> The Changing of the Sun
>  by brokenimage321
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Celestia lay, stunned, on the cold tile floor. All around her, she heard ponies running about and screaming... something about Cadance…?

Somepony grabbed her under the arms and dragged her forward. A muddy voice filled her ears—asking a question? Making a demand?

She knew that voice. She’d heard it so long ago…

And, suddenly, a sharp, stinging slap shocked her awake.

Celestia yelped and raised her head. She lay on the floor of her throne room. Tattered wedding banners hung limply from the ceiling, and the broken windows sparkled like jagged teeth in the setting sun. Celestia remembered this place, though it felt like a lifetime ago… She had been so happy here, with her subjects, with Shining Armor, with Cadance—had it only been this morning?—before it had all gone wrong. Before she had appeared.

A snarl twitched at her lips.

“Good,” that same voice purred. “You’re beginning to remember.”

A black mass stepped forward and bent down. The leering face of Queen Chrysalis swam into focus. Celestia let out a weak cry and tried to shrink back, but her brain was so fuzzy…

Chrysalis sneered at her, then straightened up.“Feed her,” she hissed.

Another shadow stepped forward, a smaller one. Celestia tried to back away, but hooves stronger than hers grabbed her and held her fast. The shadow came closer, and A face loomed out at her, covered in black chitin plates—a Changeling. A drone. He peered down at her for a moment with a strange expression on his face. Suddenly, his eyes bulged, and he made a pulsing, sickly noise, deep in his throat, his body lurching, chugging in time with the noise. After a few seconds, he fell silent, and green liquid dribbled from his lips. He bent down to her.

“No—” she choked out.

But that didn’t stop him. The drone bent down and pressed his lips to hers—and, suddenly, her mouth was full of bitter fluid, thick and horrible.

She tried to spit it out—tried to vomit—tried to scream—but she was powerless. He was there, pressing himself and his slime on her. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe—

And she swallowed.

Suddenly, it was over. The drone backed away, and Celestia dropped her head to the floor. This was all a bad dream—a nightmare she would wake from soon—it had to be…

“Again,” Chrysalis commanded.

Another drone stepped forward, and Celestia moaned. “—No—”

He, too, made the lurching sound. He, too, regurgitated his slime. He, too, forced it into her mouth. And again, she swallowed.

“Again,” Chrysalis repeated.

Another drone stepped forward, and again, vomited his bile. And, at Chrysalis’s command, another. And another. And another...

And soon, despite the horror, the revulsion, the bitterness—Celestia found that she wanted more. Needed more. Something inside her had taken over, and she slurped the slime down as fast as it came. She almost begged for more—

“Enough,” Chrysalis said abruptly.

Celestia cried out in anguish as the last drone pulled away from her. Chrysalis peered down at Celestia and grinned a wicked, evil smile—one that, only that morning, would have shaken her to her very core…

“Put her in a cocoon,” Chrysalis commanded.

Celestia felt herself lifted from the floor and dragged away. Chrysalis followed close behind her, still grinning.

“With all she ate,” she said, to no one in particular, “it will only be a matter of time. Now, all we have to do is wait…”

And the cocoon closed around Celestia. She remembered no more.
> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lightning flashed, and Twilight Sparkle shot awake with a scream. She clutched her blankets to herself, then rolled her eyes and sighed. Just a storm… the same storm that had been on the calendar for weeks now…

She rolled out of bed, shot a jealous glance at Spike, somehow still asleep in his basket, then stepped outside her bedroom into the library proper. She shivered at the sound of rain against the trunk of the old tree; any other night, it would be a comforting sound, a sound of safety against evil things—but tonight, a night of bad dreams, it sounded like wicked hooves galloping towards her.

It had been two weeks since Cadance and Shiny’s wedding. She still remembered how happy she had been to see the two of them—the two best friends from her fillyhood—finally say “I do.” Nothing—not even the Changelings—could take that away from her.

But life, as they say, was making a good run of it.

Even as the pundits and newsponies screamed about the failures of the royal guard and the intelligence services, Twilight could tell something else was wrong. Celestia, the kind, loving Princess who had ruled Equestria for over a thousand years without so much as changing her hairstyle, was different. She rarely appeared at court anymore, and hadn't even come to the train station to see Shiny and Cadance off on their honeymoon. And then, she’d started to cancel major engagements she'd always kept. For example, she'd officially kicked off the Canterlot Summer Start-Up herself for the past six hundred years—but this year she’d canceled her appearance without warning. Twilight couldn't even guess what, but something was definitely wrong.

But the oddest detail of all came from, of all ponies, Rarity. She had always kept tabs on whatever the Canterlot elite was up to, especially the Princesses—and she was now telling anyone who would listen how Princess Celestia had taken to wearing clothes.

Oh, to be sure, Twilight wasn’t opposed to the idea—clothes were nice, at least when the occasion called for them. But Princess Celestia had started wearing clothes even in situations that didn’t call for them: for example, rumors were that she had worn an elegant ballgown to an otherwise completely pedestrian breakfast with Princess Luna.

But that hadn’t stopped Rarity any. She was almost deliriously excited for this new development—”the fashion trend of the century, darling!” she’d squealed—and now spent most of her time dreaming up new dresses she thought Princess Celestia might like.

But, for all her enthusiasm, Rarity seemed to miss whatever it was about the situation that was making Twilight uneasy. Something was wrong. Something had changed. And Twilight desperately wanted to know what it was.

By this time, Twilight was pacing circles around the reading table in the center of the darkened library. It soothed her, being around her books—not to mention simple, repetitive motion had been proven to calm agitated nerves. In fact—

BANG BANG BANG

Twilight nearly jumped out of her skin. In the middle of the worst storm in years, with the rain lashing the windows and lightning splitting open the sky—someone had knocked at her door.

BANG BANG BANG

Twilight stared at the door, then swallowed. She took a hesitant step forward. Maybe it was somepony who needed help—after all, there was that one time that Muffins had—

BANG BANG. More insistent now.

Twilight hesitated, then pressed her ear to the door. For a moment, all she could hear was the rain… but then, over the storm, she caught a vicious, crazed snarling. Something was out there—and it wanted in very, very badly.

She almost turned around and went right back to bed. Just left the problem for another day. After all, there were other trees to take shelter under—other doorways that might keep out the wind a little…

But something inside her wouldn’t let her. Call it courage, call it friendship, call it stupidity—but Twilight needed to know what was on the other side of the door.

And so, she threw it open.

For a moment, she could see nothing. Just blackness and rain. But then, the lightning flashed again—and Twilight screamed.

“Princess Celestia!”

Princess Celestia took a half-step forward, then collapsed onto the floor. She stared up at Twilight, her eyes full of pain and madness. Foam flecked the edges of her lips. Her disheveled mane spilled across the floor, and several of her shredded wingfeathers dropped free. She wore nothing, not even her crown—which, somehow, made Twilight even more afraid.

And, spreading across her chest and down her right foreleg—Twilight’s mouth suddenly went dry—

—were glistening black plates of chitin.

Changeling chitin.
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike eased the front door open, trying not to make a sound. Still, before he had even set foot inside, Twilight very nearly pounced on him.

“Finally,” she hissed. “I was almost starting to think that you’d gotten lost, or someone made you spill the beans, or—”

She looked up, and her eyes narrowed. Standing right behind Spike, tying hard to not look like she was listening in, was Rarity.

Twilight leaned down. “Spike,” she hissed, “I told you to go get someone who could help.”

“She can,” Spike whispered back. “She’s just a good a helper as anypony else—”

“You know what I mean,” Twilight said. “Someone like Fluttershy, or Nurse Redheart—”

“You know,” Rarity said, squeezing past the two of them, “I can hear what you’re saying.”

Twilight shot her a look, then turned back to Spike, who crossed his arms. “Fluttershy’s visiting relatives for the weekend,” Spike said. “And last time Nurse Redheart came, she rearranged all your books, and—”

“This is not the time for fashion,” Twilight hissed. “In fact—

“Princess Celestia!” Rarity shrieked.

Twilight whipped her head around to see Rarity, standing stock-still, staring up at the open door to Twilight’s bedroom. Before any of them could do anything, Rarity dashed forward and up the stairs. Twilight cried out and sprinted after her, Spike following close behind.

The two of them found Rarity kneeling beside Twilight’s bed, her eyes wide and pleading. In the bed itself sat Princess Celestia, her eyes downcast, her chest and right foreleg covered in thick bandages. Twilight winced; she’d had no guide except for a first-aid manual, and it showed—to say nothing of the slivers of black that showed through the gaps and around the edges, where the plates had continued to grow. Rarity would have to be blind to not see the change.

Rarity picked up Celestia’s chitin-free arm, and began to stroke the hoof. Celestia did not react. Spike watched for a moment, then leaned over to Twilight.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

“Since just after you left,” she said. She glanced at the clock, then leaned down again. “Two hours ago.”

Spike glared back at her. “You know how long it takes to get out to Fluttershy’s?” he said, “Especially with these little stubby legs? And do you have any idea how hard it is to get something out of Angel when he’s in one of his moods—?”

“What happened?” cried Rarity suddenly. Both Spike and Twilight turned to look. “Your Highness,” Rarity continued plaintively. “Your beautiful coat—!”

For the first time, Celestia stirred. She glanced at Rarity, then looked up at Spike and Twilight with a vague, faraway look.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Celestia said passively, breaking the silence. “I’m turning into a Changeling.”

Twilight opened her mouth, but, before she could speak, Rarity wailed.

“No!” she cried, “you can’t! You’re not one of those monsters, you can’t be! You’re our—!”

Celestia’s eyes hardened. “Shut up,” she spat.

Rarity’s eyes went wide, but she immediately fell silent.

“I know who I am,” Celestia growled. “And I know what’s happening to me. I’m not stupid, and I’m telling you, it’s true. I am turning into a Changeling.” She leaned back against the headboard. “Please don’t try and convince me otherwise. I’ve tried to do it myself; I don’t need any more help from you.”

No one spoke. Celestia looked at the three of them—Rarity horrified, Twilight shocked, Spike merely puzzled—then she looked away. After a long moment, she sighed.

“I’m sorry, Rarity,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

“No,” Rarity murmured, “It’s alright…”

“It’s not alright,” Celestia snapped, glaring at her. “I’m becoming more monstrous with every passing day. Every passing hour. But I’m not a monster, and I can’t act like one—”

“Actually,” Twilight interrupted matter-of-factly, “it’s a perfectly normal reaction to this sort of thing.”

Celestia and Rarity looked up at her. She had grabbed a book off the nightstand and was flipping through it.

“Unwilling metamorphosis—though it usually happens instantaneously, rather than over weeks, as in your case, Princess—is a well-studied phenomenon. A common reaction is to try to deny the change—to convince yourself it isn’t happening, and to insist that nothing is wrong.”

“Twilight—” Rarity groaned, but Twilight was just getting started.

“In fact,” she continued, “studies have shown that the best thing to do is to embrace the change—to acknowledge that something drastic has happened to you…” she glanced up “...or is happening to you, at least—and to try and make it part of yourself. After all, these sorts of things are rarely reversible, at least not without the help of the pony who inflicted the condition in the first place—or someone else who understands the exact spell being used, or—”

“Twilight—” Rarity repeated, more insistent.

Twilight looked up, eyes shining, and clapped her hooves together. “Of course, this is all true of forcible transformation spells. This is the first recorded incident of a biological process making the change—Ooh! I’ll need to take notes—!”

“Twilight Sparkle, will you kindly put a foundering lid on it?!” snapped Rarity.

Twilight looked up and gasped. Celestia still sat in her bed—but now her head was bowed almost to her chest. And—Twilight felt a hitching in her own chest—tears were running down her cheeks and plopping on the bedspread.

Rarity shot Twilight a poisonous look, then turned back to Celestia. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said soothingly, “she didn’t mean harm, I’m sure…”

Celestia sobbed. “She’s right,” she choked out, then put her face in her hooves. “I’m a freak—and there’s nothing that can change that…”

Rarity put a hoof on her shoulder. “Don’t say that,” she said. “We’ll find something…” She turned back to Twilight. “How does it work?” she asked her. “Normally, I mean. When someone gets turned into a frog, or a goose, or a donkey or somesuch. How does one turn themselves back?” 

Twilight had to swallow once or twice before she could answer. “I don’t know,” she said.

Rarity shot her another nasty look, and she threw up her hooves. “I mean—it’s different,” Twilight said, “Almost every single time. Pay off the debt, or apologize for the insult, however the witch set up the spell…” She swallowed again, then hesitated, and, slowly, turned to gaze at Celestia. “Princess,” she said carefully, “if you could tell us exactly what happened… I think that might be the place to start...”

Princess Celestia returned her gaze, then turned and looked out the window. For several minutes, there was no sound except the clock ticking in the corner. Rarity raised an eyebrow at Twilight, who shrugged and silently shushed her.

“It was at the wedding,” Celestia said suddenly. Both Rarity and Twilight jumped, then looked up in wonder. “It was after we fought.” She swallowed. “Chrysalis and I, I mean. She knocked me out, and then…”

She fell silent. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. “Her drones, they… they coughed up something. Something green.  Fed it to me. Force-fed it to me. And I—” she gulped, then went quiet again.

“I noticed it the next morning,” she said. “A black spot, right here.” She touched a spot under her arm. “I thought it was nothing—a little nick from the fight—but it grew. It wasn’t long before I…”

She trailed off. For another moment, she was quiet. Rarity opened her mouth to speak, but just then, Celestia spoke again.

“Luna still has nightmares,” she said. “Do you know what they did to her at the wedding? Pulled her out of bed, and…” she swallowed uneasily. “She fought them off, but all the same—”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Rarity interjected, her voice hoarse.

Celestia glanced at her, then looked away. She swallowed again before speaking. “I couldn’t tell her,” she said. “Couldn’t let her know I was becoming… becoming one of them. So I…”

“You hid it,” Twilight said quietly. “You stopped going out in public, then started wearing clothes so no one would see.”

Celestia nodded silently.

“Oh, Princess,” Rarity said, taking her by the hoof again. “You can’t let anyone tell you what to do. You’re the Princess! You’re in charge! And you shouldn’t—”

“They’re already talking about an inquiry,” Celestia snapped at her. “See whether it was nepotism, or plain stupidity, that had me promote my niece’s fiance to Captain of the Guard. To see whether I should be criminally charged for putting wedding security in the hooves of the groom himself, possessed or no.” She turned and shot a withering glare at Rarity, who shrunk under her gaze. “What do you think would happen,” she added acidly, “if I told them that, oh, by the way, on top of everything else, I might actually be a monster?”

For a moment, no one spoke. It looked almost like Rarity was about to cry. Celestia scoffed, then turned back to the window—but Twilight cleared her throat.

“The—the stuff they fed you,” she said uncertainly. “The Changelings, I mean. What was it like?”

Both Celestia and Rarity looked at her again, Rarity scandalized, Celestia bewildered.

“It, uh…” Celestia said uncertainly. “It was green…? And—and bitter?”

Twilight nodded. “What was it?” she asked. “Solid? Liquid?”

Celestia shook her head. “It was a slime. Warm and thick. And…” she shuddered. “There was something in it…”

Twilight picked up another book and flipped through it. “Let me see…” she murmured. “That… might have been Royal Jelly.”

“Royal what?” Rarity gasped.

Celestia shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

“Royal Jelly,” Twilight repeated. “In certain insects, like bees, workers produce it when it’s time to make a new queen.”

Celestia shifted again, this time, a slight moan escaping her lips.

“Its full of protein and hormones,” Twilight continued. “The sort of stuff needed to turn a regular larvae into a queen. Pinboard theorized that Changelings share a great deal with insects, which suggests that they make use of Royal Jelly too. But no one’s entirely sure—”

Celestia squirmed uncomfortably. “Twilight—” she gasped.

“Of course,” Twilight continued heedlessly, “that’s what happens for Changelings. I would assume that the effects on ponies would be quite different—”

Celestia suddenly gritted her teeth, and, despite herself, cried out. everyone looked up at her—teeth clenched, tears running down her cheeks, and trembling.

Twilight lunged forward. “Princess!” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

“—hurts—” Celestia hissed, clutching at her abdomen.

“What can we do?” Twilight said, almost screeching. “Tell us how to help!”

Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but she snapped it shut again and hissed through clenched teeth. She shuddered, then screamed, a long, drawn-out, high-pitched wail. She fell back on the bed, her chest heaving—then looked down at the bedspread, dawning horror in her eyes.

Rarity gulped, then lit her horn and gently pulled the covers back. There, on the sheets between Celestia’s hind legs, in a small puddle of fluid, lay three watery spheres.

Eggs.

Changeling eggs.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Celestia clenched and unclenched her jaw several times as she stared, eyes wide, at the eggs. Twilight’s mouth hung open, and she made a tiny, high-pitched whine in the back of her throat. Spike looked like he was about to be very sick. And Rarity—

A number of emotions washed across Rarity’s face in quick succession: fear, horror, disgust, among others. But, even as Twilight was just beginning to form her first, awkward syllables, Rarity swallowed, hard, and stood up a little straighter. Now, the only emotion on her face was a strange sort of determination, a hard, sharp, clear resolve.

Rarity lit her horn, then scooped up the eggs in her magic.

“Not to worry, your Highness,” she said, “We’ve all had our leaks before. We know how it feels. We’ll get you taken care of.”

Rarity turned to leave, still holding the eggs. As she was halfway to the door, Celestia finally found her voice.

“But—” she breathed, “they’re my—”

Rarity turned to look at her, her determination giving way to a little warmth. “You haven’t been around a stallion recently, have you?” she asked. “So, these aren’t fertile, just… an accident. Nothing to be worried about—-we’ll get these taken care of, and we’ll get you cleaned up, and we’ll get on with figuring out a cure for you.” she smiled a little. “We’re all mares,” she said. “And we have to look out for each other in times like this. That’s just what we do. It’s only civil, after all.”

And with that, she turned and left.

Both Twilight and Celestia stared at the door long after it had closed. Spike nervously tapped his claws together, then began to gather the soiled blanket into a bundle.

Celestia looked down at Twilight. “Twilight?” she asked.

Twilight turned and looked up at her. “Yes?”

“I want you to be honest with me,” she said. “I’ve had a thousand years of sycophants and hoof-kissers to train me to notice when someone is lying. And…” she swallowed. “I don’t think I can take any of that right now.”

Twilight hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said.

Celestia was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Is that… how it goes?”

Twilight hesitated. “In beehives,” she said carefully, “one of the major roles of Queens is, um… reproduction.” Twilight paused. Celestia said nothing. “I suppose that, if Changelings follow the same rules, then… experiences like these will be…” she gulped “...par for the course.  But that's only a guess—” she added quickly.

Celestia did not react. “How often?” she said.

Twilight took a deep breath. “I don’t know, she said. “Though, I expect fairly often. Perhaps every day.” She looked down. “Perhaps more.”

For a few moments, none of them spoke. Then, Twilight looked up at Celestia, a faint smile on her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s like Rarity said—we’ll be here for you. We all will.”

Celestia swallowed, then looked down. “Thank you,” she said slowly. “However, I would prefer that it’s only you three who are here for me.” She hesitated. “I don’t want anyone else knowing what’s going on.”

Twilight nodded. “Of course,” she said. “You can stay here for as long as you need. And we’ll do our best to keep others away. It’s like Rarity said—” Twilight took Celestia by the hoof “—we gotta stick together. And we’ll help you in any way we can.” She smiled a little wider. “If you want anything—anything at all—just ask. We’ll do everything we can.”

Celestia nodded numbly. Twilight hesitated, then smiled again.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s start with getting you some new sheets. Be just a minute.” She turned to leave. “And Spike,” she added, “bring that blanket down to the laundry room, will you? Might as well get that washed now.”

Twilight stepped outside, but waited halfway down the steps for Spike to appear. When he did, she gently took the blanket in her magic, then reached over and gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said. “For getting Rarity, I mean.”

Spike puffed out his chest a little. “Told you she’d help,” he said proudly. “She knew just what to say.”

Twilight smirked. “Don’t get too proud of yourself, now. You did good, but you still took way too long.”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But you still love me anyways.”

Twilight laughed, then hugged him again. “That I do,” she said. “that I do.”
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Princess Luna, please!” cried Twilight. “You can’t—”

“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” roared Luna. “Thou shalt release my sister this instant!”

Twilight threw her shoulder against the door. She glanced up at the clock. Two-fifteen in the morning. Celestia had been here less than twenty-four hours, and already there was trouble. She vaguely remembered Celestia telling her, once, that she could tell when Luna was mad, because her accent got stronger. She had to be furious now, because she could barely understand her.

“Princess, I told you,” Twilight called through the front door of the library, “she’s not our prisoner! She’s here because she wants—”

“Thou liest!” Luna bellowed. “Thou hast Our sister in captivity! Why else wouldst thou forbid Us from seeing her?!”

Luna tried the handle again, but Twilight had barred the door already. Rarity ran up beside her, mane still in curlers, carrying a wooden chair in her magic. She shoved it up against the doorjamb, shot Twilight a frightened look, then retreated.

“Princess, trust me,” Twilight tried again. “You don’t know what’s happening!”

“Then tell thou me!” bellowed Luna, loud enough to shake the door.

“I—I can’t!” cried Twilight. “She told me not to!”

“She told you—?” Luna said, a little quieter. She sounded… puzzled.

Twilight sighed—but then, she saw light under the door—an ice-blue light, growing brighter and brighter.

“I have no more patience for thy lies, Sparkle,” Luna said, her voice now dangerously quiet. “Thou shalt open thy door, or I shall open it myself. I shall give thee until five. One—”

Twilight opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted nothing more to let her inside—but she had sworn to Celestia she wouldn’t—

“Two—”

Twilight whipped her gaze around the library, looking for Rarity, but she had vanished.

“Three—”

“Prin-cess!” Twilight shrieked.

“Four—”

And then, the Princess appeared.

Not Luna, but Celestia, coming down the stairs from Twilight’s apartment above. Wordlessly, she passed Twilight a thick, heavy envelope, sealed with still-dripping red wax, and addressed with a hastily-scrawled “Luna” on the front. Twilight shoved it under the door without thinking.

“Fi—” said Luna—then she stopped. Twilight heard her pick up the envelope, open it, and pull out the sheets of paper inside. For a long while, she made no sound at all. Twilight, still pressed against the door, shot Princess Celestia a questioning look, but she just shook her head. Not now.

Finally, she heard Luna fold the papers. “Very well,” she said coldly. “Please inform Our sister that We shall accede to her wishes. For now,” she growled. “But, when she chooses to return, We shall demand a full accounting of her behavior.”

Twilight listened as Luna turned away without another word, and her hoofbeats faded into the distance. Twilight sighed, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, then slumped into the chair Rarity had shoved against the door.

Twilight lolled her head back against the wood. After a moment, she opened one bleary eye and looked at the clock. Two-nineteen. Far too early to deal with this sort of drama.

Rarity poked her head out from behind one of the shelves, and set down the book she’d been holding up as a shield. “I told you there’d be trouble if you told her you were here,” Rarity said.

Celestia smiled humorlessly. “Even so,” she said, “It needed to be done. She needed to know where I was. And… and I need her to take over my sun-raising duties. I…” she swallowed. “I can’t keep going outside to do it. Not like… like this…”

Twilight shook her head. “I’m just glad that Anti-Teleportation Shield I set up last month still held,” she said. “I mean, I just wanted a little privacy... but still, she nearly broke right through…”

Celestia nodded. “That was a blessing,” she said. “I don’t think anything could’ve stopped her from seeing me if she’d been able to make it inside. And, if she’d seen me, then…” She left the thought unfinished.

“Why’d she leave, though?” asked Rarity. “”What did you say in that letter?”

“I convinced her it was me,” Celestia said, “and I told her I was safe, and not to worry. I’m on vacation, apparently,” she added, with a crooked grin.

Twilight stared. “You… you just had that letter ready?” she asked, incredulous. “And how’d you convince her you were her?”

Celestia shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I’m sure you understand, with… everything that’s going on.”

Twilight found herself nodding.

“I’ve been up for a couple hours trying to figure out how to explain it all to Luna,” Celestia continued. “In the end, I told her the bare minimum, with enough of our secret stories and in-jokes mixed in that she would have to know it’s me.” She smiled again. “The wastebasket upstairs needs emptying, by the way,” she added.

Twilight nodded, then yawned.

“I think we could all use some beauty sleep,” Rarity said. “After all, we’ll need our energy to get any real good done around here.” She looked at Twilight. “Are you sure you don’t want to share the guest bed?” she asked. “It’s very generous of you to have me over like this, especially after all the excitement with the Princess’s arrival yesterday morning, but I hate to be a bother…”

“No bother,” Twilight said. “I couldn’t sleep either, so I’ve been up doing some research. I think I have a cot down in the basement. I’ll bring it up when I’m ready.”

Rarity shot her a dirty look. “As long as you promise to do so soon,” she said. “And Princess,” she added, turning to her, “You most of all. I know you like to keep a handle on things, but I really must insist—” 

“I’ll try,” she said uncertainly.

Rarity smiled. “That’s all that anyone asks, Darling.”



* * *


An hour later, Twilight lay on the small, military-style cot that she’d inherited along with most of the other junk in the basement. She had wrapped herself in her least-favorite quilt, the only one she'd left for herself, and stared up at the ceiling.

She’d tried calculating prime numbers in her head, reciting the complete works of Starswirl the Bearded backwards, and even counting sheep (that is, until she’d found herself attempting to figure out a more efficient means of computing the amount of livestock in a given paddock than simple counting), but she still lay awake. She still had all the issues from this morning weighing on her brain, but there was something else, now.

Luna.

It had been only twenty-four hours, but the three of them—Rarity, Celestia, and Twilight herself—had already sworn to keep the Princess’s condition as under-wraps as they could manage. Rarity had even wanted to keep Luna in the dark, and, though Twilight could see why, she also knew that Celestia wouldn’t leave it alone until she’d at least dropped her a line.

And Luna had done the natural thing, too; she’s probably teleported out here as soon as she’d found the letter, likely right after she’d  ended her nightly rounds. She was just worried, was all.

However, it was still entirely possible that, though Luna had done nothing wrong per se, she had still ruined everything. After all, the Royal Canterlot Voice was designed to carry sound, so the Princesses could address thousands of ponies at once—

—which meant that, in the two-in-the-morning silence, every pony, cow, and chicken within miles had heard that Twilight had Princess Celestia holed up in her library.

Twilight wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. But, try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way that this wasn’t going to end in disaster.
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight, wearing oversized sunglasses and a big floppy hat, peered around the corner of the dark alley. She looked ridiculous. She felt ridiculous. But, as much as she hated it, she had to go to all this trouble. Because, if she didn’t—

“Heya, Twi!”

Twilight barely suppressed a groan.

“Hi, Pinkie,” she grumbled.

Pinkie bounced up beside her, smiling wide as always. Around her middle, she wore a thick harness, hitched by a rope the back of her favorite party cannon. “Went shopping?” she asked brightly.

“Yes, Pinkie,” Twilight answered flatly, as she turned and stalked away down the cramped side-street. “I had to—”

“It’s for the Princess, innit?” Pinkie interrupted. “Everyone says you’ve got the Princess in your library, Twi, and I just know her favorites are those pistachio cream cupcakes you have in your bag, and I know you hate them, because I tried to give them to you for your birthday one time, and then you—”

“I remember, Pinkie.”

“Plus, you got a whole bunch of blank parchment, and even you don’t go through that much, and then there’s been a lot of those smoketrails that Spike makes whenever he sends a message, and then I wondered—why is Spike sending so many messages lately?  I mean, the pony you send the mostest messages to in the world is Princess Celestia, and she’s right there in your house! But then I remembered—” she practically squealed, “That Princess Celestia is right there in your house!”

Twilight shot her a quizzical look, but Pinkie needed no further prompting.

“And because she’s the Princess, she’s probably s-u-u-u-per busy, even if she is on vacation! So it’s probably her sending all those messages to all the ends of Equestria!”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Wow, Pinkie,” she muttered, “You’ve sure—”

“So,” she gasped, “Can you let me in?”

Twilight shot her a startled look.

“I mean,” Pinkie pleaded, “She’s been here almost three weeks, and we haven’t even had her ‘Welcome To Ponyville’ Party! Or her ‘Weekiversary’ Bash! Or even her ‘You’ve Been A Here A While Now For Some Reason, But We Don’t Mind, Seriously’ fête!”

Twilight glanced back at her. “Fête?” she repeated.

Pinkie shrugged. “Gotta mix it up every so often. But seriously, Twi,” she cried, “You’re being so mean! No one’s gone inside your library for weeks, not even us—not even me! Except for you, and Spike, of course—and Rarity, for some reason,” she added, perplexed. She looked troubled for just a second—but soon, she brightened again. “And I told you, I need to borrow your super-fancy cake-cookbook!”

“Got you that one for your birthday,” Twilight said.

“I wanna show you how to bake a quiche, like I promised!” she said, without hesitation.

“I’ll come by Sugarcube Corner, then,” Twilight replied.

“I’ve always wanted my very own treehouse, ever since I was a little filly!” Pinkie cried.

Twilight turned and glanced her up and down, but kept walking.

“Aw, come on,” Pinkie pleaded. “I brought my party cannon! And are you really going to disappoint all these guests that have been waiting so long?”

Twilight suddenly pulled up short. She glanced at Pinkie, panicked, then turned and stared straight ahead, eyes wide, her breath coming in short gasps. “Sweet Celestia,” she breathed.

Twilight usually teleported back into the library. She’d configured her Anti-Teleportation Shield to let her and her friends do so—though she was usually the only one to take advantage of that loophole. Twilight would usually find some quiet, abandoned spot in the back alleys within easy teleportation range, then blink back home in an instant. Usually.

But she had been so focused on Pinkie that she hadn’t noticed when the two of them emerged into the town square. There, fifty yards away, stood her library. Out front stood her poor mailbox, stuffed to bursting with letters and cards, most of them addressed to the Princess. At every door and window stood a Royal Guard, each looking inexpressibly bored in their golden armor. And, huddled in a loose ring around the tree, in an unruly mass one rabble-rouser short of a full-blown riot, stood the crowd.

Some of them were curious foals. Some were teens and young adults, eager for any excuse to get out of work or school. And some were aspiring politicians, ambitious hangers-on, ravenous fans, and eager sycophants. And a startling number of them were paparazzi, with forged press credentials and freshly-wound cameras.

Whoever they were, whatever their motivations, they were all there for exactly one thing: to do anything, short of murder, to catch hide or hair of Princess Celestia.

And every single one of them was staring directly at Twilight.

For a moment, they stared at each other, Twilight and the crowd, the tension as tight as a bowstring waiting to snap.

After a long moment, Twilight raised a hoof and gave a half-hearted wave. “Hi, everypony,” she began weakly, “I hope—”

“There she is!” a young mare cried, her mane dyed blue, green, and pink. “Get ‘er!”

And, as one, the crowd surged forward, galloping straight towards her.

Twilight knew what to do. She’d practiced. She took a deep breath, and concentrated—and, just before they could lay their hooves on her—

BANG

—she was back in the library, gasping for breath.

Twilight listened to the gruff voices of the guards just outside the door for a moment, then sighed. She shook off her hat and folded her sunglasses. “I’m back,” she called.

“Down here, Darling,” Rarity called up from the basement.

Twilight plodded towards the stairs, glad for the sudden quiet. It wasn’t the last time she’d been grateful for all the time she’d spent practicing her teleportation in school. Rarity wasn’t so lucky, at least when she didn’t have Twilight with her; she’d had to trust to dumb luck, withering glares, and the barely-sufficient Royal Guards to make her way through the crowd.

As Twilight pushed open the door and descended the stairs, she heard Princess Celestia speak:

“Come on in,” Celestia said to her. “We were just about to start.”

Below her, Celestia sat at her makeshift desk, Rarity seated across from her with a stack of newspaper clippings. They had tried, at first, to set Celestia up in Twilight’s bedroom upstairs, then, when that proved too small, in the library proper. But the crowd outside made Celestia nervous—and rightly so. The basement, despite being dank and gloomy, was big enough to serve their purposes, and, being underground, had no windows. Though Twilight had to empty out all the boxes she’d been meaning to clean up for months now, Celestia had quite taken to her new quarters.

Perhaps because, here, there was no risk of anyone unexpected charging in to see her in her present state…

Twilight swallowed, then glanced nervously at Celestia. She had refused to wear her bandages after the first week, claiming they were hot and itchy, and weren’t helping either way. Indeed, despite everything they’d tried, the black changeling plates had continued to spread, and now covered half her side, and nearly all her left leg. As much as Twilight hated to admit it, seeing Princess Celestia in this state almost physically hurt. The spreading blackness reminded Twilight of nothing but her own failures to make her better—and how badly all of Equestria was depending on her to do something...

Twilight took a seat beside Rarity, who nodded a greeting and turned back to her notes. Twilight shrugged off her saddlebag and started to empty the contents, starting with the small box of pistachio-cream cupcakes, which she placed on the desk and pushed silently towards Celestia.

“Thank you, Twilight,” Celestia said with a smile. Twilight glanced up at her; even though she had to be hurting too, she was still gracious and kind as always. That was one thing she’d always admired about her.

“I was just telling Rarity about your theory,” Celestia added. “Where you think that every time I use my magic, it hastens the transformation…?”

Rarity shrugged. “I mean, it only makes sense,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps releasing magic of any sort helps speed up whatever magic is already working on you. Or, perhaps, there’s a little bit of Changeling magic already wrapped up in your own, and using it makes it stronger…”

“It doesn’t fill all the gaps, though,” Twilight said, cutting her off. “It sounds like the transformation is progressing at its own pace, regardless of what you do… but spikes in the growth rate do tend to follow expenditures of magic…”

“In either case,” Celestia said. “It’s good to know that there’s some sort of logic to what’s happening. Even if it is a little shaky,” she added with a smile.

Twilight sighed, then looked back down at the desk. She suppressed a groan; sitting on the corner of the desk was yet another navy-and-black envelope, bearing Luna’s personal seal. Luna had kept her word and stayed away—though she had insisted on sending a whole platoon of royal guards to watch the library, and, if Twilight guessed right, to keep her updated on the goings-on. In any case, Luna had been pestering Celestia with frequent letters, mostly about government matters, which, though innocent enough, still made Twilight nervous.

That said… if the letters she was receiving were any indication, Celestia and Luna were somehow managing to hold this all together fairly well. Most of the outlying town and cities corresponded mostly by mail anyways, so little had changed except the postmark. And Luna was there to handle anyone who insisted they needed to speak to a Princess immediately, and to handle any emergencies that came up. Of course, the councilors and bureaucrats back in Canterlot weren’t exactly happy, given that they no longer had the Princess’s ear, but Celestia had enough experience to know what she needed to do without them, and Luna was there to make sure that they were doing as they were told. The only thing that was really missing was Open Court, and that was often more of a PR opportunity than actual governance. So, all in all, things were going about as well as could be expected.

Of course,  there had been a few in the palace who had tried to cause trouble--who claimed Celestia’s sudden unwillingness to show herself in public meant she was no longer fit to lead--but a sternly-worded letter from Celestia, delivered by an angry, sleep-deprived Luna, flanked by a platoon of Royal Guards, was enough to get them to sit down and shut up..

But, that did little to quell the rumors...

“So,” Celestia said, turning to Rarity, as Twilight squirmed in her seat, “what’s the damage today?”

Rarity adjusted her reading glasses. “The usual, actually,” she said. “At least, in many respects.” She shuffled the stack of newspaper clippings in front of her. “There’s the political column in the Canterlot Chronicle—”

“Hot Hoof?”

Rarity nodded. “Indeed.”

Celestia groaned. “This should be good…”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “That’s one way to put it. This week, he’s saying…” she leaned a little closer. “ ‘I hope Her Highness is enjoying her stay in Podunkville—’ ”

“Ponyville is not ‘Podunk!’” Twilight interjected.

Rarity looked up at her. “Darling,” she said, with infinite patience, “as much as I like the place, you have to admit that Ponyville, at least in certain respects, is…” she gestured vaguely. “Lacking.”

Twilight scoffed and opened her mouth, but Celestia cut in. “He hopes I am enjoying my vacation because…?”

Rarity cleared her throat and examined the paper again. “ ‘Because,’ ” she read, her voice dropping a half-step, “ ‘as troubled a ruler as she remains, she’s better than either of the alternatives, as much as I hate to admit it. Were it not for her, the only ponies we would be left with would be a known traitor and a liar, or a horndog stallion who would immediately try and top every mare in government—”

“Charming, as always,” Celestia said.

“He forgot Cadance, though,” Twilight interjected.

Rarity rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point, Darling,” she said. “I mean, he’s always been regretfully fringe, but he commands the ear of a surprisingly large portion of the populace…” She shuffled her papers again. “Dear old Hot Hoof isn’t the only one to express such a sentiment, either.” She picked one clipping from the stack. “Ponyville Express, this morning,” she said. “ ‘Though we are pleased to host our Princess, one must begin to wonder when she will return to her duties of running the country—or, at least, make a public appearance outside the homes of her best friends...’ ”

“At least they had the decency to hide the welcome mat after I showed up,” Celestia added.

Rarity ignored her. Instead, she fished another clipping from the pile. “Manehattan Times, yesterday. Front page, in fact: ‘Princess Still In Hiding.’ “

“Geez,” muttered Twilight. “At least they get straight to the point.”

Rarity glanced at the dateline. “Oh,” she said hesitantly. “It’s an Equestrian Order of Journalists piece. They… they syndicate.”

“Meaning…?” asked Celestia.

“Meaning,” Rarity replied, “that piece is going to appear everywhere.” She dug through her pile again. “Las Pegasus, Baltimare, Seaddle, Salt Lick, Saddlehorn City… even the Appleoosa Messenger—”

“Appleoosa has a newspaper?”

“Hardly. A little two-page front-and-back affair. Community newsletter sort of thing. But, still, it looks like someone there has an EOJ pass, because…” she scanned the piece. “Though it’s only the heading and the first paragraph, there it is. ‘Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia still remains in Ponyville, where she has requested that she be contacted only regarding the most vital affairs, and then only through her most trusted confidants.’ ”

Rarity glanced through her pile again, giggled a little, then it her horn and pulled out a glossy page. “You’ll like this one,” she said offhandedly. “The Stablehand is suggesting—”

“Rarity,” Celestia cut in, a faint note of reproach in her voice, “you know how I feel about those gossip rags.”

Rarity twittered nervously. “Well, I wouldn’t call it a gossip rag—more of a… a society magazine—”

“I don’t see the difference,” Celestia replied. “Besides, didn’t you write me once about how awful your sister was when she wrote a gossip column of her own?”

“Well,” Rarity huffed. “That is an entirely different matter. Sweetie Belle was getting personal, hurting ponies for her own benefit, and—”

Celestia shot her a look. “Isn’t that the magazine that outed Fancy Pants?”

Rarity hesitated, then grinned awkwardly. “Oh,” she said, “That’s just speculation…”

“No,” Celestia said quietly, “it really wasn’t.”

“Anyways,” Twilight interrupted, “though we all know how you feel about these things, I’m sure Rarity’s found something valuable. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have mentioned it. Right?” she added, shooting Rarity a look.

Rarity sniffed daintily. “Right,” she said. “After all, what’s a better place to find the latest gossip than a gossip magazine?”

She missed the look that passed between Twilight and Celestia.

Rarity lifted the page again, then cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to begin reading—then giggled nervously and put the page down.

“What does it say?” Celestia asked.

Rarity glanced at the page, then shook her head. “No, really,” she said, “I’d rather not…”

“Please,” Celestia said, “I want to hear what you found.”

Rarity sighed, then floated the page over to her. “You’d better just read it,” she said.

Celestia took the page, then read in silence for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and emotionless.

“Exclusive,” she read slowly. “Celestia Hiding A Baby Bump. Who’s The Lucky Stallion? Details On Page Nine.”

Rarity grimaced, and Twilight suppressed a snarl.

Celestia stayed quiet a minute, before she chuckled mirthlessly. “Well,” she said, “They’re not wrong…”

“Oh, come now,” Rarity said, a note of reproach in her voice. “We all know those eggs are unfertilized—Twilight tested them—”

“But still,” Celestia insisted. “Eggs. Care to tell me how I should explain that to the press?”

As she spoke, Twilight nervously glanced her up and down. There was a strange sort of beauty about those plates of hers, alien though it was...

“Quit looking at me like that,” Celestia snapped.

Twilight looked up into her eyes, and saw her glaring back. “Huh?” she said numbly.

“I said,” Celestia repeated, “Quit looking at me like that.” She looked away. “You’re making me nervous,” she added.

“Oh,” Rarity said, sweeping up the articles with her magic, “it’s not that bad… You’re going to look absolutely ravishing when your plates come all the way in…”

Both Twilight and Celestia shot her acid glares, and Rarity cringed. “I-I just think t-that you’ll look lovely in black,” she stammered. “And—”

“Don’t you worry, Princess,” Twilight interjected. “We’ll get you taken care of. We’ll find some way to fix you.”

Celestia gulped, then looked up at her. “Speaking of,” she said, “Any word from what’s-her-name—Zinnia? Zaharah?”

“Zecora,” Twilight corrected her.

“Zecora,” Celestia repeated. “Has she gotten back to you?”

Twilight bit her lip, then shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “I think she’s still looking, but…”

“And Starswirl?” Celestia cut in.

Twilight tried to smile, but her grin cracked at the edges. “Well, you know how hard it is to request books from the Royal Archives under normal circumstances…”

Rarity hesitated, then stepped forward and put an arm around Celestia. “Don’t you fret, now,” she said, “Twilight’s right. We’ll figure something out…”

Celestia sighed. After a moment, she lowered her head slightly and pointed her horn at the mass of papers Rarity held. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Celestia grimaced, and, finally, her horn began to glow, but with a fitful, anemic light.

Rarity shot Twilight a frightened look as Celestia, ignoring both of them, used her magic to fish the gossip article from Rarity’s stack. As she pulled it free, the words blazed out at the three of them: Who’s The Lucky Stallion?

“Let’s hope we do find something,” Celestia said, “and fast. I don’t know how much longer my adoring public will let me stay on vacation—”

Rarity chuckled weakly and tried to take back the article. “You’re a Princess,” she said. “You have nothing to worry about. Those who are asking difficult questions about your alleged… condition can just go—”

Celestia shook her head firmly. “That’s not what I mean.” She sighed and looked down at herself. “I can’t hide like this forever,” she said. “I’m going to have to go out there and face the music sometime—”

Twilight laid a hoof on her shoulder. “We’ll turn you back before then, don’t you worry.”

Celestia’s eyes flashed. “In case it slipped your mind,” she said, her voice razor-sharp, “The Summer Sun Celebration is next week. Are you trying to tell me we’ll figure this out before then?”

“Can’t Luna do it for you?” Rarity murmured. “I mean, she’s been raising the sun for weeks now…”

“No,” Celestia said bitterly, “she doesn’t know the spells. Not like I do.” She scrunched the gossip article up, and, with another spark from her horn, set it on fire. In the flickering light from its flames, she glanced at Rarity and Twilight; Rarity stared back at her, horrified, while Twilight’s eyes were wide and frightened.

Celestia bowed her head and sighed heavily. Another flicker from her magic, and she doused the flames she held, just as “Lucky Stallion” was beginning to blacken and curl.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “This isn’t your fault, and I know you’re trying your best…”

Twilight nodded weakly, and Rarity said something that sounded like “Of course, Darling…”

Celestia threw the ball of ashes into the wastebasket, then sat back and sighed. “Just…” she swallowed. “Twilight, if you could keep doing your research… and Rarity, if you could, uh…” she swallowed again. “If you could keep doing this for me… finding out what people are saying…”

Rarity nodded solemnly. Twilight glanced at her, then nodded as well. Celestia allowed herself a little smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “Both of you have been wonderful to me. And I’m sorry I keep getting so angry…”

Rarity grinned, then leaned in and gave her a hug. “If anyone has a right to be mad,” she said, “it’s you. I mean, with all that’s happening…”

Celestia grinned herself, then returned the hug. “Thanks,” she said. She pulled away from Rarity, cleared her throat, and looked down. “Now,” she said, “What else are they saying…?”
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, horsefeathers,” Rarity muttered.

Twilight stifled a yawn. “Wazza matter?” she asked sleepily.

Rarity gestured at the garment bag she had draped over her back. “I had hoped that I would have been able to debut one of my new designs today, but it appears you’re a little too far along for that, Princess.”

“Sorry,” said Celestia, looking at her in the mirror of Twilight’s vanity.

“Not your fault, Darling,” Rarity said. “It just means we’re going to have to take more drastic measures, is all.”

Celestia swallowed. She felt the pressure in her throat slide down her neck, hitch briefly as it passed under the chitin, and continue down into her chest. Rarity’s dress was beautiful, she was sure of it, but, for some inexplicable reason, her transformation had accelerated. No dress could hide what was happening to her now.

She had woken just an hour or two before to a bedful of freshly-molted feathers. Her mind, still fuzzy from sleep, thought her wing had fallen off—and, as it turned out, she wasn’t exactly wrong. The chitin plates had grown up over her left shoulder and consumed her wing, leaving her with one wing of white feathers, and one of red-gold gossamer. The plates had even spread up onto her neck and onto her back, where they were turning turning a brilliant sunset-orange.

To say nothing of her Cutie Mark. Almost before she’d noticed, it was half-gone already. If it had happened, any other time, that alone would have been enough to almost break her—but now, it was simply one more horror upon all the rest...

She had tried to keep her transformation in check, but it had happened too fast. And now, they were out of time: the clock read 3:37, on the morning of the Summer Sun festival. Sunrise was at six, and Canterlot was an hour away by train. She had about an hour and a half to figure out how to hide the fact that she was, rather swiftly, turning into a monster.

Rarity turned and left the room without another word. Twilight rubbed at her eyes. Celestia permitted herself a little smirk; Twilight rarely woke before noon if she could help it. Admittedly, she probably couldn’t have slept through the morning’s racket if she’d tried, the fact that she was here at all still helped Celestia feel a little better.

“Have you tried transforming?” Twilight asked sleepily.

Celestia shook herself from her reverie, then turned to stare. “Sorry?” she said.

“Transforming,” Twilight repeated. “Changelings do it all the time… if you can just turn into yourself, you could… you could...” she trailed off into another yawn.

Celestia swallowed uncomfortably. “I’ll try,” she said, then turned to the mirror again.

She could change. She was sure of it. She knew, objectively, that it could be done. But to actually do it was another matter entirely. If she did transform, that would be proof positive of what was happening to her. She’d have to admit to herself that, despite the molted feathers, despite her coat falling out, despite the egg-laying, that she really was something different—regardless of what she was desperate to tell herself.

But there wasn’t really an option now, was there? She had to keep what was happening a secret—and today was the one day she could not allow herself to hide.

Celestia swallowed, then turned her gaze inward. She could feel her alicorn magic inside her, though it seemed smaller, dimmer, than it had been, once—maybe that was just the nerves talking, though—but beside it, beneath it, behind it, there was something else—

Suddenly, the room exploded with a flash of red-orange fire. Celestia shrieked, and Twilight yelped and scrambled backwards.

Twilight looked up and, despite herself, giggled. Celestia still sat on the floor, staring, wide-eyed, at herself in the mirror. Great patches of her coat were still the ethereal, shimmering ivory they always had been—but, wherever her plates had spread, her coat had turned to a sickening, electric-green plaid.

Celestia turned to look at Twilight, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know it would be that sensitive,” she muttered.

Twilight stood and dusted herself off. “Maybe… try again?” she suggested.

Celestia nodded, then turned back to the mirror and screwed up her face in concentration. Another flash of fire, and she turned brown-and-white; another flash, and she was powder-blue-and-white, then lilac-and-white, and finally a sort of vomitous yellow that, with the rest of her coat, looked like nothing so much as an old mattress stain.

Celestia hung her head, panting, sweat dripping down her forehead. “I can’t—”

“Of course you can’t,” said Rarity. “And no one expects you to. That’s why the cosmetics industry stays in business, after all.”

Both Twilight and Celestia looked up to see Rarity closing the door behind her, carrying an elegant wooden case in her magic. She set the case on the vanity besides Celestia and opened the lid. She produced her reading glasses from somewhere and perched them delicately on her nose, then began to lift little jars from the case and set them on the counter. Twilight picked up one of the jars Rarity had set down and squinted at the label. “Mmmee My-Quill-Age?” she read carefully.

“Madame Maquillage,” Rarity snapped, taking the jar from her and setting it down with the others. “Twilight, Darling,” she said without looking at her, “be a dear and do your best to not disturb an artist at work, please?”

Twilight glanced stupidly between Rarity and Celestia. “Coffee,” she said, turning away. “I’ll go make coffee.”

“You do that, Darling,” Rarity said, distracted, as Twilight closed the door behind her.

Celestia watched Rarity uneasily as she opened a jar of Mme. Maquillage, shot Celestia a critical glance, then emptied an enormous white glob of it into a small dish. She searched through her jars again, this time surfacing with a red and a yellow.

“If you could, please,” she said over her shoulder, “turn into something light-colored, if you can manage it. Preferably with a pegasus wing, too—I can’t imagine the spells it would take to give you a new set…”

Celestia bit her lip, then gently prodded the magic inside her. Rarity yelped at the first flash of vermillion flame, but turned quickly back to her work—even though she still flinched a little every time Celestia tried on a new color.

After something like a dozen changes, Celestia managed to settle on a sickly, bubblegum-pink shade, almost bright enough to burn your retinas. With the pink blotches mixed with her white coat, it almost looked like she’d been badly scalded. At least it had a wing, though.

By this time, Rarity was rapidly mixing her creams with a wooden spreader. She wiped the spreader off on the edge of the bowl, set it down, and then picked up a foam beauty wedge. She dipped the wedge in her concoction, then held it up, glancing critically between the wedge and Celestia. Finally, she rolled her eyes and let out a little sigh.

“It’ll have to do, I suppose,” she said. She grabbed the dish in her magic, then stepped forward, and, with a free hoof, picked up Celestia’s right foreleg. Below the knee, it was still white, but the rest was painfully pink.

Rarity stuck her tongue between her teeth, then dabbed gently at Celestia’s leg with the wedge. As Celestia watched her, her eyes widened: the pink began to disappear under a thick coat of white that matched her own shade almost exactly.

Celestia watched her for a moment, then swallowed nervously. “Are you sure this will work?” she asked.

Rarity made another few passes with the wedge before she spoke. “For a few hours, at least,” she muttered.

“Are you sure, though?” Celestia pressed.

Rarity glanced up at her, then back down. “Not all of us are born with perfect coats, Your Highness,” Rarity said carefully. “In fact…” she dipped the wedge in the bowl again, then resumed her work. “You are speaking,” she said distantly, “to one of the most successfully incognito [url=https://derpibooru.org/images/998001?q=artist%3Advixie%2C+rarity ]dapple grays in Equestria.”

Celestia’s mouth fell open. “You have spots?” she blurted out.

Rarity grinned a little. “Only a few,” she said, “down the back and across the flanks. Let’s just say that Madame Maquillage and I have had quite the lengthy professional relationship…” She dipped the wedge again. “...and she is the very best at what she does.”

“A-and no one knows?” Celestia spluttered.

“Mother and Father, of course,” Rarity replied. “And Sweetie Belle, too. Applejack is starting to suspect… after all, we got caught in a downpour once, then had to spend twelve hours cooped up here in the library with Twilight… though, I’m not entirely certain how much she knows…” she sniffed daintily “...or indeed cares. But enough about me,” she said, stepping back suddenly. “Take a look.”

Celestia lifted her foreleg and examined it closely. Under the white, her coat was pink—she knew it was—but she would have bet her very life on the fact that she was the same she had always been.

“Try not to touch it,” Rarity cut in nervously. “It’s still drying, and…”

Celestia looked up at her. “How?” she breathed.

Rarity tossed her mane. “Practice, Your Highness,” she said, grinning. “A lifetime of practice. Can’t beat that sort of training. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” she grabbed a fresh wedge then squeezed around to her other side. “Your color is the Mme. Maquillage #7 Flat White, with a little smear—one-to-twenty, I think—of Burnished Gold and Sunset Ruby. Nice and easy. Buckingdales in Canterlot should have a nice selection, though I’d suspect you’d rather send one of your maids than go yourself…”

“Rarity,” Celestia began.

“Now, until this dries, try not to move around too much. It’ll be fine once it sets, but it makes funny little patterns if you mess it up while it’s wet.”

“Rarity…”

“Of course, once it’s dry, it’ll last for hours. Just try not to get water on it, and that includes sweating too much…”

“Rarity.”

Rarity looked up, beauty wedge still in the air. “Highness?” she said nervously.

Celestia smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I… I really don’t know what else I’d do, if it weren’t for you and Twilight…”

Rarity smiled, gave a little bow, then turned back to her work. “Don’t mention it, please,” she said. “At least you haven’t lost your mane or tail just yet… I can’t imagine what it would take to re-create a tricolor mane like that, much less to make it wave on its own…”

Celestia could see her smiling, even as she complained.


* * *


Fifteen minutes later, Twilight pushed open the door and backed inside, carrying a tray laden with sliced oranges, a stack of buttered toast, and a steaming pot of coffee. “I made breakfast,” she volunteered.

Celestia glanced up at her, but Rarity, carefully tracing Celestia’s cutie mark with a grease pencil, said nothing.

Twilight plunked the tray down on the other side of the vanity, loaded a small plate with toast and oranges, and passed it to Celestia.

“Here,” she said, “It isn’t much, but you’ll need it.”

Celestia eyed the plate, then slowly shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m not all that hungry.”

Rarity finished one of the solar rays with a little flourish, then glanced up at her. “No need for stage fright,” she said. “I know you’re nervous, but you will need your energy today. Try to eat a little something, at least…?”

Celestia sighed, then took the plate from Twilight. She picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at the edges as Rarity started another ray, but soon set it down again. Twilight, halfway through adding cream and sugar to their coffees, looked up in irritation, but Celestia shook her head.

“Really,” she said, “I’m not being shy, or coy—I’m actually stuffed.”

“But you haven’t had anything since dinner last night,” Rarity protested. “And you hardly ate then, either…”

“I know,” Celestia said, slightly bewildered. “But it’s true. I really don’t think I could eat another bite.”

Rarity opened her mouth again, but Twilight interrupted.

“Leave her alone, Rares,” she said. “She’s done this a thousand times—literally,” she added with a giggle. “If she says she’s fine, then she’s fine.”

Rarity shot her a glance, then closed her mouth with a snap. “Fine,” she repeated. “But don’t come crying to me if she faints dead away in front of those thousands—”

“Thousands?” Celestia repeated sharply.

Rarity, halfway through a stroke, gave a small, indignant squeak as Celestia stood and turned to stare her. “What do you mean, thousands?” she repeated.

“The Summer Sun Celebration is one of the most popular events of the year—” Twilight began.

“I know,” Celestia snapped. “But I thought I gave explicit instructions for Luna to downplay this year's’ event—no advertising, restrict the number of tickets—”

“You did,” Rarity replied. “And I’m sure she tried. But as I’m sure you know, everypony is quite curious about your disappearance…”

“And,” Twilight interrupted, “at this point, most ponies would do anything to see if the rumors are true…”

Celestia whirled on her, making Rarity squeak again. “You knew?” she shrieked.

Twilight shrank back, but Rarity stepped between them. “She did,” she said firmly. “It’s been in the papers for weeks. Both she and I decided it would be best if we kept quiet. After all, you—” she gulped, then looked down. “You have enough on your plate right now,” she said quietly. “And we didn’t want to spook you any more than we had to…”

Celestia stared at the two of them for a moment—then, she sniffled, and reached out an arm to pull both of them in for a hug.

“Ah ah ah!” Rarity squealed, “no hugging! And no crying, either! The foundation isn’t dry yet, and so help me if I have to do this all over again.” She pushed herself away from Celestia’s grasp, then reached out and patted her shoulder. “There’ll be time for a good cry later,” she said firmly. “But for now, there’s work to do.” She pulled herself away, then reached for her pencils. “Now, get that flank over here and let me finish.”
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Celestia dropped herself into in the seat of the carriage and let out a long, heavy sigh. She glanced nervously at the window, and, with a flick of her horn, pulled the curtains a little tighter.

She hadn’t told Luna why she needed it—how could she?—but, even so Luna had delivered. Their foul-weather carriage, enclosed, with thick glass windows and security curtains installed specially for the occasion, had rolled up to the Golden Oak Library promptly at 4:30. Celestia had managed to calm her nerves enough for the short walk from the front door to the carriage, despite the waiting crowd—that is, before Twilight had put a hoof on her shoulder.

“Travel safe,” she had said. “We’ll be there soon.”

Celestia had looked back at her and begun to tremble. “You… aren’t coming?” she asked nervously.

Twilight shook her head solemnly. “Royal carriage,” she said. “Wouldn’t be proper.”

Celestia had blinked. She knew that. Of course it wouldn’t be right for Twilight and Rarity to ride with her; that was a privilege rarely bestowed even upon the highest dignitaries. But, somehow, this hadn’t occurred to her. Ever since she’d arrived in Ponyville, she could always count on the two of them to be right there beside her. And, to think of having to leave them behind, just when she needed them most...

“We’ll be taking the normal Festival Express,” Rarity had butted in. “We’ll be there in the front row, ready to help however we can.” Her eyes twinkled. “Us, and the rest of our friends.”

Celestia had blinked, and swallowed, and, with only the barest nod to them, had turned to face the crowd.

It was her first public appearance in months, this short little walk. And, even though she knew there were eager screams, and thronging crowds, and flashbulbs popping, and royal guards pressed so close they almost suffocated her—it all felt so far away.

Wouldn’t be proper.

She waited until the carriage began to move, then closed her eyes and sighed. After another moment, she leaned forward and peeked through the gap in the curtains.


* * *



She met Luna backstage, at the foot of the stairs leading up to the platform.

“Tia!” Luna cried, dashing towards her

Celestia froze. She had wanted to wait until after the Festival to meet her. But—

Celestia’s hesitated long enough for Luna to throw her arms around her neck. Celestia felt her skin crawl at her touch, but delicately placed an arm around her anways. “Hey Lu,” she returned weakly.

Luna grinned up at her, then pulled away—and Celestia felt her insides freeze Luna’s arms and chest came away with little streaks of white. “How was… vacation?” she asked uncertainly.

Celestia opened her mouth, at a loss—

—and suddenly, she knew exactly what to say.

“Relaxing,” she lied. “But it was very nice to get away from it all for a while… Just enjoy some time reading, chatting with friends...”

Luna shot her a crooked grin. “Sounds nice,” she admitted. “Maybe I should give it a shot one of these days…”

Celestia let out a little sigh of relief. Luna had bought it. She could deal with the ethical ramifications of lying to her sister later, but for now—

“I’m looking forward to taking back my duties,” Celestia added. “Don’t want to get out of practice, after all…”

Luna grinned a little wider. “Of course not,” she said. She glanced up at the sky, then back down at Celestia. “It’s time,” she said simply. “You’d better get up there… don’t want to be late…”

“I never am,” she replied with a grin.

Luna scurried off, and Celestia turned and took a deep breath. She could do this. She’d done it a thousand times before—just go up and raise the sun, like a big girl—

She mounted the first step up to the platform.

There, three or four steps up, two guards stood flanking the steps. Of course they were there.  One couldn’t be too careful, especially with all the recent turmoil…


Celestia swallowed. She couldn’t let them know, couldn’t let them see, that she was different. They were just guards, true—but they would be the first ordinary ponies, outside of Twilight and Rarity, to get a good look at her up-close.

She took another step, closer, and closer, and closer—

They’d see it. She knew they would. They’d see a spot Rarity had missed. They’d notice a streak Luna had rubbed off. They would call for others, and—

—and, to her astonishment, the guards bowed.

Celestia froze. What, exactly, were they doing? Was it a trick? Were they going to whistle for reinforcements, or simply pounce?

Celestia stared at them for a long, quiet moment—long enough for the guard on the right, a pretty white mare, to shoot a furtive glance at her.

And then, Celestia grinned. This was a trick—but it wasn’t theirs.

She was fooling them. Here she was, half-bug, maybe more—and they didn’t suspect a thing.

Celestia held her head a little higher, then trotted right past them. “Carry on,” she said brightly. They saluted as she passed.

Celestia grinned. This was a better prank than when she’d convinced Luna the boogeymare lived in the closet—or the time she’d spooked that magician by dressing up as a Hearthswarming ghost. Everyone in Equestria was here to see her, and, if the guards were any indication,  not a one of them would know that anything was different about her.

There were a dozen more steps, and two more sets of guards, but already she could see the sky. She climbed those steps with the practiced grace of born royalty.

And, suddenly, she stood, free and clear, under the morning stars.

The crowd saw her immediately. There they were, gathered above, below, and around her. Earth ponies stood shoulder-to-shoulder with unicorns. Pegasi hovered in the air and perched on clouds, anywhere there was a space. The crowd looked much the same as it had in years past, but Celestia did not allow herself to count them. She just stared out at them, and they stared back.

At first, the cheers were quiet, nervous. In the pre-dawn gloom, only those in the very front could see her. But, as they began to cheer, the ponies behind them turn to look, and the pegasi above them began to do flips and stunts for joy. Soon, the crowd roared like a mighty river—like the ocean itself—at the sight of their Princess.

She had been gone for months. Rumors had flown thick as rain—something terrible had happened to her. Her mind had snapped. She was plotting against her sister. She had a secret family, even!

But here she was, to put all their fears to rest—here she was, the same as ever.

Celestia grinned even wider. I have a secret, she said to herself. I have a secret, and, right now, that makes me powerful.

She raised a hoof and waved, bringing a fresh, crashing wave of cheers. She put her hoof back down, then hesitated—and, on an impulse, spread her wings and took off. Ponies cheered and cried aloud as Celestia swooped over the crowd, letting them feel her presence. Letting them see her. Fooling each and every one of them. She was the same, true—but she was also different. And, given a lifetime supply of Madame Maquillage, no one would ever know the difference.

Celestia wheeled back towards the stage, carefully ignoring the looks the guards were shooting her as she set down. She was the Princess, after all—she was allowed to have a little fun every once in awhile, even at official functions like this. But now, she told herself, as she folded her wings behind her and turned to face the east, now the fun was over with. Now was the time for her to show her true power—to show why she, and she alone, was Princess of the Sun.

Hello, old friend, she thought. Are you ready?

Celestia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Every pony in the courtyard below fell still, and took that same breath with her. It was happening.

One thousand times. Celestia had done this one thousand times. Probably more, in fact; somewhere along the way, she had almost certainly lost count. But every time, it still amazed her—every time, she was awed anew by her own power.

Celestia cleared her mind, slowly shutting down each of her anxieties and fears—yes, even her worries about herself. She could worry about that later. Now, she had to do—to think—to be something more.

Think of a white room, she told herself.

In order for this to work, she could not be herself—she had to be a conduit, a pathway through which the universe itself would have its say. And, as she opened her heart, it began.

Through her hooves, she felt the marble blocks beneath her—and, below them, the earth itself. She felt it move, felt it breathe, felt the rivers and oceans wash across its surface, the trees and the animals and the ponies living and dying and being upon it.

She spread her wings a little—and with them, she caught the air currents. The winds that blew over all Equestria carrying heat, water, dust and rain, birds and pollen and pegasi, everywhere and anywhere they wanted to go.

She raised her head, and with it, her horn. She felt the light of the stars and of the moon, of the dawning sun, and the warmth and power that radiated out from them. She felt the delicate threads of magic that connected all things in a great web of existence—felt them bend and warp and snap and form anew as the world went about the business of living.

And Celestia lit her horn. She grabbed those threads—called on the earth, the sky, the stars, to give her strength and guide her. To help her in the task that had to be done.

And, ever so slowly, the sun began to rise.

At that moment, Celestia almost began to cry. She forced it back down, of course—she had to—but the knowledge that, even after everything, she could still accomplish her single most important duty very nearly overwhelmed her.

But now came the tricky part. Her yearly raising of the sun at the Summer Sun Festival was more than just a show: she had to give the sun enough energy to keep moving throughout the year. She had to check its course, ensure that it would continue moving in its flawless, eternal cycle. And the universe itself would help her do it: all she needed to do was to keep herself open, to keep the magic flowing through her.

One thousand times. Celestia had held the Summer Sun Festival one thousand times. By now, she knew the rhythm—by now, she knew how things were supposed to go. Indeed, except for the fact that this was the single greatest expenditure of magical energy she regularly made, she could almost call the Summer Sun Festival routine.

Which made it all the more surprising when her horn went out.

Celestia’s eyes widened. For a split-second, nothing seemed to happen. Then, her connection to the universe slipped. The magic began to fade.

Nononono, Celestia thought, panic rising. Think of a white room—white room white room white room—

But another image filled her mind: twisting rivers of fire, coursing past her, threatening to reach up and consume her. Her breathing quickened as the rivers began to burn hotter, the flames leaping higher.

Celestia tried to clear her mind again, light her horn again, but she felt the flames of blind panic licking at her brain. She tried to take a breath, but the air would not come. She wanted to scream, but she could not make herself.


And, suddenly, a single thought, clear and hard and razor sharp, pierced through the fog:

It is too late. The magic has begun. The spell will complete, regardless of where it must find its fuel. 

Feed it magic, or burn.

Celestia swallowed, forcing her fear back. She didn’t have time to be afraid, not anymore. She could feel the spell still pulling at her, still dragging at her personal reserves of Alicorn magic, reserves already sucked bone-dry.Those reserves were far smaller than they had been—previously, she had been able to sustain them throughout the whole process, but her reserves had bottomed out less than halfway through. Without access to that magic, she could no longer call on the universe—could no longer use the energy of reality itself to fuel the spell. But it still needed energy—and, if it couldn’t get more, it would consume her.

Feed it magic, or burn.

Celestia gritted her teeth. She was too old, too experienced, too good to let this destroy her. She was the master of the sun—and she would bring it to heel.

Even if it killed her.

Celestia concentrated, and her horn flickered back to life again. She could keep going on pure willpower for a few seconds, at least.

But, though the universe may have cut her off, she was far from done. She still had herself. And that might just be enough.

Celestia threw wide the gates of her mind. She dug deep into her soul, searching out the dead-ends and the corners. Anywhere she could find magic, she seized it and fed it to her horn. She opened reserves of power she didn’t know she had—ancient wells of magic she had nearly forgotten about. Her wings ached as she stole their power to fuel the sun. Her legs began to tremble as she tapped the Earth Pony magic within her.

But it wasn’t enough. She was coming closer, but it wasn’t enough. She dug deeper, frantically searching the corners of her soul for anything she could spare—

Almost as soon as she perceived it, she tapped it. A great, roiling mass of magic within herself. One she didn’t recognize. One she had barely seen before. Any other situation, this discovery would have given her pause—why had she not known about so great, so concentrated source of magic within her?—but now there was no choice: feed it, or burn.

And agonizingly, achingly, she felt the sun begin to turn. She felt it fall into its groove—the path that it had worn for millennia. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but Celestia could feel that, somehow, that the old calculus was satisfied. That the world would go unscorched for a year longer. She had done it.

Celestia doused her horn and dropped her head. She had done it. She gasped for breath, and sweat poured down the sides of her heaving chest.

Why had it been so hard? The thought came unbidden to her mind. It was never that bad before, not even when Discord—

But, even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. And the answer very nearly made her ill.

Celestia suddenly pricked up her ears. Something was wrong. It took her a moment to place it… and, when she did, she jerked her head up, her mouth already dry.

It had taken so long to recognize the sound she heard because, strictly speaking, it wasn’t there. One thousand times she had raised the sun, and one thousand times the crowd cheered for joy as the sun peeked over the horizon.

One thousand times—but on this, the one thousand and first, there was something new:
silence.   

Celestia stared. Thousands of ponies stared, not at the sun, but back at her, eyes wide. No one moved. No one spoke.

Celestia looked down at herself, and what she saw almost made her vomit. One half of her body was shining, pristine white—but the other was glossy black, covered in streaks of white makeup.

She must have tapped into her transformation magic. And, though it had gotten her through, it had triggered another transformation. And now, standing there in front of thousands, there could no longer be any doubt what Celestia had been hiding from them all.

Celestia looked up.

“I—” she croaked.

A unicorn in the front row screamed. And suddenly, the gates of Tartarus itself burst.

Ponies scrambled backwards, away from her, tripping over themselves in their fright. Pegasi swooped and dived out of the way—one even tried to make a pass at her, but someone grabbed him and held him back. Unicorns vanished as they teleported away, and more than a few earth ponies ducked behind the stands.

“No,” Celestia cried, “please—”

Then, through the crowd, she saw them. Golden armor, pushing through the crowd and charging up the stairs. The Royal Guard. She whirled to face them, already expecting the looks of fear and anger on their faces. Tears welled up in her eyes—and then her guts turned to ice.

There, at their head, strode Luna. Her horn already lit, her eyes hard and sharp.

“Luna—” Celestia choked out.

“Silence,” Luna hissed, planting her hooves and spreading her wings. “What hast thou done to my sister, foul beast?”

“Luna,” she croaked, as the soldiers spread around her. “Lulu, it’s me—”

“Do not call me that!” Luna roared, lightning arcing down the length of her horn. “Do not test Us; you still draw breath only because We know not what thou hast done with her.”

“Luna, I’m right here, you’ve got to—”

Luna’s eyes hardened. “Guards!”

And suddenly, they were upon her. Dozens of ponies wearing golden armor, horns lit, wings spread, and spears at the ready. Luna herself stepped forward, her horn shining a dangerous, icy blue.

“Luna—” Celestia pleaded.

Luna stepped forward and pressed her horn to Celestia’s neck. “Not another word,” she snarled, “or We swear to Harmony, We will—”

“Princess!”

Both of them looked up at the cry—and there, trying to frantically force her way through the line of soldiers, was Twilight Sparkle.

“Twilight,” Luna said gravely, “this is not the time—”

And yet, Twilight pushed her way through. She stumbled, but scrambled to her hooves and ran up to stand between Luna and Celestia—joined a half-second later by Rarity, who had squeezed through the gap she left.

“Get out of the way, child—” Luna snarled, half-turning, her horn still pressed to Celestia’s throat.

“Princess!” Twilight repeated, gasping. “You’re making a mistake. She’s telling the truth!”

Luna’s gaze flicked up into Celestia’s face, the barest hint of doubt showing, before she looked back down at Twilight. “You lie—”

“She’s been with us in Ponyville the whole time,” cut in Rarity. “We didn’t believe it at first either, but it’s true. It really is her.”

Luna’s glare cracked, but only for a moment. She set her jaw again, then pulled her horn from Celestia’s neck. Celestia sucked down a gasping breath as Luna bent down to stare at Twilight and Rarity.

“Thou claimest that this—this thing is my sister?”

Both Twilight and Rarity nodded.

“And thou wouldst swear to it?”

“Cross my heart, hope to fly—” Twilight began.

“And thou wouldst stake thy lives on that?”

Twilight froze. Rarity glanced over at her, then stood a little taller.

“Yes, your Highness,” she said. “Ours, and both of yours.”

Luna looked up into Celestia’s face again. And there, for the first time in many, many years, Celestia saw genuine fear in those eyes of hers.
> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna heaved a sigh as the sun began to rise. That was her sign: she was now, officially, off-duty. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind waiting up through the night, watching over her beloved Equestria—she actually enjoyed having a little time to herself—but tonight had been harder than most. Of course, there was the fact that Celestia was turning into that… that thing—which, by itself, would have been enough to shake her resolve—but there were other things, too. Nightmares, as the rumors began to spread. Frightened tears, from both parents and children. Angry whispers in darkened halls.

And she had to listen to all of it.

Well, she thought to herself as she walked through the halls, not all of it. But enough to be worrisome, at least. Thank Harmony Celestia didn’t—

Luna pushed open the door to the Breakfast Salon, then froze, eyes wide.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

“Come in, please,” Celestia said. “Despite the rumors, I don’t bite.”

Luna swallowed once or twice, then gingerly stepped forward, pulled out a chair, and sat. She continued to stare at Celestia, eyes wide.

Across from her sat Celestia, her mane pulled back behind her with a tie. The black changeling plates had spread even further since yesterday morning: now, the plates had consumed the left half of her face, and both her wings were gone. Beside her sat an enormous stack of newspapers and magazines. She had one of the papers spread open wide in front of her, and was reading it intently, a red pencil held crosswise in her teeth. At her elbow sat a lukewarm coffee cup, filling the air with the dark, heavy smell of caffeine.

Celestia glanced up at Luna, frowned, then spat out her pencil. “None of that,” she growled. “I’ve had enough of that look today already. I’m transforming, not dead.” She picked up the pencil. “Don’t look around me, or behind me, or through me—I’m still here. Look me in the eye.”

Luna swallowed, then made eye contact. Celestia wore thin red reading glasses, which magnified her eyes. Her right eye was still its native pink, but the left had turned a fiery orange.

Luna held her gaze for a moment, then shivered and looked back down to the table. “I’m sorry,” she said. She glanced up again, then chuckled darkly. “At least you only resemble someone who tried to destroy Equestria…”

Celestia looked sharply up at her. After a split-second, her shoulders drooped. “...I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Luna shook her head. “Already forgiven,” she said. “It takes a great deal more than that to offend me.”

Celestia returned the smile. She picked up her coffee and sipped at it, then picked up her pencil again and resumed reading. Luna watched her, noticing, for the first time, the growing bag under her one pony-eye.

“How long have you been up?” she asked uncertainly.

Celestia continued to stare down at her paper. “Never went to bed,” she said. “There’s too much to do.”

Luna eyed the newspapers warily. “What are you doing, anyways?” Luna asked.

“A trick I picked up from a friend,” she said. “When your public won’t tell you what they’re thinking to your face…” She leaned forward and circled something. “...figure out what they’re telling each other.”

Luna gulped. “And… what are they thinking?”

Wordlessly, Celestia lit her horn, and several scraps of newspaper floated across the table towards Luna. She took them in her hooves, unfolded them, and began to read the words circled in angry red.

“Monster… can’t be trusted… unstable… traitor…” She looked up at Celestia. “Traitor?”

Celestia sighed. “The thrust of his argument,” she recited carefully, eyes still on her paper, “is that, by revealing I’ve apparently been a Changeling all along, I am complicit in the damages that occurred during the Royal Wedding. There is speculation that I may have even directly aided the invasion. In either case, despite my role as protector, I have allowed my little ponies to suffer.” She circled something else. “Ergo, traitor,” she finished.

Luna took a deep, shaking breath. Celestia had spoken in a cold, almost-academic tone—the sort she used when talking about politics in far-off kingdoms. The voice she used when describing something happening, not to her, but to someone else, far away.

“Celestia,” Luna said carefully, “Is everything okay?”

For a long moment, Celestia was quiet. Luna noticed, suddenly, that her eyes were no longer running over the page.

“Of course they are,” Celestia said, without looking up. “They have to be, don’t they? I’m Princess Celestia. I’m perfect.” Her hooves, sitting on the table, began to tremble. “I can never be sad, or lonely, or sick, or hurt—those are feelings for mortal ponies, not me. And I have to be the same pony I’ve always been, or otherwise the natural order itself collapses, and all of Equestria burns in fire—”

Celestia fell quiet. Luna watched her for a moment, swallowed, then stood. She walked around the table to where Celestia sat, still staring down at her papers.

Wordlessly, Luna reached out and put her arms around her. Celestia flinched under her touch, but Luna pulled her close regardless. She held her for a long moment; at first, Celestia sat, rigid as a statue, but, after a long, long moment, she turned her head and rested it on Luna’s shoulder.

“I’m scared, Lulu,” she said quietly. “I-I don’t know if I can do this…”

“Of course you can,” Luna said with a smile. “You’re my big sister—you can do anything—”

Celestia did not react.

Luna’s smile faltered, and she pulled her a little closer. “I mean it, Tia,” she said. “We’ve done it all. We’ve built a castle, fought gods and kings, saved the world. Crowned a new Princess, even. You ruled Equestria, by yourself, for a thousand years on top of all that. And...” she swallowed “...and you saved me, too.”

Celestia raised her eyes slightly, meeting Luna’s gaze.

“After all that,” she said, smiling, “what’s a few dirty looks? You’ve done harder things—I know you have. You can do it,” Luna said, shaking her a little by the shoulders.

Luna watched Celestia’s face carefully—and, after a long, silent moment, saw a little hint of a smile quirk at the corner of her lips.


* * *



It happened at two o’clock that afternoon.

Celestia had just finished holding open court. She hadn’t done so in a while, and it was nice to help her subjects one-by-one again. Plus, it was a good chance to let ponies see her. Though she would have loved to do nothing more than hide in her chambers, this was an important opportunity to control the narrative. To allow people to see that, though she was different, she was also the same, still holding court as she always had. Still helping ponies, just like she always had. Same Celestia as ever.

But even she hadn’t been able to deny the looks. Ponies, watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Ponies, heads bowed and eyes averted, even when speaking directly to her. Ponies, too afraid to ask questions, too eager to agree with her to be genuine. She was used to ponies being awed and reverential; she wasn’t used to ponies being actually afraid of her.

Celestia was walking down one of the balconies on the side of the palace, the ones open to the air, when it happened. Her head was down, her eyes half-closed, as she walked, mechanically winding her way around the little knots of guards and courtiers. There was one pony—a little colt—who had come to court, whose face floated in front of her eyes as she walked. He had come, by himself,  to ask Princess Celestia if she knew when the Changelings would come back again. She hadn’t known what to say—she’d made up something about how they might not ever come back, but, if they did, she'd fight them—but his gaze still haunted her. Absolute trust, tinged with abject horror. She didn’t want to guess what those little eyes had seen—nor what they had seen in her.

Celestia was dimly aware, somewhere in the back of her mind, exactly how long it had been since she’d slept. She hadn’t really had a good night’s rest in over a week, what with the build-up to the Celebration; she hadn’t slept at all in easily forty-eight hours, with the frantic research of last night, coupled with the anxious wide-awake worrying of the night before. And, even though her gut held a great boiling reserve of coffee and tea, tendrils of weariness still dragged at her mind.

Which is why she didn’t see the hooves flying at her until it was too late.

Someone bucked Celestia straight across the face. She yelped and jerked back, pressing a hoof to her cheek. Instantly, the guards appeared, tackling her assailant to the ground.

Celestia slowly lowered her hoof and stared at it. The bucking hadn’t hurt, not really; it had more startled her than anything. She could tell there was strength in the kick, but it had been a glancing blow, not a direct hit. Someone had wanted to hurt her, very badly—but, for some reason, couldn’t have done it if they’d tried.

Celestia looked up and blanched. “Release him,” she barked.

The guards stepped back, though some of them shot nervous glances at her. At their hooves—and at the point of one or two of their spears—lay a stallion. He wore a rumpled button-down shirt, dirty and stained, with a loose, ragged tie. He hadn’t shaved in at least three days, and had dark circles under his eyes. And he reeked of cheap alcohol.

“You,” he spat, stumbling to his hooves. The guards backed up a little, but thrust a few more spears toward him.

“Let him be,” said Celestia firmly. “He can’t hurt me.” The guards looked at each other, but each of them stood down.

Celestia stepped forward and licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, “Can I help—?”

The stallion turned and tried to buck her again, but he stumbled and collapsed. “ ‘Sall your fault,” he slurred. “Err’thing.”

Celestia stepped forward, despite a warning cry from one of her guards, and slipped a hoof under him. “Here,” she said, “Let’s—”

He looked up at her, fire showing through the haze in his eyes. He took a deep breath, then spat in her face.

Celestia dropped him, and took two or three steps backwards, eyes wide. The stallion simply collapsed on the ground and wept into his arms.

“Rosie,” he sobbed. “And Daydream—those—” he hiccuped. “Those monsters took’m. ‘N’ you let’m.”

Celestia’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“No,” she said, “No, I didn’t—”

He looked up at her, his eyes flashing. “You let ‘em!” he roared. “You let ‘em take ‘em, and—and—”

He dropped his head again. “I want m’ life back,” he moaned. “They were er’thing… an’ all I want is to see’m again…”

Celestia took a step backwards and swallowed. She stared blankly at the sobbing stallion lying on the floor. Slowly, she looked up, somehow already knowing what she would see. Every pony in the hall—guards, bureaucrats, officials, hangers-on—stared back at her. Some waited for her to react. But most were watching her the same way they would have watched a caged tiger: warily, waiting for her to strike, wondering if they’d have enough time to get away before she tore their throats out.

Celestia realized, suddenly, that she couldn’t breathe. The weight of those stares threatened to crush her. She had tried to deny it—tried to prove otherwise—but she knew, in that moment, that they would never accept her. Anything she could try, anything she could say, anything she could do—and they would only ever see her as the monstrous Queen of their nightmares.

Celestia took another step away. “I’m sorry—” she choked out.

And still, they did nothing but stare at her.

Celestia let out a little, gasping cry, then turned and ran, the tears already pricking at the corner of her eyes.

They were right. They were right. And there was only one thing she could do.

Go someplace where she would never hurt anyone again.
> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first, the rain was gentle, just a mild drizzle. Soon, though, the heavens themselves split open, and the rain lashed at the earth as if trying to wash it away entirely.

Celestia huffed. Someone in the local Weather Patrol was on a bit of a power trip…

She sat in a shallow cave, her pathetic half-fire at her back, staring out at the rain. She was almost entirely insect by now: her right leg was still white below the knee, and a little of her native hide remained on one flank, but otherwise, she was entirely covered in glossy black changeling plates, with an orange saddle of sorts on her back. The plates had claimed her mane and tail as well, replacing them with some sort of stiff, thick fiber (reddish-orange, as always) that just sort of… hung there. She tried to blow her new mane out of her eyes, but it barely swayed.

Of course, her transformation had made things a little easier for the journey. For one thing, with so much of her already Changeling, she didn’t really need the makeup anymore. It had proved simpler to convince others, when they asked about her white patches, that she was simply piebald than than to lug all those jars around. But, regardless, of the convenience, she could still feel her own alicorn magic slipping away. And, with it, what remained of herself.

She snorted. Herself. What did that even mean, anymore? The plates had consumed what was left of her cutie mark two days ago—and, worst of all, she hadn't even noticed until that evening. Did she have anything of herself left, at this point?

Celestia tried to blow her mane out of her face again, with similar results. Whatever was going on, she would know. And Celestia was going to find her, if it was the last thing she did.

Celestia had been on the road for almost a week now. She didn’t dare trust herself to the major highways, disguised or not. But she needed to make the journey. No one, not even Twilight, not even Rarity, not even Luna could have dissuaded her. And she was going to make it even without a guard, without a chariot, without even a clear idea of where she was going. It was a silly, stupid idea, but it was the only idea she had. If this wouldn’t help, then, well…

Celestia watched the rain for a while, trying steadfastly to ignore the gnawing pit in her gut. All too soon, though, she looked over at her saddlebags lying next to her pathetic little firepit. Almost reflexively, she tried to levitate them towards her—before she remembered that using her magic seemed to speed up her transformation. She sighed, then stood, walked over to the bags, and nosed open a flap. She stared at the contents—rough peasant bread and a hunk of shriveled yellow cheese—then sat and began to stuff it hungrily into her mouth with both hooves.

Though each of her many, many tailors and seamstresses had tried to avoid the topic, Celestia had always been completely aware of one fact: she was big. And, true, she did have a little paunch she’d been meaning to work off, but it was more than that. Keeping her big body alive took a lot of calories. She’d gotten used to tucking away portions that would, and often did, make even the most dedicated bodybuilders stare. She had been a little self-conscious about her appetite once, but she’d come to accept that it took a lot of fuel to keep her fires lit, and had packed for this trip accordingly. And so, on this trip, she’d made a habit of stopping at any village she passed, putting on whatever disguise popped into her mind first, then gingerly asking the local shopkeep for whatever meals he could spare.

Even so—she was still hungry. More than hungry. When she ate, she could feel her stomach filling up, sometimes so full it hurt—but she still felt strangely empty, no matter what she ate. She had tried everything—even a little meat jerky she had traded some griffons for, which had very nearly made her ill—but, even when she stuffed herself to bursting, the hunger remained.

This time, Celestia ate noisily, with the manners of the lonely and desperate. When she had eaten what remained of the cheese and a good third of the loaf, she sat back and sighed heavily. After a moment, she stopped and pricked up her ears. Slowly, she turned and gazed out into the rain.

For a moment, she saw nothing. She was almost ready to turn back to her bags when she suddenly saw it: something yellow, made blobby by the veil of the rain, bobbing in her general direction. She watched it for another moment, then swallowed. No mistaking it: whatever it was, it was coming this way.

About fifteen minutes later, a pony in a thick yellow raincoat ducked inside the cave, followed closely by a second. The two ponies stood side-by-side, one examining the cave carefully, the other shooting an uneasy glance at their companion.

“I say, Twilight,” Rarity said suddenly, removing her hat and shaking the water off, “I hope you’re right about this one. There was an adorable little bed-and-breakfast in the last town, and and I am so tired of spending the night in dank old caves—”

“Shh,” Twilight hissed, still gazing intently around the cave. Her eyes passed over a small corner of it, then stopped. Twilight stared for a moment, then smiled a little. “You can come out, Princess,” she said aloud. “We know you’re in here.”

For just a moment, nothing happened—then, with a flash of orange flame, Celestia appeared, sitting in the in the back corner of the cave, looking guilty.

“How’d you find me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Twilight grinned. “Simple, actually,” she said. “One: locals saw a big mare hiding in a cave on the hill. There are very few ponies I know who have a black-and-orange coat, after all.”

Celestia buzzed her insectoid wings a little.

“Two,” Twilight continued, “a freshly-extinguished fire. Even though you tried to put it out—” Twilight kicked at a streak of ash in the floor. “—the embers were still glowing.”

Celestia nodded weakly.

“And three,” Twilight said, with a wry grin, “your hoof was showing.”

Celestia looked down and sighed. There, peeking out from behind the rock she’d tried to hide behind, was the barest sliver of shining-white hoof.

Celestia looked up. “Well,” she said hollowly, “you won. What happens now? Are you going to bring me back to Luna? Banish me? Deal with me yourselves, right here and now? Whatever it is, I don’t—”

“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic, your Highness,” Rarity said with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “After all, that’s my job. We’re here to take care of you, of course. But not like that,” she added.

Celestia, despite herself, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Twilight took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “You’re going to the Changeling Kingdom, right?” she asked. “We’re going with you.”

Celestia’s eyes widened, and, somehow, despite her dark chitin, she managed to blanch. “No,” she said, “y-you can’t—I mean, I barely know where—and we don’t know what—!”

“Nonsense, Darling,” Rarity interjected again. “That’s what Twilight’s for.”

Twilight lifted up the edge of her coat, revealing a saddlebag packed full to the brim with books and papers. Using her magic, she extracted a tight bundle of notes. “I don’t have exact coordinates,” she admitted, “but I do have Compass Rose’s account of her visit there, which should get us in the right neighborhood, at least. I’ve collated all the research I can find on Changelings, too, and—”

“What’s she’s trying to say,” interrupted Rarity, “is that she’s done her homework. Spoiler,” she added, flipping her mane, “No one’s quite sure what to expect. But there are guesses.”

“Good ones,” Twilight added.

“But guesses nonetheless,” Rarity finished.

Celestia looked between the two of them. “No,” she said finally. “I appreciate it, girls, but I can’t let you—”

“We’re not asking, Darling,” Rarity interrupted.

Celestia looked at her sharply. “Pardon?” she snapped.

“We’re. Not. Asking,” Rarity repeated, her gaze hardening. “You are doing everything you can to keep your friends from being there for you—running off without telling anyone like that, walking alone through this Princess-forsaken wilderness—if you’ll pardon the expression,” she added. “And I, for one, am sick of it. I mean, really—”

Twilight placed a warning hoof on her shoulder, and Rarity fell quiet. Twilight smiled at her, then turned back to Celestia. “What she means,” she said kindly, “is that we’re worried about you. And we don’t want you to have to be alone.” Twilight took a deep breath, glanced down at her hooves, then back up at Celestia. “Princess,” she said quietly, “I… I don’t think I ever wrote you about this… but…” She sighed. “One of the hardest lessons I had to learn in Ponyville was that, though it’s good to help others, you also have to let other ponies help you. Otherwise,” she said with a wry grin, “who are ponies going to help, in the end?” Her grin faltered, and she looked away. “I…” she began slowly, then shook her head. “I mean… I think you’ve been alone for a long time. You don’t like letting ponies do things that you can do for yourself. It makes you feel helpless.”

Celestia furrowed her brow. “How did you…?”

Twilight smiled. “Shiny’s like that, too,” she said. “I noticed you were the same way within a few months of starting school. But…” the grin blossomed into a genuine smile. “We’re here for you. We can help. We will help. You don’t have to be strong anymore.”

Celestia stared at her for a long moment. Suddenly, she lunged forward and pulled the two of them in for a tight hug. Rarity gave an awkward, undignified squawk, but Twilight grinned and hugged her back.

Celestia just held the two of them for a moment. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out—and, forever after, Twilight could never quite be sure if the the puddle under their hooves came from the water dripping from their raincoats, or whether Celestia was genuinely crying.

“Well,” Rarity said finally, worming her way out of Celestia’s grasp, “let’s see what we can do about this fire. After all, we can’t let the fact that we’re staying in a cave mean that we have to live in squalor…”
> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Celestia was the first to crest the hill. She surveyed the landscape below with a sharp eye, then turned to look behind her. “Come on,” she said, “We’ve made it.” Up the hill came Twilight Sparkle, holding a worn sheet of parchment in her magic, followed closely by Rarity, who wore both her mane and tail in a tight bun.

The three of them were leaner, hardier than they had been. The road had not been particularly difficult, at least until they left Equestria, but still: spending two full weeks travelling by hoof, without a cushy reading chair or weekly visit to the spa does something to a pony. And, though Twilight’s notes had, indeed, gotten them here more quickly than Celestia had hoped, they’d still had to walk the whole way.

(Celestia had tried to magic wings onto Rarity and Twilight to try and speed things up a bit, and, though Rarity had caught on fairly quickly, the test flight alone had very nearly made Twilight ill; she had sworn, despite both their pleadings, that she would never fly again, if it was the last thing she did. )

Celestia herself had changed, too; her hooves and wings had sprouted holes and her carapace had grown a sort of hard angularity. All that was left of who she had once been was a single white hoof, topped by a little fur that stopped just short of the ankle. The rest of her body was orange-and-black, hard and sharp (One cold night, she had thought of asking Twilight or Rarity to snuggle with her for warmth—but she knew that, for them, her shell would be literal cold comfort. Besides, they already looked so peaceful in their sleeping bags…).

Rarity glanced up, and saw, for the first time, the valley spreading below them. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

Celestia turned and followed Rarity’s gaze. “Oh my, indeed,” she murmured.

Below them stretched a blasted and desolate valley, with only a muddy stream and a few tufts of thick, coarse grasses to break the monotony. Roughly in the center of the expanse stood a structure that looked like it had not so much been built as hatched—tall, crooked, misshapen, full of gaping holes.

“This is the place, right?” Celestia asked without looking at Twilight. “The Changeling Hive?”

She didn’t need to ask. Even if she hadn’t memorized Compass Rose’s description of the place, there was little else it could be. And yet, it was still comforting to hear Twilight’s voice.

Twilight herself cleared her throat and consulted her notes. She looked up over the top of the parchment, then rolled it up. “Yes, your Highness,” she murmured.

“Well,” Celestia said, trying to fake some chipper enthusiasm, “No time like the present.”

And, without giving either of them a chance to dissuade herself from her course, Celestia set off down the other side of the hill.

For being what it was—the heart of an evil kingdom bent on the domination of the entire civilized world—the valley was surprisingly quiet. Nothing moved, aside from the dust blowing in the breeze and the occasional black speck fluttering around the exterior of the hive.

The three of them walked quietly towards the hive. The mile or so they had to cross gave the three of them plenty of time with their own thoughts. Rarity made a gagging noise as the thin grass eventually gave way to bare dust, but Twilight shot her a dirty look, and she fell silent. Celestia for her part, tried to keep her mind off her fears. She was a big girl; she’d been doing this Princess thing for a long time, and, all told, she was pretty good at it.

Don’t let the thoughts of what might happen distract you from what has to happen, she tried to convince herself; think about what you can control, not what you can’t, 

As they drew close to the hive, they noticed a small squad of Changelings, wearing dark armor and hissing at each other in some incomprehensible tongue. They huddled at the base of a blank wall, made of mud, without so much as a window to break the monotony. One of the guards glanced up, spotted the three of them, and said something to his companions; all of them turned to stare. They said nothing as the three of them came to a halt ten or fifteen paces away.

“I am Princess Celestia of Equestria,” she said calmly. “My friends and I would like a word with your Queen.”

The guards each bowed, then wordlessly stepped back. Behind them, the muddy wall puckered, then irised silently open, leaving behind the smell of wet earth and decay. The doorway revealed a narrow hallway running around the interior wall of the structure, crosswise to the door.

“The Queen expectsss you,” hissed one of the guards.

Celestia nodded. “Thank you kindly,” she said, then stepped forward into the portal. Twilight and Rarity shot nervous glances at each other, then jogged up behind Celestia. She stood just inside the open doorway, waiting as another hole opened slowly in the wall opposite. Twilight yelped as the wall behind them began to close, then edged away from it.

“It’s a trap,” she moaned, clutching her head between her hooves. “I’ve read about things like this—it’s a trap, and we’re all gonna die—”

“It may be a trap,” Celestia said, her voice supernaturally calm. “Though, either way, we almost certainly are not going to die.” The wall ahead was now fully open, and Celestia stepped through the hole into a wide corridor that appeared to cut across several smaller hallways.

“What do you mean?” Rarity demanded. “We’re in the middle of their hive, for Pony’s sake!  If they want to kill us, then there’s nothing—”

“Rarity.” 

Rarity glanced up, then shrank back. Celestia glared at her, her alien gaze hard and sharp.

Celestia stared at her for a heartbeat or two, then turned her gaze forward again. She was quiet for a moment longer before she spoke.

“The two of you have meant more to me than you know over the past few months,” she said. “And, though your support has gotten me through this—” another pause as another wall opened “—your skills were what really made this whole crazy experiment work. Twilight, your research helped me cope with what was happening—” Twilight blushed a little “—and Rarity, your knowledge about makeup and gossip—” Rarity made an impatient little noise, but didn’t speak “—gave me courage. But now,” she said, “It’s my turn to help.”

Twilight swallowed. “H-how can you help, Princess?” she asked.

Celestia shot her a roguish grin. “Ponies,” she said. “I know ponies. Had more than a thousand years of practice, after all—and, if I don’t miss my guess, Chrysalis isn’t going to hurt us.”

“Why not?” Rarity asked with a gulp.

“She’s too much of a showmare,” Celestia replied. “If all she wanted was to kill me, she would have done it in Canterlot, where everyone could watch. She wants us here alive—though, for the life of me, I can’t guess why…”

Twilight glanced over her shoulder again at the wall closing behind them. “You may be right,” she admitted. “I mean, they’re kinda rolling out the red carpet for us…”

Celestia shot her a questioning look, and Twilight pointed. “All these holes have been opening in a straight line,” she said. “And we’re moving upwards. I think it’s leading us to the throne room—or whatever it is Changeling hives have...”

“Plus, you know,” Rarity added casually, “them.” 
Both Celestia and Twilight turned to look—and saw two dozen electric-blue eyes watching them from the gloom of a side-hallway.

“Let’s keep walking,” Celestia said quickly.

“Agreed,” chipped in Twilight.

They walked on, through doorway after doorway opening before them and closing behind, trying to ignore the watching eyes and the buzzing wings. Like Twilight had pointed out, their own personal hallway continued to lead them higher and higher up, and further and further in, always in a straight line.

And finally, after what felt like hours in the damp, dark hole, following a hallway that followed no guidance but its own—another portal opened, and the three of them stepped into open space.

The room they stood in was tall and cone-shaped, with small openings, high up on the walls, letting in shafts of light. In the center of the room, on a twisted throne that looked like broken glass, sat a tall, slim, dark form.

“Chrysalis,” snarled Celestia.

Queen Chrysalis glanced up. For just a moment, her face remained blank—then she broke into a wide, toothy grin. “Ah, Princess Celestia,” she purred, “long time no see.”

Twilight stepped forward. “You—you’re the monster who—”

“Ah ah ah,” Chrysalis chuckled, “Watch your manners, Sparky. After all, you’re in my hive now.”

Twilight shrank back, then looked up at Celestia. Celestia glanced down at her, and something in her eye made Twilight stare.

Chrysalis stretched, then stood. “I must say, Celestia,” she said, “I always thought black-and-red was a little garish, but you—” she grinned “—you make it look good.”

Rarity snarled and took a step forward. “Yeah?” she spat. “I still think she looks better in white! Change her back!”

Chrysalis cocked her head. “Pardon?” she said mildly.

Rarity opened her mouth again, but Celestia put out a warning hoof. Rarity looked up at her and saw, behind the softness in her eyes, something hard and sharp. “I’ll handle this,” Celestia said gravely. Rarity swallowed, shot a nervous glance at Twilight, and stepped back.

Celestia cleared her throat, took two or three steps forward, and straightened to her full height. Twilight’s eyes went wide: for as long as she had known her, she had always been regal; even in her quiet, casual moments, she had still been a Princess.

But now? Now, she was a Queen.

“Your Majesty, Queen Chrysalis,” she called out, her voice deep and loud and echoing, “you have invaded my kingdom. You have terrorized and murdered my subjects. You have made each and every one of us fear for our very lives. And—” she swallowed. “—and you have cursed me beyond all toleration.”

Chrysalis snickered.

A muscle under Celestia’s eye twitched. “We will yet have words to say about your other crimes, but for now: I demand you give me the means to break this curse.”

Chrysalis chuckled, a deep, throaty chuckle, then stood and stepped down from her throne. “That sounds lovely, Princess, it really does,” she purred. “But what’s in it for me? Really?”

Celestia’s eyes widened. “What’s in it for—?!” she spluttered.

“Indeed,” Chrysalis said. “You can’t honestly expect me to roll back one of my longest-running schemes simply because you asked nicely.”

Celestia shook her head, took a deep breath, then set her jaw. She looked up at Chrysalis again, already halfway down the stairway to the floor, and glared at her with fire in her eyes.

“You forget,” Celestia said icily. “Last time we fought, I nearly beat you. You only won because you had stolen the love of Shining Armor…” she grinned a little, then glanced theatrically around the chamber. “...and I can see no one you can leach love from now.”

Chrysalis scoffed. “Empty threats, and you know it,” she said. “True, you almost beat me once—when you were an Alicorn. Now that you’re a Queen—and only half of one, at that—I could crush you like an insect, if I wanted.”

“I don’t need magic to destroy you,” Celestia growled.

“Oh, really?” Chrysalis said. “What are you gonna do—ask your generals to come marching to the middle of nowhere to wage war over a personal grudge? Against enemies that, it’s already been proven, cannot be beaten with sword or spear? Not to mention,” she added, her eyes glittering, “You’re not exactly the Princess you used to be.”

“I’ll get Luna. And Cadance.” Celestia said. “They’ll—”

“Not against a hundred thousand changelings, they won’t,” Chrysalis growled. “You and I both know that Cadance can barely stand to hurt a fly, and Luna is too afraid of her own power to use it. Try and get them out here. Try to make them your attack dogs. See what happens. Besides,” she added, turning away, “they won’t be able to do a thing about the real reason you’re here.”

“What does she need to do, then?” Twilight piped up. “To change her back—what does she need to do to make you do it?”

“She can’t, Twilight, dear,” Chrysalis said. “In the first place, I’ve invested far too much in her to simply undo it all. And, in the second—” she shrugged, then grinned wickedly. “I don’t know how.”
> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know how to change her back,” Chrysalis said. 

Something cracked inside Celestia. “What do you mean?” she asked, a faint quiver in her voice.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Chrysalis said. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“But… you’ve got to turn her back!” whimpered Twilight. “You did it to her, and…”

“And what?” Chrysalis snapped. “This isn’t some fairytale, Sparky. Some curses don’t get undone. Especially if it’s biology, not magic, that’s at work. I mean, really, you didn’t think...” Chrysalis fell quiet, then her eyes widened. “Oh, you did—” she cackled gleefully. “You thought she was the first one? Oh, that’s rich—”

“Why?” Celestia croaked.

Chrysalis stopped laughing suddenly. “Why?” she repeated. “It’s actually a very simple why. Let me see if I can lay it out for you…”

Chrysalis began to pace in slow circles around them. Celestia followed her with her gaze. After a moment, Chrysalis began to speak to the open air:

"For a thousand years,” she began, “there’s been only one thing that kept Equestria collapsing into sheer anarchy. You,” she spat. “Your ponies looked up to you, adored you, made their perfect little society all sunshine and rainbows because of you. You were the cornerstone that held the whole damn castle up.”

“But did you care about us?” she continued. “Absolutely not. Anyone who wasn’t fluffy and candy-colored got left out in the cold—Griffons, Dragons, Changelings, all of us. You had a perfect, ordered society, one that cared for all your subjects--but only yours. We had to scrape together a living from your table scraps. You have always been greedy and cruel, Celestia—and, for that, you had to go. You, and Equestria with you.”

“But let’s see, now,” she continued, still pacing, “what's the best way to conquer an Empire, hm? Attack from the outside? No, the defending forces are always too strong. Too much collateral damage. Sneak in and topple things from the inside, then?” She cocked her head a little. “Better—but that’s still a costly proposition, and might not even work in the end..”

"No,” Chrysalis said, “the best way to unravel a civilization is to make its own citizens tear it apart with their own hooves. After all,” she said with a shrug, “If I were to simply take things over by forceful means, I might succeed for a little while—but rebellion and civil war would soon raise their ugly heads, and before you know it,  pop goes the weasel. Even if I could manage to preemptively beat everyone into submission, ponies would still remember their beloved Princess, their champion and protector. Her name alone would be enough of a rallying cry.”

"But…” she paused dramatically. “What if I were to make them lose faith in their Princess first? Now that's an idea, isn't it? If the ponies of Equestria were to realize that their beloved Princess was not the mare they thought she was... why, who knows what would happen? After all, they don’t exactly have a good track record of dealing with big stresses like that—that’s why they have Princesses to keep the monsters at bay. But, if the Princess is a monster herself…” Chrysalis turned and shot an evil grin at them, her eyes glittering. “Well. Maybe it would be her turn to feel what it’s like to wander the wilderness, alone and unloved.”

Chrysalis shrugged again. “In any case, their precious Princess would be out of the way—and, true, though there are a few backup Royals, none of them can carry the weight that you do, dear Celestia. At first, I thought they would be trouble, but they can’t hold a candle to you. With you gone, it would only be a matter of time before everything falls apart. And then we’d have pure anarchy on our hooves—and I simply couldn’t allow that to continue, could I?”

"You see, then, the plan was blessedly simple: wait for the perfect moment, a public moment, a moment where you were supposed to be showing everyone how good you were at everything—then swoop in and pull the pin. Show that your Royal Guard is just a bad puppet show, and, while we’re at it, have my workers give you a little snack. Sure, you were going to try and hide it for a while, but it was inevitable that rumors were going to leak out—especially if I sent some of my own servants to leak them. All too soon, Equestria would see that their only sure anchor in all the world was a lie, and everything would come apart at the seams. You would try and fix it, of course, but anything you would try would just make it worse. After all, you’ve already shown them that they couldn’t trust you once… who’s to say they could trust you again? Or ever, for that matter?”

“But that’s not all,” Chrysalis continued. “After a few years of chaos that would make even Discord proud, I would step in. By that time, the ponies would beg me to lead them—me, an outsider, a dependable and fair one, with enough  workers and warriors to restore order again. I wouldn't have to break the door down, I wouldn't even have to pick the lock. They would throw the gates wide open for me—me, their savior, delivering them from the tyranny of a monster who couldn’t even protect them from themselves. And, though moving the sun might be problematic, the unicorns did it themselves before you came on the scene, and I’m sure they’d be happy to do so again—” she grinned wickedly “—if their new Queen demanded it.”

There was a moment of silence. Chrysalis looked smug, Rarity horrified, Twilight frightened, and Celestia angry.

“So,” Chrysalis said brightly, breaking the silence, “Whaddaya think? I’ve been working on that particular scheme for over two hundred years...”

Rarity stepped forward and shouted something angry. Chrysalis shouted back, and Twilight stepped between them. But Celestia heard none of it. Instead, echoing in her ears, was Chrysalis’s voice:

...alone and unloved…

And Celestia suddenly realized something. Something that had been bothering her for almost two full weeks. Something that had been tickling at the back of her brain, searching for a moment to get out.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Celestia said quietly.

All three of them fell silent, then turned to stare.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Celestia repeated, louder.

“What?” Chrysalis barked disdainfully.

“I’m not hungry,” she repeated again. “And that means I have something you don’t, Chrysalis—” she draped her ragged wings over Rarity and Twilight, then pulled them close. “—I have friends,” she cried aloud.

“So what?” Chrysalis snapped. “All that means is that there will be two more of you to—”

“It means,” Celestia said, “that your plan failed. Turn me into a monster and turn all of Equestria against me? Won’t work if my subjects—my friends—still care for me.”

“And we do,” Rarity piped up.

“Always will,” said Twilight.

“You see, that’s your trouble,” Celestia said, her eyes shining. “You don’t have friends. You have slaves. You think of ponies like tools, to be toyed with and manipulated for your own uses. And that’s why you’ll never win.”

Chrysalis snarled. “Very poetic, I’m sure,” she sneered. “But there’s one one thing I’ve got that you don’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Rarity cried. “What?”

Chrysalis grinned and looked up. “Them.”

There, clinging to the ceiling and peering out from every nook and cranny, stared back thousands of ice-blue Changeling eyes.

“It always pays to have a Plan B,” Chrysalis said mildly. “By the way, it was awfully generous of you to bring yourselves right to my doorstep. Saves me the trouble of having to go find you. And now I can send back the three of you, perfectly obedient to all of my whims. Having slaves instead of puppets would be so much more convenient, don’t you think?

Twilight stepped forward and tried to light her horn, but the light sputtered and went out.

“Don’t even think about it,” Chrysalis hissed. “Unicorn magic won’t work here. You’re unarmed and outnumbered. The best thing for you to do is to come quietly.”

On some invisible cue, Changelings began to slither down the walls and ooze out of cracks. They closed in on the three ponies, who huddled close together.

“Princess-s-s!” Twilight shrieked.

Celestia looked up at Chrysalis, a glint in her eye. “Well, Chryssi,” she said, “seems you finally got the upper hoof.” Celestia’s twisted back horn began to glow red. She felt the clay under her hooves shift beneath her, and she grinned. “Your plan worked,” she continued a little louder, “you got us cornered, and you got to call me all sorts of nasty names to boot. Greedy, cruel, monstrous—”

Chrysalis raised an eyebrow. “And?” she said quizzically.

“You forgot one,” Celestia said, grinning.

“What’s that?”

“Resourceful.”

And, with that, Celestia reached out and pulled Twilight and Rarity close. She flashed a grin at Chrysalis, then dove into the hole that she had opened below her hooves.

Chrysalis’s eyes widened. “Stop her!” she howled. The roar of buzzing wings filled the air—but the three of them were already gone. Chrysalis howled in rage.


* * *


Twilight Sparkle peered out of their little cave, then dragged down some brush across the entrance, barely screening the setting sun.

“There,” she said. “It’s not much, but that should throw them off if—”

“Twilight,” Rarity hissed. “Shh!”

Twilight turned and immediately shrank away. In the back of the little cave, Rarity and Celestia sat facing each other. By the dim light of Rarity’s horn, Twilight saw Celestia staring at her one remaining white hoof. But, in all the excitement of the day, none of them had noticed that the creeping black plates had swallowed it nearly whole.

All that remained of their Princess’s original color was the fleshy frog in the center of the hoof, and a tiny sliver of the keratin around it.

“Princess—” Twilight began.

Rarity turned to shush her again, but she had already fallen silent. The three of them could see, even in the half-light, that the inky blackness was creeping inward. Twilight walked over and sat beside Celestia. All three of them watched in silence as the black chitin ate up what was left of the shining white hoof, hesitated a little, then, all at once, swallowed up the frog.

Twilight let out a little gasp, and Rarity started to cry. Twilight considered herself smart—very smart, in fact. She would have easily made valedictorian of Celestia’s school if it wasn’t for all these friendship problems—and, even then, she was going to give second place a run for their money, at the very least—but still, with everything she’d ever read, with all the research she’d done, with all the thinking and writing that she did every day… she had no idea what was going to happen next. They had crossed a line, and, if Chrysalis was being honest, there was no going back. When there was still at least a little bit of Celestia’s pony-self remaining, there was a sliver of hope that, if they were smart or strong or clever enough, they could have their Princess back the same way she’d always been. But now, even that had slipped away.

Whatever was left of Celestia was dead. And with it, more likely than not, would follow all of Equestria.

Twilight looked up and saw Rarity dabbing at her tears. Rarity looked up at her, then glanced away—but, in that splinter of a second, she saw the heartbreak in her eyes. Twilight swallowed.

After three months of watching Celestia struggle… we failed.

Twilight snuck a glance up at Celestia—then openly stared. After a moment, Rarity looked up too, then followed her gaze. She stared for a half-second, before a supremely undignified “Huh?” escaped her lips.

Celestia was staring down at her own hoof—but with a little half-smile on her lips. She turned it over to examine the other side, then back again. She set it down, then let out a long sigh.

“Well,” she said at last, “at least that’s done with.”

Rarity looked up at her in frank astonishment and utter betrayal. Twilight swallowed several times.

“Princess…” she said, “You can’t just say that…”

Celestia looked over at her, and her eyes suddenly bulged.

“Nonono!” she yelped. Holding up her hooves defensively. “That’s not what I meant! It’s…” she put her hooves down and sighed. “Sorry, it’s just…”

She looked up at the entrance to the cave, at the sunset still peering through the branches. “I… I thought that… I thought this was going to change me, somehow. Make me different. But now…” She picked up her hoof and examined it again. “Sure, I prefer my coat to an exoskeleton, but I don’t feel any different. On the outside, I’m a changeling, sure… but on the inside…” She took a deep breath. “I’m still me. I haven’t changed any… not in any way that matters, really.”

Rarity squinted up at her. “Madame Maquillage,” she demanded. “What’s your number?

Celestia looked up at her, her expression surprised, but not angry. “No. 7 Flat White,” she said, “with one-to-twenty parts of of Burnished Gold and Sunset Ruby. And—” she added, with her crimson eyes sparkling, “unless I miss my guess, your favorite designer is still Dress Form, Twilight’s favorite Daring Do is Emerald Skull, as much as she hates to admit it.”

Rarity looked over at Twilight. “Emerald Skull?” she repeated. Twilight simply nodded, dumbstruck.

Celestia grinned, then held her arms wide. “Come here,” she said, then pulled the two of them close.

“I’m still your Princess,” she said, “same as ever. And, as long as I have friends like you—” she squeezed them a little closer “—it’ll all be alright.”

Twilight chuckled, the sound muffled by Celestia’s side. “As long as we can make it back to Equestria in one piece,” she muttered.

“Enh,” Celestia replied, “that’s the easy part.”

And, despite themselves, all three of them laughed.
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twilight was halfway up the ladder, trying to find the spot for Principles of Astronomy, Vol. 1, when she heard a kind but eager voice say “Excuse me.”

Twilight sighed and glanced over her shoulder. “Just a sec—” she began. Then, slowly, she put the book down on top of the shelf and climbed down the ladder.

The library was nearly empty this time of day, save for the couple in front of her: a tall, slim stallion, with a milk-chocolate coat and a coffee-colored mane, and, beside him, a mare with a golden coat, ivory mane, and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Twilight tried not to stare, but there was something about them… especially the mare… she could swear she’d seen that look before, though she couldn’t place the face…

“How can I help you, miss…?” she asked.

“Poppy,” she said quickly. “The name’s Buttered Popcorn, but everyone calls me Poppy.”
She grinned. “And this handsome stud is—”

“Coffeebean,” he interjected.

Poppy shot him a look, but turned back to Twilight. “Coffeebean,” she repeated. “We were hoping that you could help us find a couple books.”

Twilight smiled, even as the wheels in her head frantically spun. “Of course,” she said. “That’s something of a specialty of mine. What are you looking for?”

“Oh,” Poppy said, “something on interior decorating.”

“Sure thing,” Twilight said. She turned and trotted a few shelves over, then retrieved a book. “What about this one? I don’t know much about the topic, but I hear Pastel Palette’s an expert.”

Poppy practically giggled as she accepted it. Coffeebean spoke up next.

“What about Qilinese cooking?” he said. “We tried some on our last trip to Manehattan, and I can’t wait to try some at home…”

Twilight nodded. “Got it. Try…” she stood on tip-toe and stuck her tongue between her teeth, then levitated a bright red book between the three of them. “Chow Mein’s Far East Eating. A little outdated, but the recipes are great—I’ve tried a few myself.”

“One more,” Poppy interrupted, practically bouncing in place.

Twilight looked at her and raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Do you have anything on…” Poppy glanced around, then leaned in close, eyes glittering. “Changeling culture and biology?”

Twilight blinked several times in quick succession. She hesitated, then leaned over so she could get a better look at the only other pony in the building.

“Oh, Mrs. Creamsicle?” she said, the faintest tremor in her voice.

Mrs. Creamsicle looked up. “Yes, Twilight, dear?”

“I’m so sorry to do this, Mrs. Creamsicle,” Twilight said, “but I’ve just had some very dear friends come in from out of town for an unexpected visit. If you wouldn’t mind…?”

Mrs. Creamsicle stared at her for a moment, then sniffed haughtily. She set down her book, then marched out of the library, slamming the door behind her. As soon as she had gone, Twilight turned to Poppy and Coffeebean.

“Princess Celestia?” she asked eagerly.

“Shh, shh,” Poppy-Celestia said urgently. “Not so loud—we’re technically still incognito…”

Twilight shrieked, and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you!” she cried. “How are you?” Her eyes glittered as she held her at arm’s length. “You have some time, right? Tea and cookies?”

Poppy-Celestia looked over at Coffeebean. “Well…” she began.

But Twilight had already locked the front door and jogged upstairs to start the kettle going.


* * *


“It’s been six months already?” Twilight gasped.

Celestia, already back in her changeling form, nodded gravely. “Indeed,” she said, as she filled her cup from the teapot. “Time flies…”

Twilight shook her head. “What have you been doing? The papers…”

“Are nearly always wrong,” Celestia interjected, sliding the pot across the table back towards Twilight “I have been in Canterlot, mostly—still holding Court occasionally, but I’ve also been trying on different disguises when I can.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s been a riot being my own spymaster, for once…”

“Spymaster?” Twilight gasped.

“Well… more of a spy-in-training, to be honest,” Celestia said. “I’ve tried to talk to a few ponies, figure out what they really want from their government, that sort of thing—but most of them picked up on my disguises even faster than you did.” She took a sip of her tea. “But hey, I’m learning.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “And how’s Princess Luna faring?” she asked carefully. “Is she…?”

“She actually seems to be enjoying herself,” Celestia said. “She’s been getting good at raising the sun… it’s actually been a pretty good experience for her, I think. Plus,” she smirked,” It’s her turn to pick up the slack. And no,” she added, “Lulu’s been good. No signs of… of well, Nightmare—”

“Of her Bad dreams,” Twilight finished.

“Bad dreams,” Celestia repeated, nodding gratefully. “She’s actually turning out to be a great Princess…” She sighed. “Almost makes me wish I would have given in a little, back in the day, back when we had our argument…”

Twilight nodded solemnly. For a moment, everyone was quiet.

Finally, Twilight cleared her throat. “And…?” she prompted.

“And what?” Celestia asked.

“And what about the rest?” Twilight asked. “No one’s seen you in months…”

“Oh, you know,” Celestia said evasively, as Twilight took a sip from her cup. “Touring the realm… observing my subjects… visiting other Changeling Hives…”

Twilight sprayed tea all over Celestia. Coffeebean gasped, and Twilight started to cough, as Celestia laughed a little.

“You what?” Twilight gasped finally.

“Meeting the other Changeling Hives,” Celestia repeated. “Luna’s idea, actually… If Chrysalis was crazy enough to attack us once, when our security was at its highest, then she’s probably going to be crazy enough to attack again. And, when that happens…”

“It’ll be helpful to have some allies,” Coffeebean interjected.
Twilight shot him a questioning look. “Who’s he, anyways?” she asked Celestia. “A diplomat or something…?”

Celestia grinned. “Not exactly,” she said. “If you please…?” she said, nudging Coffeebean.

Coffeebean nodded, then turned to grin at Twilight. Suddenly the room was filled with a flash of brilliant emerald light, and Twilight shrieked and fell off her chair.

She scrambled up onto her seat again, then stared. Sitting across from her was… well, he might have been a Changeling. He was the right shape, more-or-less, but his shell wasn’t black, like Celestia’s—instead, it was a brilliant, iridescent green. On his head, he had a horn, flanked by two grand, sweeping antlers.

“Twilight,” said Celestia, “meet Thorax.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Thorax said, extending a hoof.

Twilight gingerly took it.

“Thorax is… something of an oddity,” Celestia said. “He’s been preaching the radical idea that Changelings don’t need to consume love—they can share it instead. He’s been wandering from Hive to Hive too, spreading his message…”

“Mostly her idea,” he said with a smile. “Though not many listen,” he added.

Celestia nodded. “But he’s still been a valuable aide to me as I try to form some sort of alliance…” her eyes sparkled again. “One Queen to another.”

“Queen?” Twilight repeated. She paled a little, then looked from Celestia to Thorax and back. “You don’t mean you’re…?” She fell silent, and a furious blush spread across her cheeks.

Celestia chuckled. “No,” She reached out, took his hoof in hers, and squeezed it. “Not yet."

At this, it was Thorax’s turn to blush. Both Twilight and Celestia laughed.


* * * 



The sun was beginning to set. Twilight and Celestia lay on one of the library’s balconies, side-by-side. Celestia had assumed the form of a sage-green earth pony with a pink mane, a dusty rose on her flank. Between them sat a pitcher of lemonade and a few cucumber sandwiches. Down below, Thorax, as a tall, lanky pegasus, was eagerly learning to play soccer from a small group of foals.

Twilight looked over at Celestia. She was smiling—watching Thorax and the foals just having fun (no one but her and Twilight had noticed that Thorax’s Cutie Mark had shifted to a soccer ball about ten minutes before).

Something about the sight made Twilight’s heart glow. She took a sip of the lemonade, then turned back to watch the game.

After a long moment, she sighed.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

Celestia glanced up at her, then back down.

“...Yes,” she admitted, “sometimes.” She was quiet for a moment. “I mean… it’s always nice to know who’s going to be looking back at you in the mirror… and I kinda miss having a coat and a mane to brush…”

Twilight shot her an odd look, but Celestia’s gaze had turned inward.

“And…” Celestia continued slowly, “I… I liked being honest. I mean…” she hesitated. “I had my secrets, same as anypony… my mask that I never let anyone see… but…” she sighted. “That’s a different sort of life. Now I’m always afraid that I’m gonna forget who I am at any given moment… let slip that I’m a liar and a fraud… y’know…” she shrugged. “That sorta thing. But, to be honest…”

She fell quiet for a long time. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed.

“It’s… nice. I feel like, when I’m not me, ponies are honest with me. They don’t treat me as anything special. I feel like a real pony again… not just some figurehead. I feel like what I do, day-to-day, actually matters—like I can talk to people, and serve them, and help them, without them being afraid of me. Afraid of the stares.” She chuckled darkly. “No one wonders if the pretty little mare with the bright smile is going to clap them in irons, or banish them to the moon, or chop off their heads if they say the wrong thing. It’s…” she sighed. “...refreshing.”

Twilight nodded slowly. “I could see that,” she said gently.

Celestia shot her a crooked glance, then looked back down at Thorax. “Plus,” she said, “Y’know…”

Twilight looked down at Thorax as well. “Have you…?”

Celestia sniffed. “He’s been a perfect gentlecolt,” she said haughtily. “And that’s fine with me, to be honest. I have enough on my plate at the moment, without having to deal with…”

“That,” Twilight offered.

“That,”  Celestia repeated. “But…” She sighed again—and Twilight caught the faintest note of dreamy longing. “...someday, maybe,” she finished.

Twilight shot her a grin. “You’ll need to invite me to the wedding,” she said.

Celestia returned the smile. “I will,” she said. “Maybe I’ll invite Queen Chrysalis, too—or, at least, send her a thank-you card.” Suddenly, Celestia grinned wickedly. “Do you want me to ask her for some of that Royal Jelly for you, too?”

Down below, Thorax, in the middle of a complicated dribble, heard a strange noise. He froze, heedless of the ball now rolling away towards the drainage ditch that marked the edge of their impromptu field. He looked up at the balcony, and saw Twilight sitting next to Celestia, both of them with their heads thrown back, laughing together. And, with the setting sun lighting up her face, Celestia looked beautiful as a dream.

As Thorax watched them, he felt a crooked grin creep across his face. Celestia had been so unhappy for so long—so worried about whether things could ever go back to the way they were, whether she could ever find acceptance again, whether she could ever help her little ponies the way she once had—

But now, that had all fallen away. Here she was, with her friends, simply being. And she was happy again.

She’d make it work. Somehow. She always had.

Thorax’s grin blossomed into a smile.

She was going to make an amazing Queen.