The Ash of Fallen Stars

by Wings of Black Glass

Luna Dreams...

Luna dreams. Quite unlike every other pony.

Here in the realm of dreams, she can do anything. If the horizon bothers her she can lift mountains and move seas. If the heavens displease her she can paint the sky whatever color she wishes and rearrange the stars with only a thought. She can experiment with the past and the future and the now and the never. Relationships, physical or mental or emotional, they all bend and twist to her whims. Nothing is beyond her, nothing.

In dreams, she is a goddess.

Or not. There’s just one problem. None of it is real. If she wants, she can do anything within her dreams, but she rarely does.

Luna dreams. Just like every other pony.

Her reality is subjected to the random impulses of the unconscious mind as it processes the day's events. Images, feelings, probabilities, and impossibilities flit in and out of view, a mixture of color and sound and noise which cannot be truly understood or even truly remembered. Most of the time, dreams like this are simply lost.

In all those dozens or hundreds of formless expanses of wild what-might-be a few stand out. They can be understood, experienced, and remembered. Often they are amalgamations of events that have happened, or that might have. Perhaps a half-recalled stray thought leads down a street not once traveled. Or maybe an overheard conversation triggers a wild ride down an imagined river. These are what most recall and call dreams.

Luna dreams. Indistinct colors in the faint shape of a pony she knows walk about a castle that hasn’t stood intact in a thousand years, yet is still somehow recognizably Canterlot in that strange way that dreams work. The figure, bright and white, glides effortlessly past marble halls adorned in silver and gold and descends the staircase into the ballroom. A thousand multicolored eyes turn towards her and applaud, hoofs a rolling thunder on the sky below. Laughter and celebration in union as the sun rises to the horizon through the stained glass windows. White and color mix and swirl, dancing and swaying to music only they can hear. Everything mixes together like paint until each pony is recognizable only as a blotch of color.

Behind the sea of spiraling swells that is the party sits a single orb of a dark shade. It slinks behind pillars of alabaster stone, approached never by another. Where it goes it trails a path of inky black, but not because it wants to. Where it tries to get close to the party it finds itself pushed away, in fear or disgust or simple misunderstanding. These futile efforts continue until it gives up and hides in the corner, slowly melting away.

Out in the circle of color, there is another dark figure, not quite as shadowed, not quite as repulsive. Its eyes find the patch of darkness in the corner, and for a moment they are the only shapes in the room. Curiosity beckons the second to join the first, slipping through the mass of ever smiling faces until it stands nearby.

Cyan and neon-blue eyes meet, unblinking. One pony extends a hoof for the other, inviting them. The figure in the corner hesitates, unsure. With a shaking arm, reaches out to accept the invitation.

A new eye opens behind the blue, glowing red with dying embers. In the air between the two, a black pit opens, the sharp edge bleeding fire. All the dancers in their formless colors shriek and scream as they are drawn into the black hole. They spiral in, a vortex of light and loss as a cruel voice laughs. The vortex collapses in on itself, and the painted walls flash-burn into ash. Then all is still, silent, and only the two dark ponies remain in a ruined courtyard full of dust.

A hoof reaches out to the other. Despair swats it aside.

Luna blinks, one arm outstretched towards nothing. Was it to invite, or was it striking the other away?

“What an odd dream.” She blinks again, lying in bed, alone. Judging from the light leaking out under the curtains, it’s far too early to be up. Annoyed, she turns over and pulls the blanket up, facing away from the bright crack in an attempt to go back to sleep. The little bit of sunlight that reflects off the wall is still too much, even through closed eyes. Throwing an arm over her eyes finally blocks out the light, and she lets out a contented sigh.

The dream lingers in her mind. The imagery was vague and misleading, as many are. Had it meant something? Probably not. Still, the pony in the corner… so alone, had it been her? Or perhaps she was the one from the crowd? Either, neither, both?

“It doesn’t matter.” It was only a dream, one she was letting run wild as randomly firing neurons and impulses of an unconscious mind. After only a few more minutes of blissful quiet and roaming thoughts, her arm starts to tingle. At least her arm is sleeping. “Oh, that’s not fair.” Rather than let it go completely limp she hauls herself up and blearily looks about the room. She frowns at the cut of glaring sunlight coming from under the curtain. It hasn’t been more than half an hour, maybe less, than when she first woke. “Still too early.” A quick glance down at her pillow is all she gives herself before she sighs in resignation and slips out of bed. “May as well just get up.”

Her will opens the curtains a little more, and the room brightens. After some stretches to free up her joints, and get the blood flowing to her arm again, she slips on her decorative peytral. It doesn’t sit quite right, and she readjusts it a few times until it settles snugly into its proper comfortable position on her chest. A disheveled mare in the mirror tells her to brush her mane and tail, and she obliges before placing her crown where it belongs. Lastly, she slips her hooves into the shoes by the wardrobe.

“Remember, Luna, to smile.” She practices before the mirror, but the grin that her reflection gives back is most unsettling. A sigh later and her face settles into her more comfortable expression. Some might call it disinterested, or glum. To her, it’s just her face. Feeling properly prepared for the day at last, she turns towards the window and opens the curtains fully. She blinks against the blinding sunlight until her eyes adapt. “Good afternoon, Canterlot.” The beautiful city beyond the glass does not respond.

Hollow echoes of her hoofsteps click off the alabaster stone walls as she descends into the palace. Nopony is there to greet her when she steps into the dining hall. At least the fruit bowl on the table is full, and she snags a fresh pear before heading to the throne room. The twin chairs welcome her from atop their elevated place, both empty.

A brief flash of an ashen castle in ruin comes to mind, a remnant of her dream. The image sends a brief shudder down her spine, but it was never real. Where, then, is her sister? Wracking her mind for answers, she concludes that Celestia must be teaching at her school today.

Only when she steps out onto the balcony behind the two thrones and looks out over the city does she finally see another pony. A cluster of Pegasus flit past the palace, on to their business elsewhere. None of them are familiar to her, but simply seeing them fly by is reassuring after the dream and wandering the empty palace. Looking now at the city she can see Canterlot is awake and busy. The bulk of the populace is too distant to see clearly, but motion is apparent as ponies go about their day on the streets below. A small number of the royal guard patrol the city, from here little more than silver or gold specs as they move, just enough to be visible to assure everyone they are safe.

One of the tourists being shown the palace courtyard below points up at her, causing them all to gawk and murmur. She politely waves back, but it’s not a real connection, and a moment later she turns back into the cavernous throne room. The hollow halls hold no comfort for her, perhaps the gardens will lift her mood.

There is quiet among the trees and the grass and flowers. Not a wholly empty silence, as a few birds are singing elsewhere and small things move about when they think nothing is watching. Settled beneath the leaves of a maple tree, she waits for Celestia to return, alone.

Or perhaps not quite so solitary. Something shakes the leaves of a thin branch above her; a little tree swallow, hopping from twig to twig. In swift jerking motions, it turns its head side to side, watching her.

“Hello there, my little feathered friend.” Her soft words calm the animal, and it stops jumping about. “What are you up to, today?” It sings a few notes, short little chirps. “Alone?” It trills something affirmative. The flash of the pony in the corner comes back to her again, the dream still lingering. “I understand the feeling.”

Luna holds out a hoof and the swallow considers it. She holds herself stiff, letting the other make the decision to join her. She remains that way for a while until the bird finds her company acceptable and deigns to land on her raised hoof. The two gaze at each other, not really doing anything. The little bird’s white underside is a bright contrast to its black body and dark-blue wing feathers. Somewhere out in the garden, another swallow lets out a short song, and the bird on her hoof perks its head up, searching for the owner of the other voice.

“An acquaintance of yours?” The animal blinks and shakes its head. “You can go find them if you wish.” It hops once, turning around on her upraised hoof, and then looks back at her hesitantly. “You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to.” Birdsong from elsewhere again and the swallow darts off without another glance back. “Good luck, little feathery one.” But the swallow is already gone, disappearing beyond the trees as it searches for the other.

Luna considers the dream again, her face raised to the sky. One hoof had been reaching out to the pony in the corner. Had it been her reaching out? The clouds give no answer, not that she expected them to give one.

Motion through the windows of the palace draws her attention, perhaps Celestia has returned. Luna stands. Two birds, moving too quickly to identify, flit into view for just a moment before vanishing behind the hedges.

“You don’t have to be alone.”

Author's Note:

Part 1: "Luna and Twilight" begins.

Comments

[Luckyfanisaac]

One of the tourists being shown the palace courtyard below points up at her, causing them all to gawk and murmur. She politely waves back, but it’s not a real connection, and a moment later she turns back into the cavernous throne room. The hollow halls hold no comfort for her, perhaps the gardens will lift her mood.