• Published 26th Feb 2019
  • 15,942 Views, 5,832 Comments

Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl - Estee



Yesterday, she was a sweet, somewhat old-fashioned exchange student trying to find her place in a strange culture. Today, Centorea Shianus is a new world's greatest terror.

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Sapient

Those who had invaded the palace had believed it was a day which would change everything and in the case of the centaur, they had been right.

It was the day which had seen her gain a mark.
The day that found her leaving the palace, without going out of bounds.
Going outside.
In a way, even with the gardens and schoolroom, it had been a first time.
It wasn't the last.


In comparison to multiple Bureau-scheduled portions of the continent, Canterlot winters tended to be mild. This was supposedly due to Princess Celestia's personal preferences. The city's altitude already threatened to create problems on a near-daily basis, and when it came to the cold which could be found in the heart of the season... the Solar alicorn liked to stick with the crisp.

There was a little snow about, because the Bureau felt that a little snow sufficed -- most of the time. (There would always be at least one heavy storm on the schedule, because there were plants on the mountain which benefited from a snowpack: residents grumbled accordingly and tried to find out when the city plows were going to reach their section, followed by working out the bribe for getting the hauling ponies to trot down their home's approach path. Hot drinks frequently sufficed.) But the powder and flakes mostly clustered in the hollows between cobblestones, outlined where each rose and fell.

It all made for patterns of white overlaid on shimmer-grey. Something to observe at street level, as the pegasus and centaur moved through the Sun-lit city.

"And which way do we turn next?" Nightwatch asked Cerea. "Since we're going through the Heart -- no, don't look for stores! Um. And don't sniff the air. You can probably smell some of them, now that we're this close to the main shopping district. Use the street signs."

The girl looked. Found the nearest written indicator, adjusted her sightline because this was only her fourth patrol and she was still searching on the human level...

...It was a different kind of magic: one with no thaums involved at all. She beheld symbols, and felt them resolve into words.

"We turn left," Cerea confidently said.

"You're sure?" the little knight openly teased.

Cerea glanced at the hovering presence on her right.

She was still trying to figure out how hovering worked. Cerea knew flight was at least partially powered by magic: no pegasus had a wingspan suitable for their size or mass. But when it came to hovering... the wing flap rate was far too slow, fully inadequate, and still kicked up the kind of breeze which had the centaur feeling thankful that the air wasn't any colder. Cerea was already trotting around the city in full armor (which at least hid two very clear signs of how her body felt about the chill). It didn't need to be any worse.

"I'm sure."

Nightwatch nodded. "Left." The pegasus tilted her head in that direction, and Sun glinted from the helmet. There had been an insistence on one of them wearing a helmet and until Cerea completed the redesign and ponies got used to looking at centaur features, it was going to be the pegasus. "Let's go."

They started moving again. Multiple ponies watched them pass, and some did so while huddled in doorways. Others gazed out through whatever safety could be granted by window glass. But some were on the street, others were over it, and two trotted up to the patrolling Guards.

Well... one of them.

"You're the centaur," said the younger mare.

Cerea internally noted that the tendency of sapients to openly state the obvious had gone multi-species a long time ago and never looked back.

"My father... he..." began the somewhat older. And then she shivered, with her fur vibrating from something other than cold. "...we got him out. After the draining. But he heard that it might be happening again, and..."

That mare backed up a little. Looked up as best she could, directly into blue eyes.

"We saw the signs being posted a few days ago," the patina-bronze said. "We knew you'd be here. And... thank you." Hooves scraped at stone. "I just wanted to say thank you."

The girl held up a hand -- then wondered if the signal had been understood. But ponies sometimes raised a foreleg for the same purpose, and the two mares seemed to have understood the basic request: wait.

She reached up to her own throat. Gripped the disc, and nearly held her breath until the last of the wires had come away.

It was a rising sort of whinny: one which came with a pause in the middle, accompanied by an ear flick and the tiniest of snorts. It was also a somewhat timid "...you're welcome."

Nightwatch beamed. The two young mares made roughly six dozen noises of pony excitement between them and Cerea, who managed to catch about four of them, was forced to put the disc back on.

That public reaction was one of the things which tended to happen, when the centaur was in the city.

She was still fighting stories. But there were new tales in the world. And some of them were on her side.


It was a city day. There were also city nights, and those were somewhat more frequent. The girl was a Lunar, and nopony knew of a potion which allowed her to more-or-less casually flip the schedule. Reaching Sun took a deliberate effort. But the Princesses wanted the Guards to be working both shifts, so that each temporal side of the capital would come to know them.

All of the Guards.

There had been a bill introduced into the Night Court: one which wound up making the rounds in the company of the dark alicorn, because its true parent wanted nothing to do with it. But Luna had insisted on giving him all the credit, making sure to mention his name no less than seven times as she made her speech before the legislative body. And after the new laws had thunderously passed (with one notable abstention), the Princess had readily signed it.

It was a simple law, in its way. Something which really wasn't all that much to ask for. The original version had required that new Guards spend a few moons working with the city's police, trotting their patrols and moving among the residents. Letting the capital come to know them. And there had been just a touch of backdating for 'new hires' on that draft -- but Luna had decided to let it encompass the whole of the Guard, because she felt Canterlot needed to meet those who stood ready to save the world.

(The law, abandoned and disavowed by its creator, had still been named after Puff Weevil. It was one of two measures currently being enacted so that ponies might remember him, and Cerea wondered if he would ever consider it as an honor. At the very least, it meant his name had already entered the history books and given how his district was currently trying to recall him, he wasn't going to get the chance to do much else.)

So the whole of the Guard was going on patrol. They just weren't doing it all at once, because someone had to stay at the palace. The majority of shifts were shuffled around, occasionally traded, and frequently used as the stakes in wagers. And when it came to Cerea... it had been assumed that something was probably going to go wrong.

Accordingly, the palace had requested a consultant. Dejected Overcast had turned up within the hour, listened to every proposal, nodded twice, and then the jack had pointedly described exactly how they could expect most of it to turn on them. This was followed by providing measures to mitigate everything, because donkeys always planned for the worst. Stopping nearly everything was good for letting them find out what they'd overlooked.

Cerea didn't just casually go out into the city. Her shifts were set in something stronger than stone, and couldn't be changed without direct alicorn orders. The streets had to be prepared. Signs were posted several days before her arrival, announcing an upcoming Centaur Patrol Zone. Hours were declared, with boundaries set. The latest revision of the one-sheet was offered to everypony who lived and worked in the area. There were traveling discussion groups. Counseling tents. Anypony who didn't want to be there on Patrol Day received sufficient warning and had the chance to make other plans.

Of course, there were always a few whose true talent was for staying at least two weeks behind current events at all times, and so managed the rather impressive feat of coming across a fully unexpected centaur. For those sapients, there was a backup measure: pegasi with miniature storm clouds at the cold-splash ready. And drying wonders, because it was winter and the palace didn't want anypony to get sick.

There were still ponies being soaked, here and there. Because some would never read signs, or listen if they thought somepony was telling them what they should believe, or... change. But the girl went out on patrol at least once a week, and each occasion found more ponies willing to share the streets.

She had to keep going out there. Integration took work. Every day. To make them see her.

It was a crisp day in mid-winter, and she was with Nightwatch. Out and about in the city, about to pass through the Heart for the first time. A chance to see the shopping district: they'd both brought money accordingly. And there would be other things to look at, but that was just a matter of finding the right windows.

She was outside with her partner, in the capital, under Sun. But they weren't actually on patrol. That was just the excuse, and the palace knew it.

There were two very special destinations ahead and, somewhat annoyingly, Nightwatch had only told Cerea about the first one. But that initial true destination was something they'd been hoping to see for a very long time.

The current day was for the city. But there had been others.

Days and nights, as Sun and Moon were raised and lowered, and the cycle went on.


Some nights found her in the forge, because the mass armor refit was still underway and even if it hadn't been, she still would have made time to visit a friend.

The actual explanation of the girl's icon had left Barding somewhat disappointed.

"A centaur gets a mark," he grumbled at the moment his mouth was free again. (He'd been making and hanging replacement tools, because anything the invaders had used was now permanently suspect. There had also been several muttered notations regarding how he should have responded to the offense through breaking their bones, if only because the steel needed the dust.) "And you didn't even wind up with the right one."

The girl, who was tending to the fire, smiled.

"It's not as if I'm a real blacksmith," she told him.

The grumbling got louder.

"You're a blacksmith," eventually resolved itself in a wire-touched ear. "Your mark should have known it. Not even for forging a sword..."

Cerea, who was capable of recognizing an inadvertent, fully-sincere compliment and still had trouble actually dealing with them, operated the bellows with a little more force. (It was a hoof-driven matter, and she had to be careful not to stomp too hard.)

"Decided what you're wearing to the game?" Barding asked.

"Not yet." She was still trying to work out hoofball, especially since the disc had initially rendered it as 'rugby' and, after what had seemed to be a pause for thought, kicked in 'riot'. And she'd asked Nightwatch for a copy of the rulebook, hoping for some useful diagrams -- only to have the little knight lead her into the Canterlot Archives, where Cerea had been confronted with a hardcover which was larger than a pony, might have outmassed half a team, needed to have its pages turned by committee, and was non-helpfully labeled as Cart-Portable Edition.

All she really knew was three things: Barding loved the sport, they would be watching it from the stadium's private Princess Box, and it was absolutely not a date. The stallion just wanted to introduce the centaur to the thing he loved second-most in all the world. And she'd decided to go with him, because he'd come far enough to remember that second place could exist.

"The Box should be warm enough," Barding decided. "But you'll want to match the colors for the Express. Use a scarf for that. Minimum. I'll bring one in tomorrow and show it to you."

She nodded.

"We can weight the ends with some metal," the not-quite-recovered smith added. "Just to make sure it hangs properly."

They worked on peytrals for a while.

"Has your mark whispered yet?"

It had been a rather... soft sort of question. Something which carried within it no traces of metal at all.

"I..." was all the girl could initially manage.

"It's just the way most ponies think of it," Barding quietly said. "Like a whisper, only softer. But it's closer to a feeling, most of the time. When your soul knows there's something going on which involves your talent, and... tries to give you guidance. Has it?"

There had been a manifest, only... she hadn't realized that at the time. She'd thought it was a dream. And there had been a moment within the dream when she'd known exactly what she had to do...

"I don't know."

She turned, and did so just in time to watch the singed head complete a serene nod.

"It will," said one of the first to accept her. "It's a true mark. Time and circumstance, Cerea. It'll happen. And when it does... you'll know."


"So it was just the sign?" Nightwatch checked.

"Yes," entered the world on a current of minor insult. "I can read. A little. More every moon." Cerea sighed. "It was harder in Japan. There's so many more symbols involved."

"How did you manage?" the pegasus inquired, casually flapping along.

"A lot of the signs had translations posted," the girl admitted. "But those were usually in English --" the wires hissed "-- another language. So some of it was just memorizing paths. Reading was hard. I had to run most of my schoolwork through -- something like the disc, only with words displayed on glass. I was barely up to trying light novels."

"Light --"

"Most of them weren't worth the trouble."

"Oh."

"And," the France native declared with no trace of perceived irony whatsoever, "the titles were too long."

The pegasus visibly tabled the questions for later.

"You read the signs," she said. "What did you scent?"

"Um," the girl tried. "Um..."

"Cerea..."

"There's a chocolate shop somewhere up ahead. And what has to be a butcher --"

"-- Gristle's," Nightwatch quickly broke in, "has multiple effects in place to keep the odors confined --"

"-- and that doesn't keep everyone from carrying their purchases home."

The pegasus winced. "What else?"

"Glass," Cerea eventually announced, and the afterthought nose wrinkled. "Not the windows. It's glass with dyes mixed in. The kind you shape into fake jewels. And there's some really cheap fabrics --"

"-- that's probably Barneigh's," Nightwatch decided. "We don't need those windows. Just about nopony does." With a little sigh, "They don't even have a good Hearth's Warming display."

"A good --" the girl started.

"-- enchantments. Usually on moving figures. Some of the big stores go with clockwork." She smiled. "Next year, we get you out here in time to see the holiday decorations. Anywhere else?"

"There's an herb shop," Cerea definitively announced. "I'd like to stop there. And I can smell a camera store."

The pegasus nodded. "It's the best one in the city. It has to be. When it's being run by relatives of the inventors..." She glanced up, found the nearest clock tower. "We should have time."


Reactions come in multiple scales. Local. Global. There's the personal, and sometimes it turns into the seismic. Because there is a world beyond Canterlot, and it's still trying to sort some of this out.

Of course, events in the capital have an effect. For starters, when it comes to the lawsuits which were being brought against the griffons who had been startled into using their magic during Fancypants' party? Dropped, mostly out of embarrassment. It isn't a good time to move against those who are seen as being on the side of the centaur.

Equestria sent thanks to every nation whose embassy came to the aid of their friends, and... that was most of the planet. (Not all. There are countries which have yet to place their flag on the Row. Some simply refused to come, while others are waiting to be discovered.) Gifts were offered. There was also a party to honor every participant, once they were all healthy enough to attend. And after that finally wrapped up about two hours before Moon-lowering, multiple species tried to trade hangover cures, to poor effect.

But when you look beyond the borders...

Tirek is dead. No one's willing to publicly say that's a bad thing, and the sisters suspect that some of the quietest nations may be trying to figure out exactly how the magical drain worked. Spies are being dispatched accordingly, mostly to save the experimenters from themselves.

The true monster is dead. But there's still a centaur. One with magic, and a mark. And if there has to be a centaur...

It's Equestrian. Then... shouldn't it be? It seems to be doing some good there, because we're all going to agree (in public) that being rid of Tirek is a good thing. The alicorns can keep an eye on it. Besides, there's only the one...

National reactions. For the most part, they're favorable. Mazein has the benefit of a firsthand report, and Protocera is always going to have a soft spot for anyone who protects children. Prance, however, grumbles, mutters insults to itself, lifts its collective snout in the most snide manner possible, and fails to see that if there ever was a non-magical way to get them off the planet, multiple countries would volunteer to help push.

But when you focus more finely...


The journalist is alone in the Tattler offices, deep under Moon. There's an argument to be made that the needs of her profession and mark had put the mare among the dark alicorn's charges, and nopony has ever been stupid enough to bring that debate directly to her snout. Still, she's perfectly aware that freedom of expression laws fall into the Lunar dominions. She just doesn't think about that very much.

She wishes she knew more ways to not think about things. Sometimes it feels as if the bottles just aren't doing the job any more.

As if she's mostly drinking just to --

-- she's working on a story. Every aspect of her typewriter was personally checked over, because she's a professional. And she'll stay at her desk until the composition is complete, then deliver the results to the presses herself.

But she's having trouble finding the words or rather, she can't identify the proper distortions. Because her editor wants a retrospective. The centaur panic, as with the Diamond Dog before, is... fading. And perhaps a reminder of what ponies are supposed to be afraid of will stir the pot.

But her mind keeps wandering, and it feels as if the bottles would only send her thoughts further adrift. As it is, she's slipping down the timeline. Delving into the past.

Oh, she's back at the Tattler: the alicorns managed to accomplish that much. There were questions when she proudly trotted back in -- eventually, and she finally told her editor that she was under no obligation to answer any of them because he'd already fired her six times in four minutes. That observation had bought her enough time to tease what she'd really been working on, and...

...she doesn't quite understand fishing, except as a perversion practiced by griffons or worse, some of the ponies who own cats. But any good journalist knows how to set a hook.

It got her back onto the staff, just in time to attend the next Diarchy press conference. The one where the alicorns tried to sell their version of Tirek's fate (and the mare knows some things were left out) to the world. It also put her within questioning distance of the centaur, but... she hadn't really used the opportunity. They had very little to say to each other and besides, there was just about no point in asking anything. Not when the journalist had been there for so much of it, and...

...it wouldn't have been published.

In her opinion, the paper's management completely knackered their treatment of the assault on the palace. But when it came to the press conference, they'd had a plan. The headline, the front page, the entire lead section -- all of that had been the story she'd brought in. The rest of the city had gone with conference and centaur, but the journalist had been the only one to tap her sources in Maremmano and do the hoofwork which led to the palace-humiliating reveal of The Vermicelli Incident.

(She briefly considered looking into what the younger alicorn had said. The part about the elephants. And then she realized that any hint which had been dropped in the open to that degree was designed as a setup. They were obviously trying to make the mare follow a fake trail: something which probably led into realms of falsely-Classified material and a chance of prison time. They're not getting her that easily.)
(As excuses go, it's a convenient one. The bottles haven't been touching it.)
(Besides, elephants are supposed to smell really bad. And there's no way the paper is paying for a trip to Pundamilia Makazi anyway. The mare is usually lucky to get a refund on a train ticket into Ponyville.)

...it had been a boring press conference anyway. Uninformative, not that she ever expected the alicorns to say anything real. Most of the entertainment had come from watching them both canter around the very concept of the girl having a herd somewhere. And as for how she'd wound up with a mark? The elder had, with expression fully controlled, simply proposed that a centaur was just that much like a pony. Besides, ponies weren't the only species with marks. Zebras possessed them. And now, so did centaurs. There was a known magical test for a true mark, and they were happy to conduct it in front of witnesses. So if the assembled reporters would simply accept that it had been an exceptionally late manifest...

A boring press conference, made all the worse for knowing how she would have dealt with the story.

So the centaur had killed Tirek? The palace should have executed him in the first place! As far as the mare is concerned, the majority of what supposedly passes for heroism these days is mostly the alicorns getting someone to clean up their old messes. So if the centaur was at any risk, that's the palace's fault --

-- she's heard that the dark alicorn wanted Tirek killed at the start. The mare trusts her sources there. She could --

-- of course, if the palace had executed him, the mare would have had a story at the ready. The central theme would have been hypocrisy. The palace claims to believe in reform and here they go, killing someone. Well, where would the world be if they'd done the same to Discord? She could have gotten multiple articles and columns out of that one, all of which would have freely contradicted what she'd written once the planet had learned that the draconequus had effectively been paroled. Something which hadn't really gone over well with anyone, to the point where even Raque had hinted at misgivings...

...the mare can contradict herself from one column to the next. It doesn't matter. When it comes to doing the math, her readership only cares about seeing the sum total work out to The Palace Is WRONG. She can make anything the alicorns do into the exact opposite of what they should have done. It's her...

...her -- job.

And she has to remind her readers that letting the centaur out is wrong.

Except that... the fear is fading. For so many, it's already faded, and there are a number who can barely remember why they were supposed to be frightened in the first place. You can only keep the boiler running on a single source of fuel for so long, and then... it all starts to become normal. And even if it wasn't... Tirek is dead. Everypony knows who killed him. They can place a name and a face and a now-unique body configuration on that feat. How do you put pressure on an entire city when the centaur is now seen as a safety valve?

(What had happened in the past, when she'd turned the boiler up too high?)
(She can't think about that.)
(She wants to think about a bottle.)
(She wants to...)
(...how is she supposed to ever...)

The Tattler can't. Not for the capital as a whole, and the mare certainly never could. It was just her readership. And when it comes to that audience...

The mare does a lot of things to get her stories. Some of them require skills gained from growing up in the Tangle, and can't be managed in the presence of witnesses. Breaking into the accounting offices of her own newspaper was easy. And it put her in possession of the truth. As far as she's concerned, that's a rare custody -- although being completely unable to print it feels all too common.

She's seen the numbers. The real ones.
The Tattler is dying.

It's guilt by association, because so much about the paper is associated with the guilty.

(The Tattler hasn't been covering the trials. But the mare is hearing things. A popular defense for the now-jailed was to claim that agents of the palace had made them do everything. The bolder directly accused other members of being those agents and because the alicorns have something resembling a sense of humor, that seems to have had a direct effect on cellmate assignments. Blame anypony, unless it's the one residing in their own skin.)

Here we have a Tattler district. The neighbors agree with each other on certain topics, isolate themselves into a bubble of pleasant echoes and vote accordingly. Deliveryponies go into those neighborhoods in order to drop off the subscription copies. Well, now there are homes which have papers piling up in front of the door, because nothing's getting forwarded to the prison. And Canterlot knows that so many of the invaders were Tattler readers, they associate the paper with the attack, the deliveryponies keep quitting because they're tired of being glared at on the way in and out of what was meant to be a safe haven, and the mare knows her publisher isn't going to start sending the editions in plain brown envelopes. Fake one-sheet covers displaying a new paper's masthead are right out. And in part, it's because the owners are cheap. The mare's known that for a long time, and gets a reminder every time she puts in for a raise.

She knows the owners are too cheap to consider camouflage measures. But for the first time, the numbers say they can't afford them.

Some subscribers are in jail. Ponies don't want to be seen picking the latest edition up at newsstands. That has an effect, and those changes in the sales figures pale in comparison to what's happening with the advertising. Because it's guilt by association, and who in the capital wants to have their ad space associated with the Tattler? Barnyard Bargains pulled out moons ago, and after the attack...

...there's only so many conspiracy magazines in the world. A maximum number of con artists selling suspect seeds. (No Earth Ponies Required! No Soil! Just Place In Sunlight And Wait!) Those who will still purchase ad space aren't enough to let the paper turn a profit, not without effectively quintupling the sales figures and...

...the office is empty. Part of that is because she's deep under Moon. Some of the rest comes from having already seen several staffers carry their recently-searched possessions out the door.

The Tattler is dying. Centaur-based sensationalism won't save it. And eventually, the owners will decide that's the mare's fault. They'll find somepony else to operate the boiler, then blame the steam for not rising. And -- when that happens, what will the mare do?

Who would even hire her? Because this is all guilt by association, even when she helped, and...
...she couldn't tell anypony that. Not if she hoped to return to her job. Her life.
But she's going to lose her job. Soon.
And everypony associates Wordia Spinner with the Tattler.

Is she supposed to start her own paper? Using what for money, exactly? Besides, she's not cut out for management, much less Editorial. It's too far from the action.

...the palace...
...it was a joke. Public Relations department. Ha. Ha.
...she just typed that. On instinct.
Laughter always looks so stupid when it's written down.

...ultimate insider. The chance to investigate...

...she's not that desperate.

The mare knows she's going to need a new job. Soon. But there's some time left. She'll come up with a plan. Right now, she has a typewriter, a blank page, and it's so late at night that nopony is going to check her work. So what is she going to write, in the name of a cause which was already lost?

She looks at the bottle.

It takes a while to get a first draft out. The mare isn't exactly happy with it. She's being asked to run a boiler which is leaking from every surface, and the quality suffers accordingly. The heat isn't there. There's no way to polish this manure, let alone use it as fuel --

-- another look at the bottle.

She inspects the story again.

Two changes. A notation that Princess Luna did want to have Tirek executed (which can be proven), and... using the centaur's actual name.

It's all she has, with deadline approaching. Space needs to be filled, especially when the advertisers aren't doing it. So she takes the article down to the lowest levels, personally sets the type because it saves a little time, and goes home. There's a better bottle at home.

The journalist tries to drink herself to sleep. It doesn't work.

...the drinking part doesn't fully work.

She falls asleep, in time. But she changed two little things, and drinks just that much less.


The high-end stores in the Heart were mostly annoyed. Traffic did tend to drop when the centaur was in the area, but... what could they say? It was hard to take a chance on irritating the palace, and when it came to openly turning away someone who'd arguably saved the world -- well, yes, more than half of them did have the Bearers on the ban list, but that was justified. Those mares had a known chaos and destruction level of Discord On Holiday. The centaur was trying to move carefully and, after a single peek through the doors, had demonstrated the common sense not to risk the cordial shop. And at least she was spending --

"Nightwatch."

"...what?" asked a rather distracted pegasus, who was still staring at the front cover of the magazine rack's most prominent issue. Something which featured a mare of roughly the same size. One whose wings were noticeably smaller, with carefully-trimmed feathers and a remnant of tail that mostly existed to show where the dock went --

-- a hand came down in front of the mare's snout, and covered just about all of the fashion title's picture.

"Hey!"

"That's not healthy," Cerea firmly said. "I would know."

The centaur was spending. But only when she wasn't keeping her partner from doing the same.

They tried moving to another section of the bookstore. A stallion briefly stopped them. It took some time to find something Cerea could sign. Drawing a hand superimposed over a hoof was right out.

He also asked to see her mark. But the armor was present, she hadn't put the icon into that portion yet, and...

...she didn't like the little curtains which had been sewn into nearly all of her skirts. But she understood why they were necessary. Ultimately, the little horses just wanted to find a sign which said that she was a little like them. And... that was it. Their proof.

She couldn't show him, not while covered in metal. But she did sketch it, and then the mares moved on.

"And there they are," Nightwatch finally said. "Um. What's left of them. And we've only got the three titles so far."

Cerea quietly examined the remaining thick album boxes.

Audiobooks.

Her partner -- her business partner, who had set up the entire enterprise without telling her, while making sure Cerea was set to collect all due credit and the bulk of the profits -- had been rather busy.

It had taken a lot of effort. Finding authors who were willing to try putting their stories into a new medium -- that had been the easy part. But then the little knight had ventured out to Saratoga Way. Over and over again, delving into the capital's theater district for those who would be willing to perform. And then she'd needed directors, editors, there had been an absolute requirement for sound equipment...

Every part of that called for money. And in a sense, Nightwatch had been able to fulfill the need. The little knight had a bag of ancient coins: an old gift from Princess Celestia, as something to be passed to future generations. The pegasus had simply taken out a bank loan against their value. It was almost paid off.

"We can do more when we fold in some of the profits from the first few," Nightwatch said. "Um. Eventually. I took part of that out already. You'll see why later." She went up to the first box. "The owner says they're selling nicely. But not perfectly. I was hoping they'd go faster. Especially when the production came out so well."

Cerea had listened to a portion. The performers had committed, with the director quickly realizing the limitations of an audio-only medium and hiring a narrator accordingly. But...

"They're not portable," the centaur observed. Which, in her opinion, was part of what held back sales. Ponies could only truly listen at home.

"Well, no," Nightwatch agreed. "You can't really carry a gramophone around all the time. Unless you're a centaur. And then it would be strapped to your lower back. Which doesn't sound comfortable --"

"-- my audiobooks are smaller."

"How small?"

Fingers formed a phone-sized rectangle.

"That's one book?"

The centaur was suddenly very aware of how many ponies hadn't left the store.

"...no."

"No," Nightwatch repeated.

"It can be over a thousand -- I can't tell you right now or the wires are going to hiss down the charge. Where do you want to go next?"

"You wanted the herb shop," the stunned pegasus managed. "Or we could go into the games place. And yell at them. For publishing all of the things you talked about at the party."

Cerea shook her head. It might be possible to recover some portion of the rights, but... they both intended to stay in the Guard. Nightwatch had mostly gone for the audiobooks to fund Cerea's entrance into Equestrian society, and -- something else. Neither wanted to go into business full-time.

But if it ever was ever truly necessary, the girl (who had multiple witnesses to her status as originator) had the option to simply contact a publisher and do the whole thing all over again, only adding a precisely-translated rulebook for each and the word 'original'. (She suspected the company would insist on including 'centaur' somewhere.) But she wasn't sure it mattered. It felt as if games belonged to the world. And by giving them up, she'd found yet another way to prove she wasn't a monster. She'd let herself be exploited, and even done so in a way which kept her blouse intact.

They went back out. The herb shop was next, and Cerea made multiple carefully-considered purchases. After that, they were just about on top of the camera store.

The girl had been sketching more than ever. She'd finally started to draw ponies. (Nightwatch had been first, and it had taken nearly an hour before the pegasus had stopped wriggling. The palace had been recorded. Both Princesses.) It was all things she could take back. But there was nothing wrong with getting a camera. Taking a few pictures. She'd set aside part of her salary as the budget, and then Nightwatch had told her to add more because there was a universal constant for cameras: you never had enough money.

They approached the store, and Cerea carefully examined the stock which was displayed in the front window. Some of it actually seemed familiar. Not just the styles which the reporters had been carrying, but items old enough to have made their way into the gap. And quite a bit of it had been designed for operation by hand --

-- she looked at the window.

Then she looked through it.

"...that," the girl whispered, "is an ageláda."

The little knight tried to follow her gaze.

"Um," her partner considered. "Yes. Minotaurs invented cameras. This shop is run by the inventor's relatives. Um. Descendants, by now. That's why it's so good. They have a direct line to the best imports --"

"-- is that normal?" Cerea just barely voiced. "Her size?"

"Height?" The pegasus visibly searched her memory. "I was only in Mazein for a few weeks, when the Princesses went there. Um. It's a long story. I'd have to check and see how much of it you're cleared for. But I think she's a little taller than average --"

"-- her size!" the girl hissed. "Is that average?"

Nightwatch looked up at her roommate, and then checked the exact viewing angle.

"...I think so," she finally said. "Maybe she's a little bigger than most of them. But it was only a few weeks -- Cerea!"

With audible distraction, "...what?"

"Are you smirking?"

Far too innocently, "I am?"

"That's a smirk! You're smirking just because you're larger than she is! That's -- that's... um. Is that petty? I don't know if that's petty. Or cultural. But I'm not going to nuzzle her. Not in public. Minotaurs don't do that sort of thing. -- you're still smirking --"

"-- if you're going to be a girl," the relaxed centaur said, "then there's nothing wrong with being a big one."

"And you're clutching at that bag from the herb shop."

"I am?" was a rather poor falsehood.

"I thought you were getting seasonings," Nightwatch said. "But you barely use salt. Just a few grains. Goat's rue. Fennel. Red clover and watercress. And that's just what I saw. What's all of it for?"

They have a lot of uses was fair. But they all had one thing in common. And the centaur body was designed to support a considerable amount of mass.

I might be able to do better with some changes in diet...

"...nothing," Cerea lied. "Do we have time to get lunch?"


In the present, the centaur is making her way through the city, with her somewhat-suspicious partner staying close.

Two weeks prior, Cerea had seen the draconequus try something new.

Watching Discord repeatedly offering thanks was like witnessing someone working out a muscle for the first time. The first signifier of internal location usually came from feeling the increasing strain, and most of the followup was spent in waiting for a ligament to tear. Something about his expression suggested that overuse of gratitude put significant stress on his lips, along with silently stating that he really should have tried a few warmup reps first.

But he'd insisted on meeting all of the pegasi who had defended Summit Tower. Limped his way along the line, speaking to them one by one. And he tried... but by the time they all trotted out, it had become clear that he just wasn't very good at thanking ponies.

Then the Princesses had let the surprise enter the room, and it had turned out he wasn't all that much better at being thanked.

Diamond and Sweetie kept rearing up on their hind legs, trying to reach him. At one point, it almost felt as if they were attempting to climb him. And he awkwardly twisted atop his crutches, fought for words as the Rich and Belle families watched from the other side of the room, finally said that he would have saved anypony who was about to be stepped on and the fillies, in that worst and best way of all children, still found a way to make it mostly about them.

He was no good at thanking others, and he wasn't much better at being thanked. In both cases, it was probably due to lack of experience and when it came to having happy children nuzzling at his legs, he was a complete loss.

He had been the enemy, once. The foe to the world entire. But he had changed. He had saved the world. And there were more thanks to come.


It was a private party.

The head of Immigration hosted at least one every year. It was usually based around Homecoming, for those of his charges who had no family they could reach. And his wife was a perfectly lovely mare who was used to having lots of different species around, the children were numerous and polite and everywhere, and the backyard was marked with the prints from hooves and feet and stranger things because every single arrival served as someone who could get involved in a game.

Cerea had attended with Yapper, who hadn't gone before. (The canid had grumbled about 'Not make this habit'. And then she'd come along anyway.) The centaur had tried to help Tarter cook: Crossing Guard's spouse had carefully corrected her lack of seasoning. And then they'd all wound up in the cold backyard, where Cerea had tried to come up with something that everyone could play. The terminal syllable very much applied, because the majority of her citizenship class had shown up.

After some thought, she'd chosen football. And then she'd failed.

...it was the anatomy! What good was restricting hand use to goalies when just about no one had hands to start with? You couldn't forbid the use of forelegs! (She'd briefly tried. Some of the kicks had become exceptionally awkward.) And what about wing strikes? Because the griffons had figured out wing strikes in a hurry. Plus there was a natural problem associated with getting a unicorn to header the ball, but it only occurred once.

But at least she'd made them all laugh. It was a decent trick, especially for a girl who didn't consider herself to be the least bit funny.

She'd been much better at helping to clean up than to cook, even if it took a lot of work to move around the kitchen without breaking anything. And afterwards, she'd gone outside into the chill air under a waning Moon, to find her lone cattle classmate staring out into the night. Just... staring, while the forehooves lifted and dropped. Over and over.

It had been natural, to ask what was wrong.

"I want to go back," he'd told the night, because it seemed as if he was barely aware of her. "I'm only myself as long as if I stay away from the herd. It's hard to think. To be the only one thinking. I try to stay around everyone else, but it's not the same. It's not enough. I... want someone else to think. I want to stop..."

She didn't understand cattle.
(She barely understood ponies.)
But she knew about striking out on her own.
About moving away from orders.
About... telling yourself everything you had to do. And instantly becoming convinced that every decision had been wrong.
Wondering if you should go back, if only to switch sources of pressure. Internal for external.
She didn't understand cattle. But she understood him.

They talked.

After a while, he agreed to stay.

But there would be another relapse. There always was. It was a battle, to stay independent and healthy and -- yourself.

His herd was out there. So was hers.

His still called to him.

She didn't care what her mother thought any more.


The girl had left the draconequus to his admirers after that. (Ignoring the faked pleas for rescue felt like standard policy.) She had to properly go on shift, and that meant meeting her Princess.

She'd been thinking about a lot of things, and some of them needed to be discussed with Luna. Cerea just wasn't sure she was ready to voice the main subject yet. The thoughts themselves felt too big, and... it was going to be a lot to ask. She knew it.

She'd been thinking about the world...

But as it turned out, she would have had ample opportunity to bring up the topic -- if she'd just been willing to talk. And the problem was a rather frequent one for the girl: stories. Because the dark alicorn had wrapped up her paperwork early, had no special duties waiting, was in possession of some rather unexpected free time, and had decided to -- read.

There wasn't much Cerea could do in that situation, because she never wanted to interrupt somepony while there was reading to be done. It left her watching as the Princess selected a book, then trotted through the palace until a suitable room was located. Something with a view of the structure's front, and all the ponies occupying the space beyond.

The protesters were gone. These ponies were on the repair crews. Some of them were outside the walls, the majority were inside, and they usually made a lot of noise.

Days of inspection had allowed the alicorns to identify exactly where and how the sabotage had taken place, and now the palace defenses were being changed to prevent that from ever happening again. The gates themselves were simple enough to repair, but... the palace had a certain degree of inertia. It was hard to make changes to any building which had stood for so much time -- unless something had gone drastically wrong. And given a disaster for a non-excuse, the Princesses had seized the opportunity and announced a redesign.

The gates were being replaced. The artwork was being repaired. Princess Celestia had reportedly spent four hours surrounded by ancient papers, only issuing the reluctant order for the restoration of the yak sculpture at the very last. Yapper had been temporarily granted her own crew, and the best way to describe any orders given was 'barked'.

It all made a lot of noise, and the Princess didn't seem to be very interested in casting any sound-muffling spell. She simply took up a position on a well-padded bench, nosed open the book, and began to read. All Cerea could do was watch.

Watch, and think.

It's a lot to ask for.
They probably won't do it.
It won't work...

Pages turned. Chapters went by. The girl did her best not to pace. Fought to keep her ears from retreating under her hair, as the cacophony of the rebuild sounded around them. And her Princess simply read on.

Where would it even start?
What would I say?
Should I say anything?
They won't --

For what happened next, there was no extra sound. The alicorn had been very careful about that. There was no additional noise, and nothing of note to be found within sight. But neither was the girl's primary sense, and her nostrils flared.

She looked at where her Princess was peacefully reading on the bench. Watched another page turn. And then the centaur took five abrupt steps forward, and dropped her right hand onto the center of the alicorn's perfectly-camouflaged back.

Chill immediately shot up her arm. And then it stopped, because it was a choice between that or frostbite, and the Princess wasn't quite ready to go that far.

"Very well," announced a frustrated voice from a patch of what was now lightly-rippling air. "How?"

Cerea didn't say anything.

"The illusion is perfect," the disgruntled mare announced. "Unlike this one, because I see no need to continue going through the exhausting effort of perfectly matching my surroundings when you clearly know where I am. But that is simply myself, upon the bench. I even glanced ahead by several pages and made sure to reproduce the text. You should not have noticed anything for several minutes. At a minimum."

The quiet maintained.

"I am perfectly capable," the alicorn stated, "of taking care of myself. If I make the decision to spend a night in the capital..."

There was a perfectly good bench available. The silence got comfortable.

"Let go," Luna ordered.

"No."

"I believe," came a not-quite-tight voice as the alicorn's normal hues reappeared under Cerea's palm, "that as your Princess, I can give you an order --"

"-- which I can disobey," Cerea calmly cut in, "if that order is meant to let you ditch your Guard."

The alicorn grumbled to herself for a few seconds.

"You are very annoying. Nopony is this annoying."

"I'm not a pony," the girl peacefully said.

"I am aware of my verbal choices," the alicorn shot back. "It is an honorific."

The girl had no response for that.

...you have at least a hundred ways to get out of this.
I'm probably underestimating by a lot.
You could get away at any time...

"How long," the dark mare abruptly asked, "do centaurs live?"

Cerea blinked.

"I have asked a question," her Princess observed. "I do not expect you to predict your exact lifespan. A species average will suffice. But an answer is required."

"...for mares?" (The alicorn nodded.) "About a hundred and forty years."

She was large for a liminal, and that tended to shorten lifespan -- but centaurs had redundant organs. Backup systems. And still, the number was much shorter for stallions, and the girl wasn't sure why. It might have been all of the testosterone.

She... hadn't really thought about what it meant, to compare her own potential span with Kimihito's. It had just felt like something they could have dealt with, if she'd just found a way to win.

"Why?" the girl asked.

"I am attempting to discover approximately how long I am expected to put up with this."

It was a test. The girl was almost sure of that. She'd been spending a lot of time with the alicorn, and...

Being a Guard involved a lot of duties, and they could be different for each sapient who donned the armor. Cerea did everything she could to keep her Princess alive: that was universal.

It was probably somewhat more rare for a Guard to be asked if she would just listen for a while. Because alicorns kept secrets, right up until they didn't. But they needed someone who would share them. And they never told you everything, because there just wasn't enough time -- but there would be another night.

The dark mare was prone to depressive cycles, especially when fear had arisen uninvoked. It was best that she have someone nearby during those times. Personal experience meant Cerea was more than equipped to recognize a spiral, and could do so well before it reached the center.

Sometimes the duties included holding her Princess. Cradling the cool head against her breasts, until the mare fell asleep. (It was another reason to look for herbs.)

In a way, it had all ended when the dark alicorn had first welcomed her. Asking Cerea to stay.

You had to save each other.

The alicorn was quiet.

"I think I may resent those taller than I," she eventually said. "Which once meant resenting just about everyone in the world. It was something of a full-time occupation. Which I grew out of. Literally. And you are bringing it all back."

Cerea didn't say a word.

"Very well," Luna finally sighed. "Then come with me. Is there any particular film which you have interest in seeing? This feels like a good night for the cinema."

"We can look at a newspaper." The girl paused. "You'll have to read it to me. And... after the show... I need to ask you something."

"Oh?"


By the time they returned -- or, more realistically, snuck back in -- the white horse was already up.

Cerea hadn't meant to bring Luna into full view of the older sibling. She'd simply been taking her own Princess back to the bedroom, and the Solar alicorn had just happened to be near those doors. And when it came to explaining exactly where they'd been, what had happened along the way, and why the Princess Box Maximum Capacity sign was now being nailed up... that struck her as being Luna's problem. Cerea was just the Guard. Her Princess had gone somewhere. She had come along and Guarded.

The girl was also sleepy and, in the presence of royalty, turned the junior over to the custody of the senior. Then she yawned, blinked a few times, eventually remembered how to reach the barracks, and then trotted off to call it a day.

The sisters watched her go.

"Do I get an explanation?" Celestia asked. She'd been careful to hold the query back until the girl was out of sight, hearing, and what the elder was hoping was effective scent range.

"Eventually," Luna decided. "After I work out exactly what it should be. Do you wish to share a meal?"

"Please."

They began to trot together. Matching the pace.

"I'm glad you have a seneschal again," the elder offered. "She's good for you."

"Yes," the younger quietly decided. "She is."

They passed a few doors, and did so in solitude. The shifts were changing and even with the repair crews at work, the palace was its most peaceful.

"Although we are using 'knight' for now," the dark mare added. "It may be more suitable."

The white horse nodded.

"'Good for me'," Luna semi-repeated. "Yes. The first since Diviner." Her eyes briefly closed. "And yet... one day, I will still have to say goodbye."

A little too quickly, "Luna --"

"But... perhaps it will be for a good reason," the younger added. "Because with Cerea, there may come a time when I simply watch her go home." Which was followed by a soft sigh. "Have you found a chance to survey the headlines this morning?"

"Yes."

"Is the Vermicelli story beginning to fade?"

"Barely." It was the elder's turn to sigh. "It's something I try not to think about. That I can look back at nearly thirteen centuries of rulership -- and count them as the total number of mistakes and humiliations. I still haven't told you about eighty percent of the things I fell into without you."

"...truly?"

It was a fully innocent inquiry, and it mostly served to prove that the younger hadn't been Honesty either. Because now Luna was going to start looking...

The elder pushed back the horror, and forced herself to trot on.

"At least a third of them wouldn't have happened if you'd been there to save me."

"Truly," was heavily dripping with satisfaction.

"The rest would have been much worse."

Luna thought about that.

"Does my theoretical presence render the revised events sufficiently humiliating as to give Wordia Spinner another story?"

"Worse," Celestia firmly declared. "I'm just hoping your little stunt put her off the elephants. Forever."

"Yes. Well. There was another option."

"There was?"

"It could have been the alpacas."

Both siblings groaned. Each checked their path as they approached the intersection. A brief argument about where to dine ended with their turning left.

"I love you, Luna."

"And I you, Tia."

They trotted for a time.

"I got an update from the Tartarus team," Celestia told her sibling as they entered a known privacy zone. "The earth ponies managed to seal the breaches. But the plants... it's too early to know if they'll recover. Nopony can tell if the corruption will fade, much less if there's a cure. And everything else has to be directly reverted or destroyed."

"So we may have to guard the Classified zone with somewhat more force," Luna considered. "Always another problem..."

"At least it keeps us moving forward," the elder darkly considered. "Another issue to chase."

Two more turns. There was a quick attempt to make Celestia say 'anyfrog'.

"Cerea has made a request," the younger eventually said. "A rather interesting one. I wish to discuss it after the meal. I believe you will be amenable."

"I'll listen," the elder promised. "What's it been like?" And, quickly clarifying, "Just talking to her."

"Intriguing," Luna allowed. "She is rather more intelligent than I would have originally suspected."

The younger paused. Looked up and down the corridor. Listened, just before a hidden corona negated all chance of eavesdropping. The elder, knowing the magic represented no danger, didn't pay any real attention to it. The flow of thaums, or the glint of mischief in her sibling's eyes.

"In fact," Luna announced, "she recently shared something with me. A fact she had worked out of her own accord. You might call it an... astronomical observation."

"Oh?" asked the distracted elder.

Luna told her.

The spell prevented eavesdropping. It also nicely muffled the sound of Celestia's stunned form rebounding off two separate walls.


It begins as a day much like any other. That's how the ibex prefer it.

Weather control isn't a direct part of their dominion. The pegasi claimed that in the time before tales, and they arguably disrupt more than manipulate. And the ibex view innovation with suspicion, discourage experimentation as an act which so clearly borders on the mad. Tolle Hörner has yet to ask his people whether a massed direction of their energies into the sky could force a weather system to stay just as it is, or calm that which threatens to harm. Stabilize. Perhaps he never will.

It is a day much like any other, because winter in the mountains has a predictable and welcome sameness to it. There is cold, there is snow, and it's going to last for a while. Those who live within the Höhenburg's perfect defenses can look out over their people and see the same thing they see every day. The same ibex, going to work along the same sloping paths. And they pass the patch of level surface which represents the mostly-unused front courtyard, because that's what they always do. The castle's courtyard is just... there. The Höhenburg has one and if it's ever necessary to press it into service, their leaders will.

The morning is chill and grey. The ibex walk, climb without effort, talk about the same things they always speak of. Changes in topic tend to switch into something which has been discussed before, because reviewing will make sure it comes out properly.

And then they hear the wings.

They look up a little too quickly. They're not used to hearing wingbeats, at least when it comes to anything that large. Mallards, condors, certain species of vulture... all will ascend to this height, although few will stay for long. But these sounds are being produced by something larger, the different is to be dreaded, feared, stopped (especially if it rises from within), and it makes them think of monsters. The ibex look up, and...

...ponies.

Multiple pegasi. And two air carriages, moving through the grey sky.

There's something ornate about the covered conveyances. An aspect none among the viewers can identify at this distance, because their history is oral and when it comes to descriptions, tends to leave the best parts out.

Ponies. Just ponies. Equestrians are allowed to pass through the mountains, and the ibex can only hope that the changewinds do so quickly. They have to be passing through, because it's all any living ibex can remember them doing and therefore, it's effectively all they've ever done --

-- the carriages are -- approaching the courtyard.

They don't do that.

They're not supposed to --

-- every ibex freezes. Citizens, servants, and the royals who watch from their perfect castle as the carriages touch down.

The two vehicles sit there, still and silent. Several towing pegasi do nothing more than try to catch their breath in the thin mountain air. A few strategic wing flaps concentrate a portion of it, and then the doors open.

The opening doors give several observers a very good look at the embedded crest, and the most educated among the ibex make their guesses.

This isn't supposed to happen. They didn't request an appointment. (Why would it have been granted?) They only pass through...

...one alicorn steps out of her carriage. The smaller emerges from the other. They each step forward into full view of the royal family and so many others, caught within a perfect silence.

And then the monster comes out.

It's in nearly-full armor. The head is exposed, but -- that doesn't exactly help. The metal-covered shape of the lower body suggests contours approaching that of an oversized pony, but the upper torso emerges from where the neck should be, and then there's a portion which curves out and limbs which tilt sideways and the eyes are too far forward and it takes a few seconds to identify what's substituting for the snout.

It follows the alicorns, who move in front of the towing pegasi. Then it's standing between them -- no, just a little ahead. They're flanking it. Showing that they came with it, and stand ready to defend.

The centaur has come to the mountains.

It looks up towards the primary balcony of the Höhenburg. At queen, lead consort, and three children. And none can move.

It takes a breath.

"We miss you."

Perhaps one of the alicorns has cast a spell, to make the words carry so. They travel to every pair of twitching ears within range, sink into each. And yet, none can speak. This has never happened before, and so words do not exist.

"I come from a place which isolated itself," the centaur tells them all. "We locked ourselves away from the world, because we'd told ourselves that was the only way to survive. But... that's all it was. The world went on without us, while we survived. The world was a lesser place for it, because all we did was survive. We didn't live. We couldn't. Because we'd locked ourselves away in a gap. Built a prison, and said it was the only possible home."

The small blue eyes briefly close, and the monster gently sighs.

"You locked yourselves away," it says. "Completely. Before that, you'd been isolated. You mostly kept to yourselves. But now you were just gone. And do you know what that represents? A change. One for the worse, because... we miss you."

It slowly shakes the blonde head.

"The world needs the ibex," it tells them. "But it needs you to be in the world. A full part of it. And you've locked yourselves in a prison. It will hurt you. I would know."

The monster looks to the alicorns. The dark one nods, and that horn ignites. Energies flow through the open door of that carriage, and something emerges --

-- a plinth. Marble, flecked with gold and silver. And at the top of it... a helmet. Something which has been cut for two backwards-curving horns.

It floats to a stop in front of the monster. Touches down in the unused courtyard, and almost seems to root itself to the spot.

"A gift," the creature says. "Something given from gratitude, as a reminder of your own gifts. The things you all have to give the world. Because... we miss you. We're better off with you." The right hand gently touches the helmet, caresses a curve. "We need you. And... we'll wait for you."

The centaur starts to turn away --

-- stops. Glances back.

"Please come down," it asks.

And then it gets back into the carriage.

Those are the last words. It does not speak of what the dark alicorn had brought up during the ascent: that they are attempting to build a road, and there was a chance that ibex magic could stabilize the path. The centaur never thought of that. It simply wanted to come into the mountains. To make a request.

The alicorns board. The pegasi spread their wings, and the carriages take off. Only the plinth remains. The helmet.

And they could have removed it. Two moons later, after discovering that the first departed doe had gone past it on her way down the slopes for the last time, they longed to be rid of it.

But it was something new in the world, and none could stand to touch it.


Relationships with males. Cerea wasn't good at those, and didn't feel like she was getting any better. Barding didn't seem to mind (or notice), but he was still recovering. And when it came to the other stallions in her life...

There were only a few. And there was a night when she went into the locker room to get changed for her shift, approached her storage area, began to shift the privacy curtain, and then realized that she was sick of it. Tired of hiding, tired of concealing herself among those for whom nudity was the default state because she was afraid that they would find her too different and be repelled, when her own exposure was only taboo if she said it was...

She was a centaur. She was also a Guard. She fully intended to maintain the latter status for all of her time in this world, and that meant everypony around her had better get used to the former.

Cerea grabbed the curtain. Then she pulled.

Multiple rings came apart. Most of the fabric cascaded to the floor: the rest hung from her hands. And she dropped that, followed by reaching for her blouse. She had to get changed.

...changed in front of multiple witnesses.

...well, it wasn't as if she had to take the bra off. Just... the skirt...

...oh no...

...she couldn't even retreat into the showers. She'd committed. She had to keep going with her mistake --

-- and she felt the male's gaze.

Cerea looked down. It took a few seconds before she focused on the source.

"Look, everypony," the orange stallion voiced in a tone of perfect boredom. "We've got a tank beetle."

Several Guards stared at them. There was a soft snicker from the general direction of the active showers, but that could have been coincidence.

"A what?" Cerea finally asked.

"A tank beetle," Squall firmly said. "Heavily armored. Six limbs. Too big to be real."

Two ponies coughed.

The centaur thought about it.

"That's fair," she decided, and started to work the skirt off.

He was still staring at her.

"...what about me?" he finally asked.

"What about you?"

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" the stallion checked.

"An insult?" the girl asked. "What could I say? What could I ever do which the world hasn't already done? Isn't just having to be Squall insulting enough?"

It was easy to pretend she didn't hear his sputtering. Ignoring the sudden bursts of laughter took a little more work.


By the following evening, the story had reached Emery.

"Recruit," he roughly greeted her after the training exercise. "Or is it 'tank beetle'?"

She could stop all but one insect in a swarm. Preventing a blush from conquering her skin was effectively impossible.

"...that was fast," was the best she could do.

The wiry body executed a taut shrug. "Guards gossip," the Sergeant said. "And insult each other. A lot. You wanted to see me?"

It had been a training exercise. It just hadn't been for her. Because there was a new Guard class on the way. Something which was a direct result of the invasion, because multiple young ponies had looked at the palace and realized that Princesses really did need Guarding. They would have a job, a salary, a purpose in life, and it was rumored that at the end of the training, they would get a party. Fancypants was already trying to figure out just how much could go wrong at the party.

But in order to get any of it, they had to go through Emery. Who taught them how to fight, how to be fought, and liked to bring out little surprises. Such as, just by way of example...


"THIS IS A CENTAUR! TELL ME HOW YOU WOULD FIGHT HER!"

"...we don't?"

"...we'd -- really rather not?"

"...I ask Moon to get me out of this?"

"...go for the legs?"

"WHAT WAS THAT LAST ONE?"


It had been mostly downhill from there. The class was currently limping off towards the showers, accompanied by failed tactics and fresh bruises. Cerea, who'd barely taken so much as a glancing hit, personally felt the leg targeter had some potential.

"I wanted to see you," she told the old stallion. "Privately."

He slowly nodded.

"About...?" Emery Board carefully asked, and she watched his entire body go tight. Tension in form and scent.

She looked around. Listened, checked the air, and made sure nopony was in range.

"I know you were trying to protect me," the girl quietly said. "When we were going over theories. About earth ponies who could potentially change the terrain, and everything else. You wanted me to know it was possible, and be ready for any of it. Outliers, Sergeant. Like minotaurs who can transfer their strength. You knew earth pony outliers existed, because you're one of them."

He didn't say a word. He simply watched her eyes, and did so without fear.

"I understand secrets," Cerea told him. "I've kept yours." And sighed. "I feel like I'm keeping a lot of secrets." Including that of one other earth pony, because she was now convinced that there was no way for Applejack to have seen the tiny holes created by platinum wire -- but sensing a disruption to the earth? Somehow, that was the answer which made perfect sense, especially when she added in the fact that the Bearers had just known the abandoned warren's ceiling would break.

At least one other earth pony. And then there was Pinkie. The girl had no idea what Pinkie was about.

"I'm not going to tell anypony," she informed her instructor. "I won't. I... just know you used it to save me, during that fight. I wanted to thank you. And say that -- it'll stay a secret. If you want it to."

She didn't know why it was a secret. There were a lot of reasons for secrets to exist. But her first guess would always be fear.

"I do," the stallion solidly told her.

Cerea nodded.

"Is there anything else?"

She shook her head.

"Then let's spar."

The girl stared at him.

"Sergeant --"

"You and me," he told her. "We've never had a proper go. Not when we can both use everything we have. I trust you not to ram the sword through my ribs, and you trust me not to break your legs. Divots only, so you'll know when I'm trying to take you off-balance." He took five hoofsteps back, bent his foreknees and lowered his head. "Ready when you are."

She was still looking at the old stallion.

"Now?"

"No better time."

"...why?"

He took a shallow breath. Twisting ears checked the direction of the wind.

"Because you have to be ready, Cerea," he told her. "There may be a lot of outliers."


One night had seen the girl pulled off Guard duties for a while, because her existence now represented a pair of magical mysteries and when there was something this strange to investigate, nopony could keep Twilight Sparkle out of the palace forever.

Cerea had been asked to wait in the designated room: a location which was isolated, protected by multiple layers of magical defenses as a just-in-case, and was also surprisingly spacious. (Part of that last was because it had to accommodate a centaur, but the bulk came from having recently seen every last ignitable surface removed.) And after a while, the little alicorn had entered.

Her scent had wafted into the room ahead of her, and announced that the thaumatologist was somewhat disgruntled about the whole affair. Multiple field bubbles entered behind her, towing a myriad of devices, several notebooks, one chalkboard, and a distinctly annoyed light blue unicorn mare who apparently just hadn't been moving fast enough.

"Two hours," Twilight irritably announced as the last box of chalk cleared the threshold. "Princess Celestia said she's only giving us two hours tonight." Feathers awkwardly rustled in a way which suggested that they'd naturally started the process on their own, had their owner notice, and then found themselves unable to complete the act while under supervision. "And that I can't have you for a full day. Or a week. Or ask you to drop by the library until at least spring." She sighed. "Because we'll have to tell Ponyville that you're coming. And I'll probably have to rearrange a few shelving units to make sure you can get past the books --"

She stopped, slim features twisting. Glanced backwards, and finally spotted where her companion had begun to kick at the bubble's interior. A light blush momentarily underlit fur, and the unicorn was released.

"It's still two hours," Trixie observed. "So let's use them. Cerea, are you ready?"

The Lunar Guard, acting under orders, managed to force the nod.

"Good." Something very much like goggles was floated towards the unicorn's head: the edges of the pinkish bubble receded, and magenta hues took custody. "On my cue, make the sword appear."

"And then on mine," Twilight firmly said, examining a dial of sorts, "make it go away."

It went like that for a while. Devices were deployed. Things were written down, and Cerea experienced the dubious lack of comfort which came from knowing that no amount of casual language mastery would have let her decipher the mares' notes. They consulted with each other, asked her questions, came up with new questions based on her answers, spent some time trotting around the sword, and then Twilight made the decision to try putting one of the hairpins into her own mane.

Normally, a portion of the allotted time would have been lost in waiting for the alicorn to recover from the near-swoon, but it gave the trio a chance to just talk. Cerea had lowered herself to the floor, just in case it helped at all.

"I was looking at the occlugraph we had from the summoning," Twilight told the centaur: the small body was currently half-tucked against what had been determined as the most supportive wall, while the unicorn fetched her some water. "I remembered that when we went out to your arrival site..."

She sighed. Both wings twitched, and the horn dipped.

"...I don't know if anypony showed it to you," the little alicorn continued. "They probably didn't think there was any reason, because you can't really read one unless you've had training. And nopony could read yours. The scratch line was all over the place, and there were too many colors. But I remembered seeing a speck of mint green, and thinking that... it looked familiar. And when I finally looked at the glass again... I started seeing more colors. Familiar ones."

"Then we showed it to Spike," Trixie briefly took over. "Because dragons see colors exactly. They have to, in order to identify gems."

"Except that he didn't see colors," Twilight resumed. "He saw ponies. Unicorn field hues. Some of them were matched to Ponyville residents who didn't evacuate before Tirek got into range. Others had to have been from Canterlot unicorns. And the scratch line going everywhere... maybe that's part of Discord's signature." With a soft snort, "It's not as if he's ever let himself be tested. But that's why the occlugraph was so strange. Because we were looking at everypony, everyone, and -- just about everything."

"And that's what Tirek's casting looks like," Trixie quietly concluded as she moved towards the nearest sink. "It's the only record, and... it's incomplete, because it was rendered through a device which was only meant to create visual interpretations of unicorn signatures. It couldn't keep up."

Cerea silently nodded.

"We've made extra copies," Twilight told the girl. "You can do that, if you're careful. We might need them, to send you home -- oh, thank you..." She slipped her left forehoof through the offered mug's loop, raised it and took a sip. "But now we know more about what was involved. So... maybe...?"

She managed a smile. Cerea seemed to be stuck on nodding.

"The thing we can't test," Trixie softly groaned, "is what happens when you take your magic with you. Your mark."

"Very little," Cerea quietly proposed. There was magic in her world: there just wasn't very much of it. She supposed that in the best case, she might become somewhat more capable of fighting back against those who were close to fae, but -- for the most part, she would likely find herself in possession of a party trick.

Behold the centaur who can make a plastic sword appear.
They probably wouldn't revise the laws for that.
...the humans might decide the hairpins were the real threat and order me to have them licensed.

"But we don't know," Twilight countered.

"We don't even know why you're still alive," Trixie added with the usual amount of tact. "The usual result when someone tries to incorporate new magic within their bodies is --"

The unicorn stopped. Her head went down, and both forehooves scraped at the floor as the invisible scent of regret flooded the room.

"-- I..." the mare forced herself to go on. "...looked into that. For a while. I was trying to..."

"It doesn't matter," Twilight softly told her. "It wasn't you --"

"-- I was the one who decided to look."

Cerea, caught on the fringes of a story she'd never read, could only listen.

The alicorn had no verbal answer for that: simply a pleading look, added to a surge of sorrow within the olfactory world. Trixie sighed.

"The finish line on that course," the unicorn too-evenly finished, "is that, outside of some very rare circumstances --" her gaze briefly flickered towards the alicorn "-- it always has to be kept outside the body. You can't take it in, because it clashes with whatever you already have. And then it all starts going wrong." Much more quickly, "We don't think you're going to die from this. Nopony does. You're stable. We just don't understand why --"

"-- because there was nothing it could clash with," the centaur offered. "I didn't have any magic of my own, Trixie. It's... sort of like what Pinkie said. There was room."

Inner space. Magic. And then a mark.

(In another sense, she'd effectively gotten a pair of tattoos. Cerea was fully aware that her mother would hate that, and had decided not to care.)

But all of the others died...

There was an argument to be made for a second exception, with both parties having something in common --

-- but the Doctors Bear had performed the autopsy.

Tirek's corpse had been exactly that: a corpse. It just happened to be a corpse which wasn't entirely sure about just how long it had been dead. Because Equestrian science had advanced far enough to understand something about decay, and the stallions felt there had been too much of it.

The brain had been exactly as intact as it should have been. But the lungs no longer possessed alveoli: smooth structures which lacked those final branch paths, acting as bellows alone. Marrow had gone putrid within the bones. The heart had apparently kept working, but exactly what it had been pumping was still something of a question. Nothing about the digestive system appeared to have functioned for some time, and both physicians had belatedly realized that their temporary prisoner had never requested access to a toilet trench.

Lala had said it, during their meeting: that Tirek might have had magic all along. Just... not what he considered to be it. And if that was the case, then perhaps that first intake of thaums had effectively killed him. But it had done so while keeping the body animated, with whatever passed for a soul trapped within a cage of platinum wires.

Rotting from within. Forever dying, while unable to finish.

(After the autopsy, the corrupted platinum had been extracted, and then the body had been cremated. Princess Celestia had done that personally, bringing the remnants down to a level below ash. The deadened metal had simply been melted, cast into a ball, and then isolated. Forever. And there had been no funeral, because there were none who would have cared to mourn.)

The girl had thought about that, done so long into the day while her roommate slept and the centaur tried not to shiver. And then, trapped within the half-logic which arose when sleep refused to come and terror had the wheel, she'd finally realized where her own magic had come from.

Discord had sent back everything he could. But there had been thaums within Tirek which no longer had a natural home, and it was that which had remained within him to the last, kept from final fading by Tartarus and a dream of torment. The draconequus had prioritized for the living, and that meant Cerea was carrying the dead.

It hadn't been the gift of sacrifice. The thaums had come from casualties. Those who hadn't meant to die, who had been struggling to flee, to...

...she couldn't live for all of them, to imagine what they would have wished her to do and send her actions down those paths. She had spent most of her childhood trying to live for the expectations of one mare, and it... hadn't been healthy. But she'd asked the palace for a list of the dead, in the name of honor and duty.

The girl had more freedom to travel now, and had mostly been using it to visit graves.

(She also visited Blitzschritt at least twice per moon, but that was just keeping the ibex current.)

"Maybe," Trixie considered. "I..." and Cerea watched the unicorn force her head up. "...just wouldn't want to try it twice."

Eventually, Twilight got up again, asked permission for the next test, timidly tried casting a few spells at Cerea, and all were stopped. There was some early difficulty being encountered in measuring the strength of antimagic.

More notes were made. Plans were deployed onto paper, most of which concerned what things to bring the next time. And as the mares were packing up, Cerea finally asked exactly what had been done in evacuating centaur and corpse from the Struga. It turned out to be appropriately spectacular.

"What I still don't understand," Twilight said as she sorted out the notebooks, "is why we were able to follow your trail."

"You knew where you were going," Cerea quickly pointed out. "Even with all the changes Tirek made, you just had to keep heading down --"

"-- why there was a trail," the little alicorn qualified. "We found the pieces of fabric you marked the path with. All of them. And most of the trouble we had in getting you out was because we did use the Struga." With a soft sigh, "Even that's changed. A little. The surveyors will draw up the details. They're going in soon."

Cerea knew. She'd asked the Princesses for the exact date of the upcoming mapping. And then she'd requested that one member of the team bring in a picture of a scarless Moon.

"From what we were told about the things Tartarus can do to the corridors," Twilight continued, "it wouldn't have had any problems in wiping the patches --" frowned "-- swatches? Rarity would say 'swatches' -- off the walls. But they were still there, and the trip out was smoother than it probably should have been. I don't know why."

"And you're complaining," Trixie grumbled, "because we only nearly got clobbered. Twilight..."

"And I can't believe that Tartarus liked having its power stolen."

Had the dullahan worked it out? That Tirek had created enough disturbance for the draining to reach some level of awareness, and the deep place had responded by...

A smooth floor, in his cell. Endless minutes when she would have had no way to respond, her unconscious (or, briefly, dead) form collapsed against stone, and nothing had torn at her flesh.

She had killed Tirek. Stopped the draining. And there had been a trail.

Could a sleeping incarnation of pain dream of gratitude?

She didn't know. But she carried the dead, and... perhaps there was a tiny spark of the deep place within her inner matrix of thaums. After all, for so many among the various species, simply knowing that their magic could be negated served as a form of torment.

The girl had her theories. But she didn't know and so, at least for this meeting, she said nothing.

"Fine," the alicorn grumbled. "Questions for another day. Because there's always questions." She looked up at Cerea. "We'll schedule the next session. Maybe that'll even be in Ponyville."

And then the little mare turned to face Trixie.

"Will you be there?"

In sight and sound, body posture and tone, the question had been innocent enough. Scent stated something else.

"Twilight," the unicorn slowly began, "I've been off the road for moons --"

"-- the palace is still paying you. I checked with the Princesses: if you wanted to, you could keep collecting vouchers until Cerea goes home. They'll just treat you as part of the research staff. You're helping --"

"-- they could call me in if they needed --"

"-- you'd lose continuity," the alicorn argued. "And we'd lose you. There's still a problem to solve. There might even be more problems now, and they're all interesting --"

Twilight stopped. Looked up at Cerea, and the blush was nearly lost in the light from the horn's abrupt ignition. The left saddlebag lid helpfully raised itself, and light delved within. After a few seconds, a scroll, quill, and stoppered ink bottle emerged.

"'Don't imply that the person at the center of the problem is the problem'," Twilight muttered to herself as the quill got to work. "That's one for later." The scroll rolled itself, dipped into the open saddlebag, and the little mare focused on the unicorn. "Trixie... we need you."

"I'm not a Bearer." It came across as a statement.

"You're my friend," Twilight said. "That's more important."

The unicorn was silent. The streaked tail tried to swish, moved into flicking, attempted a lash, and failed at all three.

"...for a little while longer," Trixie offered. "Just to work on the problem."

"Okay," Twilight exhaled, and checked the non-flammable clock on the wall. "And that's all the time we were given for Cerea. So we should leave now." Another glance at the centaur. "Until next time?"

The girl nodded. Multiple pinkish field bubbles arranged one last sorting, and two mares began to head for the door.

"So the train back now?" Trixie asked. "Or an air carriage?"

Thoughtfully, "I don't think we should go home just yet."

"...why?"

"Because we're already here," Twilight logicked. "And this is a team effort!"

"I already said I was staying --"

"-- but you're not the only part of the team! We need everyone who was involved! You haven't met some of them! And you know... he's sort of safe right now... almost harmless..." A brief waft of scent suggested multiple fantasies of revenge had just billowed through the alicorn's mind, followed almost immediately through being put on (temporary) hold. "Come on! I'll introduce you to Discord!"

The little alicorn happily exited the room. And the light blue unicorn glanced back at Cerea, as the pony's posture went halfway to collapse and every part of her expression begged for HELP.

The girl understood. But no HELP was possible.


There was an artist. The artist: a unicorn, far too thin, multihued. A living palette which had just seen the paints start to mix. He was about to work in rock crystal for the first time, he'd just finished evaluating his model and when it came to the feature subject of the newest portrait, he wasn't all that happy about it.

"And how is this meant to be accomplished?"

"You're the one doing it, Blank Canvas," Princess Celestia said from a distant corner of the Hall Of Legends, where she was casting spells on a plaque. One which already had multiple names on it, all too distant for the girl to read, and the alicorn was sending thaums at it as if she was trying to render the whole thing indestructible. "We wouldn't have sent for you if we didn't know you were up to the challenge."

The stallion still had some doubts.

"How am I expected to make a centaur look heroic?"

The alicorn's horn dimmed. She straightened up, trotted to Cerea, and stood next to her. Gazed down at the artist, and smiled.

"Just make her look like herself," she told him. "The rest will come."


And what of the supremacists?

A number were in prison. But not everypony had participated in the attack. Those who hadn't been among the invaders couldn't be arrested, and the palace only had one membership list.

There was a lead on Aerial Supremacy. But Geodene Fracture had effectively vanished, and an earth pony with power who decides to go into a wild zone may not have to come out for a very long time. And when it came to their respective rank-and-files...

Known membership in such an organization... it was something which seldom made a pony welcome. They found comfort among their peers, because they had claimed discrimination and, at the moment they publicly decided they were superior, found the world willing to prove the 'discrimination' part right. At best, it was a rather intense quirk, and most ponies tried not to speak with anypony who possessed it. Not for very long.

But now membership formed its own mark: one of shame. Belong to such a group and even if you hadn't participated, you'd probably wanted the attack to succeed. It left the survivors with very few ponies they could deal with at all. None but each other.

A number fell deeper in, and did so quietly. They couldn't speak out, because they were seen as an embarrassment to the rest of their species. Smile, nod and, at the best of times, lurk.

You couldn't save everypony. Not for those who had already decided that they were better, for to truly look at what the belief had cost would mean having to admit they were wrong. A price which, even when compared to near-total ostracization from the herd, was still too much to bear. A few would wake up, patch themselves together through regret, remorse, and pushing forward through the borders of the bubble, but... only a few.

There would always be those who hated. When compared to self-examination and truly figuring out all the reasons why a given life wasn't any better, hatred was the easier option.

But what of the vulnerable? The ones who need something to believe?

You couldn't be everywhere. You couldn't save everypony. You just looked for the isolated. The friendless. Because there were many ways to describe such ponies. One possible choice for a descriptor was 'Twilight Sparkle', and she was lucky. She found those who were willing to whisper love into her ears, until she became capable of saying it back.

There's a pony out on the streets today. It could be a mare or a stallion, belonging to any of the species. All you truly need to know about them is that they're alone. They don't feel loved. Special. Nothing has gone right in their lives for a very long time. And they're trotting by themselves because they're always by themselves, all they want is somepony who'll talk to them and there's a bar up ahead. They can stop in. And once they do, maybe all they need is one pamphlet, one poster, one gentle word to send them careening down the endless fall into perpetual rage.

Instead, they see a sign.

There's a cultural festival up ahead. Rare, in the winter -- but this is sponsored by the palace. Somepony's brought in a Cumulus mattress: vapor so saturated with magic that anyone can rest on it. Special machines let you move things like a unicorn, as long as you're within a third of a body length and you don't mind a weight limit of a tenth-bale. Plus there's a greenhouse. Special treats grown by earth ponies, so a touch of summer can spread through the cold. And the pony reads the sign, hears laughter up ahead, and it seems like there's a good time to be had. Maybe it'll cheer them up.

Maybe they'll make a friend.

The sisters think about Twilight. And they keep trying.


"He's beautiful," Nightwatch whispered as she looked down into the crib and Cerea desperately tried to find some way of cutting back on the sheer amount of pastel nursery she was occupying. "Beautiful..."

The parents, trying to reconcile the presence of two recently-dearmored Guards (including one centaur) in their home, still managed a smile. But they knew the pegasus. They've been her neighbors, and... they didn't blame her. They didn't blame Cerea, either. Neither Guard had set the fire.

The foal had been home from the hospital for about a week, and his parents were hoping he would stay away for years. There would be routine checkups, because even a foal who was so clearly on the mend needed to be monitored -- but when it came to being trapped in a bed as sparks floated out to waiting doctors, there had been enough for a lifetime.

He was home. The city would be told on the following day, because the parents had wished for a little peace. But the Guards had been told, because Nightwatch had been a neighbor. And then the two mares had arranged a trip to see him.

"He is beautiful," Cerea awkwardly offered. "He really is."

She was dearly hoping it was true. Most of what she could judge was health, complimenting males of any age was hard, and... the foal was small, fuchsia, wriggling, and currently proving that the pony life cycle didn't have a metamorphic stage.

The mother looked at her child. Glanced up at the centaur, and swallowed twice.

"Would..." The count went to three. "...would you like to -- hold him?"

Cerea's gulp count quickly reached five: after that, she ran out of saliva. She knelt as best she could, carefully reached down...

He's so small.
Warm.
He barely weighs anything.
He just yawned...

Instinct kicked in. She cuddled him. And the foal, far too young to have decided what 'normal' was, responded to the foreign, near-monstrous sensations of being held by hands and cradled against a bosom through falling asleep.

His father smiled. (She wasn't used to fathers who could do that.) The mother watched.

"I remember reading a little bit of the first press conference," that dam carefully began. "You've really never had a child?"

Cerea shook her head.

"Because you have..." The parent stopped. "But so do minotaurs, I suppose. You're very good with holding him."

The centaur gently stroked a finger against the foal's ears. He wriggled, and slept a little more soundly.

A foal.

Sometimes she thought about the shadowlands, and Lala. The dullahan's theory. Perhaps centaurs had reached the point where spontaneous parthenogenesis had become an option, with no religious requirements involved. It might be possible for Cerea to have her own foal, and... if so, it would be a filly.

But if that was true -- then what was the trigger? What did it take to start the process?

She didn't know. And in many ways, it didn't matter, because she wasn't ready yet. For now, she simply wanted to believe that the option remained open. Magic might be able to help there. And no matter what, any such filly would be her foal.

Someone to raise. Cherish. Help along, without pushing too hard. Giving that child the freedom to become who she needed to be.

Any such filly would be loved.


There is a very special unicorn mare.

There's nothing particularly unique about her fur or mane. Her tail never drew much notice. She always thought her natural hues were drab. The mare has been told that she has nice eyes and a lovely smile, but felt that was the sort of thing ponies said about your appearance when there was nothing else to talk about.

She used to feel drab. Boring. Ordinary. Unloved. Unnoticed. But then she found those who told her just how special she truly was. They took her in, they talked to her until she felt special and once she started to believe it, they followed that up by explaining why certain other ponies weren't special at all.

She's special. She always has been. It just took a while before anypony noticed. And now the world knows.

The world knows, and it treats her accordingly.

She lives in a place with other unicorns. Just about nothing except unicorns -- well, there's a few exceptions, but they aren't really ponies at all and whenever she's around, they get treated like servants.

(This always happens to any inferior she looks at, for as long as she's looking at them.)

Those with horns are clearly in charge, and that's how it should be.

The mare has her very own rooms!

The furnishings are lovely. They're obviously expensive. Something which reflects just how special she is. And when she first arrived... well, at the time, she felt they were somewhat ordinary. But one of the other residents told her where they'd come from, name-dropped a few stores and crafters who exist on such a high level as to force her into pretending she'd heard of them before. But once she was told about some of the other places those sources have furnished... well, she's more than learned to appreciate her new possessions. In fact, the longer she looks at them, the more special they become.

When she's in her rooms, she can use her horn freely. But nopony can come in unless she puts a special metal cone over it. That's also the requirement for letting her go into the rest of the building --

-- it's not a restraint! It's a new kind of analyzer!

(They had to explain what that was.)

Because when she taught herself that very special trick, she made some changes to her field. Things nopony had ever done before. And with that level of raw innovation in magic -- well, they just have to study her. She understands completely, especially because she's certain that the alterations will in fact take years to work out.

So ponies can't be exposed to her very special field. Protection is required. That makes perfect sense. And not having access to her horn when she's outside her lovely rooms? Why, that's no trouble at all! Ponies lift things for her, they open doors and arrange for entertainment -- there's this wonderful innovation called an audiobook and she loves those, even if nopony will explain where they came from -- and make sure she would barely need to ignite her field at all!

Ponies talk to her all the time now. (Unicorns, of course. Always unicorns.) They tell her how special she is

(or at least that's what she usually hears)

and the food is perfect, the bed is soft, all the colors are what she's been told are calming hues and maybe she can't leave the building until the research is complete

(until she's better, somepony said)
(until she understands)
(servants say stupid things)

but they give her lots of soft woods to take into her rooms. Because she makes art. She has a theme. It's almost enough to make her wonder why she never manifested as an artist, especially since the ponies who collect her work for what they say is the gallery like to study it for hours.

(they analyze...)

Lovely rooms with a perfect view, which means there hasn't been a single glimpse of the palace. And they bring her newspapers

(sometimes it almost feels like entire sections are missing)

and they make sure she always has snacks and cosmetics and somepony she can talk to. Any time she wants to talk, there's always a pony available. And she's almost sure those ponies agree with her all the time, except when they ask questions and when they ask too many, she tells them to go away. They do. And the next time, she gets another pony. Or the same pony again, only they're very sorry about having questioned somepony so special and won't do it again.

(the wording keeps changing)

The meals are wonderful. There's companionship. Sometimes they bring her into a room with other unicorns, and some of them are so silly! One of them said they were a Princess! And not only is that pony voluntarily lying about being a freak, but he doesn't even have the wings!

She decided he was telling a joke. That made the most sense.

The mare is special. They all tell her so.

(It's what she hears.)

And she lives in a perfect place, with servants and inferiors who know it, where there isn't a single pony who doesn't know her name. She can make art and talk about things which everypony should know, and they smile and nod and she tries to ignore where the questions are going because she doesn't want to think about it and besides, there's no children here. She hasn't seen a foal for...

...for...

...separate and...

Her rooms are lovely.
Her companionship, should she desire it, can be constant.
She is treated as if she's the most special mare in the world.

(They have separated her from the world.)
(Some of them wonder if she can ever return.)
(And when they originally tried to bring her into the asylum, she fought them.)
(The mare had to be dragged.)

She's happy.


On the night before they went to see the foal, Luna entered the barracks.

Or rather, they heard hooves moving through the barracks. And then everyone who had been using the pool got to watch the alicorn trot in.

Nightwatch and Cerea had frozen in place. Yapper's response had been to duck under the water -- but the canid had forgotten to take a breath, and quickly had to come up again. Motife, who understood group baths as a social occasion, immediately decided that she'd picked an exceptionally bad time for her first and tried to scramble for the edge --

"-- as some of you know," the Princess immediately stated, with the majority of the walls doing their best to add echo, "my own bath is damaged. I understand that this one is considered to be suitable, to a degree where I have overheard multiple ponies discussing whether to sneak in while the Lunars are on shift. And until such time as repairs are complete..."

Several flares of field removed the regalia, and the dark form carefully slipped into the water. Calm eyes regarded the canid, both ponies, and finally moved to the naked centaur.

"I have seen it before," Luna stated. "Involuntarily. During the measuring session. I moved at the wrong moment." She shrugged. "You clearly require a new fitting. I shall send for Corsetiere Garter tomorrow. So. What are we all talking about?"

"...hoofball," Nightwatch finally managed. "Barding is taking Cerea to a game soon."

"Hoofball," the Princess repeated.

"Um. Yes."

"Good. So perhaps one of you can explain it. In your opinion, how is that supposed sport still legal?"

Which got them through the first hour.


The centaur dreams of being a pony.

The change does not occur because her Princess has twisted the nightscape. The girl does not become a quadruped. Instead, it seems as if she has always been a pony. A mare who was born in this world, knows of no others, and trots down the streets of Canterlot because that's where she belongs. And over the course of a perfectly ordinary day, she goes into shops, she pores over books, she visits friends, and she exists among ponies as one of their own.

A pony. One with brown fur and a blonde mane. Who's somewhat taller than the average, because the girl really can't conceive of being short any more. And the tail is exceptionally full, because something has to be.

But those are the central consistencies of her form. She has not rendered herself into an alicorn, but... there are times when her horn ignites, her wings flare, or her hooves hit the cobblestones with extra force. The girl shifts between the three species for which she has personal experience, because she has yet to meet a crystal and everypony says seaponies don't exist. The dream can't quite make up its mind there, and...

...does it really matter? She's a pony. There's no other way to exist. And the other equines smile at her, they greet her, they know her and they nuzzle and...

...it's the wrong kind of nuzzle.
Or rather, it's in the wrong place. Because she's a pony, and that part of her anatomy would only exist if she was either close to giving birth or had just done so. Add in a drastic relocation...

...she's aware of the dream now. (This seems to happen with increasing frequency, and she wonders if it's a lingering effect from her Princess.) And she knows it isn't real.

It can never be real.
It isn't right.

The brown-furred mare steps into an alley. And once she's out of sight, the girl's hands cover her face and even in the dream, she has to force herself to breathe.

She...
...how many times did she dream of being human, once she reached Japan?
Of going among them, as one of them, so that no one ever looked or stared or questioned or...
Of simply running her toes along her host's legs, to make him laugh?

The girl stands in a phantom alleyway. The passage between larger spaces. The gap.

And after a time, her hands drop. She adjusts her blouse, checks to see that the scabbard is resting properly, and stares out into what little she can see of the dreamworld. Because it's still an alleyway, and the only way to get real details is to venture out.

Some of the figments may run. Others won't.

She isn't human. She never was. And she'll never be a pony.
She's a liminal. A word which means she exists as something forever caught betwixt and between.
She's a centaur. There will always be those who render that translation as 'monster'.

She's Cerea.
Perhaps that's enough.


They stopped at the post office. A letter was sent to the police chief of Palimyno, containing carefully-transcribed thanks.

They passed a young pegasus with a courier's mark, who was hoping to get into the palace. To see a Princess, because she'd been thinking about something which had happened to her, and... she thought she might have been one of the first drains. She should have told somepony. If she had, then...

...so much was her fault...

They both told her it wasn't. Some things weren't anypony's fault.

There was more trotting. They were getting near the edge of the sign-designated zone, and Cerea checked her watch. Then she checked Sun, just to make sure her watch didn't need to be adjusted.

Moved by alicorns.
The other option is a perpetual gravitic slingshot plummet around a flaming ball of fusion death.

Which, when she thought about it, was probably just about as terrifying.

"Okay," she finally asked. "Where are we going? Because it can't be much further."

The little knight smiled. Landed, and flared out a wing.

"There."

It took Cerea a few seconds to recognize what she was indicating. There was a small house: dark and cozy, surrounded by a lot of loose soil. And next to that...

"...it's an empty lot," the girl observed.

"It's ours."

The girl blinked. Then she adjusted her position, and had to do so three times before she could properly stare down.

"...it's what?" she tried.

"Um. That's where I put the profits. From the audiobooks. Because we can't live in the barracks forever. Um. And I don't think you should live by yourself. Not for a while. Not when you had so many housemates, and -- you're still getting used to everything. And it would take a special house, for a centaur to live in it. Something nopony's built before. So I commissioned a minotaur. He's working on the designs. A place for a pegasus and a centaur to both live..."

Both black wings flared, and the little knight put herself at Cerea's normal eye level.

"You're shocked." she observed. "I'm sure that's shock. Um. Cerea, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll understand if you want to stay in the barracks for a while, or don't want to stay with me. I didn't say yes for you. I -- just wanted you to have a place to go. With somepony you trusted --"

"-- is that Yapper's house?"

The pegasus blinked. Nodded.

"I thought it would be easier if we were neighbors," she said. "We could watch out for each other. And she already offered to add some pit traps. Um. She even said she might tell me where they were afterwards. Not that there was much point, because I just had to remember to fly over them. Cerea -- what do you want to --"

"-- I'm going to need some salt," the centaur distantly considered.

"...salt," Nightwatch tried.

"There's a ritual of protection. To keep a new home safe from spirits." She frowned. "I hope I can remember the details. It doesn't get performed very often. The gap didn't exactly see a lot of new homes."

"Ritual," formed the next attempt.

"Do not," the girl solemnly said, "question centaur magic."

She looked at the empty lot again.

Living with a coworker. With an adult, and her partner. There were those who would probably say it wasn't proper. But she was the only centaur. When viewed as a category contest, for anything she might do, she automatically finished in first. And when it came to being proper -- that was her definition to create.

(She'd said as much when she'd testified during the first trial. Ms. Manners had screamed to suit.)

Her life was a story: one which was still being told. And if hope was the prerequisite of torment, then the fundamental requirement for existence was drive. The desire to go forward. To run until you never moved again. And then you waited to greet your friends.

Perhaps there would be a road back to Japan one day. She might return to the house, tell her sisters about everything she'd seen -- after simply holding them for a time. (Even the spider.) It was possible that she would find herself briefly visiting the France herd -- and nothing more, because Cerea could no longer truly imagine living there.

But she couldn't live for 'perhaps'. She had to use the present. The gift of time.

And for now, she chose to gallop.

"Do you want to get a closer look?" Nightwatch asked. "See where it's all going to be? Um. Because I'm pretty sure Yapper was joking about putting the traps down early. But we can poke the soil."

The young knight smiled. Looked ahead, and nodded once.

"Let's go home."

PreviousChapters
Comments ( 108 )

and if you had to leave everything you ever knew
to find out who you really are...

February 25th, 2019 -- July 16th, 2022.

And that's the way it is folks!

All in all, a happy ending. Thank you for the story, I quite enjoyed it!

Wonderfully done! Such a wild and winding tale this was…. I definitely had no idea what I was in for when I started it, nor any hint of the epic it would become. The exploration of your version of Equestria through fresh eyes was delightfully rewarding, and made all the richer for delving into the darkness we find in the real world while also showing us the possibilities of happy endings and the healing that’s open to all of us who don’t quite feel we belong.

Beautiful work, and thank you for creating it!

I love it so much. Thank you.

Though as it traditional:

Nothing has done right in their lives for a very long time

gone. :raritywink:

Wow, there’s so much packed in there! You should have made it two chapters or something. Satisfying concussion though, all those little loose threads tied up all tidy.

Beautiful ending to a wonderful, though at times emotionally exhausting story. I hope Cerea continues to make appearances in future fics, and eventually gets to return to Earth. Looking forward to whatever might come next!

What can I say about this story?

I could call it amazing, stupendous, or any other number of superlatives, but they'd all ring a little false. It's more then just "great", it's... powerful. There's stuff that makes you cry, that pulls on your heart strings, that speaks to the human condition. It's the piece that got me interested in Fimfiction and arguably writing my (poor) prose again.

The Tryptich verse and its links are some of my favourite works on this site and you're undoubtedly my favourite author here, the simple fact that you made something of this calibre using a cheesecake manga as its source is a testament to your skill and I'm a little sad and happy in equal measure that Cereas story is over.

So if you're ever in doubt, don't be, cause you got this.

On the one hand, what a great ending.
On the other hand, I can't believe it's all over. This was such a wonderful rollercoaster of emotion from start to finish, and I...
Well, let it be said that I would not disagree with a sequel being made. Or at least, a decision to bring Cerea back in a different story, because I almost don't want it to be over. Not yet.

God, I've got bloody tears in my eyes as I'm writing this, do you know how rare that is?

I knew, as soon as I saw the chapter title in the email notification, that this would be the last chapter, because it was the only one that isn't remotely negative. I don't remember when I started reading this, (surely it wasn't that far in, as I'm usually hesitant to pick up stories that are,) but this is the first of its length I can remember that I actually saw the end of.

I'm sad I dont want this story to be over but as the saying goes all good things come to a end

A wonderful, wonderful story.

Thank you Estee, thank you very much.

The ending of this story has left me with an experience I can safely say few stories ever have. Normally If a story is this good I want to continue immersing myself in it and see what comes next for our protagonist.

That, or I'm so thoroughly the satisfied that I wished simply forget the entire story.

but this time I feel... satisfied, and content. Cera has grown so much and her circumstances have changed so throughly that any extra story feels either superfluous or self indulgent. all our plot threads have been neatly tied up and the stories climax wasn't so world shattering that we are left with strong desire to see the fallout, while still being personally powerful and meaningful to the characters.

I love this ending, it's perfect.
That said, If Cera ever returns that will be a story I'll follow.

Thank you, Estee. Thank you for many laughs, for many new ideas, and for a fair share of gloomy days ending with a smile. Thank you for working so hard and sharing your gift with us. I truly love your stories and hope to keep enjoying them for a long time to come.

What a beautiful ending to a wild ride of a story. So many great little touches in this conclusion; loved the audiobook surprise business venture, now she and Nightwatch are partners that way too. That's adorable. I was baffled by the way Cerea reacted to the female minotaur, (having 0% experience with her source material, of course), I did not expect her to get competitive and even strive to further her assets growth. Really surprising. I like the interactions with Luna and the princess expanding her social circle more. Everyone accepting Cerea. Discord getting thanked and (trying to) thank others too. The look at the world stage and geopolitics for like two seconds was intriguing. The foal recovered and even got held by Cerea. That was precious. I am lost again when it comes to fire starter whose name I have either forgotten or missed entirely, I almost wondered if she'd gotten the pony equivalent of a frontal lobotomy or something really dark like that, it was so different in narration style.

Anyway, this was a surprisingly wonderful story, considering just how many red flags were stacked up against it: you've got Anime crossover, check. OCs? Check. And somehow coherently tying it into a previously established 'verse? Absolute mad lad estee done it again. That one's not a red flag but an estee trademark. Thank you so much for such dedication and quality work as always, but especially your exceptional commitment to long, ongoing serious projects like this that span over years to complete AND sticking the landing everytime! That's awesome!!

Oh man.
It's over. Much sad.
I mean, it was a good ending, and it managed to successfully tie up all loose ends (as far as I can remember), but still sad that it's over.

Oh well, now to hold out for a sequel!
Oooh oooh oooh ooooooooh. Oooh oooh oooh oooooooh. Ahhhh, Ahhhh!
I need a sequel!
I'm holding out for a sequel, for something to read!
It's gotta be long, and it's gotta be good, and it's gotta have Cerea as lead!
I need a sequel!
Please Estee, this is something that I really need!
It's gotta be long! And it's gotta be good! And it's gotta have Cerea as le, ee, eeeead!
I need a sequel! Ooooh, ooooh, ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh ooooooh oh oh!

(Sorry, I wrote 'hold out for a sequel', and then my brain went crazy. You don't ACTUALLY have to write one (Although it would be really COOL!)).

Firstly; thank you very much for this story, Estee (no matter how much I grumbled and snarled).

Secondly: I wonder how many of those first audiobooks where snatched up by Ponyville Library?

And if Cerea ever learns the full truth of the Secret, including its bloody cost (and that Emery and the Princess are among those responsible for that body count continuing) ... I don't think she will handle it well :fluttershysad:

And Finally: I just love the Diamond Dog version of a housewarming gift, "Oh, new dogs/ponies/whatever move in? Lets put in some traps so they feel safe."

👍👍👍👍👍

Woo, that was an adventure. I'm gonna need to sit down for a bit.

11302390 Dor, starting a civil war / race war isn't going to cause less casualties than allowing them to have a conspiracy for a little while longer. Do you have to keep bringing it up?

"I got an update from the Tartarus team," Celestia told her sibling as they entered a known privacy zone. "The earth ponies managed to seal the breaches. But the plants... it's too early to know if they'll recover. Nopony can tell if the corruption will fade, much less if there's a cure. And everything else has to be directly reverted or destroyed."

I am a little surprised and more than a little grateful that they can seal the breaches off at all.

As far as the mare is concerned, the majority of what supposedly passes for heroism these days is mostly the alicorns getting someone to clean up their old messes.

On really bad days, there are some mares in Ponyville who might agree.

Yeah, I wasn't expecting immediate turnaround on Wordia's part. (Hope, maybe, but not expect.) Still, those two little changes are two steps down a journey that could lead her to much greater peace of mind.

Heh. Yeah, the available media do limit the practicality of audiobooks. Though when somepony (or, more likely, some minotaur) gets around to developing radio, they have some serial dramas ready to go.

And when it came to explaining exactly where they'd been, what had happened along the way, and why the Princess Box Maximum Capacity sign was now being nailed up... that struck her as being Luna's problem. Cerea was just the Guard. Her Princess had gone somewhere. She had come along and Guarded.

"Just following orders, Your Highness."
"Why does that feel so wrong?"
"No comment, Your Highness."

The first since Diviner.

Hmm...

"Yes. Well. There was another option."
"There was?"
"It could have been the alpacas."

It was a miracle any of them survived.

Weather control isn't a direct part of their dominion. The pegasi claimed that in the time before tales, and they arguably disrupt more than manipulate.

It's time for everyone's favorite sociological game: History, Folklore, or Both?
But yes, Cerea was definitely the right person to reach out to the ibex.

"An insult?" the girl asked. "What could I say? What could I ever do which the world hasn't already done? Isn't just having to be Squall insulting enough?"

Some pegasi can concentrate atmospheric heat tightly enough to give somepony a hothoof. Cerea doesn't have wings, but she still incinerated that poor stallion.

Fancypants was already trying to figure out just how much could go wrong at the party.

He'd underestimate it, even with donkey consultation. The good news is that as the tradition grew, donkeys would eagerly gather to try to one up one another's forecasts. Sometimes they even approached reality.

But she carried the dead, and... perhaps there was a tiny spark of the deep place within her inner matrix of thaums.

The wrong kind of spark for an easy trip home, sadly. If magic even works that way in this part of everything.

And you know... he's sort of safe right now... almost harmless...

Twilight would later amend this to "Mostly harmless."

I don't know how much of it is intentional, but you continue to be one of the best Twixie writers on the site.

there's this wonderful innovation called an audiobook and she loves those, even if nopony will explain where they came from

Ah, irony. Any ending that claims to be perfectly happy isn't looking hard enough, but this is still the best outcome I can realistically expect for that one.

Moved by alicorns.
The other option is a perpetual gravitic slingshot plummet around a flaming ball of fusion death.

Well, when you put it that way...

Exquisite landing. 10 from the FoME judge. Thank you for a magnificent journey, an outstanding demonstration of earning your happy ending, and the best possible last line.

They say don't be sad it's over be glad it happened; but there's still always a bit of sadness when that dreaded green 'complete' pops up. Feels like I could have kept reading forever.

What a lovely story, my only regret was finding it so late in the game. Still I had time for multiple rereads and I wouldn't be surprised if I get at least one more in for the road.

Congratulations on completing an amaazing piece of work, terrific even. Hopefully those terms are the correct ones in the deeper meaning. :trixieshiftright:

Youre a resident, Cerea.:pinkiehappy:

Hopefully it will be many years before you buy the farm. :ajsleepy:

I absolutely adored this fic!! Thankyou for putting it out!

That ending was everything I had hoped for. Another beautiful story.

Simply amazing. This has been a joy to read from start to finish.

All good tales must come to an end. But, that doesn't mean the story has truly ended.

Good show, Estee. Perhaps we'll see another in the continuum?

Amazing story. Loved reading it over and over and over. Will probably continue to do that.

You're a blacksmith

And he's known that for a while. In Barding's mind, Cerea went from being a Monster to a girl to a blacksmith in less than a minute.

Been wanting for Cerea to meet her sisters again. Maybe next story? Love to see how the ponies freak out.

Well that was quite the ride.
I have so many hopes and wishes for cerea alot of them are mixed up
But it mainly boils down to her being happy.

Wonderful indeed

Ah! So good! Anything I say feels inadequate compared to everyone else's, but that's how good this story is~!

Just one point of confusion:

And then she'd requested that one member of the team bring in a picture of a scarless Moon.

So, Cerea wants to see what Tartarus will do to it? Hmm.

11302622

My theory is that it was to show it to the Kudu who's imprisoned there.

And that, as they say, was that.

As perfect a landing this story made, as perfect an ending you, Estee, wrote for this story, I must confess I’m very sad to have my journey with Daily Equestrian Life With Monster Girl finally come to an end. I believe—it’s been a while now, long enough that I can’t imagine not being familiar with your works and your highly unique prose and voice—this was the story that introduced me to you and your writing, for which I will be eternally grateful—Triptych and company are some exquisite pieces of writing, and your works that are long enough to be standalone novels, including this one, qualify as literature, in my humble opinion.

You’ve made your decision, and I will respect it, but I hope you understand why so many people so desperately wanted to help you, to make it work, and to be able to buy and own a physical copy of literature.

Highly niche, yes, but literature is generally considered to stop being merely writing, and instead becomes the aforementioned noun, when it is of superior quality and “lasting artistic merit.” I think I speak for, oh, at least three-quarters (3/4) of the people who read your work who’d agree that it easily qualifies as “superior quality;” lasting artistic merit is, by the definition of those words strung together in that particular order, a little more subjective. However, I think it’d be rather easy to make compelling arguments in favor of the artistic merit of at least some of these works (I’ve yet to read Anchor Foal, and I think a few other of the longer works, so I can’t make a complete assertion)—they’re rich with real and compelling characters, themes and underlying messages. Indeed, one of, if not the, most common complaints speaks in favor of this: that these stories, your (Estee’s) writing style is too real, reminds people too much of the real world, with all its flaws and hardships and problems. Which is, of course, one of the main markers of Literature: a story not merely for its own sake, but to serve as a vehicle to reflect, comment on, or send a message about the real world.

Though, in an ironic twist of fate, I must think that, however accidental, bringing Cera over—bringing what was initially feared and seen as (and, unfortunately, still seen that way by some) a world-ending monster, had a rather tangible improvement in the world: a threat gone; a monster destroyed, dead; a Dragonequus now more understanding and more accepted; a major, largely self-inflicted blow dealt to the most prominent supremacist groups in the country; a sudden decline of the Tattler; Wordia actually taking a step or two away from the attitude and behavior that’s the reason we loathe her so; The Guard has one highly competent and uniquely skilled addition; Luna now has a confidant and friend besides her sister; the world is finally being introduced to the mundane magic of audiobooks; a major leap forward in metallurgy; and, I’m sure, much more.

As I said before, a perfect ending—I certainly cannot imagine a somehow more perfect ending than what we have been given (and I dare say, blessed with) here—to an exquisite, wonderful, lovely, and very, very, very thoroughly enjoyable piece of Literature. Everything else with Cera pales in comparison.

I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing her again, if you ever have more to do with her, or with the now rather different world she inhabits.

But you don’t have to.

This alone is enough for me.


Thank you.

I come back from my holidays (the Island that Time Forgot) to this.

This has been a wonderful story. It's taken a while to get here (really 3 1/2 years?) one chapter at a time, but as ever it has been well worth the wait.

Congratulations!!

Thank you for writing this. This is been an amazing story that’s help bring me joy threw troubling times.

I love this story, and I love you. Take that how you will.
Though I took a several year-long break from this lovely tale, having rediscovered it at the start of this year has served to brighten an ever darker-seeming world. Your words of loss, and love, and hope remind us that the world does not exist in any one state - ups come with downs, the bad comes with the good - and that ultimately, at the end of everything, we emerge all the stronger and happier.

So thank you, truly, for never giving up.

I gotta say, I normally wouldn't have given a story with this premise a chance. After all, I've read very few good crossover fics on this site over the years.

But it's YOU writing it. And I've grown to love your writing, so much so that I would do anything to spend even a little bit more time in the Equestria you've created.

So I gave it a shot and boy did you deliver. What a wonderful story! I'll be eagerly looking forward to whatever you do next.

Thank you for writing this magnificent crossover. The visit to the Ibex Mountain was touching but I wonder if anything short of a catastrophe will make the leave the place.

I loved the casual exploration of the Capital and the trying up of all the loose ends and still leaves many repercussions on the world.

The Tattler closing and Wordia having to look for another job would be a great follow-up story. Or Twilight having to deal with the Library now having audio books in stocks and the problems the format will cause. Or Cerea gathering enough courage to ask that Minautor lady about bras.

Excellent ending. Those have always been the hardest parts for me, so… sufficiently impressed.

Made me think. Made me sad it isn’t longer. Still, it felt right.

11302430 "a little while longer"? They've had literally all of recorded history plus Discord alone knows how much more time, and yet a third of the population is still indoctrinated that everyone else is not only inferior, but expendable.

You're absolutely right, a war would cause massive short-term casualties and almost assuredly destroy Equestria as we know it, but when is enough enough? How many hidden murders does it take to be one murder too many? When does Harmony finally stop working when one out of every three considers sacrificing the other two in the name of Earth Pony culture acceptable?

11302754

The visit to the Ibex Mountain was touching but I wonder if anything short of a catastrophe will make the leave the place.

And they could have removed it. Two moons later, after discovering that the first departed doe had gone past it on her way down the slopes for the last time, they longed to be rid of it.

Seems like it was enough for a few of them to return to the world.

but... the palace had a certain degree of inertia.

oh, that's what Celestia said to Luna in THIS silly story:
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/328981/travapestry

The Tattler is dying.

Four little words, but they are ever so satisfying. A paper that runs on conspiracy is inevitably going to kill itself when the conspiracy goes to far. Modern internet will allow those corners to survive under the curtain of anonymity, but a traditional paper? Death by association, if not responsibility.

And it even led to Wordia ever so slowly beginning to reconsider a lot of things. It's unlikely to turn her around quickly, and she'll probably never be friends with the palace, but reporting can be both critical and fair.

Ahh, and that's just a small part. From Cerea finding her new home to Luna finding her new senechal (called it!) this story as a whole was a joy to read. It went into some pretty deep holes, and kept going down those depths for a long, long time, but that just made the payoff all the more worth it.

Great story! I love where you left it. Possibilities abound but our heroine has a place regardless of how things play out. Wonderful from start to finish. Thanks for the journey.

And she lives in a perfect place, with servants and inferiors who know it, where there isn't a single pony who doesn't know her name. She can make art and talk about things which everypony should know, and they smile and nod and she tries to ignore where the questions are going because she doesn't want to think about it and besides, there's no children here. She hasn't seen a foal for...

this reminds me of a scene in a Discworld novel, "making money", an asylum JUST for people who believed they were Lord Vetinari.
they had Eyebrow-raising contests... :derpytongue2:

11302785🙄
Yeah, you have no idea how many people are actually dying, you're just assuming a three-way race war between the three most powerful magic races wouldn't have major planetary consequences, and we do know that race relations in Equestria are slowly getting better. It'll actually probably be pretty soon anyway, seeing as the three biggest proponents of segregation just got their lunch money stolen.

You know, building a new house to accommodate multiple species was something that was touched upon in Monster Musume but the government was just throwing an unhealthy amount of money at contractors to find solutions. But how well does the contractor who will build Cerea and Nightwatch new house is good at his job? Different heights for counters, bathroom, size, door handles, etc. There are dozens upon dozens of little details two species of such a different heights need to think about.

There is a story right there for that contractor/architect who need to figure this stuff without rage quitting.

Huh... Cerea and Cerea are going to be roommates and not just people who share a barracks. There will be... incidents. And stories. They are unavailable. Like Nightwatch starting dating again and bringing the date home. Or Yapper really digging pit traps. Or connecting their houses with tunnels...

Heh, at some point Cerea could install a BBQ and start grilling meat for a lunch with Yapper and attract griffons with the smell alone but I think most griffins lives in a distinct neighborhood of Caterlot. And the smell might make Pony panic.

Totally other subject, I wonder how Yapper and Rarity would interact since the latter has some dealings with Diamond Dogs from time to time. She had quite the opinion about collar-less Diamond Dogs in Triptych (the bodies they found) but she and Yapper share a love of colors and are both artists. How would Rarity react to discovering Yapper had been banned over colors?

You already knew this, Estee, but — I’m one of the people who did not even notice this was a crossover at first, let alone have any familiarity with the source material.

(Yes, I’m that stupid. You knew that too.)

The reason I bring it up is because it means I could not have gone into this story with fewer expectations. I didn’t know Cerea, I didn’t have any basis for her neuroses in canon or fanon, I didn’t have backstory for her personality. You had to do all that heavy lifting for me, and in a crossover that’s always hard. “Here’s an established character you don’t know, written for an established story you don’t know, reacting in ways you won’t understand to situations they were never meant to be in. I expect you to care about them.”

So when I say that you won me over instantly, I want you to appreciate it is the highest compliment that this genre of fiction can possibly earn.

You made Cerea a character that I truly cared about and empathised with. From her fear and loneliness and confusion in this new world, to all of those things she tried to hide in the old one. Her journey to discovering self-worth and becoming the hero she always wanted to be, without even realising she was on the path. She was wonderful.

The worldbuilding of Menageria was sterling, perhaps in this story more than any other because the scope of looking beyond merely Ponyville or Canterlot was such a key part of the story. We found out so much about the wider world, the power of magics great and small, the nuances of the laws and the little people. You’ve created a vibrant, living universe that does what so few stories manage: you made it feel like it exists beyond merely the protagonist of the moment. There is so clearly so much more going on and it made me want to look at every part of it.

The villains were chilling, and you have a wonderful talent for making them — if you’ll forgive the phrasing — feel so human. They are people, they are individuals, they have deep motivations and doubts and strengths and failings. The Arsonist in particular was so chilling, but Ms. Panderaghast… when I once compared her to Dolores Umbridge, that said a lot for how repellent you’d made her and that is no mean feat.

Every part of this story was a joy, and I say that as someone who by literal definition came into the tale not understanding a damn thing about the protagonist or anything she brought to the party. And while I’m sad it’s ended, the ending was as perfect as I could have wished for.

From a true fan, even if one that sometimes you’d rather like to punt into a furnace, I say this with absolute sincerity.

Thank you.

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