The Sun and the Stars: A Twilestia Prompt Collab

by Fuzzyfurvert

369. Hat by Palaikai

by Palaikai

***

Marble. Alabaster. Fine china. A finely crafted piece of pottery.

These terms speak of an exquisite beauty; something rare and delicate, precious and priceless.

They are terms which bother me.

She speaks; it's quiet, dignified, and it's all the more effective for its lack of emotive content. There are no wasted words, no inflammatory speech, just simple, precise recitation of the facts and her proposed solution. Her capacity for remembrance astounds me, and I wonder if it's a gift of the alicorn race or something she's had to train herself to do. No one knows exactly how old she is, how far back that brilliant memory goes, and I wonder what it would be like to see everything from childhood to the present day with crystal clarity.

I'm pretty sure it would drive me bonkers.

On either side of her are two lanterns and their omnipresent glow is the only thing that seems to have any sort of life of its own; she has her own inner serenity – whether it's to do with age, her station in life, or again, something she's been schooled in, I have no clue – and like her voice, there is no waste. If she doesn't have to move, she won't.

That's why the comparison to inanimate esoterica annoys me so: because of the evident truth in it. No matter what, she remains resolutely unflappable; her countenance remains the same whatever situation she is faced with, and there are times when I feel that she ought to be one of those mysterious, fantastical statues that line the cloisters in the castle courtyard.

I wonder if I've ever seen her frown when she's been perplexed by something? Have I ever seen her flush in embarrassment? Smile because something tickled her funny bone? My own memories are not infallible, and they span so short at a time, shorter still in the presence her, but I can't recall a single occasion when I've seen her expression shift from what I consider to be a neutral, default, state.

“You're a princess, yes,” I find myself wanting to shout at her, “but you're also a pony, a mare. Is there nothing that can breach that argent mask you wear?”

Does she do it deliberately, to keep us at a distance? Is she so afraid to let somepony in? To let me in? Is it just a hat she wears because it's better to be seen as an ethereal, unapproachable entity rather than as a flesh-and-blood pony?

Her speech comes to and end, and there may be a ripple of hoof-stomping, but I'm so entranced by the slow, deliberate turn and slow, deliberate pace at which she moves off back in the direction of the castle that I'm oblivious to everything else. Even her wavy, glittering tail and mane are kept at bay.

I shouldn't even be here, really, but she's been so busy with her arcane studies that I take any opportunity to hear her speak that I can get.

Before she's out of sight, the last thing I see is the harsh set of her jaw and I wonder what it would take to make it tic.

“My pretty marble statue,” I find myself saying out loud before I'm ushered into the foyer by the royal guards, “how am I to make you a pony again?”

*

Most ponies when deep in thought would pace incessantly, but guess what she does? Go on, guess! That's right, she stands rigidly in place, and I can't help thinking that, were I to place my head against her chest, her heartbeat and pulse would adopt the same glacial pace.

I really want to place my head against her chest. When I was a filly, I did so often; less so as I got older, and I miss the warmth, the comfort, of her bosom. How would she react were I to do so now, I wonder? Would she be as rigid as the draconequus I can just about spy through the half-open window, locked in some ridiculous pose that makes me wonder what emotion the sculptor was trying to convey?

She doesn't notice me getting closer. Or she does, but is choosing not to acknowledge it. What goes on in that mind of hers? Do her neurons fire so quickly that her body must divert resources from elsewhere in order to function correctly? It's a silly thought, I know.

“What are you doing, Twilight Sparkle?”

I stop suddenly, feeling a trifle foolish. The voice is flat; the question is conveyed without any emotion, and she may as well have been asking me about the weather.

Fire crackles in the background, and the scent of singed air wafts toward my nostrils; a message has been delivered from somewhere in Equestria, something requiring the princess' attention, but she makes no move to seize the bound scroll that has appeared in the middle of the room. I remain silent, letting her mind conjure its own reasons for my approach.

An eyelash has detached itself and has landed on the delicate curve of her cheek; some mad impulse seizes me, and I place my hoof upon it. She starts, and the solemn façade is gone for an instant.

She takes a deep breath, and I'm intrigued that my touch has caused her to have this reaction; part of me thinks that I've gotten what I wanted and I should bail out before her passive mood turns vicious, but another part of me … wants to continue, to see where this leads, to see how far I can push her. The thin, bony tip of my hoof traces the length of her cheekbone, the eyelash still in my possession. Her face flushes, turning a fetching cherry red, and it's so startling a shade against her snow white coat.

I'm just tormenting her now, though I try to maintain the pretence that I'm nothing more than a curious, playful filly; her eyes are a little wide, her mouth hangs open in surprise, while my hoof completes it journey from her jaw to her chin. I cup it lightly, the way a parent would with a foal.

Or the way a lover would with their partner.

She's starting to come to life, shaking off the marble-like trance she's been locked in for who knows how long. I forget about the eyelash and I'm about to discard it to the floor when her hoof covers mine. “No,” she says softly.

“Huh?”

“You have to make a wish,” she explains to me in a gentle murmur. “When two ponies have an eyelash caught between their hooves in this way, they have to make a wish. Whoever has the eyelash when they part will have their wish granted.” She looks into my mulberry eyes and smiles; a warm, genuine smile that touches me all the way to my soul.

“Make a wish, Princess,” I say.

Our hooves are pressed together for a matter of seconds, though it feels like hours. I was expecting hers to be cold, hard, but they're not.

I don't know what I wish for, it wasn't my focus; my pretty statue has come to life, and I'm revelling in the colour tinting her lovely, pale form. It's a victory, but winning this battle isn't my concern right now.

Time ticks by slowly; the princess is aware of this on a level that I cannot even begin to fathom, being so intimately acquainted with the celestial orb which keeps our beautiful land alive. She is the sun and I am a rock given life by her light.

Neither of us makes a move to reveal who possesses the eyelash. I slowly bring my other hoof to the opposite side of her face and stroke her cheek; her breath comes in ragged little pants as I explore that graceful, ivory face housing the radiant lilac eyes.

Our hooves separate.

I have the lash.

“What was your wish, Twilight?” she asks.

Both my forelegs encircle her neck and I draw myself up as high as I can; though I'm straining quite a bit, my muzzle is just about level with hers now and my lips press against those of the princess.

“This,” I reply, pulling away.

“Twilight ...”

I shush her with another kiss; her supple lips on my own sends waves of feelings crashing through me that I find impossible to articulate, but the the most important thing is that my dear, sweet Celestia is no longer marble, no longer alabaster, no longer fine china, or a finely crafted piece of pottery.

She is no longer ethereal, unapproachable, untouchable.

She is a pony, a mare, with needs. Needs that mirror my own.

We part; she fights to regain the composure that I have robbed her of, but it's of no use. Her breathing is heavy, her ghostly mane has lost its shimmer, and she seems so much older in that moment, as if some kind of shield has been lowered and I'm seeing the real her for the first time. Maybe I am.

It makes no difference. Serenity or not, she is still my sun, still my princess, and still beautiful.

Comments

[JKinsley]

Bravo!

I love the descriptions. They're well done in spite of the first-person perspective, but I don't really feel like it's Twilight regaling us with this tale. That's really my only complaint. It's still really good!

[poisonflame616]

very sweet and full of feels, but you failed to make me cry

now if you don't mind I'm gonna finish chopping these onions

[Europa]

Aww. Also:

the draconequus I can just about spy through the half-open window, locked in some ridiculous pose that makes me wonder what emotion the sculptor was trying to convey?

Hehe, funny thing about the sculptor, Twilight...

[ultra1437]

5633261
If you noticed, they're both by the same person, whom was credited at the top of the chapter-- technically, each chapter -- with a link to their profile as well.

[thedarkshark24]

5633417 Truth be told I didn't notice just finished reading one and this one suddenly appears so I was a might suspicious.

[ultra1437]

5633589
No big, was just letting you know to check your sources. A lot of authors that participate in these collabs tend to have a story to throw their own prompts into, just to have on their own page as well. It shows our faithful followers that, while we may not work on their favorite stories all the time, we do keep working on something!

[thedarkshark24]

5633773 The only reason I even spoke up is because I was afraid he was being plagiarized and it seemed unfair now that I know that's not the case all is good.

[goaway]

5632949

Thanks.

I don't know how or why it ended up this way, and I totally agree that it doesn't sound like Twilight. Unless she's eaten a book on Flowery Romantic Prose at some point. Still, it's supposed to be just before the series première (my idea was that, as Luna/Nightmare Moon's return approached, Celestia became increasingly cold and distant as she prepared the Elements of Harmony), so yeah ... Twi's characterisation is WAY off.

5633020

Funny. Chopping onions is the only time I DON'T cry.

5633034

Gotta love silly, random details. I find myself wondering about stuff like that: Twilight probably saw the statue every day, and she never once thought to ask about it?

5633773
5633799

[Kage no Brony]

5633034
5636400

Twilight probably saw the statue every day, and she never once thought to ask about it?

I'm sorry, when would she have seen the statue?

She walks with books in front of her face! If she goes out at all, that is.

[berrytone]

This was beautiful. I really enjoyed reading this one.

[goaway]

6297430

Thank you. It was my favourite one to write. Well, apart from Qipao, I guess.