• Published 21st Mar 2012
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Sharing the Night - Cast-Iron Caryatid



Twilight becomes alicorn of the stars. This is sort of a problem, because Luna kind of already was alicorn of the stars. Oops!

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Chapter 2

Sharing the Night: Chapter 2

✶ ✶ ✶

The feeling of the wind rushing over Twilight Sparkle’s wings was glorious. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was the only pony in the world. She had learned not to close her eyes though, because if she got too distracted her wings would start lifting her up out of the chariot in which she rode. It would be difficult to explain to her escort—or Princess Celestia for that matter—how a mere unicorn had drifted off into the sky and got caught in a bank of clouds. Still, the view over the golden-armored shoulders of the pegasi guards had its own appeal, so she was no less happy to keep her eyes open.

By all rights, Twilight could have been—and should have been—still panicking. She was after all, flying straight to the only two ponies in the world who could uncover her crime—specifically for the purpose of helping them solve said crime—and she really had no idea whatsoever what she was going to do about it. The only thing that kept Twilight from panicking at the moment was the fact that she was fairly sure that ponies only had a certain amount of panic in them, and she would simply implode if she carelessly spent it all before she even arrived. That—and the early stages of sleep withdrawal.

After Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash had left the night before, Twilight had gone up to her stargazing balcony and tried to put the stars back with no success. It felt to her as if she could have sooner joined the Wonderbolts with her new wings; at least those she could move, if clumsily. She was so lost for ideas that she had even gone back down to the bathroom and checked just to make sure the stars weren’t floating in the tub where she’d thought she’d seen them when she awoke from her dream. Sadly, the tub had only held murky water and bits of lavender detritus which she’d then pulled the drain on.

The only place Twilight had been successful was in finding a better way to hide her new wings; after her experience with Fluttershy the night before, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to wear a sweater again, be it made for pegasi or not. What she found was the perfect illusion spell that could make her appear as if she were another type of pony. She’d had to cobble together her own version of it since unicorns had no need to disguise themselves as unicorns, but that at least was the kind of work she was used to and enjoyed. It wasn’t for nothing that magic was her special talent—though even so it had still taken her all night to perfect the spell.

Of course, it had occurred to Twilight to look for a spell to remove the wings completely; invisible wings were still a liability after all, especially when they seemed to bristle at the slightest provocation. Such a spell would have required a lot more effort of course, but Twilight suspected she’d have been able to use any unicorn magic she came across with relative ease now. In the end, she hadn’t even looked. She’d found the idea inexplicably distasteful from the start, and now she understood why; though she’d had her wings for less than twelve hours, she wouldn’t trade this feeling for the world.

To Twilight’s disappointment, the chariot had to reach Canterlot eventually and when it did, there was a stone-faced guard waiting for her. The face was a face she was familiar with, but it was not unique; all of the guards possessed it. It was a face they gave Celestia when a filly Twilight was hiding behind them and covered in priceless pottery-dust that used to be priceless in quite a different manner. It was a face that said they had bad news. It was a face that said something was wrong.

It was a face she’d hoped never to see from this side.

☾ ☾ ☾

Luna squinted blearily at the sunlight shining on her face through a crack in her heavy black curtains on the west side of her room, resisting the urge to push the loathsome ball of fire down below the horizon several hours early. In truth, she would have had a hard time of it even if she had tried, and she had no desire to spend another thousand years on the moon anyway. How Celestia had managed to raise Luna’s moon for a thousand years, she had no idea. She settled for yanking the curtains shut with her magic.

Luna had not slept well that day. She had tried to bring out the stars all night, but there was nothing she could do; they just... were not there. Staring up at that great blackness had been horribly unnerving; she had tried pulling her moon closer to fill it up, but it hadn’t helped much and she just couldn’t shake feelings of guilt, loss and loneliness over it. Celestia had clopped Luna on the head, told her it was not her fault and reassured her that they would find her stars, but the feelings remained. It wasn’t that she thought she should have been able to stop... whatever had happened; it was just that it was her night sky. It was a part of her, she was responsible for it, and it was wrong. She should have been able to reach up and fix it but she couldn’t. Even after Celestia raised the sun—hiding Luna’s shame for the day—the sense of wrongness pervaded.

Unfortunately for a certain lavender mare, this desire to see things set right did not extend to getting up on time when she was miserable.

✶ ✶ ✶

Twilight glowered at the prominent silver moon inlaid on the large double doors of dark lapis lazuli in front of her. She wasn’t angry. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t anger—despite the invisible wings bristling behind her. “I will be happy to receive her and any guests tomorrow,” Princess Celestia’s letter had said, but when Twilight’s chariot had finally touched down in front of the palace, the elder Princess had not been there. That was five hours ago, and Twilight still had not seen hide nor hair of her mentor.

The guards had been singularly unhelpful. They told her that Princess Celestia had cancelled court until further notice—and everything else, for that matter—and disappeared. She was believed to still be in the palace, but all business was being forwarded to Princess Luna... who was asleep. Princess Luna had been asleep when Twilight had arrived, and she was still asleep now as Twilight haunted the space in front of her private chambers. As Princess Celestia’s personal protege Twilight enjoyed a free run of most of the palace, but this did not include the ability to barge into a Princess’ bedroom and shake her awake—she knew this from experience.

Very specific experience.

Very loud experience.

Finished with her periodic glowering, Twilight lowered her gaze back to the book she was reading. She had grabbed every reference book on alicorns and celestial magic she could find in the palace library and piled them up here—directly between the two Princess’ chambers—and gone to work. Now, Luna was half an hour late getting up, and Twilight was almost done with all of the books she’d found.

Twilight was not angry. She had no reason to be angry. In fact, she was quite sure that this was exactly what she wanted—to be ignored by her beloved mentor and completely at the mercy of a nocturnal princess’ schedule. If she never managed to actually see the princesses she was here to avoid helping, she would be much less likely to end up banished to Procyon (she had changed her mind about the star she wanted to be banished to.)

If Twilight had been angry—which she was not—it would most certainly have been because of the books she had arrayed in front of her which were quite simply, rubbish. Absolutely useless. She had gotten nowhere with them... though technically, this was also exactly according to plan as she had not actually intended to uncover anything with her research. Still, even if she wasn’t going to uncover any great truths that pointed to her sudden alicornification, the books could at least deign to be interesting. They were not.

Well, that wasn’t true. They had been interesting at first. Twilight had been in complete rapture at the absolutely beautiful, perfect celestial system laid out in the first book she’d read. The second book had been similarly fascinating, and the third and the fourth and so on. Sadly, they were all completely different.

This was not entirely unexpected, and Twilight had continued to find interest in each new theory, hoping to reconcile the basis for their conclusions with her own experiences and see if she could form a better hypothesis on her own. Regrettably, none of the authors of the books she was reading had any basis for what they’d written. They had all just taken the conclusions they liked and started hanging ideas off of them in hope of reaching a solid foundation below; a feat none of them had achieved.

Twilight took another moment aside to glare at the blue and silver door in front of her, she couldn’t possibly imagine that the authors of these books had any trouble at all getting information out of Equestria’s sole alicorn sisters.

But no, lack of any sort of actual information was not what would have made Twilight angry (if she had been angry, which she was not.) Any theoretical incensation would have in fact been caused by the ways the books were not different or baseless. The conclusions these books each came to always seemed to have implications beyond the subject in question, like old pony tales each with their own little heartwarming moral—if you find ideological manipulation heartwarming. It was clear to Twilight that each and every book here wanted something.

These books—this entire pile of books—was a collection of political and theological detritus littering the history of Equestria. Their authors were each just using the subject as a medium to push some unrelated ideological agenda. The idea of it made her want to just—a hoof slammed down onto the book Twilight had open in front of her, crinkling up the page. For a moment, Twilight simply reveled in the book getting what it deserved—then she looked up and realized the hoof was attached to a princess who had yet not had her coffee.

Twilight Sparkle was not angry

She was scared.

✶ ✶ ✶

“Gone,” Luna stated flatly, staring into her coffee cup. The lavender mare across from her nodded in nervous silence. “But there is no sense in that! Why wouldst our sister simply vanish in such a way—and now of all times?” Luna scowled. To Twilight’s delight, the princess seemed to have cured herself of the traditional Royal Canterlot Voice. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the traditional Royal Canterlot Morning Breath, and her diction was as early-modern-Equestrian as ever; a potent combination to be sure.

“Well,” started a sheepish Twilight. “They didn’t see her leave; she could be here and... err... hiding?”

Luna simply sighed in silence at that while Twilight busied herself fidgeting with her own cup of coffee, which she had politely accepted but didn’t dare drink despite her lack of sleep the night before. If exhausting one’s natural reserves of panic caused ponies to implode, she was relatively certain that caffeine would be no less than catastrophic.

“So,” Luna started, suddenly sounding a little sheepish. “Twilight Sparkle.” Twilight nodded at this, and Luna continued “We have heard of thy exploits. Our stars; we understand thou–”

Twilight imploded. That was it. She was completely out of panic; she had no more to spend. Imploding—she noted—was dark and wet and warm and could use some dusting

“–thou likest them?” Luna finished, lifting her gaze from her coffee cup to find nopony across from her.

Luna peeked quizzically under the small coffee table at Twilight, who had an upended coffee cup trembling where it hung on her horn as she shook in blank terror. "Twilight Sparkle... art thou afraid of us? Did we not solve this last Nightmare Night? Neigh, thou were never afraid of us to begin with, so why dost thou tremble so?”

Twilight opened one eye and looked up at Luna; she looked sad... and disappointed. Suddenly feeling bad, she jumped to her feet, “No!—Princess, I—” Thunk; a sharp pain split Twilight’s skull and she fell back to her knees, cradling her head. She had forgotten she was hiding under the table. She felt a drop of warmth drip off her nose and thought she was bleeding, but it turned out to be the last of the coffee from the cup dangling on her horn, which she then sheepishly removed.

Luna silently slid the table to the side with magic and placed a soothing hoof on Twilight’s throbbing head. “We didst not think we should have to go through this with thee of all ponies...” she sighed. “Celestia says thou art the only pony she can get to stop bowing at her constantly. We had hoped...” suddenly, a shadow of insight crossed her face and she wilted, looking a little embarrassed. "Ah, of course. Thou fearest the whirlwhind thy actions hath sown; not that of deeds long past, but follies more recent.”

Twilight’s eyes snapped open as she found one last ounce of panic to burn, but the mischievous smile on Luna’s face silenced her.

The moon princess knelt down across from Twilight, the action making her look a little less intimidating. “We are forever in thy debt for standing with us against the Nightmare; nothing could sour our image of thee, not even this. Thou–” Luna paused, consciously changing her diction in an effort to be believed, “You have nothing to be afraid of, least of all from me.”

Twilight was utterly speechless; panic and fear blown away by astonishment at the moon princess’ sudden knowledge and understanding of her crime (and the Equestrian language, but that was beside the point). “You mean... you knew...? You... you really forgive me?”

The smile that spread across Luna’s face was shy and embarrassed with a bit of guilt; it was utterly unlike anything she had ever seen on Celestia’s peaceful face. “In truth, I am shamefully gladdened by thy shortcomings in this matter. It heartens me to think that we are not so different, you and I.”

Twilight’s jaw dropped. The princess knew Twilight was an alicorn like her? She wanted this? “I... wow. Princess. I had no idea you felt that way. So you mean... from now on...?” Twilight Sparkle. Her. In charge of the stars. Forever? Twilight swallowed anxiously, not sure if she could really do it... but the look on Luna’s face made her want to try.

Luna nodded bashfully, “I know Tia already thinks of you as more than a student; I would be glad if I could at least call you a friend.”

“I... Yeah,” Twilight said, beginning to feel the beginning of a smile. For the first time since the stars had disappeared, she felt hopeful about the future. Maybe, she thought with guilty audacity, in a hundred years or so Luna would even call her ‘sister’. “I think... I think I would like that.”

Suddenly, the door clacked open, and in strode a certain large white alicorn with her own cup of coffee. “Princess Celestia!” Twilight exclaimed ecstatically, rushing forward to nuzzle her heretofore absentee mentor. Then, the floodgates opened; “I’m so glad to see you! Where were you? I am so, so sorry for stealing the stars! I didn’t mean to do it and then I couldn’t fix it and I spent all night worrying and panicking but Luna already knew and she said it was okay and that she was happy about it and she asked me if I’d do it from now on and I said yes and she wants to be my friend and I said yes to that too so please oh please don’t banish me to the stars oh but if you do banish me to the stars please please please pick Alioth I think that would be nice but not as nice as not being banished of course.”

There was a crash as Luna’s coffee cup slipped from her lips and shattered on the ground. “We—wait—what? When didst—”

Princess Celestia—for her part—radiated eternal calm. “Twilight, that all sounds very interesting—and I do care—but you’re dripping coffee on my... everywhere.”

✶ ✶ ✶

Three ponies—each covered in differing quantities of coffee—entered Celestia’s private bath. More accurately, Celestia entered her private bath while levitating the two smaller ponies with her magic and ignoring Twilight’s initial protests that a criminal like her shouldn’t be allowed there. The bath was large enough for three ponies of Celestia’s size, and certainly—the reigning princess had said—would do for the three of them.

As the most coffee-drenched pony in attendance, Twilight was plopped down into the bath first followed shortly after by Luna, who was still running over her conversation with Twilight again and again trying to understand where it had all gone so wrong. Twilight wanted to join her, but she didn’t have that luxury; she was busy going over all the possibilities of what would happen now since it was apparent Luna had not forgiven her—or had any idea what Twilight had been talking about at the time. “Apodis, Sirius, Canopus, Shedir, Acrux...” she listed under her breath; her idea of all the possibilities was rather narrow, consisting entirely of various stars to choose from.

“Now,” Princess Celestia said, settling into the bath herself and massaging her temples with her forehooves. “Twilight, my faithful student; calm down. I am not going to banish you to the... stars.”

“...you’re not?” Twilight asked, wary of misunderstanding the consolations of another princess today. “The moon, then?” she suggested, a little disappointed after she’d gotten so invested in choosing a star.

“Twilight...” Celestia smiled reassuringly. “You know that I value your diligence; in all the years you’ve been my student, I’ve never once doubted you... but believe me when I tell you that no matter what you read in those books you left outside my chambers that this problem with the stars is not your fault.

“...books?” Twilight only blinked at Princess Celestia for a second. “Oh, those,” Twilight groused sourly. “That’s not what I–”

Celestia put a hoof up to silence her. “Not—your—fault,” she insisted. “Twilight Sparkle, you are quite possibly the most powerful unicorn I’ve ever met–”

“I’m not—I’m–” Twilight started, before being shushed again.

“–but no unicorn, no unicorn can have done this, least of all by accident. It’s not about raw power, there are simply things that only Luna or I can do. For this to be your fault, you’d have to be–”

Two lavender wings splashed up out of the water, suddenly visible. "–an alicorn?” Twilight suggested.

For the first time in at least a century, Celestia’s pleasant mien failed and her mouth dropped in astonishment, staying there for a very long time.

“So... Vega?” Twilight suggested.

✶ ✶ ✶

“I am still not banishing you anywhere,” Celestia sighed—sighed! It was as if once her mien of distanced calm had cracked once, she didn’t care any more. “Not for taking a bath, here or in Ponyville,” she clarified. “In fact, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“...done nothing wrong?!” Twilight and Luna both shrieked in unison.

“I—but I—” Twilight stammered.

“You decorated the night sky as you saw fit. You did your job,” Celestia stated simply.

Her job?” Luna balked. "But Tia, that is my job! It is my sky!

Celestia shrugged, giving her little sister a wan, helpless smile. “Not any more, it seems.”

Luna just... stared at Celestia in horror. She worked her mouth like she wanted to say something, but nothing came. Finally, she turned and stomped out of the room; Twilight thought she heard the princess of the moon—the princess of only the moon—give out a sob from somewhere down the hall.

Twilight started to go after Luna—to try to make this right—but she didn’t know how. “How could this happen?” she pleaded as she turned to Celestia, needing to know. It was Twilight’s fault Luna was crying... It was Twilight’s fault a princess was crying... Somehow when Twilight had been imagining the consequences of her so-called ‘crime,’ she hadn’t thought they’d bring out the big guns. Disappointment, sure; banishment, of course; tears? Oh Luna, not the tears!

Celestia looked askance from Twilight, as if she didn’t want to answer... then finally lowered her head and admitted the truth. “I don’t know, Twilight.”

Suddenly, all the books Twilight had left outside the princess’ chambers made much more sense. “You... you don’t know how any of it works, do you?”

Celestia shook her head. “Luna and I were both born into Discord’s reign. We never knew the last generation; we earned our cutie marks when we discovered we could raise the sun and the moon. Discord didn’t even care until... much later. You know the rest.”

“That’s... it?” Twilight looked distraught. “Wait, if you never knew any other alicorns, that means...”

“Yes; we were born as two ordinary ponies—to ordinary ponies—and became alicorns when we first learned of our connections to the sun and the moon. What happened to you is... normal, I believe; but I do not know why it happened.”

“But I’ve had my cutie mark for years!” Twilight countered, looking for some flaw that would make giving Luna’s stars back the right thing to do—as if that would also somehow make it possible.

Celestia simply cocked her head to the side, looking at Twilight’s flank. “It looks accurate to me.”

Twilight twisted around—and around and around and around—looking at her cutie mark, scared that it might have changed; it had not. Adorning Twilight’s flank was a pink six-pointed star surrounded by smaller white stars. “What—? No! The stars represent the spark of magic!”

“They do,” Celestia confirmed. "Is it so hard to believe they might also represent stars?”

Twilight flopped down with a groan and buried her face in her hooves, dizzy from chasing her flank. “I can’t believe this is happening! I can’t believe... that there are no answers! Why did you even ask me to come help ‘investigate’ this if you already knew the books were all useless?”

Celestia knelt down in front of Twilight and nuzzled her comfortingly. “There are more creatures in this world than alicorns that can interfere with our jobs," Celestia clarified. “Discord for one, though I did suspect it might be another alicorn.”

“If you suspected, then why...?” Twilight prompted.

Celestia gave one of her warm, peaceful smiles—but having now seen Celestia’s more natural expressions, it looked mischievous to Twilight. “I never said we’d be investigating here,” she clarified, then looked guiltily at the door Luna had left from and sighed wistfully. “I cancelled everything. The three of us were going to get out of here... find some dragons to talk to... visit the old castle... see what we could uncover. There are creatures and places in this world that are older than Luna and I; older than Discord. A lot of it is... unreliable—twisted by an age of chaos—but this was important. It still is important. I still want to go, but... I may have been too blunt with her. That... was foalish of me.” Standing up, she declared “I should go talk to her.”

Celestia made to walk towards the door, and was stopped by a tug on her tail which Twilight had in her mouth; truly, the walls had come down. “I... think it should be me,” she suggested. Celestia was surprised, but nodded and stepped out of her way. As Twilight left Celestia behind, her mind was racing—wishing she knew what to say to Luna—yet somewhere in the back of her head, she was also filing away the information that Celestia did not in fact taste like rainbows.

✶ ✶ ✶

Twilight regretted her decision the moment she left Celestia behind. She hadn’t changed her mind about needing to talk to Luna; it had just occurred to her how colossally stupid of her it was to expect to be able to do so. The lingering not-at-all rainbow taste in her mouth aside, she still wouldn’t be able to bring herself to force her way into Luna’s chambers unwanted—and where else would a crying princess go?

The moon princess wasn’t going to make it that easy for Twilight, however; not easy to give up on, or easy to catch either. Luna’s chambers were open, but empty save for the usual royal appurtenances including what she considered an inordinate number of couches. Twilight had just stopped to straighten the books scattered around the hall and collect her thoughts on where else to look when she heard a tiny sniffle and froze. It had come from Luna’s chambers, she’d thought. Silently, she peeked her head back into the chambers she was sure were empty. After a long, breathless pause, she heard it again; it was coming from the window.

Twilight craned her neck out the window, finding nothing as expected; the princess of the moon was probably on the roof. “Wings. Right,” she sighed. “I have wings too,” she told herself. "I just have to... use them. Somehow. Real easy. Perfectly safe.” She had pretty much mastered folding her wings back up after periodically finding them open... this was just like that—but faster—right? Hesitantly, she gave her wings a good strong flap and crashed into Luna’s nightstand, scattering everything on top of it including a number of old scrolls on tax law.

She really hoped she hadn’t broken anything important as she extracted herself from the nightstand. “Good news: the wings work,” she whispered to herself, acutely aware that the princess could have heard the racket she’d made. “Bad news: Flying inside is hard.” Logically—Twilight thought—this meant she was good to jump out the window.

Backing up all the way back to the hallway, Twilight tucked her wings in, ran through Luna’s bedroom, launched herself through the window and spread her wings. She even remembered to flap as hard as she could; once. One flap was all it took for her to achieve disaster; Rainbow Dash would have been proud.

Twilight’s flap was good, straight and level; mostly. Regrettably, it was also very strong; strong enough to flip her head over hooves back the way she came. A second before Twilight would have hit the palace wall, instinct took over; it had to be instinct, because Twilight’s brain had gone totally blank the second she had passed through the window and wondered what the hay she was doing. Twilight’s eyes rammed shut and she teleported the only way she could; straight up—or down, from her perspective. This maneuver did not in fact prevent her from crashing into the palace; but it did grant her a softer landing.

“Wah—!” Crash. Luna never knew what hit her. Logically, it would have had to have been some part of Twilight—several, at least—but for Luna it had been just a flash of light followed by a crash with hair hooves and wings everywhere as the two rolled up the incline of the roof and settled into a pile of pony. “I... do believe that thou art not very good at this, are thee Twilight Sparkle?” Luna stated sourly, spitting tail out of her mouth; her diction slipping back a few hundred years in her distress, Twilight noticed, though at least the royal ‘we’ had not returned. She supposed stealing a princess’ stars evidently put you on a more personal level with them—if not necessarily in a good way. Luna was unspecific as to what exactly Twilight was not good at—and the lavender mare would have very much liked to know, given that she could think of quite a few just this moment.

Twilight said nothing as the two alicorns slowly untangled themselves in an awkward silence broken only by the occasional sniffle or sob from the princess that stretched on long after they’d arranged themselves side by side on the rooftop. They sat there for a long while, watching Celestia’s sun hanging in the mid-afternoon sky until Luna finally broke the silence.

“I guess this answers my question,” she sniffed. Twilight was about to ask for clarification when Luna continued. "When I asked if thou liked my stars. Tia is right; they are thine now, and the universe would not be so cruel as to give them to a pony who did not appreciate them. I must have looked pretty foalish to you.”

“I don’t think I was capable of that particular emotion at the time,” Twilight assured Luna sarcastically. "I don’t think I was capable of any rational thought–” she explained, then caught her heart in her throat as she heard the words that came out of her mouth. "–not–not that it would have been rational to think you a foal princess,” she spat out, backpedaling in panic.

If Luna was bothered by Twilight’s gaffe, she didn’t show it. Eventually Twilight’s breathing calmed back down, and she began to hoof around for something to fill the silence... There was really only one thing to say; she hung her head in resignation, “I’m sorry.”

Luna gave a sniffle and steadied her voice, trying to sound calmer than she was. “It matters not... I do not care.”

Twilight opened her mouth to respond, then hesitated. Did she want to call the princess on such an obvious lie? She had to. “You can’t tell me this isn’t bothering you.”

“I care not that thou art s-s-sorry” Luna clarified bitterly, a little bit of venom creeping in between her sobs as she failed to keep her voice steady. “Thou shouldst not have come here. T’was a mistake.”

Twilight shook her head sadly and reached over to put a comforting hoof on her shoulder. "I don’t believe that for a second.”

Luna looked over her shoulder at Twilight with tear-filled eyes twisted into a scowl. "–and that is why it is a mistake, Twilight Sparkle. Thou came here expecting to be able to just... say some nice words and make it all better. Thou understandst nothing,” she growled, shaking Twilight’s hoof off violently. The lavender mare was at a loss for words.

“Thou canst not apologize for this; thou canst not make this right!” Luna sobbed. “The stars were a part of who I am! I poured everything I was into the night sky, Twilight Sparkle. I put so much of myself into it that when the little ponies turned away, it broke me! I did horrible, horrible things because they didn’t appreciate it! I hurt ponies, I hurt my sister because they didn’t see what I saw!”

“I–” Twilight started—standing up—but Luna didn’t even notice; it didn’t matter anyway, Twilight wasn’t sure what she could have said.

“–and then!” Luna exclaimed. "–then I spent a thousand years on the moon! A thousand years—! For a thousand years the stars were all I had! –and–and if not for them, I would still be trapped up there!” the princess was crying freely now, every word growing sour in Twilight’s stomach. She knew better than to say anything to interrupt the princess.

“–and now! Now that part of me is g-g-gone Twilight Sparkle. GONE! Thou canst not comprehend how it feels to have a part of thy soul taken by some—some ignorant little filly—and—and—and thou didst not even try. Wert thou thinking of me when thou came here? No, thou were thinking of thyself. All I am to thee is a guilty conscience.”

Twilight couldn’t say anything. Her stomach was lead, her lungs were iron, and her heart was being crushed between the two. She wanted to hug the crying princess, but she couldn’t move. She wanted to comfort her and say everything would be alright, but she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to tell Luna she was wrong about her, but... she couldn’t. Celestia help her, she couldn’t say it.

It would have been a lie.

Nothing Luna had said was anything Twilight didn’t already know, but she’d had to be told anyway. The princess was right; Twilight hadn’t been thinking of her. She thought this was her fault; she thought she had to fix it; she’d tried to apologize away the guilt, but Twilight’s guilt wasn’t why the princess was crying. Twilight’s guilt was her problem, yet she’d brought it here to the pony who was hurting the most. She’d made this about her.

She was wrong, and it hurt.

“Clop off, Twilight Sparkle,” Luna mouthed under her breath through gritted teeth. If Twilight heard her, she didn’t register it; her brain had joined the crushing hole growing in her chest.

“CLOP—OFF,” Luna snarled angrily in Royal Canterlot Voice, incensed at being ignored as Twilight simply mouthed wordlessly at her in stunned silence. The princess of the moon dropped her gaze, shoulders shaking with angry sobs as she tried to collect herself; failing to do so, she threw her head back up to face the ex-unicorn and—at a volume as far above the Royal Canterlot Voice as the Royal Canterlot Voice was above normal pony speech—shouted one last “CLOP——OFF!

By the time Twilight’s mind caught up to the present, Luna was gone from her sight; the castle was gone from her sight; the mountain was gone from her sight; all she could see was blue.

She felt like she was floating through the sky.

She was half right.

✶ ✶ ✶

“Dear Princess Celestia; today I learned that I’m a horrible, selfish, inconsiderate pony... and I have a lot more to learn about friendship,” Twilight groaned as if she were dictating a friendship report—though she was making it in person.

“I’m concerned, Twilight," Celestia told her as she knelt down close beside Twilight, who did not really notice the gesture.

“Do you think she’ll... be okay?” Twilight asked hesitantly. She meant it to sound hopeful, but all that came out was helpless guilt. She disgusted herself.

“I mean about you," Celestia clarified, nudging Twilight with her shoulder in a friendly manner.

Twilight turned to Celestia in panic, “Me? What?—! I’m fine!” she insisted awkwardly. “Really!” She felt bad enough about taking her guilt to Luna—she didn’t want to distract Celestia from her sister’s problems too.

“You got shouted off a mountain and didn’t spread your wings to save yourself," Celestia reminded her.

Twilight winced. Sure it sounded bad when the princess put it like that. “I... would have gotten around to it... eventually... You didn’t have to–” she suggested unconvincingly, appearing to immediately find great interest in her hooves.

“–no, I didn’t have to. You would have been fine, but you didn’t know that," Celestia explained. “I think you should go home and relax, Twilight. You are high-strung by nature; all of this has taken its toll on you as much as her.”

Twilight gaped at the Princess. "You can’t compare my problems to hers! She–”

“She is being just as selfish as you were, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You both have the right. Her wounds are old, yes, and this can’t be easy for her—but yours are fresh, and they can hurt just as much. Do not worry about Luna; she is managing, and she has you to thank for that.”

“Me?” Twilight balked. “–but I—I probably made it worse!

“You and all of your friends,” Celestia explained. “The elements of harmony alone could not have freed Luna from the darkness that had taken root in her hatred and jealousy—as you should know. When I wielded them against her, all I could do was... seal her away. It was through the six of you and your budding friendship that she was able to let go of those feelings and the darkness they carried. She may not show it now, but she is grateful for what you did for her. After Nightmare Night, I think she even saw you as something of a role model.”

“A role model?” Twilight balked at the idea. “–but she’s a princess, and I’m... I’m me! I mean, helping her talk to people is one thing, but just look at all the things that I—”

“—nopony is perfect, Twilight, you should know that by now. Seeing somepony fail, yet refuse to give up can be more inspiring than a thousand perfect princesses—especially to someone who has failed and can’t move past it.”

“‘A thousand perfect princesses?’ You mean...”

Celestia gave a small cough and straightened herself a little awkwardly. “It is... difficult for me to help her, being the pony who banished her and took her place all those years ago. We act sisterly enough most of the time, but we don’t talk about this. It is... not my place.”

“–but surely you’re still better qualified than me!” Twilight insisted in denial.

“Oh, I’ve done this and that,” Celestia gave a wan smile. “I may have lost a few copies of your friendship reports somewhere around the old tax laws after she started taking an interest in you.”

The gears in Twilight’s brain skipped a tooth at that. “W–what?” she sputtered, then the gears went into overdrive to chew on this little tidbit of information. Ah, of course, Luna had said over coffee. Thou fearest the whirlwhind thy actions hath sown; not that of deeds long past, but follies more recent.

“You... you didn’t!” Twilight gasped accusingly her mentor. “Not the one about the want it/need it spell...!”

Celestia’s only response was her usual look of eternal patience and calm—that is, the one Twilight was coming to associate with mischief.

All the air left Twilight’s lungs and she slumped down. “You did,” she said with finality.

“You have to admit, Twilight, that that report in particular would be of particular interest to her,” Celestia noted. “–if I were to have indeed selected specific letters for such a purpose and not just to distract her from how ponies fifteen generations ago were taxed.”

Twilight going unhinged in the head for her mentor’s approval? A spell for gaining the love and adoration of ponies gone wrong, threatening all of Ponyville? –and Celestia... Celestia had come to fix it all and give Twilight the dreaded ‘I am not angry, just disappointed’ speech...

“Yeah, uh, I... guess I can see that being somewhat relevant,” she sighed, completely ignoring the remark about taxes. “I don’t think it matters anymore anyway, I think she hates me now—and if it makes her feel better, I hope she does. Compared to her, I–”

Like her, you have had your whole identity thrown into question," Celestia admonished. “Unlike her, you haven’t even slept. You’ve been on edge for almost an entire day now and awake even longer, you’ve been entertaining paranoid delusions that I was going to banish you, you’re terrified of everything and believe it’s all your fault and you even convinced yourself you could lie to me.”

Twilight blinked at that. That was kind of insulting. “Hey, I can–”

“You are a terrible liar, Twilight,” Celestia interrupted with piercing finality.

Twilight knew better than to argue the point.

“You are going to need time to process all of this,” Celestia explained. “If you aren’t convinced by your failure with lying, your failure with Luna or your failure with gravity—then let me point out that just moments ago you suggested hate would make my sister feel better. Listen to me, Twilight Sparkle—trust me—you aren’t thinking straight. You need to come to terms with this as much as she does, and I will banish you from Canterlot if I have to.”

“Banish me?!” Twilight gasped. “C-c-c–” she stuttered in panic, before blurting out “Cor Caroli!”

“–to Ponyville, Twilight. To your friends—who you will tell about this,” Celestia insisted.

“Oh,” Twilight said, trying not to sound disappointed. Disappointed...? Maybe the princess was right; maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. “S-sorry... I... I’ll try to calm down,” she said. “But... can I go back to Ponyville?” she asked meekly.

Celestia raised one eyebrow. "I believe that is what I said, yes.”

“But... but don’t I have to stay here and... and... become a princess?” Twilight squeaked. “–or something like that?”

Celestia couldn’t help but indulgently crack a smile, and suddenly the mood in the room was several shades brighter. “...now where did you get an idea like that, my faithful student?”

“Oh... Umm...” Twilight looked askance, then suggested “I-it just seems sort of... logical?”

“I didn’t think you read those kinds of books, Twilight,” Celestia grinned.

“I—well... you know... a little,” Twilight admitted, trying not to see how amused her mentor is; alicorn books were usually romantic power fantasies for teenaged fillies who thought that Celestia would swoop down one day and recognize how much harder their life was than that of all their peers, bestowing them with immortal princesshood so they could be apart from the society that spurned them and have their comeuppance, after all. “It’s just... I am your student, you know,” she explained. “Some of them are even based on me—one is even called Twilight—it’s... bad.”

“Do you want to stay in Canterlot, be a princess and lose all your friends?” Celestia asked.

Twilight’s head drooped. “No,” she mumbled quietly.

“Then no one will make you,” Celestia said as if it were the simplest thing in the world—which apparently it was. “Luna and I don’t rule Equestria because we are required to as alicorns, Twilight; we rule Equestria because we built it—and we built it because it is what our little ponies needed after Discord. I cannot promise you that ponies won’t treat you differently now that you are an alicorn; I cannot promise that they won’t look to you for leadership—many in Ponyville already do. What I can promise is not to let my burdens complicate your life–” Celestia paused, “–any more than normal.”

Twilight cocked an eyebrow at that last addition.

“You are still my student,” Celestia explained with a simple smile. “–and a bearer of Harmony. I cannot promise there will not be more ornery dragons in your future.”

“What does Spike have to do with—oh. Oh. You meant—err—nevermind.” There was a pause, and she sighed. “Normal,” she said, thinking about it. “Normal sounds... good,” she affirmed with a smirk. “Those novels... don’t usually end well.” Slowly, the light mood drained out of the room as if it had never been there. Twilight resumed studying her hooves, glancing up at Celestia sheepishly. “Um...”

Celestia turned away from Twilight. "–and that’s not the only thing you need to ask about them,” she stated gravely.

Twilight nodded her head, but remained silent for a moment longer. “So...” she finally started, hesitantly. “Immortality.”

Celestia nodded in silence, composing herself. “It’s... not as bad as they make it sound,” she said, though the wistfulness in her voice rendered it somewhat unconvincing. “It is not as if the years will go by any faster than they already do; you will have all the time in the world for your friends, and the friends after them—and there will be friends after them, I assure you. Friends are what make it all worthwhile.

“When ponies imagine immortality, they imagine what it would be like to grow old and not die. They look at old ponies who have lost much, who are spent and who welcome the end with a healthy appreciation for their life; they imagine that eventually the pain of loss becomes too great for these ponies to handle and they imagine how horrible it must be to be denied release.

“Now, a life well lived is a beautiful thing—and to be proud enough to think it complete is enviable indeed—but as much as I wish it weren’t so, many of those old ponies who greet death with a smile have not lost half so much as some a quarter their age. It is pony nature to grieve and move on. You will be sad, and you will remember your friends forever; you may never have the same kind of friends again, but when the time comes, you will not be left an old mare with nothing left before you.

“Immortality is not an eternity of looking back and regretting all the things you could have done; as an alicorn your past will always be finite, your future infinite. Mathematically, you could even say you will always have your entire life ahead of you.”

Twilight wasn’t sure exactly what to say. The words made a nice speech and all, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. Celestia wouldn’t lie to her... but there was no doubt the purpose of her mentor’s words was to cheer her up.

Eventually, the silence stretched on, and Celestia chose fill it. “I take it you’ve never spoken to Spike about this...?” she probed.

Twilight shook her head. “We’ve always avoided it,” she mused. “Just yesterday morning we talked about him eventually growing wings; it didn’t come up that I’d be... gone, by then.”

Celestia nodded. “You shall never have to have that talk, now; and you will never have to leave him. Not just Spike, but Luna and I will also always be here for you.”

Twilight frowned, furrowing her brow. A picture formed in her head, and she looked up at her mentor. “You said it’s not so bad—that friends make it worthwhile—but for the past thousand years...” she started, leaving the question unsaid.

Celestia looked away, not wanting Twilight to see the shadow that fell over her expression. “I have had Equestria to care for—and you, and others before you.”

Twilight didn’t want to say it, but she couldn’t help herself. “–but Luna...”

Celestia’s head dropped and she was similarly compelled to finish the thought. “Luna had the stars.”

Twilight said nothing. The hole she had felt in her chest on the rooftop was back, and it hurt.

“Twilight,” Celestia urged. “Twilight Sparkle, look at me.”

Twilight didn’t want to—she was afraid there might be tears in her eyes—but she did as she was told.

“Listen, Twilight,” Celestia stated firmly, looking her straight in the eyes. “Listen to me. Do not worry about Luna. The stars are not gone. They’ve simply changed hooves—and I am going to teach you to bring them out.”