing to do and she agrees.  I suppose, if you must hate me for that, then I will bear it.”

“Sister?  Yes, she is that, too,” Harmony said, her eyes turning strangely in place as they refocused, taking on a far-off look.  “I had sisters, once, I think.  We were all sisters; some of us were lovers, at times, but… never in the right arrangement.”

Harmony’s foreleg slackened against Celestia’s chest, and she took it as an invitation to help the new alicorn stand—but she wasn’t new, was she?  “You were an alicorn, then?  Before Discord destroyed everything?”

“No, I am not her.  I am… I was her heart, torn free in desperation; buried in the earth in the throes of despair.  Like a seed in winter, I hid—sheltered from the chaos above until you found me and I blossomed into spring.  I remembered nothing from the time before, but I knew you, and I knew her; my poor, stillborn moon somehow shining bright and beautiful.”

Celestia had no idea how to respond to that.  “There is… clearly a lot we have to talk about, but first, we should get you out of this crude atelier and into the sun.  I’ll also send for Twilight and Luna… if that’s what you’d like.”

A look of unease and pain came across Harmony’s face.  “Twilight?  She is…”

“The alicorn of the stars, and the one who… had your help in redeeming my sister,” Celestia explained, choosing her words carefully.  “Surely she remains in your good graces?”

Harmony curled up against Celestia’s chest and shivered.  It surprised Celestia, given the golden alicorn’s previous declaration of hate, but then she understood.  Harmony was old, yet naive.  She was a burning heart of conflicting emotion, yet there was no guile to her.  If she needed comfort, she would seek it.

“Is something wrong?” Celestia asked, laying a hoof on Harmony’s head.

“How do you face the child that you threw away?”

✶ ✶ ✶

Twilight’s first instinct was to go find Luna, but soon, her galloping hooves slowed to a canter and then a sluggish, distracted walk.  It wasn’t that she had any reason not to value Luna’s opinion on the matter—actually, that was just it.  She did.  She was acutely aware of the spring that entered her step when she considered consulting the older alicorn, and it was for that reason that she hesitated.

What did she think?  Did she want ponies running around with that much of her power, even if they were her friends?  Could she even deny it to them after having promised a panacea for the ills caused by the loss of the elements?  Neither one was a situation she really wanted to think about.

She hated to admit it, but some of her friends… well, she didn’t think they’d make very good demigods.  At least, not by her definition.  Applejack and Fluttershy—well, they’d be okay.  They had their priorities straight; they knew what they wanted out of life, and it made them happy.  Power would only make them more able to do what they loved.  Rainbow Dash and Rarity, on the other hoof…  They wanted to be recognized—to be the best of the best or the mare to know—and while they would probably welcome power with open arms, Twilight knew that in their hearts, they wanted to earn it.

As for Pinkie Pie, the pony who had already jumped at the possibility of having her lost zip and zoom back… well, the less said about that, the better.

Huh.  Twilight had never taken herself for such an unbelievable hypocrite.

Nopony had chosen Twilight; nopony had decided that she alone was worthy of power—just the opposite, in fact.  She had detractors and she ignored them because that was her right as a pony and as a goddess.  She had fame and recognition that she had never earned and she felt justified in abusing it for exactly that reason.

Would it really be so unreasonable to give her friends a handful of stars?  It was a fraction of the power that she’d been given by chance, and one that she could rescind at any time.  In fact, there were ponies out there right now abusing the much smaller fraction of power that came ultimately from her.  Was it even her place to play favorites?  To judge each pony worthy or unworthy?  Then again, if it it wasn’t her place, then wouldn’t granting the stars to her friends betray that sentiment?  She could pretend to be the benevolent ruler rewarding heroes for their service, but that wouldn’t make it any truer.

In the end, it seemed she had no easy answer for herself, and, catching a glimpse of midnight blue flying overhead, decided that it was time to get a second opinion.

☼ ☼ ☼

The path that Celestia had burned through the mountain had been conceived with the prospect of carrying a delicate breath of an alicorn in mind, so helping the whole—if not quite hale—Harmony back out into the world was a simple task.  Emerging once more into the grand observatorium known as ‘The Chapel,’ Celestia stopped to let Harmony rest amongst the charts and astrological paraphernalia as she decided how to proceed.  To Celestia’s surprise, however, the discarded material quickly stole Harmony’s attention.

“They plotted and recorded every piece?” she asked, her voice as weak as the golden glow that strained to levitate the well-penned scrolls.  “Catalogued and named them?”

Celestia shook her head, attempting to empathize with what must have been a brewing storm of emotions, the chief of them guilt.  “Nopony knew what they were; a sparkling field of lights in the sky—a charming backdrop to the majesty of the night.  Luna, she always thought they were hers.”

“Yes, I remember; like a filly playing with the bones of her parents,” Harmony said, shaking her head in pity and regret.  “That’s when the little one came to me and asked for my help in reclaiming her stolen lights… and for the second time I was awestruck that a small spark of life had survived where I had thought there was none.  Oh, how I wished I could have restored her to her glory as I did my child, yet I could not.  Too much time had passed, and she was scattered and changed.”

Celestia took a moment to clean up the mess she’d made in boring her hole into the mountain, keeping one eye on Harmony as she worked.  “I… see,” she said as she levitated evacuated rock and slag and used the focused sunlight from the telescope to liquefy it before pouring back down the incline from whence it had come.  Thankfully, the observatory was a truly massive structure and remained at a tolerable temperature.  “You keep referring to them as your children, but they certainly did not come from your womb.  I have fond memories of Luna’s and my mother, and Twilight’s lives just down the street from here.”

Harmony’s eyes whined with strain as they widened, and her golden face fell ashen like dull iron for the briefest moment.  “No.  No—my shining light, yes, but not the little one.  I—I explained this, already; I could have been, but I wasn’t, so only one moon hangs in the sky.”

“Are you saying that you created the moon?” Celestia asked, trying to wrap her head around Harmony’s world view and separate new information from that which was merely… phrased oddly.

“Yes,” she said, and then instantly froze as every part of her simply… stopped.  It was rather jarring, as Celestia hadn’t realized just how much of the mechanical body was always moving—gears turning, pistons pumping and so on.  Then, all at once, they resumed, and she corrected herself.  “No.  Not from whole cloth.”

“Of course not,” Celestia said, hiding any sign of either sarcasm or reaction to Harmony’s pause.  “But you made it out of stars?  The stars that were ‘the bones of her parents?’”

“Yes.  Such a tragedy,” she said with a mix of melancholy and pride in her smile.  “But how is it that you do not remember even so little as I do?  You were there—you were a part of it!”

Celestia backed off, uneasy at Harmony’s sudden mood swing.  “I… don’t think I was there.  I don’t think I am who you think I am.”

“Aren’t you?!” Harmony shouted, rearing back to strike Celestia.  At first, she thought that she was going to get hoofed uselessly in the chest again, but at the last moment, she spotted something shifting inside Harmony’s foreleg and dodged.  Sure enough, a spike telescoped out of the golden hoof, screeching as it glinted off Celestia’s peytral and sent her crashing to the ground.  “Does the sun not still shine on Equestria?” she yelled, the action somewhat undermined by the uneven gait caused by the spike in her hoof, which did not seem to want to retract.  “Do ponies not still live with warmth in their hearts?

Celestia winced in pain, her hoof seeking the gouge on her peytral.  It was, after all, a part of her; the part where the majority of the magic she had on Equestria was stored.  She wasn’t in any danger, certainly, but it still hurt, and it made her more concerned about Harmony than ever.

“Harmony, please listen to me,” Celestia pleaded, shifting her posture to be more comfortable, but not getting up, for fear of provoking the unstable alicorn standing over her.  “My name is Celestia.  I was only born two thousand years ago.  Luna is my biological sister.  Whatever happened to her, whatever you remember, the alicorn you think I am must surely have also died that day.  I will weather your scorn for how I unknowingly used you against… your daughter, but it will do you no good to believe I am somepony I’m not.”

The spike in Harmony’s hoof suddenly retracted with a click, sending her stumbling forward a few steps and shattering the tension in the room.  Once she had her hooves under her once more, she brought her gaze back to Celestia once more, really looking at her.  “You are really not her?” she asked in a weak, tinny voice.

Celestia shook her head.  “No, I am not.”

Cables in Harmony’s hooved whipped taught as she reared up and slammed her hooves down on the concrete floor.  “Coward!” she bellowed, making Celestia recoil reflexively, uncertain if she was the one being addressed or not.  “You lousy, gutless, craven coward!  Could you not even live with what you’d done?  Did those you hurt not deserve at least that much?”

Celestia could say nothing to that.

“But of course,” Harmony continued, her wrath draining away into pain and loss.  “Of course, the last one you would betray is yourself—leaving me behind to endure through the ages without you.  I don’t even remember your name, and if not me, then surely nopony does.  This is your legacy; your name will rot along with your memory and not a soul shall mourn you.”

Gauging that the danger of upsetting Harmony further had passed, Celestia tentatively began to get back to her hooves and was surprised when a golden glow of magic that was not her own helped her up.  There was no concern, embarrassment or shame on Harmony’s face, though.  In fact, she wasn’t even looking at Celestia as she helped her up.  She just looked… resigned and tired.

“Are you… well?” Celestia asked, making the tiniest movements she could to approach Harmony.

There was a low rumbling from inside Harmony’s barrel that Celestia took for a grunt.  “I shall persevere as I always have, whether I wish to or not,” she said, and lifted her head to look at the grand building around them.  “I… do not know this world, or this land.  I do not know you and your ilk.  I do not know how mortal ponies could build such things, and, truly, I am wondering if it is worth it to learn… if it was worth it to be awoken into this form at all.  There is surely no place for me here.”

Celestia desperately wanted to use the chance to ask what had awoken Harmony, but set the matter aside, as this was most certainly not the time.  “There can be,” she said and then winced inwardly at how uncertain that sounded.  “There is, if you want it.  We all have a great deal to thank you for, and while I cannot promise that Luna will see you as a mother, there is no doubt in my mind that she will welcome you.”  It was a risk to mention Luna, but Celestia hoped it would be alright so long as she didn’t mention the value of the experience Luna could share in adapting to modern times.

“I suppose, if nothing else, these hollow legs and glittering wings will carry me to a nicer place to watch the world pass me by,” she said, stretching them all out with the creaking groan of strained metal.  “I have had enough of caves and jewelry boxes for the time being.”

Celestia stopped as the implications of that sentence hit her.  “You realize that none of us had any idea that the elements of harmony contained a sapient and conscious alicorn.”

“It was a nice box,” Harmony said before halting briefly as she considered something.  It was not the full shutdown she’d undergone earlier, so perhaps her control over her strange body was improving?  “Sss—Celestia?” she finally said, testing the name out for the first time.  “What was it that you called me, earlier?”

“Ah.  The name I used was ‘Harmony,’” she answered delicately, rather regretting that she let that slip.  “The artifacts that contained your power seemed to resonate with the virtues of honesty, kindness, laughter, generosity, loyalty and friendship, and so were called the ‘Elements of Harmony.’  I apologize; Harmony is how I’ve been thinking of you, but I had been making an effort not to do so out loud until you’d given your name.”

“I have no name,” she said, blunt and simple.

Celestia took a moment to process that.  “Do you mean that you don’t remember?”

“No,” she said, just as quick and certain as before.  “I was never given one—never chose one—never had the mouth to speak one.  It did not seem important.”

How does a pony even respond to that?  “I can only hope that has since changed,” Celestia suggested, strained and weary from trying to understand this strange alicorn.

“Harmony,” she said thoughtfully, holding one hoof out in front of her watching the countless tiny gears turn beneath the surface.  “Is that what this is?  A machine where every piece has its place, not a single piece extra or missing?  Is that… harmony?”

Celestia could tell where this was heading, and so hesitated to answer.  She realized that it wasn’t quite fair to compare a living, and to some extent, breathing pony with artifacts of virtue, but even so, the discontinuity was a little jarring.  Nevertheless, she had to answer honestly.  “I suppose that would be one interpretation, yes.”

“Then I expect that ‘Harmony’ will… fit… just fine,” Harmony reasoned.

Celestia hoped she was right.

✶ ✶ ✶

Twilight followed the streak of blue to Celestia and Luna’s shared dining room.  It was the selfsame room where she and Luna had, by way of a grand misunderstanding, set into motion the series of events that would eventually end with Twilight confessing her feelings to Luna that very night.

At  least, that was the idea.  Luna, on the other hoof, looked like she had the desire to murder somepony.

“No luck, I take it?” Twilight said as she came in behind Luna and brushed up beside her.

Luna, who was fishing around the cupboards for coffee filters with her magic, immediately stopped to return the gesture with a heavy sigh that was half weariness and half relief.  “None.  She is not on the castle grounds; I’ll guarantee you that.  And you?  How went your solution?”

Twilight groaned and buried her face in the crook of Luna’s wing for a brief moment of comfort before turning away with a grunt to pace across the room.

“That bad?” Luna asked.

Twilight’s head fell with a sigh, hers, entirely weariness.  “Yes.  No.  I mean—I guess it depends.  It’ll work… just a little too well, I think, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Luna raised one eyebrow at that and gave up her search entirely to saunter over to the table.  “Well, now this I have to hear,” she said as she sat down and motioned for Twilight to join her.

Twilight nodded and automatically slipped into the chair to Luna’s right at the small, round table.  “So, I told you that I could…feel the emptiness in them, right?”  Luna nodded, and she continued.  “The thing is, I can feel it because it’s around the star they already have.  I thought that I could just fill that emptiness with more stars, but…”

“It seems a fine plan if you are willing to part with them,” Luna said, eying Twilight’s mane.  “But I can imagine your view on that may have changed recently.  I promise not to be jealous.”

Twilight leaned heavily onto the table with her forelegs.  “I thought so too, until I realized that the pony body is already designed to make use of stellar magic.  If I gave them enough stars to fill their emptiness…  to put it simply—they’d be demigods.”

Luna’s curious look fell into a frown, and then that frown disappeared into… nothing.  “I… see,” she said with a measured neutrality that Twilight hadn’t seen on her face in weeks.  “And you…”

“Of course I didn’t do it!” Twilight hurried to say.  “I told them I had to think it over, but by then, I’d already offered it to them.  Applejack refused, but Pinkie Pie jumped on it, and now… I don’t know what to do.  Guilt isn’t a good reason to make someone a demigod, is it?”

Luna closed her eyes and let out a breath.  “No, guilt is a terrible reason to give somepony power,” she said with utter certainty.  When her eyes opened, they were fixed seriously on Twilight.  “Twilight, listen, there is something—”

Before Luna could finish her sentence, a flash of white light brought two more alicorns into the room.

“Oh!” Celestia remarked happily.  “You’re already here.  Well, that’s convenient.”

✶ ✶ ✶

Luna cocked her head and looked at Celestia.  Then she looked at Harmony.  “Celestia, if my leaving has left you lonely enough to build a mechanical lover, then I apologize, but—”

“Wait,” Twilight interrupted, a sinking feeling of deja vu in her chest.  “You two were lovers?  No—I can’t believe it!  I won’t believe it.”

Celestia gave Twilight an incredulous look.  “Don’t believe it.”

“Oh thank the stars.”  Twilight let out a breath in relief.

“T-Twilight!” Luna sputtered.  “What in Equestria could give you such a notion?”

Twilight gave her an indignant pout.  “You’re the one that said it.”

“I most certainly did not!” she insisted.  “Tia and I are sisters!”

Okay, maybe it was a little silly.  Still, she had her reasons to be nervous.  More than one.  “Yeah, well, that didn’t seem to stop Luma and Vita,” she grumbled.  “Or  Somni and—”

Crash!

Twilight found herself on the ground, the chair she’d been sitting in, destroyed, and a heaving, wild-eyed golden alicorn on top of her.  The  last of these made her… more than slightly uncomfortable, given the memories she’d watched.

“How do you know those names?” the alicorn of gold demanded to know, her voice full of what sounded like… fear?

Twilight turned her head away to get a little less muzzle-to-muzzle with the mechanical alicorn.  “I’ve seen it in the stars—and I mean that in the least mystical way possible.  I was recently… forced to learn how to access their memories.”

The golden alicorn’s face twisted in a mix of emotions before settling down on the ground next to Twilight’s with a heavy, metallic ‘clunk.’  “Oh, little light, no… you should never have had to see that.   Please, though, if you have any sense of decency—and I know you do—please do not speak that name.  Her name.  I do not yet remember it, and I do not want to.”

Twilight stared blankly at her for a moment, and then slipped out from under her in a wisp of stars.  “Um…”

Celestia came up behind her and put a hoof on her shoulder.  “Twilight, if you could please just humor her…”

“What?” Twilight said, quickly turning to look at Celestia.  “No, no—I mean, yes, I completely agree that she should not be how they’re remembered, but who is—”  Suddenly, it clicked, and Twilight’s gaze shot back to Harmony and the particular feeling of her magic in the air.  “The elements…  Then you’re… and they were…  That makes so much sense.”

“Twilight?” Luna said, concerned over the intensity of the look in her eyes.

“Hmm?”  Twilight absently craned her neck in response to her name.  “Oh, uhh… sorry.  It’s just—she’s the elements of harmony.  The elements of harmony are the last good that she had… it makes sense that she’d have grievances.  Oh!”  Twilight looked to Celestia in question.  “Is she  going to—”

Celestia let out a little chuckle.  “Yes, she has chosen to be called Harmony.”

“The elements?” Luna said, dubious.  “I see.  Then there is truly no chance for your friends to recover without thy aid.”

Twilight frowned.  “Well, no.  She’s an alicorn—a real alicorn.  I don’t know what’s with the mechanical body, but she’s not a thing to be parted out and used.  I don’t think there’s that much to her as it is.”

“Recover?” Celestia asked.  “Is something wrong with the bearers?  Oh dear, I suppose they must be ex-bearers, now.”

Twilight nodded solemnly.  “They’re suffering from chronic fatigue and magic withdrawal, but there’s… not much we can do.”

“I see,” Celestia said, lowering her head.  “I shall make arrangements for their continued care, both physical and financial.  In due time, I hope they shall recover.  As for the state of Harmony’s manifestation, I believe that may be my fault.”

Twilight’s brow creased.  “Your fault?  I don’t see how it can be.”

“When she first manifested, she was barely more than the Elements of Harmony strung over the figure of a mare, and seemed unable to contain her own magic.  I built an atelier to focus that magic and draw it together so that it would manifest and solidify, as we do with our regalia.  My intent was to build a shell—a cocoon, if you will, that she might manifest a body inside of—but the process took on a mind of its own.”

“You did what?” Twilight asked, straightening up with renewed attention. “You built an atelier to focus another alicorn’s magic?  Where is it?  Can I see?”

Celestia shook her head.  “Ah, I am afraid that it would have been destroyed when I repaired the hole.”

“Of course it was,” Twilight grumbled.

That got Celestia’s attention.  “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she pouted.

Giving Twilight a pointed look, Luna cleared her throat and explained in her stead.  “Twilight has as yet been unable to manifest regalia, though it matters little, seeing as she carries parts of her celestial body with her on Equestria.  The failure yet vexes her, though, both for its own sake, and also the fact that the regalia is a symbol that she feels she should have.”

Twilight let out a heavy sigh.  “Yeah, that.”

“Ah, well, if it’s any consolation, I doubt it would have worked for your stellar magic,” Celestia said, plainly attempting to mollify her.

“Probably not,” Twilight alowed, not really wanting to press the matter.  “So…”  Her eyes couldn’t help being drawn to Harmony, who seemed content to just… stand there watching the other three converse.  Twilight leaned in closer to Celestia to whisper.  “Is it okay if I say I hope she eventually grows skin?  Because skin, it’s… um, it’s nice?  It covers your… gears.”

✶ ✶ ✶

For all that she was the only pony in the room who was privy to the entire story, Twilight didn’t know what to make of Harmony.  Then again, maybe it wasn’t unusual at all; Harmony herself seemed to have mixed feelings about existing.

It would have been much easier if Harmony had been manifest as a child.  Then, the naïveté would be endearing, the lack of knowledge, an invitation to teach and watch over her.  She was not a child, however.  Not in simulated body, nor, truly, in spirit.  She did not have the curiosity of a young pony, and that, perhaps, was what irked Twilight the most, for curiosity was something she prized, and seeing it so dead in a pony reminded her of the things that she herself would rather not remember.

Harmony, of course, also reminded her of those things in much more direct ways as well.

None of it was her fault, though.  She was a victim as much as anyone.  She deserved compassion, deserved a chance to become a real pony—if not in flesh, then at least one who was capable of caring for and engaging with others.  The long view of it was important, because Harmony was a part of it; she was a part of Twilight’s life, both in the years to come and and the years far gone.  In some form or another, Harmony would live on with the the rest of them into eternity, of course, but equally important was the fact that she was responsible for giving Twilight life.

To Twilight’s surprise, Harmony herself didn’t seem to know this, and she really didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Feeling like the middle child already?” Celestia asked quietly while Harmony was explaining the circumstances of the moon’s creation as she remembered them, which seemed to be rather stilted and vague.

Twilight shook her head and led Celestia a few steps away.  “It’s not that.  This whole thing just puts me in an odd position.  There were things I wanted to talk about—things about the last generation of alicorns—but if Harmony doesn’t want them said… it’d be selfish to do otherwise.  It’s going to be hard enough working with her as it is; I don’t think it’d help much if we all had to watch our words with her.”

“I agree that we should respect her wishes in regards to the past,” Celestia said, glancing over to Harmony as she did so.  “But how would it be selfish to do otherwise?”

Twilight opened her mouth to tell her, but hesitated.  What could she say that didn’t violate the very issue at hoof?   “Well, it is a really sad story that’d probably help to share, but realistically… it has more to do with that letter I sent you.”

Celestia seemed to drift off for a moment as she thought back to the last letter she’d received, before her eyes widened a bit.  “Oh my, I still have a response drafted to that sitting on my desk.  I must apologize—I was still drafting it when a librarian and a maid came to tell me of Harmony’s awakening.”

“Let me guess,” Twilight said with a hint of a smile.  “It’s ‘a well-meaning but vague and ultimately useless letter suggesting that I skip the wacky hijinks, be open with her and all other the usual platitudes that everypony knows and nopony listens to?’”

Celestia frowned.  “I… suppose it is,” she said.  “Am I that predictable in being… ‘vague and ultimately useless?’”

“Oh, uhh—sorry,” Twilight said, her face reddening as she realized what she’d just said.  “No, that was just what Spike said in private, and… I probably shouldn’t have repeated it.”

Celestia, at least, looked more sad than she did offended.  “So in other words… yes.  Oh, don’t worry yourself over it.  A little honesty is refreshing every once in awhile.  It’s true that I only have second-hoof platitudes to give on the subject of love, I’m afraid.”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about,” Twilight said, gently approaching the subject in as roundabout a manner as she could.  “The capacity of alicorns to find love.  You remember my… ‘asexual’ phase?”

That seemed to confuse Celestia.  “I can’t say that I ever thought of it as such.  To me, you were just a precocious little filly questioning the ways of adults.  I figured that it would eventually sort itself out, and it did.”

“It didn’t,” Twilight immediately corrected.

The look of confusion on Celestia’s face deepened and grew a shade of concern.  “You’re saying that you feel no attraction to my sister, and yet you still wish to court her?  Twilight, I admire the sentiment—I have shared it in the past, but—”

“Please stop saying things that make it sound like you’ve had sex with your sister,” Twilight interrupted, earning an indignant blush from Celestia.  “That’s just it, though.  You’ve been there.  We all have.  Us.  Alicorns.”

Celestia looked uneasy.  “You think we are incapable of love?”

“No,” Twilight said before looking Celestia straight in the eye.  “I know for a fact that we are very capable of love.  Dangerously capable of love—but too often… not in the right arrangement.”

“‘Not in the right arrangement?’” Celestia asked and glanced back over her shoulder.  “Harmony said something like that, too.”

Twilight bit her lip and shared Celestia’s glance.  “Then she remembers more than I imagine she wants to, and I’d better not say anything more.  Just… believe me when I say that with alicorns, like calls to like, and I’m not referring to who has what under their tail; I honestly doubt it matters, though I’m not about to go scrubbing through their memories to check.”

“You mean…?” Celestia asked as she began to give Luna and Harmony another glance, then jerked back, thinking better of it.

Twilight nodded.  “The dating pool is the size of this room, yes, and… I probably don’t have to say this, but I’ve seen what hundreds of thousands of years can change, even amongst siblings, so I’ll tell you now—don’t let your feelings cross the horizon.  I realize that that doesn’t give you much in the way of choice, but it’s better this way.  I hope Harmony grows to complement you, I really do, and… I also hope that she grows some flesh… or that you remember how to play the organ.”

“Twilight…”  Celestia groaned, covering her face with one hoof.

“No, I don’t actually think she has a pipe organ anywhere on her,” Twilight clarified.  “I mean, probably.”

“Twilight, you are banned from ever attempting any sexual innuendo in this castle.”

“Again?”

Still.”

✶ ✶ ✶

In explaining the situation to Celestia, it had become clear to Twilight that nothing was stopping her from confessing her feelings to Luna.  The story of the alicorns was just an excuse to bring the subject up; it would have been awkward to tell before she was ready, but it wasn’t strictly necessary.  In fact… regaling your would-be lover with the tragic story of how it didn’t work out last time probably wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, she thought.  This, in spite of what you usually find in a library’s romance section.

Not that she’d had a chance to peruse the romance section since discovering her desire to engage in such activities.

The sudden lack of barrier between her and the prospect of a relationship with Luna only made her more nervous, distracting her from the ongoing conversation.

“You two seem to be getting along well,” Celestia was saying to Luna and Harmony.  “I expect that between your own experiences in adapting to the current age and helping Twilight settle into her role as an alicorn, you should be able to help Harmony a great deal.”

Luna stiffened at the mention of helping Harmony adjust to the modern world.  “Ah, no, sister.  I am afraid that my… duties will keep me occupied in Ponyville for quite some time, yet; you will have to see to that yourself.  Besides, haven’t you specifically been unloading your duties onto Twilight and I for just this occasion?”

“Ah,” Celestia said.  “You heard about that, did you?  I had been expecting Harmony’s convalescence to last for quite some time.”

Luna nodded in agreement.  “And so it shall, for her mental recuperation is as important as that of the body.”

Twilight wore a frown of concern.  Had the two of them always been so stiff with each other?  Luna had mentioned several times the lack of connection that she’d had with Celestia ever since her return, but Twilight hadn’t expected it to be this bad.  They seemed to be treating each other like… courtiers to be handled.

Twilight’s relationship with her friends may have become a bit strained, but she thanked the stars that she didn’t have that problem—not that said stars were actually helping matters any.  Kind of the opposite, actually.

She didn’t have that problem, did she?

Well, for one thing, Twilight tried not to treat anyone like courtiers—especially courtiers.  Except… that wasn’t really true, was it?  She didn’t treat them like Celestia treated courtiers, but she certainly had established a way of interacting with them.  That was the whole point of the conversation she’d had earlier about necessary ego.  Well, regardless, she certainly didn’t act that  way with her friends.

How did she act with them, though?  There was definitely something missing from their old friendship.  Spending time with them just wasn’t as easy as it used to be, and half the time she felt like she was on trial.  As trite and juvenile as it sounded… they didn’t understand her.  How could they?  There was a fundamental difference in them; they knew what they wanted to do and had to work hard to make it happen.  Twilight…

Twilight could do anything, but had to work hard to figure out what it was she should do.

And what should she do?  Honestly, what could she do?  If matters between them were strained now, how would they be when Twilight took back her offer of stars to ease their fatigue?  Would they even say anything, or would they just let losing the elements be the thing that finally split them apart?

Would they ever forgive her?

Ugh.  Look at her worrying over things she couldn’t control when there were much more immediate matters at hoof.

“Luna, you don’t have to give up your royal chambers here in Canterlot,” Celestia said, rolling her eyes.  “I’m sure that I can find a hooffull of stonemasons who haven’t moved to Ponyville.  Harmony will have her own place here.”

Well, at least they’d moved past snide politeness, Twilight mused.

“Of course she shall have her own place,” Luna responded with a huff and a flick of her head that sent a wave through her mane.  “And where shall it be?  Across the south courtyard?  You know very well that this castle was built with two suites in mind, and I am grateful for the thought, but for all I tried to make it so, this is not, and never has been my home.  I have found such a place—nay, I have made such a place down in Ponyville.”

Celestia was almost speechless.  “Luna; I had no idea that you felt so strongly…”

Twilight decided to let them have their moment, and motioned Harmony away to have a word with her.  Sure enough, though she was watching Celestia and Luna herself, the mechanical alicorn didn’t miss the signal, and drug herself away with what looked like grim resignation.

✶ ✶ ✶

Harmony’s head hung low as she joined Twilight next to the coffee filters and creamer.  The naked submissiveness of it all but hurt to look at.

“Are you really that afraid of me?” Twilight said, keeping her voice low to avoid interrupting Luna and Celestia, who were now energetically discussing the transportation of Luna’s many couches.

Harmony drew herself to a more regal posture, but still hesitated to look at her.  “No.  Not afraid, just… sad.  Regretful.  Forlorn.  My oversight cannot be fixed; not without an act of destruction commensurate with the original catastrophe.”

“I know a lot about what happened back then,” Twilight said, attempting to match Harmony’s sad and wistful mood.  “More than I’d like, and more than you.”  She held up a hoof to forestall any objection.  “I’ll respect your wishes and keep it to myself—I promise—but there’s something that I think you should know.  Something that will help you.”

Harmony swallowed hard, making a clunk that made Twilight cringe.  “Please…” Harmony said, desperation clear in her voice.  Twilight tried not to think less of her for it, but it really was like she was a child.

“You think that you failed me,” Twilight said, looking to Harmony for a confirmation, which she hardly needed.  “…that my life is a miracle born of the ashes of the past.  That’s not true.”

A small light of hope lit in Harmony’s eyes.  “It isn’t?”

“Not in the slightest,” Twilight affirmed.  “Now, I won’t lie.  I have a love–hate relationship with my identity as the alicorn of the stars.  It has caused me no small amount of grief as I’ve come to terms with it, and there are still some… long-term issues that I’ve yet to sort out.”

Before Harmony’s head could sink any lower, Twilight moved on.  “No, stop and listen to me.  There have been problems, but I said I have a love–hate relationship with them, and that stands.  I love the stars.  I have loved them all my life, before I even knew what they were—before I knew there was an alicorn of the night, let alone one just for them.  I love the stars, I love the way they sparkle and the way they fill the entire night.  I love what they’ve become since my ascension, and I have you to thank for it.”

Harmony’s lip began to clatter as it quivered, until she clamped down on it.  “I appreciate the effort,” she said, forcing the words out.  “But even if you celebrate my failure, I cannot.”

“Not your failure,” Twilight insisted.  “Your unplanned, unappreciated success.  The stars didn’t kindle from some latent flame; you lit them.  In your effort to forge Luna’s moon, you also created me, unknowingly and unintentionally, maybe, but also undeniably.  I don’t… actually know if I was the way I am from birth or if it came when I got my cutie mark, or even when you helped me free Luna from the madness she’d found staring back at her in the stars, but either way… thank you, Harmony.  I owe you everything.”

If there was any hesitation in Harmony, it was in coming to believe Twilght’s words.  Soon enough, though, her mechanical eyes began to tear and she latched onto Twilight in a hug that would have killed a lesser creature.  “Oh, little light… I had no idea.  Thank you.”

To Twilight’s relief, the tears were not oil or any other mechanical placebo, but simple water, likely condensed from the air that Harmony was breathing—and that was as far as she let the thought go.  She was a scientist, but she doubted that Harmony’s body obeyed the same rules as the rest of the universe.

Besides, studying Harmony’s body was Celestia’s job.

Eventually, Harmony released her and they separated.  Twilight hesitated for a moment, and then decided to risk a little push.  “I don’t suppose you know the answer to that last bit?  When I actually… became an alicorn?”

A little of Harmony’s previous sadness seemed to flicker through her eyes, but it was brief.  “I am sorry, little light.  I believed my shining light stillborn, and never have I witnessed the foaling of an alicorn.  All I can say is that your divinity was already present when we first met.”

Twilight let out a light sigh, but managed to keep a smile on her face.  It wasn’t an answer, but it was more than she’d had and more than she expected.  “Thanks.  That helps.”

✶ ✶ ✶

“Well, that went… better,” Twilight remarked to Luna as Celestia led Harmony out of the room to get some rest.  Given the considerable effort that it would no doubt take to remodel Luna’s chambers to suit Harmony—not the least of which would involve figuring out what suited Harmony—Twilight entertained the notion that the mechanical alicorn would end up in Celestia’s bedchamber again; after all, such an arrangement had worked out rather well for Luna and her.

Luna walked over to the door the other two had left through and shut it quietly with her magic.  “Better than what?” she asked.

“Better than the last time a ‘new’ alicorn showed her face,” Twilight joked with a playful smirk.  “Nopony even spilled their coffee.”

“Mere coincidence that I shall put down to my not having found the coffee preparation supplies before their arrival,” she responded in a similar tone, but something about it tickled Twilight’s ear.

“You don’t like her?” Twilight asked, half question, have merely a confused statement.

“What is there to like?” she answered, her countenance dour, but then shook her head.  “No, no, it’s not that.  I jest, but only partly.  It is not so easy for me to see in her the artifacts that have wrought such change upon our lives and grant her that same consideration.  I do not dislike her, but we will yet see what and who she is to become.”

Twilight considered Luna’s response for a moment.  “Is that why you didn’t want to teach her about the modern world?”

“Oh no, I was quite honest in saying that I have my hooves full with you,” Luna said, eying Twilight mischievously.  It seemed honest enough, yet for some reason the expression fell away quickly.  “I am sure that Celestia will do a fine job of it.  Still, it puts certain matters in perspective.”

“It does change some things,” Twilight agreed, letting her gaze drift in the direction of Celestia’s chambers.  “I really hope things go well for them.”

Luna had to look at Twilight to make sure she’d understood her meaning.  “Them?  You don’t mean—”

“Some things, I’ve started to think, are inevitable, ” Twilight said, walking over to Luna and brushing up beside her. “Harmony needs a rock.  She needs a reason to care about… anything.  She needs to be shown the world, and Celestia loves to do just that.  You, on the other hoof… you’re different.  You need to be different, and you need somepony to be different with you.  I’d love to be that pony.”

Twilight stepped around to Luna’s front without ever losing contact with her.  “I love you, Luna,” she said, looking her in the eyes.  “I don’t just want to stand with you… I want to stand beside you.”

Luna took a deep breath and leaned into Twilght, nuzzling her.  “Twilight… you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say those words.”

Twilight pulled out of the embrace, giving her a hopeful smile.  “Then…”

“I just don’t think that now is the right time,” Luna said and turned away.

The pit of Twilight’s stomach sank like a rock.  “W-what?  Why?”

“You must understand…” Luna said, walking away from her so that Twilight couldn’t see her face.  “I would court you like no other—devote myself to you for all eternity—and you have convinced me that you would do no different… and therin lies the problem.

“Twilight, I think you know that I have had… something of an infatuation with you ever since we first met.  I read your letters and I asked Tia about you.  I know that you coveted the position you now hold—and no, I don’t blame you, nor do I hold it against you.

“You wished, at the time, to stand by my sister’s side for all eternity and spurned the companionship of those that did not fit into that dream.  Twilight, since your ascension, I have seen you heading down that road again, and I fear that my presence has… been detrimental in this matter.  If I were to accept your feelings and return them—as I most assuredly would—then I doubt that any force in the world would separate us.”

Twilight couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or that it sounded so… scripted.  “And you think that’s a bad thing,” she said.

“Yes,” Luna said with forced determination.  In any other pony, the seeming lack of sincerity might have seemed a weakness, but Luna had never lacked in conviction.  “You’ve grown past this once before when you met your friends, and you can do it again.  I will not let you close yourself off as you seem wont to do.  You are becoming increasingly disconnected from those you rule; you have learned to believe in yourself—and that is good—but you have lost the heart to believe and trust in them.”

Twilight’s lip trembled and she had to swallow her bile to speak.  “You… hypocrite!” she shouted with a mounting anger.  “Who was it that told me that friendships required the freedom to choose your own path?  Who was it that built me a castle and gifted me a toy nation full of yes-mares and wish fulfillment?  Who was it—”  She took a breath and stomped closer to Luna.  “—that supported every step I took towards seeing myself as somepony worthy of all that?  It was you.”

Luna stepped back and hung her head in shame.  “I know, Twilight.  Believe me, I have only very recently come to realize just how poorly I have led you, and for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

She was sorry?  Well that just solves everything, doesn’t it?  “What do you expect me to do?” Twilight cried, gesturing widely with her hooves.  “Just walk back into the lives of my friends like nothing has happened?  Have you been paying attention at all today?  That’s what I’ve been trying to do!  It’s not working.  The connection just isn’t there.  It’s been nothing but misunderstandings, awkward explanations and thinly veiled disapproval; just about the only pony I feel like actually supports me is Rainbow Dash, and she just thinks I’m a novelty!”

“Twilight, look at yourself,” Luna insisted, drawing herself back up.  “You spent five minutes with Harmony and you had her crying and thanking you for your friendship.  You are not without empathy!” she bellowed.  “If you actually believe that your status is what stands in your way, then you should have done what any good friend would do and make demigods of them!  You had a perfect opportunity to grow the pool of ponies that truly understands you, and yet you shied away from it.  You looked at the ponies whose friendship moved a slumbering goddess to help you, and you judged them wanting.”  Luna was heaving heavily from her vehement speech and took a moment to calm herself before fixing Twilight with a hard glare.  “How could you?”

“Because it’s true,” Twilight snarled with sudden venom as her physical form began to lose cohesion, shedding stardust with each step she took.  “At least I never professed to love them.  I—I pour my heart out to you and you took it!  You took it and you immediately turned around and tried and use it as bait to coerce me into changing the mare that you’ve made me into!  Love isn’t about what’s a good idea at the time, Luna.  It’s not about what’s smart or sensible.  How could you?  What could possibly be worth… this?  What is it that are you so afraid of me becoming?!”

Luna took a deep, calming breath and uttered one word: “Somni.”

Twilight suddenly halted her advance.  “What?”

“Somni—the dream of night,” Luna said.  “I don’t want you to become so obsessed with love that you forget about the ponies that give the world meaning.”

There were so many things that Twilight wanted to say to that, but unfortunately she could ask only one.  “How do you know about that?” she said, the ice in her voice palpable in the room.

“It was clear that you were avoiding something important,” Luna said, and her horn lit silver to pull a star out of her mane.  The star.  The one that Twilight had given her.  “I am sorry for going behind your back.”

Twilight’s teeth clenched.  “Whose?” she demanded.  “I gave you a single star, meaning you only got one side of the story.  Fati or Somni, which is it?”

“It was a piece of Fati,” Luna said, simply and quietly.

“Of course it was.”  Twilight turned away, refusing to even look at her.  “Get out.”

Twilight heard the tentative clip-clop of hooves behind her.  “Twilight, please, don’t push me away.  I want to help you.”

“And I want to fuck you!” Twilight shouted, rattling the cabinets.  “Apparently you think that those are different things.  Now leave.”

“Do you think I am not attracted to you?” Luna asked, desperation entering her voice as her head cooled and she realized where this was heading.  “That I do not want to take you to bed and only emerge when the last mortal pony who has seen our faces has passed?  Twilight, I would like nothing more.”

“Really?” Twilight said.  “Because it sounded like you would rather tie it up in string and wave it in front of me like a carrot.”

“Twilight… I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, her determination crumpling.  “I misspoke.  Please, don’t do this.”

Twilight whipped around to glare at Luna.  “No, I think you said it exactly right back when this started.  How did you phrase it?”  Twilight lifted her head, as if trying to remember, though the words were already foremost in her mind.  “Oh right.  Clop—OFF.”

The sound of shattering glass brought Celestia running, but by the time she arrived, the room was empty.

✶ ✶ ✶

Luna thought she knew so well what was wrong with Twilight’s life?  Fine, she’d shut down the librararchy.  Fine, she’d abandon the title of princess.  Fine, she’d make demigods of her friends and set them loose on the world.  Fine.

Everything would be fine.