Upon A Darkened Night
The sound of hoofsteps on stone, the rustle of paper, the creak of old wood, the gentle din of ceramic bottles clinking against each other… Quiet noises that created an odd harmony in tandem with the crackling fire of the late-night hearth. An odd harmony that played a music to which sorrowful shadows danced, as they had many a night before. The soft and shimmering shadows that were cast by a single pony counting out the steps to a dance she’d done again and again every night, without a single thought. The first thought that came to be, raising a quill and pulling a sheet towards her, and the dance the pale blue feather took as words came to fruition.
Once again, I find myself sitting here. I don’t even remember walking to this silent spot in my room, or drawing the inkwell towards me, or even picking up the quill I hold that is skittering across the pages before me with my every thought. Once again, I find myself writing to you.
The clink of a fine metal nib resounded gently through the empty air as the quill was dipped into the black ink and tapped against the side of the bottle with slow and deliberate motion.
Once again, I find myself writing to you, if for no other reason than that I will burst if I must hold my tongue for a moment longer. I must speak, if only in runes and the dance of an old feathered quill upon parchment. For if I do not let out my feelings for you in this moment, I feel as if I would lose my mind and would fall to an unwaking madness. Is that terribly dramatic of me?
A small smile crossed the mare’s lips as the last line etched itself out onto paper. As always, once she had started upon the letter, the words would almost seem to bring themselves into being, the quill she held speeding up into a blur of motion as everything she held tight under lock and key in her chest came out to the ethereal glow of the candlelight.
I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you. If the world bowed to my will, every pony would step aside to allow you passage to wherever your dreams would lead you. If the sun bowed to my knowledge, it would forever shine upon you, so that the prince I see within your heart would be clear to everyone else as well. If time itself bowed to my pleads, it would stop to allow us joy in an unending dance that would be the answer to my every prayer. The
The quill stopped, but only because it could no longer write. With motion that seemed almost painful, it was gently lifted to dip sweetly into the inkwell once more. The quill span gently in the blue aura that held it as the silver tip darkened, tinted black by the very thing she needed to continue. Her eyes dimmed slightly, tears finding their way down her muzzle as she tapped her quill three times against the rim of the bottle- The excess ink falling back into the dark liquid below in teardrops that almost seemed to mimic her own.
The world does not bow to me however, so you will have to fight and struggle for everything you could ever desire. The sun will never head to the truths I see, so your path will often be cast in shadows that will trip you up and earn others' mocking laughter. And as time bows to nopony, my prayers will never be answered, as we will never get to dance.
For as much as I love you, we will never be. As much as I love you, we will never touch. As much as I love you, our eyes will never meet in the way I see in my own dreams every night; With neither lust nor admiration, but with true and understanding love between two souls.
The quill was gently set aside for a moment, laid to rest beside the tinted parchment it had yet to finish, leaving the soft sapphire wisps of the feather to brush against the dark cherry pigment of the wood, and for the ink to tint it darker still. A feather stretched out and gently flicked an errant teardrop from the wrinkled page, and then another, before stopping with a hint of irritation at the various damp spots that littered the bottom of the paper. There was no helping it now. With a sigh, the quill was scooped up into the soft glitter of her magic, and she started to inscribe the words within her heart once more, this time wary of the fragile parchment beneath her point.
If you were to read this, I know you would speak the same word I have spoken in question myself so many times.
“Why?”
The answer to that, is simple.
“Because I love you.”
We can never be, because I love you. Because I love you, we can never touch. Because I love you, I hide the way my heart feels every time our eyes meet behind a mask of false indifference.
Why?
For so many more reasons than I should ever have had to count. I force myself to count them again and again even as they rip me apart with the truth they hold. The simplest of these, is also the least painful, and that is so that you may keep smiling on, blissfully unaware and happy in your own world.
It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair it isn’t fair it isn’t fair it isn’t fai - . . . '
The quill had snapped. She still held the feather in her aura, staring unseeing at the half-written letter before her. As thought came back to her, she found herself dully surprised that the paper hadn’t torn under the force of her furious writing. The words had almost been engraved into the paper, the ink dropped dot of every I spreading like tiny spider webs through the grain of the surrounding parchment. She took a slow, deep breath, tilting her head back, banging it gently against the silk back of her chair, and letting the tears fall as they would. Even if only for a little bit, she would allow herself to lose control for a moment longer.
One minute passed, and then another. Upon the fifth, she sat upright once more, rubbed her eyes clear with a foreleg, and picked up a new quill to start again.
Despite all my protests, despite all my begging and pleading, false reasoning and artificial truths- These facts remain.
I’m too old for you. Rather simply, I watched you grow up. I’ve seen you bloom into the handsome stallion you are today, from the moment you were a little colt. Although some may protest that you are an adult now, and have been for several years upon this day, that such a detail no longer matters; I cannot help but feel that it does.
For even ignoring this first fact, this second one remains. I am immortal. You are not. Even if I was to cast aside the fact that I am likely older than your own recorded lineage, the truth stands that I would inevitably outlive you. In comparison to me, your life flame would be but a will-o-the-wisp in the wind of a storm. Beautiful and bright, but gone in a fleeting moment. You don’t deserve to stand by the side of a mare that stands untouched by time even as you rot away ravaged by forces she can barely comprehend.
As much as it hurts to imagine it, I want to see you stand proud and happy beside a bride that you can grow old with. A bride whom you can raise a family with, children that can follow their dreams untouched by the curse of immortality. I will watch over them, of course, protect them as if they were my own- For in my heart, they would be, in a way.
All I will ever ask of you, is that you call me “friend,” even when that word tastes foul to my mouth and I wish to obliterate it from the earth. For you were the first one to consider me such a thing to you in over a millennium, and it means more to me than you could ever understand. The moon will forever light your path my love, even if the sun should burn out before you reach the end of it. The stars will forever guide you home, even if you should choose to make it in a place I could never hope to reach.
I love you, my little Pip, and I always will.
With a fluid motion, Luna stood up, the letter sweeping up and off the desk in a glimmering azure aura that seemed to mimic the motions its wielder took. Slowly, she reread her letter, smiling sadly at the symbols she had inscribed, and at the unchanging truth they told. Then, with the rustle of folding paper and the fiery crackle of the hearth, she threw it into the fireplace, where it joined among the ashes the countless other unread letters she had wrote.