Deep in the night, the statue cries. This is its story, its tale of how the stone would be much more of just a barrier preventing escape. Even once it escapes its imprisonment, the statue will cry on.
The statue lies in the royal gardens, the statue representing the disharmony between ponies. Some say it was a representation of a creature that rampaged thousands of years ago. Others say it was somepony who ran afoul of the princesses. Some say it would be alive. Especially since deep in the night, the statue cries.
This is its story, its tale of how the stone would be much more of just a barrier preventing escape. Even once it escapes its imprisonment, the statue will cry on.
I swear, the blackness is killing me. The unchanging, static, orderly black is suffocating me. Its clawing me to shreds and pieces, then slamming me back whole, only to repeat the agonizing process, forever torturing me. It is so dark. Not even pitch is lightless. It is all a hazy fog of raven, drifting about me, obscuring my vision.
I cannot see.
I cannot breathe. The black smothering me. It has no smell, no taste, no texture, no colour, no shadow, no…no…nothing.
It is nothing.
I can’t stand it.
Somepony please end it.
I remember laughing. I remember walking on the greenest grass I’d ever seen, the tickling feeling underfoot, the earthy smell of upturned dirt, the golden trees, the yellow sun…and I remember chaos. Beautiful, wonderful, chaos. All the vivid senses heightening your imagination. Purple and pink chessboards, spongy and soft to touch, the distorted realms that would be a perfectionist’s nightmare, clouds of all sorts of flavours, raining colourful dyes and liquids to stain the little beings who enjoyed their life in this existence.
Except that they did not enjoy it.
They scream their terror to the heavens, begging some entity from beyond the sky to end their pathetic suffering, begging the chaos to stop, screaming, running, causing quite a riot. Their stomping hooves create a beautiful cacophony of mayhem, but it was one I did not like. Well, not at first, anyway. But there was no god for them, was there? I was the closest thing.
They hide their little, innocent foals away from the “corruption”, shielding them from any slightest chaotic exposure, each filly and colt moulded and twisted into somepony who would be a repeat of their previous generations. How utterly and completely boring.
It is so maddening for ponies to not understand, to forever continue their endless, unchanging cycle, eternally a minuscule and insignificant stich on reality’s tapestry, following order to a deathly extent. And it hurt that they would stop, that they would be angry with someone who goes against it, who breaks the rules. And it hurt that they would do anything to destroy you.
Well, at first it did, anyway.
Then my hurting stopped. Their cries of ‘Monster!’ no longer got to me. The resounding ‘Freak!’ no longer made me shy away, cowering. It just stopped. I no longer let it touch me. I no longer let anyone get to me. I pushed anyone who got in my way, the right way, to break the order, to cause the chaos. I was too far away from anypony.
I stopped my pain.
Ponies said I had a heart of stone, shrieking as I turned their hooves into candy canes. I laughed. Ponies said I had no heart. I taunted in return, jibe for jibe. Soon, that became a pattern too. I had no heart. My heart was stone, harder than granite.
But do granite hearts break?
There’s a feeling of ache where my chest should be, like stone shattering into shards and piercing through my chest like deadly needles.
Not that I know how that feels like or anything.
There is a gaping hollow in a part of my brain where all my bad memories and buried, far, far below my mind’s surface. And I would like them to stay there, thank you very much.
I will not remember them.
I cannot remember them.
Everything is fading. All concept of time here is fractured, useless. I know not how long I have been here. I think it has been eternity. Maybe it was yesterday. What happened yesterday? Was it the day the two ponies came to stop me? Their faces are obscured for some reason. All my memories are blurred. Maybe I never really existed. Never have, never will.
Maybe it was all a dream. No such thing as reality, no such thing as ponies, no such thing as hearts, no such thing as candy, no such thing as sight, no such thing as…as…chaos.
Ow.
That hurt. Really, really badly. Maybe I have a heart after all. Maybe it’s made of granite. Do granite hearts break? That seems familiar somehow, but I can’t remember where. It’s all black here. No light, no sight, no movement, no body, no chaos, no eyes, no senses, no chaos, no chaos…
There is no one.
I am alone. Alone forever with my faded memories, with my imagination, talking to myself, but not actually talking. I am insane, of course. And I wish I could just die. I wish they would die. Everyone will die. I am going to kill them all. I will separate the ponies into little gory pieces, tearing off limb after limb, front hooves, then back, blood trickling down my chin and staining my claws a lovely and fashionable shade of red. And I will laugh.
Oh dear, that’s horribly dark. And specific. I almost thought it was real for a moment. If I close my eyes tight, I would almost believe it. Except that I have no eyes. I never had. Nothing is real. My pain is not real; I am not real. At least the ponies are not real, too. I hate them. I hate them. In my mind, I can make the non-existent ponies burn. Then I can kill myself, too. Then I will be dead. What an unusual feeling. How would death be like?
I think I will steer away from that topic now, and go back to hallucinating.
Imagine a perfect world, where a little colt, lived with his loving parents, in a cottage, that was always filled with laughter, happiness, and cotton candy. Imagine that windigos never laid hoof anywhere near. Imagine they lived happily ever after.
Except that they did not.
The cold wind will blow on the little draconequus’s face one wintry day, he will wake to see his family, his species, all frozen statues, static and unmoving, no chaos, dead. They will be all solid ice. Mommy still has a smile on her narrow face, a slender paw draped around little sister Ataxia, the other claw wrapped around cousin Anarchy, who is also beaming. Daddy has a conspiratorial twitch on his muzzle, and still has a paw supporting the giant cake, balanced on an impossibly small plate. They are buried deep in conversations for the surprise birthday party.
The birthday cake was frozen too.
I think I may be crying. I can’t tell. Am I crying? Why do I care? I don’t remember how to cry.
I don’t think tears exist anyway, nothing exists.
What was I talking about? I can’t remember. Once dreams, hallucinations are over, there will still be nothing. No feeling, no sense of touch or anything, just hollow and static emptiness.
I am so lonely.
It is just forever me, just me, nothing, no one else, just all alone.
How would I be able to stand it if his eyes had been even partially open when he turned? His eyes, always full of the very laughter I used against him? The eyes, which always sparkled with curiosity and hidden knowledge? The dancing pools of red and gold, their vivid colour now dulled to grey, constantly open, forever watching, and judging me?
I am sorry, my friend.
Laughing. Ironic. You always did enjoy a good laugh. The expression is now frozen permanently on your face. It’s strange how such an action, used to express joy, now seems as lively as a tombstone. Your laugh seems painful. It’s more of a cry of distress, or a scream of guttural agony, that I see when I raise the moon today. The smile is stretched in laughter, but laughter does not exist on nights like these. The lady seems sad today, too. Her serene face is glowing with silver light, but it also seems to reflect the gloom I have now inflicted on you for eternity. It is a long, long time, even for an immortal. Hundreds of years pass in a blink of an eye. But forever?
What have I condemned you to? What have I condemned myself to?
It’s getting late, but I cannot bear to leave you here, alone, tonight. Can you hear me coming? Maybe. Probably not. Your statue seems to be too caught up with laughing, but it also looks like you are enraptured in your own song making. Your claw is pressed to your chest, as if you are singing. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can imagine the nightly crickets’ chirp as music, melody I can find myself in. But when I open them again, it seems too silent. Silence is all there is. You, the Lord of Chaos, are silent, tonight.
You never did like silence. It was too static. You were an ever-changing flame that would die if you stopped your continuous dancing movement. Now you are silent, static. You were silenced by me. I know someone like you would hate it, more than any punishment that could have been delivered to you. I am cruel. I would go insane if I had to live with silence for eternity. Is that how you feel? Do you have any shreds of sanity left to lose? Many say not. I think otherwise. Somewhere in there, is the playful draconequus I used to team up with to prank my sister whenever she needed it.
I can see Celestia. The light streams out onto the opened balcony, being a single light standing out against the blackness and shadows of the castle. She paces her room with such fervour, she may wear her hooves out. I think she can pace for a little longer; she looks too deep in thought to miss me. She probably misses you, though. I remember when you used to come to the palace to play with us. StarSwirl forbade it, and that only encouraged you more, did it not? You liked that coming would distress him, and you liked visiting us. You always had a new wonder to show us every week, from the edible sugar crystals, to the chocolate sprouting flowers. I always loved the latter. I know Celly preferred the other, though, and you never failed to conjure it for her whenever she asked.
You were such a good friend back then. Why did you change?
I know they made you upset. I saw you flinch when they said nasty things about you. You were always nervous when you heard the slightest whisper, the barest hint that somepony gossiped about you. I know they hurt you. The ponies feared you, your power, the sight of you. Some hated you.
But did they deserve eternal chaos?
Maybe. It scares me that I admit it. I am cruel. We all are.
Except you. You were never cruel, were you?
Cold, calculative, cunning, malicious. Your laughter stopped being genuine. Your humour only rose at their pain. For those last few months, everything became a game, didn’t it? The world was something for you to bend to your every will, reality to your every whim. And its inhabitants?
They became your playthings.
Toys you could throw; dolls you could break. No. No creature should be treated like that. Nothing, no living being, should be treated like they are a mere object without feelings, to be tossed around, emotions toyed.
Which is exactly what happened to you, I believe.
So you brought about the largest chess game Equestria has ever seen.
Is it fair? An eye for an eye? Justice?
Maybe. Probably not.
I pledged to guard and protect my little ponies with my life. You offered a position for me at your side, bringing the kingdom I worked hard to build, to its knees, shaking. I refused. So did my sister. Harmony had called us to play for her instead. It meant that I had to turn one of my best childhood friends to stone.
…What else awaits me? What else am I going to have to do to protect them?
Do I want to do this anymore?
No, that was a trick question. I have no choice in the matter. Immortality is very much a curse. Entropy’s jaws will snatch, and leave nothing in its wake. Everypony, every being, will fade and crumble to dust. Except me. And Celestia. We will watch until existence bores itself to death, when the dying sun’s rays grace the planet, the rich soil and fertile earth stained red and volatile. When the moon smiles one last time. I await that day. I will welcome it. But I will stay with Celestia in the meantime. She needs me. I may be the younger sister, but she depends on me as much as I rely on her.
Your statue is cold, deathly cold, freezing to touch, but it is not the cold that is making me shiver.
You are there, somewhere beyond that stone, that solid barricade keeping you trapped in a limbo realm that breaks you slowly, corrupting from the inside. That knowledge is useless. Beyond the granite eyelids, there is a pair of lifeless grey eyes that are unseeing, but stare into the depts of my soul anyway.
I smile happily at him, but the simple action of quirking up my lips seems very tiring for some reason. Maybe I am tired. No, I am exhausted. My limbs are aching, a new sensation to me. Every step sends a shooting spike of agony up my right hoof, so I think I've twisted something. My hair is becoming more orderly and neater, an occupational hazard. Every inch of me is wet from the drizzle, and everything is a world of grey gloom, like a mist suffocating me.
But it's all worth it.
He is here. I've found him!
The moonlight makes the stone glow white, and it shows me clearly what he is doing. His jaw is unhinged, smiling widely, his snaked tongue still in action to form words before he was frozen. And he seems happy. He is laughing, with a claw stretched out in a manner I instantly recognise from experience as forced hilarity. He had laughed. The very sound I used to hear that brought me hope, the echoes resounding in my ear, committed to heart. But it was not genuine. His smile was knowing, and his eyes were closed, as if afraid of what awaited him. No, no, daddy was never afraid. But he still knew that this was coming. But he did not move. Why?
"Sometimes you can be very silly!" I giggle, tapping his nose. My hoof bonking the granite makes a chink sound, and my hoof slips on the smooth material. Daddy's fur was smooth, too. But it was a different kind of smooth. Daddy's chest was sometimes a little fuzzy, and felt like gentle feathers tickling me when I brushed against it. It was silky, but this kind of smooth is like ice. The stone is very different from the fur I used to hug, it is very, very cold. Too cold. Maybe daddy is unwell. But what medicine could be given to stone? Maybe he just needs a blanket. But a blanket would get wet in the increasing rain.
"I think you-" A simple commanding thought instinctively runs through my head, followed by a splitting pain that throbs through my temples like electricity cackling, making me reel, landing face first into the cut grass, the lawn smell wafting through my nostrils and making me light headed. The slimy wetness rubs against my firmly closed eyes. A metallic and salty taste floods my senses as I realise I've bitten the inside of my cheek too hard. My vision spins, and not in a normal way.
Right, no chaos, no magic. I forgot.
I smile at daddy. It's alright. It does not matter that I have nowhere to go anymore. It does not matter that I sleep in a garbage bin, full of flies and other homeless foals that fear me. It does not matter that I run from every pony, and that they try to throw things at me. It doesn't even hurt, not on the outside, anyway. It does not matter that I sleep, wet and cold. It does not matter that the world is so cruel and mean. It does not matter that sometimes I cannot run, sometimes I feel like just giving up and falling to the pitchforks and torches that are a blurry and constant haze, following me. I feel really cold, but it does not matter.
Because daddy is here. He always makes everything better. He can do anything, bend reality by snapping his fingers. He will make everything better. He always does. He will laugh, and I will laugh, and we will play in the chocolate puddles, together. Maybe if I close my eyes, reality will disappear and I will be left with that existence, the existence of such a happy ending, like in all those fairy tales daddy tells me. Well, used to tell me. He always liked to make up a good story, like the one about the two big bad princesses. The story even turned out to be true. Daddy liked to tuck me in at night. Sometimes, it would even be a song to lull me to sleep.
Rain is still falling, droplets of water trickling down the petrified chimera limbs belonging to daddy. It pours down like a wet sheet. It clings a bit around his closed eyes, like he is crying. No, he is not actually crying, daddy never cries! He is always brave and clever, and funny. He is always there for me, and I am always there for him. Through the the thin and thick. No matter what happens. He looks a bit sad though. Or sleepy. Maybe I should sing him a song.
"Do not cry, daddy dear, I am still very here, and when you do break out, we'll continue to spread the random fear..." Words tumble out as I clamber onto the carved stone pedestal, skidding on the wet marble, and grasp one of daddy's hind legs, smiling. He feels really cold. I hug the leg tightly, pressing the freezing hard material against my stinging cheek. I crow in delight.
"Our joy will be their pain, as the world drowns in chocolate rain!" I shriek brokenly to the downcast sky, eyes closed, feeling droplets drip down my face, making me wetter and colder than before. Rain continues to pour, and I suddenly am thankful to the rain, as the droplets cover the fact that I am crying. No, no, I am not crying, I am brave and strong, like daddy.
"Because...you...are my daddy Discord!" I wail louder, my grin stretching wider. Thunder grumbles overhead and rain falls even harder. The storm is closing in, but I feel strangely giddy and at peace. For a split second, the world turns a blinding white, and everything is silent, except for the pounding of my own heart, thumping loudly and drowning everything else, except for my own cracked voice.
She’s not crying. She just stands firmly, as if it’s just another ordinary day, with nothing to worry about. As if we did not just gain a new statue in the gardens.
This does not surprise me, for some reason.
Celestia was always the strong one, the bold one, the calm one. She kept her cool, and faced every danger and foe with a clear and unburdened mind. She was the kindness, the generosity.
She was also the most sensitive, and she also knew you better than I did. I think. She was always your favourite, too, anyway. And after all this, she still does not weep. Not like I did.
I’m not sure what I expected, for her to wail? To scream? To express her heartbreak through every pore of her body? To bawl her eyes out? To renounce her claim on the throne?
No. She would not do that.
She’s hurting, on the inside. Her steps have no spring; her eyes have no sparkle. She is monotone, dead. She does her every business quietly, and hasn’t pranked me once since your imprisonment. It probably reminds her too much of you, but I think time will heal. It always does.
She has a haze of grey sadness pouring out through every breath she takes, and she is almost grey. Strange, even though you are the one who is trapped in stone, it seems that we all are. Trapped in granite, unable to move anywhere, unable to progress, just stay trapped in a place where the concept of time was lost. Except the ponies, of course. They wanted this. They see Celestia as the face of the country, the unfailing goddess who saved them all from eternal chaos, from anarchy’s clutches. She is perfect in their eyes, but what do they see me as? Just another pony who helped her? Just the element of Laughter, Loyalty and Honesty?
You were the laughter. And now you’re gone. The world is far, far too static now.
~~~~~
Flowers.
Pink. Like the magical ones you used to conjure. I barely blink, and with a reflexive impulse, I react.
They hit the other side of the room forcefully, the speeding projectile snapping against the alabaster walls, the perfect walls. They droop, stems broken, oozing life essence, but petals still intact, taunting me brokenly. The pink buds wilt a little, under the strong ray of heat that my magical grip has been influencing, scorching slightly in the fiery heat.
I can’t stand reminders!
With that simple and forceful thought, like a thrusting icy blade, flames lick the bundle of flowers swiftly, cackling and hissing as well as an artificially conjured fire could, consuming the flowers in a golden blaze, and the reminder was soon reduced to cindering ashes. The fire made quick work. It was efficient, orderly.
You hated order.
My lip gives out under the harsh treatment of my teeth, and a trickle of salty blood flows into my mouth, the metallic taste assaulting the remaining senses I had. Everything reminded me of you!
I felt cold. Very, very cold. Everything is numb from pain and I am disconnected at the moment. It hurts, but it is very far away, like it hurts for somepony else, not me. My head spins and dots, like little fish, swim before my eyes. The pale grey floor is suddenly patterned with purple and pink squares, the familiarity making me shudder violently. Hollow laughter fills the space in my ears that have been empty for a very long time.
“Oh…Tia!” Taunting.
Then eyes, red and yellow, glaring, betrayed, tortured, occupy the entirety of my vision. You smile, baring teeth that could rend and tear, but the leer has lost its menacing edge, and is sad. Dread pounds through my head like heartbeat, and I am shown mercy, when the piercing red and gold is stuffed out suddenly, like a little candle wick wiped out by an ocean. It is replaced with grey. An ocean of grey. It floods everything, and I scream, but they grey pours through my mouth and nostrils, into my lungs, and I drown in it, and it suddenly hardens, so I am left petrified, and cold, very, very cold…
Then everything dissolves in a bright blue flash, the chaotic playground disappearing, its landscape replaced by large eyes, inquisitive and startled. Familiar eyes.
The aqua hue that reflects in the eyes flickered for a moment.
Angry yellow and crimson stared back.
Then the eyes reverted back to those eyes, Luna’s eyes.
“Are you alright, Tia?”
Tia.
I flinch. The name reverberates in my ears, and if I lose focus, as in my hearing, the sound can almost deepen with malice. Luna looks worried, frowning. She is entirely oblivious to my inner agony.
“Ti-?”
“Don’t say it!” I scream at her, making her wince. For a second, I feel guilty, guilty I had hurt my sister. But it is quickly engulfed in frustration, like the fire swallowing the delicate blossoms before. I glare, and she cowers.
She licks her lips, an action I was unable to do without pain, due to the damage my lips have sustained. She clears her throat and begins to form words, probably an apology, one I neither deserved, nor wanted to hear.
She looks visibly upset, as though it was my doing. But I refuse to soften. My frustrations, my anger, my rage and self-pity, along with my sorrow, I attempted to express in a single word. A tsunami of turmoil rears up.
“I-“ The word never made it past my tight throat, through my remarkably dry mouth, before I was completely and utterly drained, empty of my previous emotions.
“I’m sorry!” That phrase, sad and guilty, summed up how I felt. I was sorry, for snapping at Luna, who did nothing wrong. I was sorry, for Discord, I…I bawl into her shoulder, her warm blue coat soaked by tears. A hoof tightened around my back as I sob harder, tears welling out and splashing onto Luna, who patted me softly. Her trickling tears joined mine, but she was far too tired to cry any harder. She hugged me, a role reversal on what usually took place. Luna hummed and stroked my back. Her song was like a lullaby; by I didn’t register the words. I tried not to imagine what the ponies would say if they saw me, the benevolent princess of Equestria, crying my heart out onto my sister, who was comically small compared to me.
In that moment, I felt my centuries worth of burdens snap as my godlike façade cracked under the weight of everything. I just cried for what seemed like hours, until I was dry and exhausted. Luna stayed with me during the whole time, a whole world of comfort for me. At the end of it all, she wrapped a wing, significantly smaller than me, around us both, embracing the steadfast bond that sealed us tight. “I know.” She whispered.
The winds hissed in whispery tones, their brittle gossips brushing ears of living creatures, rustling and jostling fur and leaves alike. Vibrant shades of pony fur faded against the greyness in the weather, the pastel colours turning duller to suit the cloudy colourless expanse of the autumn sky and the deadened trees and plants. Mist curled delicately over landscapes, causing shivers and colds that happened all too often at the time of the year.
Ponies smiled at one another, despite the chill, their spirit and harmony keeping them warm. Their warmth turned into blazing fire as the cold progressed, cackling like the laughter that haunted homes and castles, sparking like the eyes of fillies and colts, burning bright together. Families chattered happily, smiles merry and genuine, some bittersweet over the ever creeping shadow that crept over friends and relatives, silent but deadly, stealing their breath. It was a fact the world had accepted, that somewhere, across the land, a pony was coughing. Somewhere, beyond the fog that obscured the thin line that was the horizon, ponies wheezed out their life source, hacking and sputtering before they finally stopped. It happened to all Pegasi, unicorns and earth ponies alike, a similarity that stitched the races together. It was almost ironically hilarious, that the ponies from the old worlds travelled far and wide to finally be safe from the bitter cold and starvation, only for one mishap and disaster to happen after each old one was solved. But such was fate.
Fate liked to twist and bend, mapping paths and routes faster than any living thing, each road cracking and reshaping itself as the ones who tread across it directed its flow. Fate also enjoyed making promises and trolling people, and was quietly morphed with every passing moment. Fate gambled, won, lost, and continued. It was its way.
As fate would have it, the clouds' never ending canopy was not quite as unbroken as it always was. There would be a tuft of cloud missing here and there, a pale, choking filter of sunlight shining through onto the dead grass, as if trying to coax life back into a single blade. The light was also very beautiful, in the filly's opinion, as she leapt happily at the rays of warmth, tumbling when she forgot where she was for a moment, but her wide smile unfaltering.
The filly hummed, eyes sparkling with childish delight, voice rising and dropping in a gleeful song. Dry grass whispered warning from blade to blade, falling under her merciless hooves, pitpattering quickly across the ground, giggling.
She stopped abruptly, hooves skidding to a halt, but laughter bubbling in her chest and rising to her throat. Her head glanced at her surroundings, being sure that her parents were no where in sight.
A snail oozed slowly in front of her, making its way with an almost nonexistent speed, which caused the filly to nod sagely. "Very good, sir! Yes, yes, I can see you're in a hurry!" Her fake trottingham accent was atrocious, but the snail didn't seem to mind. His slow, gradual progress unhindered.
The snail gave no response, offering a simple antennae twitch instead.
The filly stared for a few more minutes. She sighed lightly, wishing she could talk talk to animals. Such communication was not unheard of, but mostly magic or teaching animals to speak pony. In her opinion, it was cheating. Only few could understand animals. She mentally added it to her list of wishes.
The snail continued, it's pace almost painful to watch.
The filly shrugged and jumped over her new friend, nearly avoiding stomping on him, waving to the snail as she continued her path forward, hurdling at a dangerous rate, nearly colliding face first into a granite base, spinning around at the last moment and expertly manoeuvring into a bush, that bristled with the impact of a little filly slamming into it.
She groaned as the dead leaves of the bush poked her uncomfortably, carefully untangling from its brittle clutches. The bush looked just as displeased as she at the ordeal, the rustling grey leaves sounding like a sigh. With a final little kick, she was free.
She wheeled around dizzily, laughing, but her mirth died in her throat.
A stone face eerily stared at her through closed eyes. A freezing sensation trickled up her spine at the sight of a pony like face that seemed to look at her no matter where she stood.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, her breath catching. She circled around the statue in a daze, licking her lips to moisten her dry mouth. Her heart continued its rapid beating, the sound echoing in her ears. The crunch of the grass beneath her hooves and the tickling sensation of the wind brushing her hair faded. The only thing she could hear was her heartbeat. She could only see the statue, the twisted expression on its smooth face, and her heart throbbed as rain gathered in the crevices of granite trickled down its face. It looked like it was crying.
Her heart swelled with compassion, her hoof reaching out to brush the stone.
Her hoof jerked back almost instantly. The statue was warm, like the dying flames of an animal being poisoned. The statue sparkled with electricity from where her hoof had touched it, and for a moment, the filly could hear a heart beat that was not her own. A thin wail, a desperate screech, a death rattle, bordering on the edge of reality.
Despite her head pounding with the beginnings of a migraine, she smiled at the statue. It sounded like it was in pain, she realised, tears pricking at her eyes in sympathy. It's harsh breathing, heavy with pain, brought up a distant memory, flickering at the edge of her vision, of a little colt breathing just as desperately, before the cold finally claimed him. A delicate petite thing, curled and nuzzled against his sister. The filly's green eyes prickled with tears as she flicked her gaze to her parents, huddled on his other side, shoulders bent with grief. She lowered her muzzle against his soft ear, whispering, feeling her tears drip onto him.
"I'll take care of you better when we meet again. I promise."
"Posey!"
The earth pony's head whipped around, pink tresses falling over her eyes. Her parents waved at her, beckoning her to follow them. They were fine, they were alive, and she would make sure they stayed that way. She was not back at the old kingdom. She was not cramped into a freezing corner, she was not watching her brother die. Cold here was seasonal, not eternal. She was free. She was free.
But the statue was not. Her heart thumped, her smile turning bittersweet at the thought of her promise. She did not like making promises. Her mind raced.
Her chest heaved, and she quickly darted to the statue's side. The soft breathing that seemed to drift in range of her hearing and falter made her eyes water further, but she hugged the stone creature around the waist.
She climbed the granite, clambering to whisper into its ears.
We have reached the end. It's over. I don’t know who’s ‘we’, but it seems significant somehow. I think ‘we’ makes sense, considering that sometimes I think I’m not alone in my head. There’s a lot of voices, of dead people, of people I’ve never met or will never meet. Too many voices and such a gorgeous cacophony of music they make, clashing and contradicting one another. But they can agree on one thing.
It’s finally over.
It's been two thousand years. Maybe more. Two thousand cold and achingly lonely years, restrained in my own carefully constructed illusions and lies. It always puts me in such a dreadfully foul mood. Maybe reality is the lie, I am the truth, they are lying and confused-
I don't remember them. I don’t remember why I ever cared or loved them anymore. I don’t remember why but I still do I remember hate.
Hate and fury like two thousand suns, brighter and hotter than Celestia's. But cold and calculating. A ruthless and unrepentant force that tears and consumes and eats and then spits everything back out, lets everything fall apart. A hurricane that leaves scars on the minds of children and drags them away from the last shreds of order, introducing them to chaos unlike anything their physical brain can process, rendering them a gibbering, traumatised mess. There’s dust in the wind, dust of bones and homes they will never see or return to again, and it’s their fault.
The desire to crumble to my knees and beg for forgiveness. The hatred making my claws red with pony blood.
I want to be worthy, significant in her eyes again. I have been tossed aside, unwanted and abandoned too many times by the people I care about, and yet I continue to let them. It’s my fault. Has she forgotten me? Another one of her enemies, just another mad creature gone astray that needs to be locked away so its delusions do not harm her precious little puppets who twist and dance on her strings sickeningly. Chaos forbid someone else even look at the strings once, much less try to reach for them. So jealously possessive of what is hers, like a filly refusing to share the spotlight, no wonder her sister fell to envy and greed as she did. So much hate, black as midnight.
My fault, my fault, Luna, I am so-
I hate her so much I dream of making her kingdom dust and ashes.
Would she cry if her marble walls and city cracked and shattered like fragile glass under the weight of her sins? What if the ponies panicked so much their hooves demolished the city? What if the city she was so proud of turned to sugar and melted under her sun? Would she get the irony? Understand that all of it is her fault? Not her sister’s. Did she cry for Luna? Weep when she raised the moon? I’ll bet she did. Not out of guilt, I’m sure, she knew exactly what she was doing and would do it again if it were asked of her. She wailed at Luna’s tragedy. She cried because she lost her sister. The only thing that had stuck by her side for so long, longer than I, and she was lost to disharmony.
My disharmony.
It is amusing she thinks the nightmare she forced her sister into and her little baby sibling are different beings. Quite laughable. She never really knew Luna, I think. Never pondered the kind of horrors her little sister inflicted on those who earned her wrath.
I hear she threw quite the tantrum. Such a beautiful artwork of chaos and despair she turned their home into. The old castle looks like explosives went off, and personally I would have still lived there, because there are much more exits and entrances and windows now, but ponies have a distaste for Swiss -cheese homes. I blame changelings.
We moved to Canterlot. I remember it vaguely, a small but pretentious mining city with granite walls and marble paths. Unicorns with fur matching the alabaster murals and always ready to jump to the royal sisters’ aid at the drop of a hat. It’s changed by now, whenever I get a glimpse of it through someone else’s eyes, I see gold and purple turrets, twisting towers and streets whiter than a blank canvas. A canvas that begs to be artfully twisted and decorated, but left blank in wait. How considerate of them.
It is a bustling city with a population in millions and the proud capitol of Equestria. And Canterlot Castle is the centerpiece, an ivory architectural nightmare with a thousand balconies and enough stairs to make anypony queasy. Polished walls and floors, cleaned with the lifeblood of the lower class. The epitome of order.
No wonder Celestia likes it.
She threw away her old castle, deeming it broken, and casually discarder her old life, does she think she can escape consequences? There is blood on her gold regalia that cannot be washed or thrown away.
Just like she threw away her Sister.
She threw away me-
I hear Canterlot is wonderful in Spring! Literally. I can still hear things now, even sharper after the changelings had a party. Took me the first century to figure that out. And the next six to sort out what was real and what was not.
I can’t decide if I want to go with the turning the castle to sugar or glass idea. Or I could make the roads a chessboard and assign everypony a specific way of movement. I kind of want to do that anyway. The voices are adding their own opinions It’s still me I’m me We’re me and it’s getting a little loud and hectic. So many ideas, so many things I want to do.
