The sun hung low and red in the sky. Just as it had for months.
Celestia looked up quailed, her eyes growing wide. Her lips parted in a gasp of horror.
“No,” she said.
She stood in the front courtyard of the palace, Canterlot Valley spreading out below her, dry and blasted in the eternal sun. She was not alone. Hundreds—thousands—of ponies filled the courtyard with her, each lean and gaunt, each staring up at her. Some with hunger in their eyes. Some with anger. Some with simple desperation.
“No,” Celestia repeated, backing up a step. She bumped into someone; she looked over and saw Luna, her gaze forlorn and sad. “Luna,” she pleaded. “Tell them—”
Luna gazed at her a little longer, then turned away.
“No,” Celestia gasped.
And, one by one, the other ponies turned away, too.
“Nonononono,” Celestia said hoarsely, glancing around. “Please—!” she shouted. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—I couldn’t—” She swallowed. “Here, I-I can make it better—I can fix it—”
She concentrated, and her horn flickered—but the sun did not move. The world did not change. The world mocked her effort.
“No,” she pleaded to the sun.
As she watched, the ponies began to disappear. Some of them melted into shadow. Some turned to dust and smoke. And some simply laid down and faded away.
And soon, Celestia was alone.
“No,” she gasped. “I—It’s not my fault—I tried, I really did—I’m sorry—” She swallowed.
For a moment, all was still. And then, Celestia began to weep.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the pony you needed me to be…”
She stood there, alone in the eternal twilight, for a long time. The only sound was her sobbing.
Without warning, a lightning bolt of pain shot up her side. Celestia screamed.
“How stupid do you think I am?” snarled Sombra.