Pearple Juice With Bits

by Pearple Prose

Aegyptian [Twilestia]

The water of the river of the Duat tastes, Twilight thinks, like how she imagines magic would taste, if it were a liquid splashed upon the tongue and not a vague feeling in her horn. Twilight hasn't used her horn in a long time, though – the dead have no need for spells. The Duat is beyond such things, in any case.

As Twilight pulls herself out of the Duat, hooves digging into the thick and lush soil of the riverbank, the water pours out of her mouth and escapes back into a current that has flowed unceasing for countless eons. It glints, like mercury, reflecting the pulsing light of the fierce and mighty stars of the Duat's sky, closer here than anywhere.

Twilight remembers. Memory and thought and knowledge are not constrained to mortal bodies and their constraints in the spirit world. And so she has witnessed, personally, the stars as they were first born from Luna's own flesh, the tears from her crying eyes in the beginning of all things given life and purpose in the realm of the gods.

And she remembers, too, the feeling of sand under her hooves made of meat and bone and not the stuff of spirits. She remembers, as if it were yesterday, the feeling of a warm body against her own – fur against fur, silken sheets and honeyed lips and all the pleasures of the flesh.

She remembers the sound of a laugh that is like the trickling of the water of the river of the Duat, and the heat of the Sun in all its glory.

She smiles. Twilight remembers these things every night, for it is the hour of the dead.

---

The Sun is a barge, built from gold by Celestia's own hooves, forged when she first fought the Serpent, Discord, at the beginning of all things. It burns surprisingly softly. It is not for battle, this hour, but for celebration.

Around it, the dead awaken from their slumber.

Slowly, gliding across the river of stars like a dream, the Sun comes to rest by the riverbank, where Twilight stands, waiting, as she has for countless years. There is a moment, where the Duat itself holds its breath, and then Twilight rises by some unseen force, crests the side of the great golden barge, and lands lightly on the deck.

Celestia is waiting for her.She is pristine white, like the heart of the Sun over which she holds dominion, and her hair glows all the colours of the rainbow, and blows in an unseen solar wind. Her eyes are lined with kohl, and she bears a gentle smile.

She does not wear her battle garb, for it is not yet the hour of battle, although she carries with her the symbols of her office – a flail, and a crook.

"Hello, Twilight," says Celestia. Her smile, slowly, deepens, until her lips part and reveal gleaming white teeth. An honest, open smile, now.

"Hello, my love," says Twilight. The magic of the Duat suffuses her, pays fealty to her station. She wears now the regalia of a pharoah, dark lines of kohl lining her eyes also, and she too smiles.

The dead celebrate, for this hour, as they do every night.

Comments

[Knight N Gale]

8228753
is twilight dead in Sour?

[Pearple Prose]

8228802

Yep! Nightmare Moon is essentially the Grim Reaper, or more accurately I based her portrayal off of Death from Sandman, who loves everyone and everything that passes on.

[Knight N Gale]

8228809
You should definitely write a full MoonLight story. I would seriously love to read that, plus there arent that many Nightmare Moon x Twilight stories

[Pearple Prose]

8228815

Haha, I've not really considered it up 'till I rediscovered a couple of these prompt stories. I think there's certainly some potential there for a neat story. And thank you for the follow!

[Knight N Gale]

8228821
you're welcome and I llok forward to seeing a MoonLight story should you decide to write one

[FanOfMostEverything]

Fascinating. I can't help but think of the Reflections arc of the comics, and its much more pharaonic Celestia. Plus, I'm a sucker for stories set in the afterlife, amid the exposed guts of the cosmic machinery.