Missing Pages & Scrawled Footnotes

by Ice Star

Forever Mare [Second Version] [One Shot] [Bonus Material] [Archive]

Author's Note:

TForever Mare

• MLP: FiM
• Dark
• Sad

There are ponies that even the gods cannot help.

• Violence
• Suicide / Self Harm
• Celestia
• Luna
• OC
• Royal Guard

Ice Star · 12k words  ·  206  28 · 6k views

This is the version of Forever Mare that was accessible before the finalized, print-ready version was edited and made known. It is kept here for archival purposes and for those who wish to view the older version.

Princess Celestia looked around the torch-lit throne room of the Everfree Palace. Her eyes drifted past the occupied throne beside her to the guards leading the next pony into the throne room. She could already hear the rhythmic march of their hoofsteps and the sound of their armor in unison to those motions.

It was another day in the young nation of Equestria. Ponies still whispered reverently of the defeat of Discord at the hoof of the goddess sisters who ruled them with such care compared to First Equestria. The mysterious death of Princess Platinum was all the shaken then-Triarchy had known before the arrival of Discord, and the sisters' war against him. So many ponies had perished that was really all that was known by mortals now — the elderly were extinct. All before Discord's time had seen their world turned into an instrument of famine and accidents abound, but it was the reignition of interracial power skirmishes that shattered the briefly unified ex-tribes of the Triarchy that led to so much loss of life. Only the Two Sisters rallying ponies against the draconequus pulled the country from ruin.

Even under her pristine white coat, the thought of that war, of Discord made her divine heart feel as though it were being torn up a bit. Each beat brought a pulse of dark thoughts, wholly unbidden, to the edge of her mind. Celestia did not hate much. But she had to hate any sense of shadows and monsters, and anything that could bash her optimism. The sense of Good and Harmony that was the foundation of this Equestria, Second Equestria, and her every philosophy must prevail. No matter the cost.

She, the radiant and eternal mare had single-hoofedly done what no ruler had ever done in keeping stability that went beyond mortal capability. Before Celestia and her shadow, the tribes were all these ponies had ever known, save for tales of a world lost to ashes.

Celestia did not like those tales, and let them stay just that — tales and no more — at every chance. This displeased Luna, but everything troubled the younger, honorary princess that Celestia found to be a leech in all but name. Her most common reaction to the otherwise silent, sullen creature that lurked about the castle and the wilds — seemingly not much more — and had never had anypony which she called friend or lover, was for Celestia to purse her lips into a thin line. Always did Celestia refuse to make any sound of distaste at the different mare's presence in the polite company of her subjects.

Luna occupied a throne next to her, and that was the extent of her presence in Celestia's life, at least, between their fights and occasional meetings together, usually in the form of a meal. Luna was quiet. She watched the world with eyes that Celestia could never decipher. She conformed to no standard, and rarely appeared at any of the holidays of ponies. Celestia's beloved ponies, spoke of her as a footnote: the second princess, which she was, and Celestia's younger sister, a label that seemed to be drifting away between them farther than the distance between the sun and moon could ever be. There was also 'the dark goddess' which was such a queer and eerie title compared to Celestia's plentiful store of epithets. Yet, who would expect the non-governing princess to have the wealth of nicknames her elder did?

Celestia was a mare of light and change. It was she that had done away with the slavery the tribes had practiced, that had extended compassion to all, had given anypony regardless of class a chance to speak before her, who went on tours across her nation (her shadow following behind, of course), who made the 'castes' of the Tribal Era into a 'class' that could be changed. She funded the armies, the workers, and laborers who loved her. The laborers were fair and fed because she had liberated their ancestors with words in a time when violence alone was the standard.

Celestia was the mare who said that two stallions or two mares could wed when the Tribal Era 'sensibilities' would be appalled by such a 'condition' and exile such ponies. Luna had wanted the same to take place, and had insisted on justice for ponies suffering cross-sexual ailments too. Those were the ones that Celestia had a hard time connecting to, but had not hesitated to include when she learned of them. Celestia just happened to speak for acceptance more loudly than Luna had, so the latter's efforts were pale in the mind of ponies. It was Celestia who spoke up for those who were abused, be that abuse through means of prejudice, magical, or whatever else under the sun could hurt her little ponies.

She was against discrimination against her ponies, if it existed. If one were to ask why poorer spouses were no longer thought of as chattel, or why the pegasi practiced marriage instead of having broodmares or soldier-foals, it would be because of her and how loud and often Celestia had spoken. Luna had been there too, but any number of questions on the traditions of this new land, the land where Celestia had put her gilded hoof down and said that such acts were explicitly forbidden, then ponies would answer that it was because of their princess — near always singular — and that her name was Celestia. They credited their freedom to her and her Harmony.

She liked that very much. Every day when she rose to raise a sun that would not budge properly without her, donned her ever-present regalia, and sang little ditties to Philomena when nopony would hear, she did so out of love for her country. When picked her gown for the day, and applied the cosmetics of a mare of her station, she did it knowing that she was the mare who was going to help ponies. She was the mare who acted as the pinnacle for the Greater Good, the only thing above the gods, and the dogma she would devote herself to.

That was why she gave little thought to the occupied throne next to her — at this point, passing it over was simply instinct — and give her attention to the pony being marched in by the 'U' of guards surrounding them. They weren't close enough for Celestia to really see. She did, however, doubt that a griffon or some other creature. She rarely saw any other species, such as a buffalo, breezie, or any other creature by the sound of the hoofsteps — and if it were a dragon, kelpie, or changeling, Celestia would have had to meet with them outside. That was the custom for true outsiders.

The pony that was to see Celestia now was a mare — from across the decently dim hall, Celestia could see that clearly. The mare — an earth pony, or pegasus, it seemed — was quite tall and her build was almost broad. The fabric of her white dress shone in a way that was quite lovely — layers of lace styled like a whimsical snowflake fell in a variety of gorgeous layers. Celestia's smile of politeness softened a bit before widening at the sight of such a lovely gown, half a dozen compliments already dancing upon her tongue.

The closer that the mare got made it easier for Celestia to see that her golden-brown mane was pulled away from her face and done up in a net of gold. Whoever this well-dressed mare was, she must have a good family or plenty of money. Perhaps her spouse was quite generous with gifts? If all went well, Celestia might consider writing to this mare, or even inviting her to tea if she was a friendly sort. New friends were always appreciated, especially considering how lonely the Everfree Forest was.

When Celestia gave Luna a split-second glance, she noted that the darker mare's glum stoicism was paired with those cold eyes looking at their guest with a critical gaze that Celestia felt nopony deserved for a first impression. Such a gesture felt rude and improper to somepony who had yet to speak, but Luna often sat without twitching as far as Celestia observed. She directed looks like that at everypony, silent and never wishing a good trip as Celestia did to all their guests.

And then, the mare was close enough for Celestia to look at. She immediately saw why such a look from Luna might even have a sliver of merit in this scenario.

The pony wasn't a mare, at least not to the eye. The jaw of this pony was too square, and the noted bulk was explained by the broad, masculine withers. The lid of the eyes and brow was wholly unfeminine. Stringy, lank strands of the pony's mane had fallen out of the fashionable mane net she wore, and their guest was missing one of their mother of pearl earrings. The positioning of their ears, nearly laid against their skull was offset by fearful eyes the color of maple syrup. The poor pony's face was weary and anxious, and every swallow looked painful, causing the pronounced throat the pony had to bob all too visibly. Brown feathers rustled at their side, and made it all too apparent just how tightly wound with fear this pony was.

Celestia could now see that the dress she had admired so much was too small for the stallion-build of the pegasus pony before her, the hems dirtied and seams torn from abuse. There even appeared to be mud and rain stains on the lace, discoloring them with streaks that had been so obviously subjected to scrubbing attempts at some point. The fabric, due to the pony's size, must have been extremely constricting and the eyeliner that the pony wore was smudged and smeared so that her poor subject looked like a dirty, frightened raccoon. The makeshift, clotted look of the makeup made the princess wonder if the pony was wearing actual makeup at all, or some hastily scrounged-up substitute.

Immediately after taking the pitiful sight in, Celestia made a rare gesture of leaning over to the darker throne.

"This poor pony has been through much and looks absolutely famished. That poor dear is terrified, and needs a soothing presence." Which Luna was earnestly not — she was a mare of weapons, wilds, and magic. It was the general consensus of Celestia's subjects that the young, solitary, dark mare frightened ponies. "It would be quite well if there was some tea for Us to offer, if you would be inclined as to prepare some?”

They lived alone in this castle; guards marched ponies in and out for safety, not because they were positioned there. The two goddesses had a kitchen but no chef between them in the dark castle throne. It was only the soldiers who brought forth ponies for trials and court that were really the regulars. At all other times, the castle was managed alone. It wasn't that such a feat was hard — far from it, when the ground-keepers were two goddesses — but it made Celestia horribly lonely to have no adequate company.

Their home was inhospitable and dangerous, sure, but that did not keep a mare from longing for more than brief courtships and casual encounters with her visiting, armored stallions. Their nation was young and fresh as the cadets Celestia liked to sample, and the post-war existence was a fragile, dangerous one. Two goddesses could keep the castle magically prepared, aside from the natural protection their forest offered, but it did not change how unsafe the world was. Greedy southern nations could easily want two fight the two if they lived somewhere safe, and thus the most dangerous location in all of Equestria had become the safest. Celestia dreaded thinking about the political squabbles that would ensue, and all the accusations of favoritism that would come if they chose to move anywhere else.

Luna knew this to be a command. It was spoken in the same way Celestia would speak to a pony employed under the crown, only the honey she drenched each word in and mandatory pleasantries were like little thorns to Luna. Celestia could see that conveyed in her sister's eyes, which were usually unreadable in their sheer intensity. Despite this, she stood, leaving the anxious pegasus guest relaxed slightly as soon as the dark goddess departed. Luna, on the other hoof, reacted to the whispered words like they were a cymbal clap that had spooked her.

Though, Celestia knew the tea would be like bitter medicine when made by Luna. Even after centuries, she could not manage much that wasn't mash or bran, oatmeal, and basic herbal tea as bitter as northern winds. Toasting bread, boiling water, and little else were among what few cooking 'skills' that Luna was capable of. All that she could make were hardy, bare foods of the wilderness instead of refined recipes, or anything that didn't eat holes through the cutlery and cause the paint to peel and fire to burn black. None of those were fit for life in a castle!

With Luna gone into the shadows of another corridor, Celestia turned her attention to the guest, and gave her a friendly, kind, and sympathetic smile. "Welcome to the Everfree Castle, little pony. We art sure that thine journey hath been long and harsh, which is why We hath beseeched Princess Luna to fix tea for the both of us. We commend thee for making this journey through the Everfree Forest, and as thy Princess, We wish to solve problems that plague Our subjects, and thank you for bringing such issues to light. Wouldst thou please step forward and relay what hath brought thee to Us?"

With a wave of her forehoof, Princess Celestia dismissed the royal guards who would escort this pony home once they exited the castle's main hall.

The pegasus stepped forward nervously, a sight that hurt Celestia, and when they spoke it was with a stallion's voice. It was clear this pony was trying to force it into a higher pitch, for their voice wavered often and their hesitation was clear when they had to push their voice into a more nasally range.

"Mine name—" they paused to cough and clear their throat, "is Sorrel Lace, your Majesty. I come from the countryside of Hoofing Towne, though mine ancestors descend from Cloudsdale."

Celestia paused, trying to think of what could have happened to this pony. Were they a circus performer who trotted into misfortune? Forced into an arranged marriage — which was yet another outdated construct Celestia had abolished? Had this pony been the victim of some wicked highwaypony, who was delighted to live in a land where thieves were no longer executed like under the Triarchy, and had they decided to rob this pony of all their wealth? With so little time since Discord's fall, highwayponies were the least of Celestia's worries, yet more numerous than they had been before the war. Her little ponies were vulnerable to them in ways that she was not.

"Sorrel," said Celestia, her calm tone a contrast to Sorrel's wavering one, "couldst thou answer a question for Us?"

Sorrel nodded, bowing their head hastily. "Yes, yes, Princess. Anything."

"Be thee mare or stallion, Sorrel?"

Celestia was not prepared to see Sorrel's eyes tear up at the question, or the sobs that racked them. Celestia could not help but watch as Sorrel tried to roughly smother the sound of their own sobs and sniffs by holding one of her forehooves over their mouth, as though they hated the sound of their own voice.

For all Celestia knew, Sorrel did. A small slice of the Equestrian population were stallions who said they were mares and vice versa, and they were the ponies that Luna had an enviable insight into. It was only recently that such ponies were given any compassion at all, and they were allowed to dress accordingly without ridicule because of the work of Celestia and Luna. Some of them were wealthy or desperate enough to seek minor appearance altering charms that gave the appearance of shaving down a throat, squaring a jaw, or a number of minor things, like temporary alteration of a voice. Potions, creams, and cosmetics could offer a little work here and there too, and plenty of ponies stood before Celestia and Luna to request name changes and other legal alterations. It was all that could be done.

Was Sorrel one of those ponies? If so, Celestia would gladly help Sorrel, who deserved no judgement or ridicule for who they were.

Celestia dearly wished that Sorrel wasn't the other option. That would be a much direr situation.

"Little pony, there is no need for tears," Celestia said as she rose from her throne. She grasped the hem of her dress in her golden magic as she stepped down to Sorrel's side. Next, Celestia quickly offered them a conjured hoofkerchief to dry their eyes, a kind hoof on their back, and a concerned smile that any mother would give her foal.

"A m-mare," Sorrel sobbed, burying her muzzle in the hoofkerchief thankfully.

Patting her wither, Celestia continued to speak gently to the mare in front of her. "And what hath troubled thee to such lengths, Sorrel? Harmed by another? In need of the name to be fixed, or a magic potion? Buffalo remedies south of Our great nation can be obtained with careful diplomacy, if tis what thou art in need of. So please, do not feel so miserable. There art ponies here who shalt listen to thee."

"No, no princess. Thou art too kind," she sniffed and wiped her eyes, only for more tears to flow. "I need none of that, I need to..." Sorrel paused, swallowing and hunching over slightly so she appeared smaller. "Something which was taken—"

"What be it?" Princess Celestia interjected gently. "If bits, t’shall be refunded and the thief brought to Our hooves. If t’was material, or any other kind of heirloom or trinket, We shalt recover them in perfect condition for thee, if thou tell Us the circumstances and events leading up to it being stolen. In any horrible case where an heirloom or precious item of thine is broken or lost forever, a trinket from Our surplus of personal wealth shalt be thine, if thou would accept Our generosity and a token of it that We would be all too happy to bestow. So please, Madam Sorrel, tell Us what was stolen from you and why no other pony has helped you."

Sorrel did not answer immediately. Instead, she tried to quell some of her small, pained sobs — the very sobs that she hated the sound of — that still lingered between subject and ruler. Princess Celestia rested the hoof on Sorrel's wither more firmly, and lightly brushed the mare with her large, white feathers. They were the feathers that her subjects described as 'angelic' and claimed to have healing properties, if one were to hear the right gossip. This kind of talk still came from the same ponies who used 'goddess' as a way to Other the dark one, while outright worshipping Celestia the way the other gods outside of Equestrian borders were hailed.

Princess Celestia stood at her side while the young mare sobbed hysterically, and offered what little comfort she could in the moment, where the dim and austere castle offered none. Perhaps one day, that could change.

Sorrel's voice was weak and raw when she spoke: "T’is true, what ponies hath spoken of thee," she whispered, "thou art the light of the castle, Princess."

"Shh, little pony. Thou didn’st come here to offer compliments; hardship was not endured for thee to be smiled upon by Us. Please, little one, what hast thou lost?"

"Me, princess… I-I hath lost everything, no longer am I Mistress Sorrel Lace. I am not the wife of Maple Oak, nor am I the mare of a household or an expectant mother..." Sorrel's voice was horribly choked up on the last two words, making them an attempt as a feminine wail, that simply couldn't be done with a stallion's voice.

Now, the blood of Princess Celestia was running cold. The throne room felt frosty and slow, except for poor Sorrel, because now Celestia knew exactly what was wrong with her.

And she wished it could have been anything else. But Celestia kept her hoof on Sorrel's wither, and the maintained her most empathetic expression, and would not let her own voice drop to a horrified whisper.

"Mistress Sorrel," Celestia said slowly, as though her deliberate recitation of the name that had previously been a plea would shake the eerie atmosphere. "What hath become of thy family, husband, foal-to-be, and household? We know how terrible t’is, how difficult and harrowing thy world must feel, but thou must shed light upon it. Tell unto Us what hast truly happened to thee, We shalt do everything as a princess to help you, if t’is within Our power."

If, came the unwanted, cynical, and terribly conditional nagging whisper.

"Mine family..." Sorrel echoed, eyeing something past the far wall with a distant, harrowing look of recollection before swallowing painfully. "M-Mine household and mine h-husband's—" Celestia hid a wince when hearing her say that word, and how awful it sounded, "destroyed, Princess, by the chaos monster Discord dare try take our land from us, our Harmony, and call himself a king!"

Still holding Sorrel at a distance, Celestia breached personal space a bit more, using her magic to tuck a few strands of Sorrel's mane out of her face. She focussed on that square jaw of Sorrel's and how she had to keep her own irregular breathing in check when Discord was mentioned and the tangled, pained barb of feelings that Discord brought up. Only Celestia and Luna knew how he didn't use to be like that, not ever—

Celestia listened patiently, trying to keep her mind tranquil.

"We know, little pony," she said with a feather-soft tone, "of what grand threat he could be."

Was.

"But thou need not fear Discord any more, for as long as We..." It was Celestia's turn to pause; to correct what she was about to say and stress the plural she had almost ignored ever-so-slightly, "as long as thy princesses' connection to the Elements is strong and sure, the lingering magic of his petrification sealed as Harmony wishes, all shall be well. The stronghold of Canterlote is peaceful and Equestria as lovely as a sunny day, Discord shalt never, ever return. His stone prison holds fast, and shall for a time even beyond Our knowing."

Forever.

Sorrel did not smile, but Sorrel did not sob, which was an improvement. She kept speaking, slowly revealing an all-too-familiar horror story to Celestia. While she listened, the sun princess kept her emotions in check, as she should.

"Maple is an honorable and stubborn stallion of the earth, Princess, thou must understand that—"

"We do," Celestia replied gently, silently marveling at just how quickly her subjects were embracing the inter-race marriages that Tribal Era ponies had held in such horror. Even ponies like Platinum, who saw the tribes' end, would be disgusted by such a condemned act being legalized by a ruler... but Celestia knew that if her old, supposed 'friend'' was aware she ruled Equestria, then she would most certainly be turning in the Canterlote Catacombs.

Sorrel dipped her head. The skirt of her dress quivered in a way that Celestia, a mare experienced in politics and the social habits of ponies, knew to be an obvious signal of shaky legs. "Thou art very gracious, Princess, and thy power is dwarfed only by thy kindness."

"Tis Our duty to listen to all of Our subjects, especially when they make a point to arrive at Our home so well-dressed after much time on the road. We art being a proper hostess," Celestia said with a modest smile.

Sorrel did not return a hesitant one, as Celestia wished, but appeared a little more at ease. "Maple is strong, Princess. He is a good pony, a goddess like yourself would know if you were to stand before him, I assure you. He loves his land." She bit her lip with the delicate bite of any noble wife. It was a mannerism Celestia knew no other sort of pony to have. That slight gesture stood out so much — at least to her.

"He loved me once too," Sorrel whispered eventually, her whole body seeming to fade once the words were spoken.

Celestia could guess what unpleasant experience was going to be heard by her ears, and quietly looked at Sorrel's ears — direct eye contact was tricky for long periods of time for a multitude of reasons — and saw the small holes in them. These were clear indications of where fine jewelry would have been, no doubt made when Sorrel Lace was just a filly.

"I am but an embroiderer, Princess. Maple is a lumberjack, he is the strength in our family... would have been. Was. ...I know not what more should be spoken..."

Before she could burst into another round of disturbed, distraught sobs, Celestia shushed her gently. She pushed Sorrel's own hoof to her chest to remind her of the kerchief she still clutched, the one straight from the sleeves of Celestia's gown.

So, Sorrel continued, even though her voice was still shaky in the presence of a goddess. "When Discord came to the countryside, spreading madness and wrecking the stability we all knew... the whole world seemed on a tightrope after Princess Platinum's strange death. I am sure a great goddess like yourself felt that, Princess. How positively... sad, and peculiar that bated-breath existence was."

She had, and if Princess Celestia closed her eyes. She could see syrup rivers, her dear sun wobbling in the sky among cotton candy clouds, and feel roads of soap, dying crops, and the crunch of many a dead locust as though they were still under her very hooves. The sensation of burning summer snowflakes and raining worms stuffed with jams was a phantom against her coat. She imagined the all-too-recent time when snakes had fur, hen's teeth were more abundant than cinnamon, and the most important ponies became their opposites.

Celestia surprised herself, just a little bit, by not shuddering.

"We did, Sorrel Lace," Celestia said, her voice perfectly even and betraying nothing.

"Maple was a good stallion, Princess. Truly, he was. When Discord's damned madness had spread to our part of the country, Maple was quick to organize the rest of our little corner of the woods so that the stallions would be able to fight. Even a visiting mage-mare among them! And, oh Princess, mine friends and I..." she pauses once, mourning privately in a way Celestia cannot quite understand, "...we had all that that Discord would attack our stallions first, and that their strength, magic, clubs, and anything they had would have beaten his chaos back. We knew in our hearts that we were good, Princess."

"You art," Celestia whispered.

"E-Exactly! We were the good, the everyday, the normal, and the light up against that dark, insane beast — even if Maple and the others were all mortal, Princess. The monster did not fight the stallions first, Princess," Sorrel said, her voice raspier, "Maple's ax never cut into his flesh, its blade never struck through him and spilled out his tar-black and foul blood."

Celestia did not bother to correct her and say that Discord bled blood as red as Celestia's own — and as red as a pony's too.

She felt numb, a cold and familiar clockwork shroud only she could feel the weight of draped around her again, for she had heard such similar tales before. Her inner light waning and that numbness becoming unbearably familiar. Oddly enough, she embraced it, and some of the stagnation that it brought. It was a cold thing, like digging for treasure, until the spade stuck the hole a certain way. That iciness crept throughout her, sifting like fog —and a fog that told her she was digging a grave the whole time.

Her own grave to be precise. Celestia, like her sister, was not a creature who could die. Yet, she had lived through so many mortals vicariously.

Maybe Sorrel felt that feeling too. Maybe she knew others who went through this. Celestia did. Discord's magic was not anything dark, it was just madness. Some laughed. Some laughed, and it hurt. Some laughed because they were forced. Some wept and wept. The aftermath could be terrible, there could be begging and pleading, and not all things were reversible... if they were at all...

These ponies came in variety, but Celestia knew they were all the same. They were desperate. They were hurt. They were changed in bad, horrid ways that other ponies couldn't understand. What sounded like a joke was a night terror. Many had night terrors.

Age did not matter. This magic happened. Discord said that he was just having fun, and that echoed in Celestia's ears for some time afterward...

...because for Celestia, it wasn't fun to change land back to normal, and know that even Harmony's power could not restore all the food her ponies had lost.

He had said it was for 'fun', before he said he was lying.

...because Celestia had to hold the hooves of a little filly, who had once run across the ground as an earth pony, weep uncontrollably through the rag in her mouth while the seemingly normal wings on her back were amputated. She was not a pegasus, her bones were not right, nor was her magic. A variety of things did not make her a pegasus. That change did not make her an earth pony, merely an earth pony with pegasus wings attached to her, and that mixed magic poisoned and debilitated her. Any foal she bore would forever be an earth pony. Celestia knew because her family had been one with little inter-racial breeding. She remembered helping the family check their filly's ancestry. She remembered how much their daughter cried.

And it was all for 'fun'.

...because Celestia had to see so many other things, all seemingly mundane changes with horrifying consequences.

Discord's magic was just somewhat different from a pony's, or from an Alicorn's, or any other creature. He could achieve certain magical results he wanted in a way no other creature could. While he was powerful, he was nowhere near all-powerful or all-knowing.

The sense of helplessness that ran in Celestia because of some of the things he did struck her very bones. Sometimes it stayed there because there were things he did it would take a 'few' generations to hide, and some things could never be reversed... in a way. Perhaps if Discord had reappeared in Celestia's life three thousand years later, then she was largely certain that many of his magical alterations would not be nearly as catastrophic.

Discord did not murder, and Discord did not rape. Discord did not beat, he did not cut, he did not bruise. He created no wounds to heal. Many could move on from Discord with ease, and yet many could not.

Sorrel Lace was one of those ponies.

Celestia had to listen to why. She was Sorrel's princess, her last resort.

So Celestia listened and listened and listened because she was Sorrel's hero. She was the hero of all her ponies. The reason a gallant hero in shining armor had said armor in the first place and the morals to combat the darkness was because that armor was going to get very, very dirty.

Sorrel told her about how all alone in her house. She decided to try and pack a bit of food — it was nearby and she was hiding in the cellar — for herself before finding any servants hiding in the house and getting them to do the same. Sorrel had thought that it would be a good idea to have a few gardener-stallions pull the only carriage they had — really, Sorrel and Maple were not that wealthy. It was those kinds of details that Sorrel bothered to specify that really stuck out to Celestia.

Sorrel was with foal, and quite heavily too. She was sure that none of the two maid-fillies had run off and would not be able to walk far either. She was just being kind, she said to Celestia.

She was heavily pregnant.

Sorrel repeated that a lot. Celestia's mind did too.

Discord showed up in her cellar, cheerful and menacing all at once. Sorrel said that scared her so much she dropped the loaf of bread that she had tucked under her wing as she waddled about, and spilled all the food she had in the sack placed neatly upon her back.

Celestia wished her mind could be farther away.

And haltingly, Sorrel recounted how Discord had smiled, how he had laughed and looked at her like a wolf looked at a sheep.

He told Sorrel that she was fat.

He laughed too, when he said that. He said that she was a fat little mare and prodded her stomach with a claw while Sorrel shook and squeaked, frozen in fear on the ground.

Sorrel, standing in front of Celestia in her once-lovely white dress, thought it odd, between her coughs and sobs, that Discord did not know a pregnant mare when he saw one.

Having known Discord long before, Celestia was not surprised.

Discord laughed over Sorrel like she was the punchline in the greatest joke ever. He told her over and over again how she was such a fat little mare, and how silly it was for her to stuff her face while her precious husband was risking his life. How ungrateful she was. How pathetic. Mostly, how silly it was that a pony should be confined to a house just because she was a mare, and that he found the ponies of the north to be so silly for such things.

If she was a stallion, he told her, she would not have to be confined to stuffing herself all day and sitting on her rear end getting fatter.

She felt a paw pressed to her forehead, the barest translucent glow about it, and if she had been farther away, she knew she wouldn't have caught it at all. But, Sorrel told Celestia, what really seemed to hold power was how 'the monster' had snapped his talon.

The aura on his paw faded, and he started to fade too.

The last thing Sorrel saw of him was his smile hanging in the air, but even that vanished quickly enough.

She told Celestia about the flash that followed, the poof and...

"Oh, Your Majesty," Sorrel's woeful tone struck, "the pain was unbearable — it was like blinking, I-I just... opened mine eyes, trying to not feel so stunned, so pained... mine body..." Sorrel paused for a shuddering breath, "How it felt for just that second, made me think about Maple chopping trees, and for that second I was the tree and this awful magic the axe."

Celestia just nodded. It was the good thing to do.

"And then..." Sorrel's stallion-voice was thin with fear. "I felt..."

With one of her forehooves, she reached out to rest one on her belly, eyes hazy with tears and dread as she had to realize what wasn't there anymore. Who wasn't.

That time, Celestia had to gently pry the kerchief out of Sorrel's hoof and gingerly dab at a few of the tears silently working their way down Sorrel's square muzzle to her strong jaw. The action was blind, done when Celestia looked out of the corner of her eyes, making her only perspective of Sorrel that which she could piece together through the sideways glances of her rose-colored eyes.

Dimming her horn, Celestia pressed the hoofkerchief back into Sorrel's shaking forehoof.

"What happened after that? Did your husband find you?" The second question was a foal's question; Celestia had only about a half dozen reactions she had to choose from in all the stories of these situations that she had guided her ponies through. Horrible, horrible tales with answers that left her hollow when she gave them.

After so long living, Celestia had decided that answers were far worse than questions.

If her mind was a meadow, and every question a flower, those flowers only bloomed in the shade, among the wild things. To her, it was best to stick to what little patch of sunshine and sweetgrass she had, making sure it was the perfect place for herself and everypony else she saw fit to share it with, keeping them safe and happy.

"Maple found me a-and..."

Solemnly, Celestia suggested the only watered-down answer that she could bear to use. "He was not happy to see you, was he Sorrel?"

The haunted gaze of the mare made Celestia's chest clench. "He was not..." she whispered, "Maple looked at me like he was the ax, Princess."

Celestia, always, wished she knew what to say that was good instead of true, and would bring these ponies healing every time they needed it.

"That made me the tree."

More silence. She tried to make it seem natural, and Sorrel looked at her like it was a patient silence instead of a fearful one.

"He looked at me like I was no longer the young maiden who stood before him on our wedding day in the town square, with a pretty dress and mine mane in curls... I-I apologize for rambling, p-princess."

"Do not be," Celestia whispered. "Please."

Celestia remembered the last pony who came to her like this was a unicorn 'mare' who could just barely roll up the leg of his trousers to reveal the burn scars from a traumatized and stunned wife with a pyromantic magical disposition as he recounted his own tale, of what led up to his transformation. He had tried to defend the streets of the mighty walled stronghold of Canterlote, and was one of the reasons why the great city did not fall in Discord's brief and anarchic reign. Celestia also remembered that he was terrified at the possibility of his wife becoming estranged from him, and how deeply conflicted he was over what happened to him and what his feelings were in regard to their relationship, and what that made him.

He had wanted her help, and unfortunately, that was the one thing that Celestia could not give...

Did Sorrel have scars under her skirt, below the dirt that was caking her coat?

With her mind a million miles away, seemingly frozen, Princess Celestia heard herself say something about how Sorrel would be safe and protected, and asking her about how she made her journey here once she had fled from her husband and family. The latter were too terrified to take in the mare who was supposed to be their daughter, hollow-eyed and miserable, believing she was corrupted. Common ponies always believed the curses of chaos to be contagious, and this was something Luna saw fit to bring up to Celestia often enough.

She heard Sorrel mash a few words together and string up a couple of excuses of a stuttering response of how she had to beg for places to stay, how the rain chilled her to bone, and how she traveled with grazing, foraging, tossed scraps, and half-dead crops as her only food. The world had overwhelmed her, she said, she wanted only to be a loved housewife again instead of begging for corn standing among pigs and stumbling in the vague direction of the Everfree, hoping with all her heart to find royal guards who she could speak to and beg for an audience with Princess Celestia, who was now closer than her home had ever been. Sorrel's very last hope. Her fellow ponies had begun to terrify her.

Celestia, who listened with a kindly expression still, knew that must be exactly what Sorrel did. More begging.

Celestia always was the last resort for these ponies, and she did not like that for reasons she could never bear to say.

How many of her ribs would We see under that dress of hers?

She did not ask why Sorrel had not sold her mane-net in desperation, for it was clearly gold despite the damage her journey had wrecked upon it, and how her stringy mane was all tangled up inside the closer Celestia looked at. She did not ask because it was like the pocket watch of the unicorn stallion with the burn scars, or the other tattered and tarnished keepsakes that these ponies all bore before her, so distinctly masculine or feminine. So clearly treasured.

One mare, who spoke before her not so long ago was a mare of the earth presented by the guards as a 'stallion' out of innocent ignorance. She had been so desperate for even an extra scrap of her identity that she had used her knowledge of natural remedies and creations to create natural cosmetics to wear as she spoke before Celestia. The end result had appeared much like what Sorrel wore right now.

Dying sobs echoed around them both, and Sorrel looked up at the princess-goddess with wide, pleading eyes in the gaunt face. "Princess Celestia, I have come all this way, waiting to hear anything about mine horrid condition. In all the time I have wandered from mine home, taking laborious hoofsteps away from the only place I have ever known, I have grown lost. This world was not the world a housewife was to know, and I want to be that housewife again — I know, princess, that I am that mare. I have lost mine foal..." she sniffed, shuddering, "I lost mine baby and... and... I feel all cut up inside, always. Princess, I used to laugh and feel things other than this constant terror. Before Discord, I had never known hunger or anything harsh."

Celestia did not want to have to give the answer she knew she was going to have to give all over again.

"Mine whole world feels like the fine plates mine mother used to have propped above the mantle. You know the plates, surely, princess? They are the ones with scenes of old tribal queens and the wilds carved in them, all the legends of us pony-folk poured into those glazed lines. I feel like those plates, only, if the plates were cantered upon and half their shards swept into a glass jar, where they are shaken constantly. That awful noise is all I feel in mine head, and they are this voice I cannot recognize no matter how much I speak. All those cuts against the glass are mine heart's attempts to beat against this wrong body, princess, I just know it."

Sorrel tilted her head in a way that brought her meek gaze to those of the princess for just a moment. "I want mine dress to fit again. I have yearned for mine husband's smile. The absence of mine foal's kicks is maddening. I can barely come up with acceptable ways to arrange what is left of this tangle of a mane that I have half a mind to just rip from this wretched body. Every look in a mirror is... Princess, it feels like I am feeling all I felt when there was news of s-starvation, of anarchy. Except, it is all on the inside, and I cannot pull myself out because this cursed body is a cage. Mine own body, with this now-sick heart and wings I took mine first flight with... and e-everything is not supposed to be a stallion's body. I am a mare rotting in a stallion's cage and I have screamed for any chance to get out. I have cried so much I feel forsaken by every god but the one before me. I know that when mine mother looked at me, she saw a filly, and a filly I am supposed to be, never this. I know that inside I am not just Sorrel Lace, I am Mare, and I am supposed to be forever Mare."

Her words were as wild as her eyes, and yet Celestia had contained herself remarkably, like the cold of a statue, all stately and regal.

"Yet," Sorrel said with a crying tone like the whine of a door hinge, "every time I am called Stallion, I feel withered and kicked, no matter the innocence of the words. I am dragged about by this mockery of mine own legs. Sleep does not find me, if I remember it at all, and mine whole body shakes. 'Stallion' is the worst of curses, the vilest word ever written upon mine heart. I no longer want it to fall from mine tongue, but every time I say mare and try to feel the life of mine foal, I see the eyes of that monster, I feel hurt and everything impossible. I am reminded of the cold, the ache in mine stomach, the tears that always find me, and how no word I say feels right anymore." There was that pained swallow again and then a whisper, "this voice hurts worse than a knife or a box of the ears."

Princess Celestia couldn't meet Sorrel's gaze directly. "You, like many others, seek for what Discord has done to be reversed." Why she never called Discord a monster — she couldn't bring herself to; not yet — but was so set and liberal with calling him so many other things. This warped his legacy into a boogey creature to be feared by foals and adults alike, Celestia wasn't certain as to why she did that. Or, if she was, she wished to bury it and call it uncertainty.

Sorrel sniffled, and a dying ember of something almost shone in her hollow, fearful eyes. To call it 'hope' would be a great hyperbole. "More than anything, Princess. You need only tell me what must be done to make myself whole again, for in this body I cannot live. As your mere subject, I shall consent to it. You have all the gratitude I could ever know for this," Sorrel said, slipping into the practiced curtsy of a well-bred mare and flexed her wings carefully. "Thank you," she whispered with a voice that was choking back tears. "To have mine body be mine again, to be usable, and to not think of j-just c-chopping off parts when this madness is most potent."

Behind her perfect, empathetic exterior, Celestia felt like her heart was a pillar that had been pushed over, and now everything else crashed down with it, even if it did not show. She was the one who had to maintain strength, to rule Equestria, and though she would always strive to be kind and good, she could never let anypony ever see her crumble.

She was their princess first, and always a princess first.

"Sorrel Lace, you have endured nothing short of torture on your way here, requesting only that somepony treat you with kindness and the understanding any pony like you deserves. Hearing stories from others like you is not any easier for Us, and We have always loathed being the bearer of such grim news," she touched Sorrel's wither lightly, but without familiarity, as she did with many ponies, and her voice grew softer, "there is no magic in the world, save for Discord's own that can instantaneously undo the transformation he forced upon you. We have had to stand before the few of Our dear little ponies who have endured this particular treatment, for the physical scars and deaths that Discord has caused art few for the former, and none in the case of the latter. This has never been harder: any magical procedures that might undo something like this, even gradually, art not even dreams..." Celestia sighed heavily, and admitted with great reluctance, "...if anything like it could be done at all, such a fanciful and elaborate procedure would always be something only the far future might know, but this... it is all beyond the power of any pony, any creature... and yes, that includes Us..."

Celestia did not have to look at Sorrel to know that she was crying. Small sobs were half-muffled in the air and sounded like they had to be forced from Sorrel's body with invisible kicks. To hear that not even a goddess' magic could be of any help was an internal, hidden blow to Celestia.

Slowly, Celestia withdrew her hoof from where she had lain it upon Sorrel's wither. "Ponies like you, and almost like you have not been neglected by the crown, Sorrel. There art many ponies who art born as magic made you, knowing they art not who they should be on the outside, and having to live with that. Though this is a rare phenomenon, these ponies still have jobs, homes, and families. Where Our words fail, there art others who can aide a mare such as you, to help keep you on the right path because you art still one of Our subjects and your welfare and safety have always mattered. Do We appear to you like some fabled tyrant?"

"N-No, princess..." Sorrel whispered weakly.

Looking upon Sorrel with the same gentle worry she showed so many ponies, Princess Celestia offered the last words of comfort she had. They were almost the same as she told other ponies with similar conditions, but she meant them every time. To see others suffer was a gnawing fear, and a horrid sight. But when it came to the less common ponies, the eccentric, the unjustly shunned, and any other faction of her harmonious society that privately puzzled her, Celestia was at a loss that she would never admit to. Such a thing would give ponies reason for fear and hurt, which she simply could not allow.

"Disaster strikes us all, little pony. We shall try to contact your family eventually, but if they art... unaccepting, do not be afraid to move on and find another whom you can confide in. Your healing is paramount, and in Canterlote there art ponies like you gathered in their own collective home, with compassionate doctors and sorcerers who art always working to understand and help a mare such as yourself. Their research and therapies remain afloat with donations from the public and funding from the crown as well. All focus is on rehabilitation. You need not worry about stability, for such is a constant there. There shall always be a roof over thine head, and food to eat. Wouldst thou wish to be escorted to Canterlote and see this home for yourself? Or to perhaps even stay temporarily? 'Twould be horrid to send you elsewhere when your distress is clear."

After a long pause, Sorrel nodded weakly as a doll does, her eyes frozen with a horror Celestia could not quite understand the depths of.

But Celestia still offered a welcoming smile. "Sorrel Lace, We know you to be just as much of a mare as We art. Thou can heal, just as Equestria has. Ponies shall be patient with you, for there is no cruelty from this haven thou need fear, truly. Thou art welcome to write whenever you find yourself able — We may be a princess, but a letter is a comfort to anypony, regardless of station. Would you be willing to write me a letter about your stay once you have stayed for a few sunrises, to see how it is? Let us say a week? As a friend?"

It took some time for Sorrel to nod, and Celestia was puzzled how those eyes kept the mortal mare frozen in a world Celestia was unable to pull her from. Her breathing was as shaky as the movements of her forelegs, one of which she lifted slowly, as though it were heavy to brush against the tangles of her mane in a poor attempt to move them. The rustling of her tattered skirt was almost defeating in comparison.

But Sorrel still nodded, and Celestia breathed a breath of relief, drawing one of her gold-shod forehooves from her chest and pushing out.

"We await thine reply with bated breath," Celestia said, smiling as she nudged Sorrel along, snapping the nervous mare out of her spell and getting her to start her slow walk towards where she had entered the throne room.

Celestia, clinging to the optimism of recovery for a mare as young as Sorrel Lace, thought it would be best to personally guide Sorrel to the guards who had to lead her inside.

It was what a good friend would do.

...

The trip to Canterlote on hoof took a few sunrises, but Celestia was pleased to find a letter from the head of the group of guards that had escorted Sorrel to the community haven among the rest of her daily letters and other papers — petitions and the sort. Knowing Sorrel was somewhere safe brought a smile to her face. That same something that couldn't be said of Princess Luna, who spent every waking moment with a blurry presence, like a half-faded ghost and largely silent.
Celestia would have enjoyed hearing from Sorrel. The Castle of the Two Sisters was the undisputed and official capital of Equestria, but it seemed that, the steadily thriving citadel, thought itself the nation's capital in spirit. This was despite the fact that Canterlote was a primarily unicorn city. What would a country wife like Sorrel Lace think of a grand place like Canterlote?

But she was content enough with not getting a letter, and waited. Sorrel would want to settle in first — so many, ah, 'surprises' were not going to be good for the poor mare. Even Celestia herself had come to resent such things, albeit in a silent, distant way — she was not a mare to be bitter.

The week for Sorrel to learn of her new home came around, and even in the whirlwind of duty, she still thought of the mare in the back of her mind.

The first day, Celestia found herself thinking of the chambers there — Celestia had seen them herself, making sure they were comfortable and bright. Each window had lovely, if homely curtains, and was fitted with a window box. Residents could choose to grow whatever kinds of flowers they wished — the markets of Canterlote had a selection like no other, of course. Celestia herself loved to visit them, and see all the foreign seeds and bulbs from places like Prancia, the Ottomare Empire, the Kingdom of Germane, the Mustainian States, and more. She often tried to find any excuse to get away from the castle, Everfree Forest, and gloomy mute Luna to get supplies for her hidden courtyards. Which kind of plant would be Sorrel's favorite?

The second day, when Celestia was still groggy as she began her morning — it was always Luna who rose so unnaturally early — and had yet to bring the dawn. She looked among her dresses, trying to decide in her morning haze if she would like to wear one today, and which one. She hazily recalled Sorrel, in her tattered white dress like a dollop of slush in her mind. What would she be doing today? A letter would take a short while — perhaps a day or so — to reach Celestia from Canterlote, but if Sorrel were to pen a letter today, what would she write about? Perhaps she would want a new dress and was chatting with a new friend over possible styles. There was nothing like a common bond to help a pony overcome some of the shyness Sorrel seemed to possess.

On the third day, Celestia enjoyed her time in the walled and hidden castle gardens more than usual. All her favorite flowers were in bloom, showing off all her hard work to... her... just her. She selected a few for a friendly bouquet to send to Sorrel — azaleas, Bells of Trotland, carnations, and chrysanthemum flowers, all picked fresh from her enchanted courtyard and ready to be pressed into a thoughtful trinket. She wrote to Sorrel again, asking her about how she was finding everything and if she liked flowers too. Princess Celestia told Sorrel about how dreary the wild and unusual Everfree Forest could be. She wrote of how it was impossible to maintain a civilized garden in such a place, and that if she ever had a castle all to herself, it would be a bright, sunny place with acres of spectacular gardens. She even did something uncharacteristically personal. Princess Celestia confided that one day, she would like to have some friendly staff to help around the castle instead of living all alone with her sister. Though, she didn't say anything about Luna other than that.

Philomena would certainly enjoy being able to bother a cook or a maid. Celestia sent her letter with a smile on her face, flowers included along with the teasing pen name of 'Sunflower' even though Sorrel would know exactly who she was.

Sometimes, Celestia thought it would be nice to be a mare as simple as the name 'Sunflower' suggested. She didn't write that though.

Celestia spent the fourth day of her week as a princess should: attending to her duties, sparing time only for falconry with Philomena. With towns being nonexistent in the Everfree, and the forest itself surrounded by grassland, hills, and other unoccupied places meant that anywhere nearby would be too out of the way, and she simply couldn't whisk herself to the closest cities unannounced. More often, she had to plan her departures when she went in search of local holidays that may require a royal presence. She tried to do so as often as possible, since parties called to her in all the same ways loneliness gnawed at her and left her desperate. Princess Celestia enjoyed walking among her ponies... sometimes, she even did so in disguise.

But she didn't get any letters that day.

On the fifth day, Celestia ran into Princess Luna at dusk. Literally.

"What is it that has caused you to run about from shadow to shadow in such a hurry?" Celestia said, voice somewhat scolding when she regained her composure. Princess Luna was nothing short of a recluse torn between silence and her own brand of temper. Celestia, unfortunately, found herself well-acquainted with the other mare's terse, blunt, unfriendly, and just... queer ways. That was how everypony would describe Luna, and Celestia could see why — she never humbled herself or had the good manner to be dim over divine. She refused to contain how different she was and was so obviously a goddess in magical power instead of a label granted in the eyes of mortal ponies. Celestia readily embraced those kinds of titles, the ones that praised her heroics and kindness instead of making it obvious she was an alien being — a reality that was best left untouched and unaddressed.

An air of insolence that only Celestia knew some extent of was buried in Luna, who even silent was as much as a presence as spilled ink on fresh parchment, and she saw it in their fights. To the public, Celestia was a rose, and they loved the vivid blossom the period ballads made her out to be. The sonnets of every stallion who wished to be her suitor were quick to use the popular comparison. Celestia would smile a small, polite smile as she listened to how the gesture was as 'soft as petals' or 'warm as sunlight' and any other comparison to find its way into an amateur poet's mind.

Luna was a briar to ponies, but she was not mentioned in poetry, or at least none that was ever widely known to the public. Not a single popular ballad ever made reference to her the way they did for Princess Celestia. Once or twice since the fall of Discord, a stallion with riches or wanting them was bold enough to look at the other sister, the 'Celestia's sister' the 'dusky maid' or 'younger sister' of all the legends, to see the mare of the night who was an outline of a royal. Oh, how Luna turned all the stallion-suitors away. She was all thorns, and though she was of the age, such arrangements were custom in the Founder's Equestria, and with Celestia's permission sealed as long as he shall live, Celestia had witnessed Luna begging her tearfully to not have her married, because the even rarer suitor then still had his eyes on her... or at least, parts of her.

Celestia was not that kind of sister. Though she did not like Luna and did think her somewhat privileged, she always refused her sister's suitors too. Because Luna said so, and because no matter what era in history, there wasn't a pony alive who deserved such treatment. In fact, Princess Celestia was strongly considering outlawing all kinds of arranged and political marriages within Equestria — especially if it would stop yet another kind of conflict with Luna.

Luna was rather spoiled, and it was in the fights that nopony knew about that Celestia, Rose of Equestria, made it known that she had thorns at all. Luna never liked the dresses Celestia was careful to order for their appearances. Luna was aloof at the holidays the sisters appeared at. When a brave pony was to be knighted, she offered him all the warmth of snow. She never made idle chat.

But here was Celestia, bumping into her own shadow.

Everything about Celestia's shadow was strange, but then again, she barely talked to it. Luna's body language was odd. Though she lurked about, she stood ready for something, as agile as her hoofsteps were silent, despite her permanent vigilance. However, her mysterious eyes were always so sad looking for some reason or another, were wild and filled with shock. She was clearly startled as to why Celestia was talking to her, and Celestia to think the same. This young mare was eerie in the way that she was so wild and un-pony-like. Always delving into magic, sometimes disappearing to the frontier, the list went on.

Yet that was how Luna had always been, and old displeasure always rippled through Celestia at how Luna just never seemed to grow up... but it was a source of frustration she dare not pry too deeply into. The last time that happened...

"Is there something wrong?" Celestia's tone still held the same authority, the same regal bearing that she showed her ponies. "I see no cause for your clumsiness, unless thou art ill. Should I reschedule tomorrow’s feast with the King and Queen of Prancia?"

It was rare for them to have daily exchanges. More than that, it rarer even for Luna to initiate conversation, or for Celestia to tell her things that were anything more than a whispered order or murmur to mind herself, to keep with customs, to smile a little. Or at all.

Luna simply shook her head 'no' and lit her horn to adjust the thick spellbook that she had tucked under her wing. Loose sheets of paper scribbled with notes Celestia couldn't catch in the dim hall's light were shoved and folded between the pages of thick parchment. She tilted her head to the side and looked at Celestia.

"...Do you need something?" she said, voice low and hardly audible. The sound of a door opening at the farthest end of the hall would have been louder.

No, they had just bumped into one another during the dusk hours. Luna was often active through the nights while Celestia slept, something that had not happened during the pre-war times. There would be some weeks when she slept not at all, doing what she wished in the night hours, always alone, to take advantage of one of divinity's many blessings. Being able to forgo sleep, to some extent, was something that Princess Celestia preferred to utilize for work, if at all. Whatever Luna used it for... well, it was likely frivolous.

"I do need something of you — the mare that I sent to Canterlote barely a few sunrises ago, Sorrel Lace, do you remember her well enough?"

"A little; appearances art not everything I need to go off. You wish for me to find her?"

"I do, ensure that she is well. I am expecting mail from her soon... or I was. Do not frighten her with your manner, and if she is being mistreated, alert me immediately. I have trusted the safe spaces of Canterlote with dozens of ponies in the past — if she proves to be an exception, I shall hold whoever brings such evil to the vulnerable responsible. That is all I need of you." Celestia gave one short look to Luna's book. "Did you have plans?"

Luna nodded.

"Then they shall have to be put aside, and that shall be done at once. There is another land dispute with the buffalo that need to be resolved too. A small group of earth pony farmers has destroyed a burial ground on accident, and the buffalo are understandably upset. Their chief has requested to speak with me but I cannot have the number of supplies I will need to be packed in such a short time. I certainly will not be able to have a new gown commissioned for the occasion by the time the meeting is to be had. You know how the buffalo are, too. They do not appreciate such signs of high culture the way my little ponies do — and their territories are ever so far for me."

Luna's eyes widened just a little. "Destroying a burial ground on 'accident' is the excuse that is being suggested? How is it that a group could damage something so plainly marked that even the sands of the arid south exaggerate their presence? These ponies art blundering foals to manage such idiocy when it is within the buffalo cultures to have obvious sacred spaces. Tell me, was it after the first plot was destroyed or the eighth that they realized they were vandalizing a sacred burial ground?"

Celestia shot Luna a hawkish look that she had mastered from her years as a young mare among the unicorn tribe. It was one of the few things about her other than her height that she allowed to show off how truly imposing she could be, if needed.

Luna knew this look. She lowered her ears, ducked her gaze back under her bangs, and shifted away from Celestia slightly.

"Mine ponies art not fools. A single pony may be a fool, but many ponies art not, nor will they ever be. I shall be dealing with this dispute accordingly, if you continue to behave this way. You art going to Canterlote to find Sorrel Lace. Anypony in your position should not have such a low opinion of these good ponies that work and live under the skies we maintain. Am I clear?"

"Verily. Though, if the catacombs of Maris had been damaged by buffalo living in your kingdom, you would express disgust over the actions of the buffalo first. Here, you are blaming those who are vict—"

"What have I always said?" Celestia neglected to add 'since you were a filly' this time. She didn't want to...

"Ponies art mostly good."

Celestia smiled, trying to brush off Luna's remark instead of debating utterly baseless accusations of xenophobia, especially when it was Luna who was so obviously in the wrong. "And?"

Luna remained unreadable. "'Tis just another lie of yours." She held up a wing when Celestia opened her mouth to protest such a blatant falsehood. "There is a trip I must be making according to Her Royal Highness, thus I must prepare myself for travel."

With that spoken in an almost mild tone, Luna began her walk away, and Celestia did not stop her except for:

"You did not offer a good-bye."

And from down the hall, she received: "Farewell, princess," spoken with a quiet, lukewarm tone, largely unremarkable if it were said by a common pony and not Luna's peculiar cadence.

What Celestia had said had been an observation, not a request.

She walked on, not needing to look back at Luna, and let the night begin.

On the sixth day, Celestia attended to her schedule. She enjoyed her day and attending to all that was required to keep Equestria standing for another day — not that there was too much to worry about with Discord being imprisoned — and enjoyed some more time in her private garden, Philomena perched on her back and listening to Celestia sing so everything didn't feel so quiet. Even paperwork was better than silence, but that was a silly comparison, since Celestia didn't mind paperwork much. She retired early, not bothering to look at the moon rising above the forest.

On the seventh day, Celestia maintained the castle and Equestria with Philomena at her side, reviewing scrolls, writing speeches for upcoming events, partaking in tea with a Mustangian minotaur diplomat. She chatted happily with visiting Maretonian nobility until their departure, and sneaking in a half-hour of light reading a melodramatic novel revolving around a group of young mares who desperately wished to attend a ball to woo fine stallions. She only half paid attention to it, and that was mostly because Philomena kept pecking at the pages, especially when she drifted off into thought (a rare occurrence) to ponder if she could fit dancing lessons into a schedule as busy as hers. Would it be possible to convince a tutor to live in the wicked Everfree Forest with her?

And as she sat in the throne room, having just lowered the sun to make way for dusk and because her throne room was comfortable enough for her to scribble out a few slight concerns about a future meeting date.

Luna walked into the throne room, clad in her black cloak, one of her newer blades sheathed at her side, and saddlebags on her back. She said not a word and waited for a very confused Celestia to look up from her papers — which she did, after a moment — looking about with her confusion apparent.

"Where is Sorrel Lace? Has something happened to her?"

Luna nodded silently. Celestia could not see her face under her hood, only the wings, horn, and legs of Princess Luna were visible through her cloak, still dusty from her journey.

Now Celestia felt worried too. "What happened to her? Could you not find her? You knew exactly where to go, and I did tell you all you needed to know for your journey, so what is it that has prevented you from safely escorting Madam Lace through the Everfree Forest? You are stronger than any guard, or any pony! A mare who uses her magic so freely should know how to keep her safe, so why is she not here? Do you at least have a letter from her?"

"No," Luna said, and it was almost as though that one word took effort for her to say. She lit her horn, turquoise aura shining in the dim throne room as the light of dusk shone through where it could, and she reached into her signature saddlebags. They were the very same ones that once held her Elements of Harmony. From within, Luna withdrew a single object with her telekinesis.

It was only part of a whole object, but it was testament enough to Sorrel Lace's whereabouts.

Celestia stifled a gasp by clasping her forehoof over her mouth, unable to look for too long, but it was there, in front of her.

In Luna's magic was part of a thick, frayed rope — and it had clearly been cut away from something strong, like a beam.