24. Another Awakening
Moon Dancer again awoke in the afternoon, most of the day already spent. It was the second day of her Cycle, when it always hit her heaviest, and it was of course unsuppressed. Her heart was pounding, her face flushed, and her loins itching; her stupid brute body neither knowing nor caring that she was alone and unloved. As far as her Cycle was concerned, she simply needed to find a stallion and mate; it had evolved in ages before considerations of moral integrity, family honor or even complex customs had been relevant considerations.
Things were simpler on the Primal Plains, Moon Dancer thought wistfully, about a past of which she knew purely from having read books theorizing about it -- which was, of course, the way Moon Dancer had acquired most of the contents of her capacious store of knowledge. She was aware of this, but at twenty-one, she did not yet grasp that this constituted any sort of disadvantage.
At least I don't have to worry about wolves, Moon Dancer realized. She was no fool -- the same books of natural history from which she had learned of equine evolution had informed her that the typical mare on the Primal Plains was lucky if she managed to live a few years past the onset of breeding age -- assuming that she survived her dangerous foalhood and fillyhood to get there.
Then, she remembered the Night Shadows. Maybe there still are wolves, she reflected. Bigger and fiercer ones, with deadlier teeth. Then, more happily, But if I am clever, I can turn them against the tyrants who oppress us daily, and then send them back to their forests.
She came completely to consciousness, sat up in bed, blinking blearily. She had awoken from such strange dreams! She wished she could better remember them.
She had dreamed that she was rushing through great gulfs of starry space, and then without the Milky Way, she recalled. And though it had been darker there, it had not been entirely bereft of light, for the galaxies had wheeled about her, their massed Suns shining with the lights of Fusion, dancing in the grip of Gravity, in a marvelous show whose Dissonance only made it the more complex and beautiful.
And yet somehow she had been standing on the main balcony of the Crystal Palace, watching all this, and by her side was a stallion who was sometimes Penumbra and sometimes Prince Crimson Quartz and sometimes, terrifyingly, King Sombra. She could not remember the details; but sometimes, especially when he was Penumbra, he kissed her -- and his kisses thrilled her. And he spoke to her of impossible secrets of space and time, which thrilled her as much, though in a different way.
It was a shame that she couldn't remember the secrets he'd told her.
It had in some ways been a normal Cycle-dream -- Moon Dancer had those rather often, whether despite or because of her complete actual chastity -- she was far from certain of which. The specific origin of the dream seemed obvious: her mysterious encounter with Penumbra, and the kiss he had given her, whether in spirit or reality; combined with the cosmic revelations vouchsafed by the Codex of Shades. And she knew that Penumbra had in some way once been Crimson Quartz, and was in some mysterious way an emanation of the ghost of King Sombra.
She remembered that she had enjoyed the dream -- a lot -- and this may have been why when she woke up she was wetter and stinking even more heavily of marescent than was normal for her even at the height of her Cycle. I'm in no fit state to face society!
Moon Dancer reflected on her situation. In many ways, it was similar to her awakening last afternoon. It was late in the day she would not be able to get much done in terms of book-hunting or library research. Her Cycle had hit, and without suppressors, she felt quite uncomfortable.
But things were different, now. She was not merely wallowing in the hedonistic enjoyment of reading and buying rare books; absorbing and acquiring curious tomes of forgotten lore; ecstatic an activity though that certainly was. Now, she had a goal. Now, she had a greater purpose.
Now, she had a research project.
Moon Dancer smiled to herself at the happy prospect, as she rolled out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Today, she was in no particular rush. She already had her main reference source; while she meant to search for other sources, the Codex of Shades was likely the best and perhaps only work ever scribed upon the Night Shadows, and she suspected that the other sources she might find in this city would be relevant more for an understanding of the basis of magical and technological understanding upon which Crimson Quartz had based his magnum opus.
25. A Failed Past, A Hopeful Future
Wistfully, she remembered her days at the School for Gifted Unicorns, when she had counted as her friend one who delighted in such work every bit as much as had Moon Dancer. If Twilgiht Sparkle were here, she would doubtless be as fascinated by the book as was Moon Dancer herself. Or at least almost as much.
Though -- perhaps not. Twilight had always wanted to stay within the lines, to play by the rules; to make her straight-arrow older brother, the very same Shining Armor who was now Prince Consort of the Crystal Empire, proud of her. And win the approval of Princess Celestia. Twilight would be horrified by the blasphemous implications of the book, by its revelations of dark magic and darker dimensions. She wuld probably tell Moon Dancer that the tome was dangerous, that it should simply be turned over to the Night Watch.
That solution would occur naturally to both of them. They both came of old military families, and they were second cousins through the Nights, whose sons traditionally joined the Night Watch, to the point that the old joke went that the Watch had been named for the family rather than for the time of day. Twlight Sparkle's parents, Twilight Velvet and Night Light, had met while both were Night Watch officers; Moon Dancer's father, Night Dancer, was now a Colonel of the Night Watch, and he had met Moon Dancer's mother, Honey Moon, on a Night Watch assignment.
Twilight would recoil at the notion that her revered Princess Celestia was but an alien horror in Pony form. Twilight Sparkle almost worshipped Celestia. Moon Dancer recalled that Twilight had exulted at even the slightest word of approval from her mentor; despaired at any rebuke from her. There was no way that Twilight would be open to the truth about her ideal of equine perfection.
Even when Twilight Sparkle had been but a schoolfilly, she had already been a favorite of the Ruling Princess. Twilight had actually interned working for the Night Watch, something Moon Dancer had already been offered and had angrily rejected -- though in truth, at that age, sixteen or so, even Moon Dancer had been too naive to reject the offer for sound ideological reasons. Back then, she had acted more out of resentment for her father's infidelity to her mother; and a desire to rebel against him based on her personal moral principles.
Moon Dancer had not yet been aware of the larger social issues. She had not, at sixteen, grasped the extent to which her father's actions were but the invetiable consequence of an inherently corrupt and corrupting class structure. It was in one fundamental sense not really, or at least not wholly, her father's fault.
She wished that she could get him to realize this. But, while Night Dancer was smart, almost as smart as herself, he was in many ways very old-fashioned: self-motivated, self-reliant and extremely honorable, that last part being the reason why Moon Dancer had been so shocked to learn that he had taken a mistress.
He imagined himself the master of his own fate, the captain of his destiny. He would never accept the truth that he was but a pawn of larger social forces. The few times that Moon Dancer had tried to discuss equalist social theory with him, he had dismissed it as "flawed," "unrealistic" and "wishful thinking." He had shown no interest to delve deeply into the thick tomes of Marks and Angel.
This exasperated Moon Dancer, but try as she might to view him as merely an obsolete thinker, of no concern to her, the truth was that she cared very much about him. His betrayal of her mother hurt Moon Dancer all the more because she cared about him. If she hadn't cared about him, she just would have taken this for granted as part of the general corruption of life under capitalism.
But the fact was that Night Dancer was part of the old world -- and, for all that she was actually a year younger than Moon Dancer herself, the same thing was true of Twilight Sparkle. They were neither stupid nor bad -- Night Dancer was in many ways one of the smartest Ponies Moon Dancer had ever known, and Twilight was probably the single smartest Pony Moon Dancer had ever known; and save in very specific areas -- Night Dancer's marital infidelity, and Twilight's own abandonment of her when Twilight saw a chance for personal distinction -- they were mostly good Ponies.
They had very deeply hurt Moon Dancer -- she could not trust either of them any more -- however, they were not evil. They were simply the victims of social conditioning from a flawed, obsolete and in some ways evil system, but their lack of caring was not entirely their own fault. Absolutist, autocratic and atomistic capitalist cultures simply did not encouarge real and meaningful caring for others. Marks and Angel had explained this, in great and fascinating detail, in many long essays and longer books.
Come the Revolution, a new age would dawn, and a better world be born, one in which Moon Dancer hoped that Ponies like herself -- who were very smart, but perhaps a bit unskilled at playing the complex social games needed to survive in a culture where everything and everypony was constantly being bought and sold; in which honorable conduct was at once demanded of daughters and flouted by fathers; where fillies pretended to be one's friends and then traded-up to more-influential allegiances when they got their big breaks. Until then, all Moon Dancer could do was work to turn her dream of Revolution into a reality.
And now perhaps she had stumbled across a powerful tool, with which to effect such change.
26. A Pleasant Bath
Moon Dancer had reached this hopeful stage in her cogitations, when she finished drawing her bath. The heating and plumbing in the ancient but ever-renewing crystal hotel worked perfectly, and now the bathtub was filled with hot water, from which rose warm steam, condensing in the colder air of the bathroom into a thin warm fog. Into the water Moon Dancer mixed bath salts and scented bubble bath she had procured last evening at the public baths. She combined them, added some cold water until the temperature in the tub was to her liking.
Then she stepped into the tub, gasping in slightly-painful pleasure as the deliciously-hot water lapped up her legs, then touched her more than normally-tender teats and engulfed her inflamed privates, as she lay down full length on her belly in the bathtub. The water buoyed her up, and she was half-floating, even with her head fully above and neck mostly out of the water.
For a while, Moon Dancer simply lay in this position, revelling in the sheer sensuous pleasure of the warm water covering almost her entire body. She first couched her head back so that her head was dry while her barrel and limbs soaked in the warmth. She relaxed and breathed in the scented steam. Then, she thrust her head forward and down, submerging it compltely and letting her upper mane soak in the bathwater.
She held her head under for half a minute, enjoying the warmth, then pulled her head up and threw it back, gasping and letting the water stream from her thoroughly-sodden upper mane. She chuckled throatily in pleasure, then rolled carefully and completely over onto her back, floating in that position for a good long while. Finally, she completed the roll until she lay upon her belly, head couched back once more.
She managed to complete this maneuver without splashing too much water on the beautifully-tiled floor, which depicted in mosaic an aged stallion, whom she could not identify, in Imperial regalia. This was possible, because the tub in her hotel bathroom was much larger than Moon Dancer's own back in her home in Canterlot.
I could get used to this luxury, she thought happily, as she floated in the water, all her muscles relaxing and feeling entirely at peace with the world, the warm water lapping at her like the intimate kisses of a lover such as she only knew from books. Pity I can't really afford to live this way all the time, for more than an extended vacation. I reallly like this city: there's something beautiful and timeless here, a world of civility and grace that somehow survived the Age of Wonders. I wish I could stay.
I can't stay, though. Not much longer than another week, maybe two. I'm not really rich; I'm no Fancy Pants: I couldn't maintain the town house in Canterlot and live here, so I'd have to give one up. And my important work, my study of the future of Social History, that I can't do here, only in a major modern metropolis, such as Canterlot or Manehattan. My family has serious money, all I have are a couple of bequests and a trust fund.
All I can do is enjoy this city while I have the time to do so, and perhaps return another season, or another year.
There was one way, of course, that she could gain a fortune. She was unlovely, and unlovable, but she bore the ancient and honorable name of Moon; there would always be some rich parvenu who might overlook her appearance and personality for her ability to gain them an alliance with such an old family. And she was young enough, and virginal, and her children would be full Moons to the name and honors born.
But she rejected seeking such a tie, just as she rejected the possibility of the more casual liasions she might have had with the exotic and mercenary colts of the Crystal City, and for essentially the same reason. To her, honor was a very real thing, and the dream of love not entirely dead within her, even though realistically she knew she would see it realized for her, and Moon Dancer still hoped to find somepony special with whom to dance.
She mused on various thoughts and possibilities, and while she was so musing, she fell asleep in her bath, lulled by the warm waters surrounding her, and fell into a brief slumber.
27. Her Dream
Once again she stood on the balcony of the Crystal Palace, and leaning against her was the dark gray coated Unicorn stallion with the mane black as night and the red, red eyes and the deformed horn. And perhaps he was Penumbra, or possibly Prince Crimson Quartz, or even King Sombra, but whatever he really was, he was not at all hostile. All his body-language conveyed affection, and she leaned happily against him, knowing in her dream a closeness and intimacy and warmth she knew she never would in real life.
And they rushed through the Universe again, and all was a wonder, for she knew that each of the little motes of light that she saw in a Galaxy as she passed it by was a great Sun or cluster of Suns, and that for each star she saw, even at a close approach, there were millions too dim for her perception. And each Sun was the center of its own Solar System of worlds, and many of those worlds were the abode of life, and some of sapience -- of minds as good at thinking as those of Ponies, but which did not think exactly the same.
Her mind was dizzy at the richness and strangeness of the Cosmos.
And this was wondrous, only now she noticed that all the Galaxies around her were also rushing toward her destination, as if they were bubbles of soap-foam on the surface of a bath, and somepony had pulled the drain out, and the water was slopping toward the open drain. And the thought frightened her, for she wondered why this was the case, and if spacetime itself were gurgling into something, what was that something? She had heard of black holes, but this seemed entirely too vast to be any such thing.
She turned toward Penumbra, about to ask him a question, and she flinched, for it was Sombra, and he bore a look of unholy lust on his jagged-toothed face. But it was not directed her, and it was no sexual lust, but rather some emotion entirely inequine and nameless, accompanied by a gloating, savage smile. And Sombra was looking right toward a point of space ahead of them.
And she beheld that this was the point of space toward which all the Galaxies were rushing.
And she looked back, and it was no longer Sombra, but Crimson Quartz. And Crimson Quartz said:
"That, my dear, is the Great Attractor. A diffuse concentration of matter some 400 million light-years in diameter, located some 250 million light-years away, in the direction of the southern constellation Centaurus -- though of course it is much, much farther away than anything that we commonly call "Centauri" or "Centaurus," because it and everything composing it is invisible to equine eyes. Only in the Age of Wonders, when they orbited space telescopes, did Ponies see it, though they did not comprehend what they were seeing."
She looked up again at the Great Attractor. She was somehow automatically aware of the scales involved, and realized that it was actually very close to the Milky Way Galaxy, both compared to its own proportions and of that of the Universe as a whole. She turned back to speak to Crimson Quartz, and found herself looking into the sadder and wiser face of Penumbra, instead.
"The Ponies of the Age of Wonders saw it but could not understand it," Penumbra said. "They guessed that there was an object at the core, something representing a localized concentration of mass some tens of thousands times more massive than the Milky Way. The object was invisible; so they imagined that it might be a tremendous assembly of dark matter, matter which is composed of particles which interact gravitionally but not electro-nuclearly with the rest of the Universe. Some even wildly supposed that this was a place where another Universe, one that could interact with ours only gravitionally, was passing close to our own, affecting us across the brane barrier.
"They were half right," Penumbra continued. "Dark matter was being concentrated there. And the most daring speculations were more right than they knew. For there, at the center of the Great Attractor, our Universe draws very near -- dangerously near -- to another Universe, one almost beyond our comprehension. But I have seen that other Universe ..." he looked into Moon Dancer's eyes, and she saw that his were now glowing red "... and so have you."
She remembered it then ... the memory sharp and crystal-clear. The nighted worlds leered down upon by dead suns ... the planets and less natural objects huddled round the great black holes, throwing matter into the accretion disk like campers slowly tending their fires ... the universe of unlife, in which nothing lived but something moved, something sick and abnormal and alien to all life in our own Universe ... the Night Shadows.
"The Shadowverse," she said in horrified awareness. "The Shadowverse. It's drifting closer to ours, there. Its mass is pulling our dark matter toward the dimensional barriers. But wait ... how is that possible? Isn't it terribly ancient, terribly dispersed?"
Penumbra nodded in approval. "Smart filly," he said. "You've seen the flaw in that theory. No natural processes of the Shadow Universe would concentrate that much matter that close to the point of future contact. No natural processes."
"The Night Shadows?" Moon Dancer asked.
"Yes," replied Penumbra. "Or, to be precise, their battle-kybertronoii. The Servants of Stigasklavon, Great Shadows incarnate. The unicronoii. Armed and sapient, made of supermetals and the size of large terrestrial worlds, able to break up and consume other planets to plunder their resources. The core of an almost-inconceivably vast armada, they are projecting tractor beams to generate the Great Attractor, and to hasten the collision between our continuum and the Shadows' own. They are grappling our Universe, and they mean to board.
Moon Dancer was appalled. She looked at that section of sky with new eyes. Was our Universe bending toward another one there? Did countless yellow-eyed horrors, led by monstrosities bigger than the Earth, wait on the other side to break through and invade our own? "What can we do about it?" she asked plaintively, turning back to her companion.
"Nothing!" said Sombra. "And why should we? The weak serve the strong -- if they are fortunate, as slaves; if less fortunate, as meals.. The Cosmic Concepts of this Universe are weak and silly and torn by a pointless civil war. The Greatest Shadows are strong and purposeful, and they all bow down before Pan-Vaster. The Night Shadows shall win!
"The only hope of Ponykind," Sombra continued, glaring into her eyes with an intensity that was not entirely hostile, but instead seemed terrifyingly earnest, "lies in becoming useful servants of the Night Shadows. They have many servitor races, and some Ponies -- the most useful ones -- can become another. If we are cunning and clever and play our politics right, we may even be counted among their overseeers; the creatures whom the Night Shadows will use to help them subjugate this Universe.
"You should serve them, under me," King Sombra said. "You have a mind of power -- though disgracefully weakened by inhibitions and sentimentality. I shall have a high place on this Earth when the Shadows conquer -- and I shall need competent and loyal minions to help me rule." His red eyes bored into her own. "Understand," he said, "I offer you a chance at life. Most Ponies will not even get that. Serve me, and live ... or defy me, and die!"
She shrank back in terror from his snarling visage, and her hoof slipped, and somehow she fell off the balcony of the Crystal Palace. But not by tripping over the balustrade, which would have been difficult in reality but comprehensible. Instead, she fell up, and sailed right off into the starry void, shrieking in terror.
And as she fell she tumbled over and over and over, and the stars and galaxies wheeled about her, and then she fell through the center of the Great Attractor ...
... into the other Universe, the realm of dead suns and dying worlds, the realm of eternal despair and hatred. And she screamed again and again as the formless ebon horrors, blacker than the void, opened their vile yellow eyes and surged toward her from all sides, manifestly thirsting for her soul ...
"Eirini!" cried the voice of a mare. It was the voice of a mare of at least middle age, but it was a strong voice, strong and confident in its own power. "Pax!" it repeated. "Give unto her peace, and be banished all the terrors of night!"
The Shadow Universe was swept away, and Moon Dancer found herself instead in a featureless white void, facing a mare who was not the mare she expected.
Moon Dancer had feared she would be facing Luna, who had dominion over dreams. Instead, she was in the presence of another mare; one whom she had never seen before, but whose identity she instantly guessed.
She was a Crystal Unicorn, the power of the Crystal Heart spilling across and through her translucent light green coat. Her long, dark green mane was elaborately styled; curled into fractal ringlets and bound up with strings of light blue pearls. She was clad in a dark green stola over a light chiton, her clothing draped elegantly, more beautifully and tastefully than anything Moon Dancer had so far seen in the City. She wore light side-bags, from the half-open flap of one protruding a book and the ends of two scrolls.
It occurred to her that this appearance, that of the true aristocracy which had mostly been banished by Sombra in the City's last decade, was what those left behind in the Crystal City had attempted to ape, and succeeded at copying with indifferent success. For there was a presence to this mare, a sense of ancient honor and unyielding will, which Moon Dancer had not seen yet in the present-day inhabitants of the City, who were of course all those who had managed to survive by submitting to the tyrant.
Yet, if this were whom Moon Dancer suspected it was, she had been the tyrant's most loyal supporter. Though she had not been here at his end.
"Lady ... Tourmaline?" Moon Dancer asked.
The beautiful head nodded to her, and a moment later Moon Dancer bowed low, got her her belly, offering the full proskynesis.
28. The Loyal Lady Tourmaline
"You may rise," the Lady Tourmaline said, and smiled at her as Moon Dancer rose. "Your birth is in truth almost as good as mine, and as for any elevation, you should remember that I was but the eiromene of Prince Crimson Quartz -- never his official Consort."
The easy admission of her status as former mistress surprised Moon Dancer for a moment; it was not the way things would have been put in Equestria. It might have been the sort of thing said in a Fast Set; but Moon Dancer knew that about the Lady Tourmaline, who had gone down in history as the Loyal Lady Tourmaline, there was nothing of the debauchee or careless rake. Quite the contrary: her fidelity was literally the stuff of legends.
It did, however, remind Moon Dancer that she was dealing with a different culture here. It was one of the cultures from which had evolved that of aristocratic Canterlot, but it was not the same one, and its assumptions might in many ways be different, even subtly different in the areas in which they appeared identical.
"Thank you for saving me from falling through the void," Moon Dancer said.
Lady Tourmaline smiled again. Her smile was beautiful, like that of an ancient mosaic brought to life. In her brilliant green eyes were kindness, and warmth, and a certain ancient wisdom, bought at the cost of suffering.
"You were not in truth falling," Tourmaline explained. "'Twas but a dream, as the form you see before you is also but a dream. But in dream I can touch the world of the living, an they have connection to me, and we are of course connected -- through my dearest and most beloved friend -- he who introduced himself to you as Penumbra, but whom I perceive your own keen wit and fine mind have already realized to be Prince Crimson Quartz, he who fell and rose to become the Imperator Sombros. As you also know, I have been dead almost a thousand years."
"Thank you nonetheless," Moon Dancer said. "It seemed real, and I was frightened. I am glad of it ... but why have you chosen to grace me with your presence?"
"In part, for the cause that I like thee, and wish thee well, and would be friend to thee," Tourmaline said, shifting into the more friendly second person familiar."
Moon Dancer thought about a kiss, and wondered why the Lady Tourmaline, of all Ponies, would wish her well, given that ...
"Though I shall admit to thee that I have a deeper purpose," continued Tourmaline. "I am aware that Prince Crimson likest thee well." She smiled wryly. "Do not fear, Honorable Moon Dancer. I am motivated by nothing like jealousy. My mortal life is over, and with it all purely carnal passions. But my loyalty -- that, now, is undying and never-ceasing. Prince Crimson is my dearest friend, and I would rescue him from the trap into which he has fallen, the one from which I could never save him in my life on Earth. And I perceive that this thou mayest do."
"Save Penumbra?" Moon Dancer asked. "How may I do that? He himself called himself damned ..."
"Prince Crimson feels great guilt, and shame for the evil into which he has fallen, the dark deeds he committed as Sombros," said Tourmaline solemnly. "These are worse even than are contained in your histories and dispatches: there is a reason why most of the nobles of this City fled to Equestria, why most of those who remained are no longer to be found, and why most of the commoners are terrified at the mere mention of his name. My dear Crimson cannot forgive himself for these crimes; he accepts his damnation, for he believes he deserves no better."
And you? Moon Dancer wondered, but did not say.
"I too bear guilt and shame," said Tourmaline, surprising Moon Dancer with the releavance of her statement to Moon Dancer's own thoughts. "I was loyal to Prince Crimson above and beyond mine own honor; I helped elevate him to the throne; though I had my misgivings I assisted him in his magical researches and I acted to keep him on the throne of the Crystal Empire. I saw his growing tyranny; I tried by suasion to alleviate the worst excesses of his rule ..." she bowed her head, letting her carefully-dressed mane hang down to partly cover her own face in what must seemed a wholly natural gesture, "... I failed.
"He had summoned a Night Shadow to ride him, thinking it would but bring him greater power to restore the Empire to our former greatness; to bring back the glories of the Age of Wonders. We had shared that dream all our lives."
"But the Night Shadow corrupted and ruled him; it wanted to achieve only its ends, not ours. In the end Sombros became mostly Night Shadow; that part which remains equine and decent and good is what now calls himself Penumbra. And Penumbra now serves the Night Shadow -- but unwillingly, and always searching for a way out from under its control. I believe this to be true, even though Penumbra himself has lost hope of success; even Princess Luna Selena Nyx could not free him, though she tried." Tourmaline paused, reflecting.
"How can he be freed?" asked Moon Dancer.
"Of all emotions, there is one most toxic to the Night Shadows," said Tourmaline, raising her head and fixing Moon Dancer in a very direct gaze. "Love. I speak not here of eros, of mere carnal lust, but of the deeper loves -- of storge and philia, even agapai. Affection, you would say, and Friendship, and Love For All. These are alien to the Shadows, who are creatures of Hate, and when we strongly feel them, they cannot control us.
"Even carnal love, if mingled with these, repels them -- that is why Shadow-Ridden Ponies become sexually cruel, to kill the love which would otherwise harm their masters. That which should bind Ponies together inseparably, instead becomes a scourge with which to drive them apart." She bowed her head again, her ears drooping.
Moon Dancer could not bear to ask the obvious question here, so she remained silent.
"Penumbra was of course sent by Sombros to tempt thee with the promise of power to use for thine own political ends, so that thou mightest admit a Night Shadow into thine own soul, that thee might be corrupted and thou mightest fall into Nightmare, and thus serve the ends of the Night Shadows. But -- something unexpected did happen, something very much not serving the Shadows' design." Tourmaline leaned in toward Moon Dancer.
"Penumbra liked thee. Thou must understand -- Prince Crimson was fascinated by learning, and by books -- he grew to stallionhood within the Great Library, I his mentor and best friend. He likes libraries, and librarians, and he perceives thee as a fellow-scholar. He respects thee, and this respect blocks and mutes the will of Sombros to harm thee. He feeleth for thee the stirrings of Friendship, an emotion which the Night Shadow imagines it has slain within his heart -- but the Night Shadows do not understand Love! It is our one great advantage over them. Friendship is a Magic which they never have mastered and never can master."
Tourmaline's form was beginning to waver.
"I must go!" she said. "I do not know how many of the details thou shalt remember, try writing it down when thou dost awake! But remember this. Trust not the Night Shadows! And return the friendship of Prince Crimson Quartz! I beseech thee to do this! You are his chance for redemption, his radiant hope ..."
29. Back To Reality
Moon Dancer came awake in the bathtub, gasping at the shock of returning to reality. She remembered the whole dream, but as she tried to grasp it all, it slipped out of her aura, details fading and only vague impressions remaining.
There had been the balcony, and the Universe, and then the ... Great Attractor? What was that? A vast hole in space into which everything was falling? And she had fallen into it too.
And been saved by the Lady Tourmaline, a figure of legend and myth, yet part of Equestrian history, and there would have been Ponies in this City who still remembered her well. Still strong in her mind's eye was the lovely green mare, aristocratic and gracious beyond most of the aristocrats she had met in Canterlot, yet caring and kind, intelligent and insightful. Tourmaline had told her, basically, to be Penumbra's friend, that this was the only way of saving him from damnation. And she had said something about ... radiant hope?
Oh, and to write it down.
Moon Dancer remember that last part very well, and it suited her own personal inclinations. She almost leaped out of the tub -- in the process finally wetting the mosaic bathroom floor -- and ran over to her writing supplies.
Manipulating the pen and paper from a distance -- since she was of course totally dripping wet -- she managed to clumsily jot down some notes, before the imminent realities that they represented faded from her mind. She was in the end, left with little other than "Prince Crimson Quartz - Sombra - Penumbra" and "don't trust the Night Shadows" and "Tourmaline" and "help Penumbra - be Radiant Hope."
This wouldn't have made much sense to a third party, but it did to her. As much sense as it was ever going to make anyway.
Moon Dancer then returned to the bathroom, toweled herself dry, and applied her maskers, sighing in relief as her inflamed privates were soothed. She donned the concealing robes the bath had given her, and went about the business of her day.
Yet all the rest of that afternoon and night she could not help but feel that she was being watched -- benignly -- by the brilliant green eyes of the Lady Tourmaline.