The Night is Passing

by Cynewulf

XLV. Twilight I: The Only Moment You Were Alone

XLV. The Night is Passing

TWILIGHT

“Take a deep breath,” she said. She tried to do so, but it was difficult.

Twilight Sparkle was gazing over a small lake surrounded by lush vegetation, a garden from which all other gardens sprung at the beginning of the world. Her thoughts were a muddled mess. Everything was, really. The air pressed down on her and the grass chafed. She was just a shadow here. This was Real.

“Just… breathe,” she murmured.

When Twilight was about fourteen, her old foalsitter had taught her how to do simple breathing exercises. The trick is to stop thinking. Just for a moment.

“I can’t stop thinking!” Twilight had complained.

“Heh, maybe. You might not.”

Twilight had frowned a mighty frown, the type only a pony just entering adolescnec could muster. Her tail waved imperiously on the ground behind her. “You don’t just not think, Cadance. Even when you’re not thinking, you’re always thinking.”

Cadance hummed. She was patient. Perhaps this was part of growing up in the hostile winters of Henosia--you learned to watch and wait. Perhaps it was simply her nature. “Ah, but you can. You aren’t thinking about breathing, are you?”

“Well, now I am.”

“Yes, but you weren’t before. It is like that. You either focus on those small things and only those, and you crowd out everything else, or you focus on nothing… you find something beyond you, a point on the wall or something like that. And you breathe. Watch…”

In. Out. In. Out. Twilight went through the motions. She counted each breath and held it for the required duration. She blew out a tiny compact stream of air, imagining that she could mountain air of Canterlot, back again with Cadance on the balcony that adjoined the young princess’ rooms.

But it was not cold here. If anything, Twilight was beginning to feel that it was a bit too warm. The Garden seemed stuck between Summer and Spring, unsure of which it wanted more, unable to make a final decision as to what it needed. Sweat rolled down from her brow. She brushed it from her eyes as best she could, still breathing. Still stalling.

The lake, the pool, the fountain--it was whatever you wanted to call it, did it matter now?--just… waited.

“You’ll have to go in, Twilight Sparkle,” she said aloud.

Not if you want to come back, she said back. To herself. Because that made sense.

“Celestia is in there, and she is your mission,” Twilight said firmly. Her inner voice didn’t even have to respond. She grimaced. “Celestia is in there, and she is your friend,” she said, trying again. “And she’s Luna’s sister, and you…”

Like her.

It was an odd place to wrestle with oneself, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was the best place. Many of the world’s most secret and deadly conversations had occurred in gardens. They were, she realized, the true battlefields of the world, always full of eyes and ears, the playgrounds of assassins and the jousting fields of young love. Gardens. Gardens! Of course. There was a Garden at the edge of the world, of course there was.

She was trying to avoid the issue.

Any of the issues, in fact. I have to face this. I have to… before I see her, I have to…

Admit to herself that she was a mare rather messily divided.

Ponies, as well as any other creature, are capable of lying. Some do it better than others, but all can and do lie. And who better to lie to then themselves? Who better to practice on? Forget a thing, ignore a thing, and suddenly, it is no longer. Magic, right? Not at all, and Twilight knew it.

Her journey had not begun that night with Luna, had it? It had begun on the ridge overlooking Ponyville. What had she thought of? Celestia, of course, always of Celestia. How does one forget the sun? But it was more than that. Even before Celestia had gone into the West and vanished, Twilight had revolved around her. Worshipped the ground she walked, praised her every act, memorized her every word fervently. But in this way wasn’t she simply like many, many other admirers? Hardly. A Celestialist clutching an emblem of the sun and moon, whispering; a Supernalist consulting the stars, considering the position and the planning of the sun and moon alike--but did they know what it was like to have tea with Celestia? Twilight did.

It occurred to her that the piece of Celestia’s…. whatever it was perhaps still rode within her. Twilight knew no way to check. Did it know her thoughts? If so, it would know all of them, and what it would find… perhaps it was best that Twilight couldn’t communicate.

What did Twilight Sparkle, late of Ponyville, late of Canterlot, perhaps now of Nowhere--what did this Twilight Sparkle have to say? For the old Twilight Sparkle was another mare in another world. What did she say of Celestia? What could she? What could she say of anypony, if she were truly honest with herself? Twilight, this Twilight, hardly knew herself some days.

Who do you love? Who loves you? Are all ties wholesome because they are enjoyed?

How do you greet a long lost friend? Lover? Parent? What if they left? What if the reasons for their leaving were sound? What if they were not?

Twilight laid her head in the grass and groaned.

When had Twilight begun to understand herself? Perhaps not until this very moment. Maybe she still didn’t understand herself. Perhaps, she thought darkly, without Celestia riding her spirit down into the water she would never have thought this way at all. But it was true, really, wasn’t it? Celestia was her mentor and teacher, but not her mentor and teacher. She was not Twilight’s mother, but Twilight thought the word and Celestia and Twilight Velvet sat side by side smiling at her. She thought “beautiful” and Celestia was there, not Luna, not some half-remembered image of her mother from childhood. Celestia, raising the sun in Glory.

Around her, the Garden seemed darker, as if a shadow had fallen upon it.

Twilight, in a flight of fancy, thought she saw something stir in the water. She looked out over it. Her head throbbed, and when she pulled on her magic to examine the water it was like thrusting sharp glass into her eyes and nose. She suppressed a scream and fell back, squeezing her eyes shut. The pain travelled along her horn like arcing lightning, moving through her body towards the ground. She was like a conduit for it, open and ready to be--

Twilight opened her eyes, and saw a figure upon the surface of the water.

It was all black suggestion and vague form, but as it neared, the shadow became more solid, more comprehensible. It hurt less and less to look upon it. And soon, it had a face.

“C-Celestia.” Twilight Sparkle tried to breath but it was difficult.

“Perhaps,” said Celestia, stopping a few meters away, her hooves touching the water without disturbing it.

“P-per… perhaps? What’s happening? Where did this… oh, f-fu--” Twilight felt nauseous. Her body shook. “What is this?” she asked again, and before she could wait for a response, she lost the papers somewhere in the grass and curled into a ball.

“I am only a reflection,” said the image of the sun triumphant. “And you have tarried, hoping you would one day be better.” Twilight stared at her incredulously as the Not-Celestia continued. “You are under a great assault, Twilight.”

“I… gathered.”

“You hadn’t gathered a thing. Only suffered. Suffering is not understanding, Twilight. You have been under direct attack since you entered this place. In fact, the Hideous Strength first began to push against you directly when you left Canna. Every feeling of foreboding, every urge to turn back, every single dark hour were all you, but they were you carried by another. It had thought to send you away. It saw quickly you would not be turned away by fear and it could find no lie to keep you, so it has tried to crush you instead, taking its eyes off of the Sun ever so briefly. I have been awakened in you. You must dive.”

“I… Oh, stars, please… it hurts…” She was crawling, or trying to. What had begun as the mother of all migraines had become something else entirely. Her skin felt like it was peeling back. Her insides felt like they were melting and shredding. Tears ran down her face. “What is…”

The Image closed her eyes and thrust her wings out in a wide arc. All around her, the darkness that had deepened was pushed back and the air shimmered. Twilight felt as if somepony’s hoof had been on her throat and had been pulled off only now. She gasped and lay there, amazed.

“What was that?” Twilight asked. “What in Tartarus was that? I just started…”

“Dying,” the Image said, it’s voice strained. “You were dying. I have only a moment. Please, dive. It will not come for you for some… some time… make your peace quickly and… the other shore… g--”

The Image vanished, but took with it the darkness and the heaviness. The world was as it had been. Twilight breathed in the absence. In. Out. In. Out. The pain and the horror did not return. She waited another minute, recovering, as the pain’s memory faded.

And now, more than ever, she wanted to go back.

But that could only last for a little while, anyway. She had to go in.

Twilight set the notes aside. She set everything aside neatly in the grass a few meters from the pool, and it became a sort of ritual. Step by step, it all had, the longest preparations in the history of the world. The earlier darkness did not return.

She stepped into the pool hesitantly. It was cold. Very cold. Twilight shivered, and then chuckled weakly at herself. “Don’t want to walk in.” She froze, still half-laughing. Everything told her to go back--this was dangerous--don’t go--

Twilight took a deep breath and jumped as far as she could and found the water infinite.

ETERNITY’S FAR SHORE

Twilight Velvet mother mine you sit before a being of light and heat talking idly of books and children do you not see the glory that would burn the eyes out of she who had eyes to see

the ground cold my face cold but not cold my hooves gone but not gone taken from me but not moved colors bright and unfocused the picture sharp but

Velvet did you know did you know that your baby girl would one day rule the nations did you know Celestia is asking her mouth opens the dawn is come the works of darkness must flee she is asking

did you know that your little spark would come this far to find me did you know, Velvet did you know that your foal would see the end of all flesh and the ragged frayed edges of the world did you

know that she will see eternity and she is seeing it now her mind is far behind her body her heart leads from the front her body is sluggish and the flesh is weak

The moon rising over my thoughts Luna though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death your rod staff comfort me thou preparest a table in the presence of my enemies my brother is your footstool Celestia most fair who is like you among the daughters--

Imagine, if you will, a flat plane. Colorless, for simplicity’s sake. If it helps, imagine it shrouded in mist that permeates the plane and almost gives it something like visibility. Imagine also Twilight Sparkle, alone in that desolation. For it must be desolate by the standards of the mortal mind, musn’t it? There is nothing but the plane and the fog. Now add to that picture. Colors beyond imagining--and do try to imagine them. Painted on top of each other, haphazard and without form or purpose or structure, endlessly arrayed in all directions, but they are background and the plane is reality.

That picture is a false picture. It falls apart.

Try again--Twilight is trying again. A new picture. A long hallway that stretches out far past what the eye can see, and Twilight slumped against a wall by her own door, purple and emblazoned with her cutie mark, waiting to wake and try each door, one by one, perhaps forever, endlessly. Another kaleidoscope of color--above her the stars in patterns they have never been in, moving when she doesn’t look and she never looks so they play and tangle themselves wildly.

No, too long. She will wander and wander and find no relief. It will not work.

Try again--Twilight is being dragged along by an impatient and worried hand. Try again, Twilight, please. Try again. Look and form meaning.

A terrace--many terraces--a mountain face. the sun hanging in the sky--far too close, red with age, an angry crimson. Everything is bathed in the red glow. Push the sun back a bit. Close the curtains--no, there, it’s better--the glow is diminished, now it is as if the scene is only dawn and not the end of the world.

What is this place? This hollowed--hallowed--bastion? You create it with your heart, not your mind, Twilight. That is why it is not smashed to pieces when your brain tries to grasp what it sees and feels. The heart can feel what the mind cannot, and the mind’s cold calculus looks into the yawning eternities and loses itself. Here, a castle in the waning (growing?) light, and here--towers resplendent but ancient, and here and there a valley and a vast city of emptiness. Canterlot in some far off eon when the world is old. Maybe. Maybe not. A palace and a balcony and tables and chairs. The smell of tea and the warmth of the cup. The early morning air. Yes, feel and be moved--construct. Time is short. For you have called down deep heaven on your head, and not in wrath, and it unmakes you--you’ll build or die, please build.

She found you, lost in Eternity, without reason or knowledge. Without hope or comprehension. Drowning and yet vividly alive. She let her gaze fall away only for as long as it took to see what it was that the Shadow looked for and she found a familiar light shining in an overlooked corner on some distant shore where ponies dwell--strange, silly creatures, little whimsies brought to life--and both She and It turned their gaze from one another long enough to work their works. Another duel--she urged the spark into wakefulness and the Shadow sought to snuff out the life that bore it. But She would not let it kill, and it withdrew its hand and once again they dueled.

A large balcony, then. A screen to change behind--how old! How strange, I’ve never hidden from you in such a way. Weapons racks, a mat and a lowered area, my sister’s work if ever I saw it. A harp. It is beautiful, Twilight, but you’re stalling. Even when you aren’t awake you--

And then you prove me wrong. You have prepared a table for me in the presence of my enemy, and now here I am, sitting at it. Your mother sits apart from me. I open my mouth to speak, and find that I do not say what I intended to say.

“Did you know, Twilight Velvet, that your daughter would do great things?” She smiled.

Yes, I remember this conversation. You were either…. seven or eight. New to my tutelage, very new. Your mother was still nervous around me. She grew out of that. I enjoyed taking tea with your mother. She was a gifted writer and a conversationalist with few equals.

“I… I suppose I had hoped, Your Highness. Doesn’t every parent?”

“Of course.”

She paused (will pause? Pauses? You’re losing control of time, Twilight, stay strong! Do not go gentle!) and frowned (frowns? Will frown?). “No, I take it back.”

I am fully in the past now, in that moment. My eyes--She gazes on It and It gazes back--yes, Twilight, I still have my eye on the foe, but they are also here. You’re beginning to see that things are not so limited. Good. But my eyes were on your mother, then.

“You do?”

Twilight Velvet is a brave mare in her own way. She has carried no lance nor done any battle magic. She is rather frightened of snakes (a wise fear) and of rats (a slightly less wise fear). But she took a deep breath that day I realized I was in the presence of a lioness. She looked at me, looked deep into my eyes--few of my beloved little ponies ever do, I’m sorry to say--and she said…

She said… Don’t stop, Twilight. You can do it. Build! Build. Please build. Try to remember what you felt. No matter what it was or is or will be, feel it and finish building a place where you can survive here.

Velvet said, “No, I hoped that my daughter would be happy. I did not wish or think that she would do great things.” She dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred, and her eyes darted away. “Those things are not the same. Princess,” she amended softly.

And just like that, the memory is complete. The floors and walls solidify, and you are there. And that is where you wake up.

Author's Note:

Comments

[Bloody_Tofu]

6744079

Almost 5am here... Wow ya that is not something to read while half awake.

A blend of beautiful writing and mind buck.

[Vandratha]

Another wonderful surreal chapter. Your writing as always is a joy to experience.

Velvet did you know did you know that your baby girl would one day rule the nations

One of my favorite Christmas(?) songs. I was not expecting it here; it was wonderful to stumble upon.

[RoboRed]

6744526
I was thinking this very same thing.

[JacenCaedus]

ooh, nice use of that hymn... one sentence I never thought I'd say about a My Little Pony fanfic... or any fanfic for that matter

[Seraphimus]

Alright I'm getting there bit by bit, but one thing is a bit unclear in this chapter did, twilight read the letters yet or not? or is that perhaps ambiguous on purpose?

[Ice Star]

I'm already speechless, what else do you want from me?

I can only wonder how this will end...