Being seventeen is hard--especially if you happen to be a Princess.
Being seventeen is hard--especially if you happen to be a Princess.
I'm Princess Celestia, but everyone calls me Cece. My life has been crazier than normal lately--my big brother Blueblood is a selfish jerk, my best friend Twilight just moved away to Ponyville, and, oh yeah--Nightmare Moon turned out to be my long-lost somethingth-Great Aunt, Princess Luna. No biggie.
But, no matter how my life is going, I'm still Princess. I've gotta keep it together. Somehow. I can make it at least until the Grand Galloping Gala in a month-and-a-half... right?
A new AU, Season 1 AU, in which Celestia is mortal, and the same age as Twilight. Keep reading for shenanigans!
Rated Teen for brief-but-strong language in later chapters, and some crass dialogue. Otherwise, it's a pretty "soft" Teen.
As always, this story is written and edited. New chapters will post every morning until completion.
I sniffled. The mare lying in the box wasn’t Mommy. She looked like her, but she was weird and cold and dried-up, somehow.
I stood next to the box, trying not to shake. Everyone in the world was watching me. I just wanted to be back in my bed. I wanted to cry. But Princesses didn’t cry. Princesses had to be brave.
So, there I stood, watching not-Mommy lying in her box, and trying not to think about what was going to happen next.
A stallion, wearing a fancy robe, stepped up next to the box. He lit his horn, and pulled at the pin holding together Mommy’s collar—wide and flat and gold, and covered in jewels. I almost screamed at him—“That’s Mommy’s! Don’t touch that!”—but I knew he had to, so I said nothing.
The collar came free, and, with a sound like tinkling wind chimes or falling rain, Mommy’s wings fell apart. White feathers dropped like flower petals from her wings, which grew smaller and shrank back into her. Soon, all that was left were a couple pink scars where her wings had been, and Mommy was just a unicorn again.
Just like me.
The stallion in the suit turned to me. He smiled, then, with his magic, pushed the collar towards me.
I tried not to cry. They’d told me what would happen next. They’d made me eat eggs and drink milk for the past week. Said I’d need it. Said I’d be grateful.
I wanted to say “No! Don’t! I don’t want it! That’s Mommy’s, and Mommy’s going to get better, you’ll see!”
But I didn’t.
The cold metal closed around my neck, and snapped shut behind me. The gold pin slid into place. Instantly, I felt a burning, just over my shoulder blades. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want this. I wanted to be home, with Mommy. I wanted to scream and rip the collar off.
Before I could move, my eyes widened, and I howled. My shoulders split open, the bones cracking and re-aligning. I bit my lip and trembled as my wings began to grow, the bones long and spindly, the skin just barely covering, the muscles swelling and hardening, the feathers growing in like jagged, broken glass. I bit my lip until my mouth tasted like pennies, and tears ran freely down my face.
“Long live the Princess!” the stallion in the robe called. “Long live Celestia the Seventeenth, Sixty-Third Princess of the Sun!”
And the audience began to cheer. I looked up and saw them, watching me, their new twelve-year-old Princess. They thought I was so great, so pretty there with my new wings, but they didn’t know. They didn’t know how much my wings hurt, and how my heart hurt even more. They didn’t know that I had no idea what to do. They didn’t know how all I wanted was to be left alone, and to be able to cry for Mommy. They just cheered, over and over, excited to see me, excited for all the things they wanted me to do—the things that I had no idea how to even begin.
So, I ran.
I turned and galloped off the stage, despite the cries of the stallion in the robe. I dodged the guards and ducked through an open doorway into a side-hall. I ran towards the one place I knew there was a friend who would help me—and there she was, in the little alcove just off the library.
I fell into her arms, and I sobbed.
“It’s okay, Cece,” Twilight Sparkle said. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
I slammed a hoof against my alarm clock. I groaned, sat up, and buried my face in my hooves. I’d been doing this for five years, but five o’clock was still too damn early in the morning.
I sat that way for several minutes, then peeled back my covers and stumbled out of bed. I lit my horn, then groggily made my way to the glass case over the mantle. I opened it without looking, and fished out the Peytral inside—the wide, low-slung collar with the magic stone in it—then slipped it around my neck, pressed the two ends together behind me, and dropped the small, golden pin into the latch behind my neck. As soon as I heard the click of the pin sliding home, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a little shiver of magic ran up my wings and out to the tips of my feathers.
My wings. Five years later, and I still wasn’t entirely used to them. They were heavy, and hot, and itchy, and, more often than not, just got in the way. Plus, after the initial rush, flying wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be—I’d rather take the train, truth be told. But, love ‘em or hate ‘em, wings and horns came with the Peytral; as long as I was Princess, I’d have to learn to deal with the darn things.
I glanced at my alarm clock, the numbers glowing green in the darkness. 5:13. Dammit. Sunrise was at 5:30. It was always at 5:30.
But, then again, I wasn’t in the mood to wait. And fifteen extra minutes of sunshine wouldn’t hurt anyone.
I stumbled out onto my balcony overlooking the Palace Courtyard, and, beyond it, the Canterlot Valley below. The stars were still out, and the crickets were chirping. I lit my horn, and felt the stone against my chest grow warmer. Soon, the horizon began to grow rosy pink. As soon as the first sliver of sun peeked up over the horizon, I doused my horn, then reached back and ripped out the pin holding the Peytral together. Instantly, the stone turned cold—but, before I could feel it, I’d already pried the whole thing off my neck and walked back into my room. As I passed the case on the mantle, I tossed the Pyetral back into its case, with an echoing crash of metal. Philomena, dozing on her perch, squawked irritably at me as I made my way towards the bathroom.
I stood in the shower, water running through my already sodden mane and down my legs, until the water started to go cold. I half-heartedly blow-dried and brushed out my mane and tail, flapped my wings to air-dry my feathers a little, then finished by snapping a scrunchie into my mane.
I plodded to my closet, then grabbed my hoodie from where it lay in a heap on the floor. It was dark blue, with CHS Senior Band printed in gold across the chest. I pulled it on and yawned, smacked my lips once or twice, then turned and gazed stupidly around my room.
By now, the sun was up, bathing everything in rosy-orange light. There, in the corner by the balcony, stood my ratty old armchair and matching ottoman, covered in loose homework and empty chip bags. Just at the foot of the chair stood my fireplace—a lifesaver in the wintertime, still romantic in the summertime, and useful for sending messages all year round. The mantle was crowded with little mementos—a cheap plastic snowglobe from Manehattan, a framed picture of me and Twi when we were little—and, in the middle—
I swallowed, then stepped closer.
In the center of the mantle, below a dramatic, full-size portrait of Princess Helia, lay a long, low glass case, currently hanging open. Inside, on a cushion of velvet, lay my Royal Regalia: my horseshoes, my crown, and, of course, the Big Mama—the Peytral Aurum, the true badge of my office.
The Peytral was a wide, low-slung collar made of gold, designed like some ancient piece of armor, engraved and decorated until it looked more like a piece of art than anything you could actually wear. It was set with a number of hefty gems, but the biggest stone by far was almost invisible, save for a peek through a small, diamond-shaped window in the front of the collar: the Sun Stone, a wide, flat, eight-sided purple gem. It was mounted on the back side of the Peytral, placed so it would press against my chest when I put the thing on.
Truth be told, the Peytral was still a little big on me, but that wasn’t the important bit; after all, the local jeweler’s can’t exactly resize a magical artifact on demand. I would grow into it, eventually—that was part of the magic. No, the most important part of the whole thing was the Sun Stone itself: not only was it a priceless gem on its own, but it was, y’know, what gave me the magical power to raise the sun every day. No biggie.
The Peytral, the single most important thing I owned, literal priceless artifact and the reason for my existence, currently lay upside-down in tangle of ornate horseshoes in the corner of the case where I’d thrown it, with my crown lying haphazardly on top. Looking at it all, I felt a little twinge of guilt—but I quickly brushed it off. The maids would straighten it up. They always did.
I sighed, then turned back to my room. Opposite the fireplace stood my old four-poster bed—still a mess, of course, with pillows and stuffed animals scattered everywhere. Philomena, my pet phoenix, stood on her perch just beside my bed, dozing; she looked up at me, tweeted sleepily, then put her head back under her wing. Leaning against the base of her perch were my schoolbags, the flaps hanging open, papers spilling everywhere. Next to it stood my trumpet case, CHS BAND painted on the side, a pile of sheet music sitting on top. Above it all hung a crooked, black-and-white poster of Joust Hoofstrong, his trumpet pressed to his lips as gently as if he was kissing a pretty mare. I smiled a little, then looked away.
Beside the bed stood my nightstand, bearing a messy stack of blank parchment, a few gnawed quills, and a half-empty bottle of ink. And there, beside the lamp on my nightstand, stood my alarm clock, the display currently reading 6:52.
I stared. 6:52.
Another breathless moment—then I swore, turned, and scrambled out the door.
Two minutes later, I stumbled into the Palace kitchens. It was always rather hectic in here, but ponies knew to give me wide berth, at least in the mornings. They already had my pancake mix laid out, next to several dishes of sliced fruit and an empty griddle—but I didn’t have time for pancakes today. Instead, I grabbed a spare bowl off a passing china cart, filled it with Gold’n Hooves from a box in the pantry, and sloshed some milk over it from one of the open jugs in the walk-in fridge. On the way out, I shoved a spoon and a can of Mountie Dew in the pocket of my hoodie.
I hurried from the kitchens to the Breakfast salon, pushed open the door, then hesitated. The clock on the opposite wall read 7:01. Two of the seats at the circular table were already full, leaving the one in the far corner for me. I rolled my eyes, then sidled along one wall. As I passed behind one of the chairs, I accidentally nudged it with my hip, and its occupant, my older brother Blueblood, turned and shot me a glare.
“Sunbutt,” he said by way of greeting.
“Blueballs,” I shot back, as I squeezed past him.
“Now, children,” said a voice, “there is no call for that sort of language. Especially at the breakfast-table.”
I pulled my seat out and flopped down into it, just as Blueblood bowed. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies.”
I just shoved a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, not daring to look up.
Blueblood smirked at me, then turned back to his coffee. He had two years on me, and had apparently spent most of that extra time inventing new ways to torture his future sister. He’d graduated from school a while ago, and I kept on half-expecting him to go and try and make something of himself—he’s gotten his cutie mark in astronomy, after all—but it seemed he was never really going to leave the nest after all. His new life goal, as far as I could tell, was to be a gold medalist in the Debauchery Olympics. And he’d been making a good try of it, at least.
But, then again, he’d been born a colt. It wasn’t him who’d have to—
“Your Highness,” said the voice again, “no pancakes this morning.” An observation, not a question.
“She must have been up late again,” Blueblood volunteered.
“Writing Twilight?”
“Doubtless.”
I snarled. I had been writing Twilight, but that wasn’t the point. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said aloud.
“Even so,” said the voice, “that is no excuse for failing to take adequate care of oneself.”
I almost shot back that I’d had a nightmare—but then, I remembered who I was speaking to. I was in a bad mood, but I wasn’t crazy. Instead, I cracked open my soda, put the can to my lips, tilted my head back, and took a long pull. As I set the can down, I locked eyes with the owner of the voice, the other occupant of the table.
“Great-Aunt Luna,” I said evenly.
Aunt Loonie sat at the third seat of the table, already wearing one of her old-fashioned dresses, with long sleeves and a high, lacy collar. She was tall and lean, wrinkled, almost withered sometimes, but she had an inner fire that anyone who crossed her—including myself—was all too familiar with. She wore her blue-steel mane in a tight bun, and a tiny pair of pince-nez glasses. Honestly, with her millenium-old fashions and equally-strict manners, sometimes she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a history book—and, truth be told, most of the time I wished that was where she’d stayed.
But, despite my wishing, she was a Princess. Though I couldn’t see it, I could tell it was there—under her dress, across her chest, lay her own ceremonial collar, thought lost for a millennium: a wide, black-iron band, set with a clear-cut crystal. The Peytral Ferrum: the badge of her Princesshood. She was never without it—sometimes, I suspected she even slept in the thing.
Loonie watched me for a moment longer, then turned back to her breakfast. I knew what she was having without even looking at it: a single cup of hot chocolate, thick and old-fashioned; one crumpet, lightly toasted; one pat of butter, warmed; one small pot of orange marmalade, cool but not cold; one butter knife, placed in the upper-left corner of the plate at a thirty-five degree angle; a tiny spoon, placed beside the marmalade, for serving; all prepared, ready, and in place, at 7:00 AM sharp.
I looked down and shoved another spoonful of cereal in my mouth. I heard Luna light her horn; a moment later, she tapped the marmalade spoon on the edge of the pot, which rang out with a high-pitched ting-ting.
“Princess Celestia,” she said, almost casually. I looked up; that was her “I expect a response” tone.
I swallowed my cereal. “Cece,” I corrected her.
“Unless there has been a recent development,” she said, her eyes on the knife she was using to spread her marmalade, “your mother named you Celestia, not See-see.” She enunciated the nickname, disdain dripping from every letter.
I scowled.
“In any case,” she continued, “after Orchestra, there will be a short dedication ceremony at the new Starflower Memorial Elementary. It would be most gracious of you to attend.”
Most gracious. Coming from her, that was an order.
“Actually,” I said, “I already have plans. For after Band,” I added.
Loonie glanced up at me over her glasses. “Really,” she said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. “Pray tell.”
“I’ve... scheduled a public service opportunity,” I improvised. “Helping the less fortunate, you know.”
Don’t ask what don’t ask what—
“If I may ask,” she said, “Doing what?”
Dammit.
I sighed. “Helping… helping an old family maintain a historical site.”
Loonie raised an eyebrow, then gave a little approving half-nod. I started to smile—
“Meaning,” Blueblood interjected, “she wants to help the Apples down on the farm.”
I whirled on Blueblood. “Who told you that?” I snarled.
“You did,” he said, “just now.” He grinned at me, somehow maintaining the grin even as he took a sip of his coffee.
I scowled at him, then turned to look at Luna, who was already glowering at me over the top of her glasses. I smiled sheepishly.
“Well,” I said, “I really wouldn’t put it that way…”
Loonie set down both knife and crumpet. “Your Highness,” she said firmly, “Though surely you find it amusing to gallivant off like this, you are a Princess. You have duties. And playing in the dirt is not one of them.”
“But why can’t Blueblood do it?” I said, letting a little whine into my voice. “This is really important, and—”
“Blueblood is exempt,” Loonie interrupted, “because Blueblood is not a Princess. And besides,” she said, her voice dropping into a growl, “what, exactly, about spending time with your friends is so important that it simply cannot wait?”
I sat up a little taller. “I promised I would,” I said. “And I keep my promises. Besides, they need the help. Applejack has been trying to harvest the whole orchard by herself. Twilight said they’re—”
Luna’s eyes flashed. “So, that is who this is about, is it?” she said.
I shrank back in my chair.
Loonie leaned forward a little. “Believe me when I say,” she said carefully, “that I have no malice towards my granddaughter. And building good relations with the future Moon Princess is an admirable pursuit. However,” she added, “despite what you may think, your private social obligations do not trump your Royal duties. And your continual habit of shirking your responsibilities must stop at once,” she said. “Especially if doing so involves physical labor. Such is not…” she sniffed. “...proper.”
I scowled. Proper. That one word ended the discussion. Loonie was obsessed with “Proper.” That was about the only thing she ever talked about, at least to me.
Loonie picked up her marmalade knife again. “So,” she said, “I shall expect you to visit Starflower Memorial after you have finished with Orchestra. Some Royal presence is needed there, I think, and I have a previous obligation of my own I must attend to.” She glanced up at me. “Can I count on you to be there?” she asked.
I huffed and folded my arms. I was nine years old. I didn’t need to be babysat like this.
I sat at the desk in the small white room, my math workbook on the desk in front of me. I’d never been in this room before, but Mrs. Gumdrop said I had to. Said my grades weren’t good. She actually said “needs improvement,” but I knew what that meant.
She said that I’d got some special help. Somepony who was going to fix me. She’d said “too tore.” Sounded dumb to me. And I didn’t need to be fixed. I was fine.
But Principal Fairweather had pulled me out of class. Made it sound like it was something good and special happening. But we all knew that I was in trouble. And Minnie and Lem and Twink—they’d all watched me go as I blushed in embarrassment.
I looked down at my workbook and flipped it open. Mrs. Gumdrop had made a lot of angry red marks. I scowled. I hated math. Almost as much as I hated waiting. But I was a Princess—or, I was going to be, anyways. I didn’t need math; I’d have ponies to do it for me. And besides—
The door clicked open, and I looked up. “Just in here, Twilight,” Principal Fairweather was saying. “Lady Celestia is waiting patiently for you.”
In walked a little purple filly. She looked really young. Almost a baby. She had her mane in a bun and wore thick glasses with black frames. She looked up at me and froze. I narrowed my eyes.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
She swallowed. “T-twilight S-s-sparkle, Milady,” she stammered.
“And what are you doing here?”
“I’m your—your—”
My eyes widened. “You’re my too tore?” I gasped. “But you’re a baby! Are you even done with Magic Kindergarten yet?”
The filly—Twilight—shrank back and made a little noise. I scoffed.
“I don’t need help,” I said. “I don’t need math. And I don’t need you. Go back to kindergarten and… and eat paste or something.”
Twilight sniffled and turned away, but Principal Fairweather was standing right behind her.
“Lady Celestia,” he said carefully, “That wasn’t... appropriate. Could you apologize to Twilight, please?”
I smirked. “No,” I said.
Fairweather opened his mouth, then closed it again. I smiled at him. I knew he couldn’t do anything to me. Mommy was Princess. And this was the Royal Academy for Gifted Unicorns, which meant that she was his boss. Even if he wanted to, what could he do, knowing it’d get back to the her?
“It’s okay, Principal Fairweather,” Twilight mumbled, her voice thick, “I’ll just… go back…”
She turned away. Fairweather shot me a disappointed look, but I just smiled back at him. I was going to say something snarky to Twilight—but, when I looked at her, my eyes widened.
“Hey,” I said. “Are those…” I swallowed. “Filli-Second saddlebags?”
Twilight looked back at me and sniffled. “Yeah” she said. “Mama got them for me at the Hoofwill…”
“Do you…” I swallowed. “Do you actually read Power Ponies?”
“I…” she hesitated. “...sometimes.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Who’s your favorite?” I asked.
She eyed me carefully. “Matterhorn,” she said carefully.
“Really?” I asked. “Matterhorn?”
“I think she’s pretty,” she said defensively.
“Yeah, but Mare-Velous is so much cooler…”
Twilight crept up to me and clambered up on the chair beside me. “I didn’t know any other fillies liked them…”
I shrugged. “I got my brother’s hand-me-downs.”
“Me too!” Twilight squeaked eagerly—then clamped her hooves over her mouth. I rolled my eyes.
“You have the newest issue?” I asked.
She opened her bags and fished out a folded and dog-eared comic book. She passed it to me, and I snatched it up.
“I don’t remember this one,” I said, turning it over.
“Shiny says it’s a varmint.”
I looked at her questioningly. She blushed and looked down.
“Var-yant. Something like that,” she muttered.
I flipped it open and made an appreciative little noise. I read silently for a few moments, then turned the page. Twilight looked up at me hesitantly, then reached over and grabbed my workbook. She pulled it close, flipped it open, and began to read carefully.
A few minutes later, right as Zapp was about to buck Captain Colick in the face, Twilight tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and looked at her, and she shrank back a little.
“Milady,” she said, “I think I figured out where you’re going wrong…”
I almost snapped at her to let me finish—but then, I saw her look. She was frightened, yes—but also hopeful. And trusting. And… and awed. She was afraid of me—but, at the same time, she looked up to me, and wanted to impress me.
I’d had lots of ponies try to suck up to me. I had twenty or thirty who I could milk for free candy bars, or lunch money, or who would even do my homework for me, if I made them. But there was something earnest and sincere in Twilight’s look—something I wasn’t sure I’d seen before.
And, at that moment, I made a decision.
“Please,” I said, closing the comic. “Call me Cece.” I leaned in a little closer. “Now, show me,” I said.
I pushed open the front doors of the school and strode out into the golden sunshine. I smiled and nodded at the one or two ponies who called my name, but still made a beeline for the statue on the front lawn—a golden gorilla standing on a square block of marble, which the school had affectionately named “Howie.” I flopped down beside it, dropped my trumpet case and saddlebags, and dug out my lunch. I took a thoughtful bite. It was only the first day of classes, I hoped that the others remembered our spot...
I was halfway through my sandwich when I heard hooves clip-clopping towards me. “Ah, Mister Trenderhoof,” I said grandly, without looking up. “So glad you could make it.”
“Ugh,” Trendy replied, “Brown bag lunch again? I would’ve thought you were better than that, Your Highness.”
I looked up and grinned. “Best damn brown paper in Equestria,” I said. “Made from rainforest wood and spotted owl feathers. Thousands bits a sheet.”
“Good to hear our tax money’s being spent well, then,” Trendy said as he sat down beside me, setting his blue plastic cafeteria tray in his lap. I leaned over and give him a quick side-hug.
Minuette plopped down on my other side, and wasted no time digging into my lunch for the carrot sticks she knew I’d packed for her. Lemonhearts, close behind her, plunked herself down on the other side of Trendy, took his arm in hers, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Twinkleshine scrambled up onto Howie himself, over the “NO CLIMBING” sign, before settling in.
I grinned. Just like old times. Except…
I glanced over at Trendy and Lem. “So you’re official now?” I asked.
Lem sighed happily. “Since June,” she said dreamily.
“Huh,” I said. “Big summer, then?”
Twink, above me, scoffed. “You’re one to talk,” she said.
“Yeah,” Minnie added. “With that Summer Sun Celebration and all? Fighting Nightma—”
Before she could get the word out, I hauled back and slugged her.
“Ow,” she yelped, rubbing at her shoulder, “Whadja have to do that for?”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Habit. She’s… sensitive.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. I hesitated, then took another bite of my sandwich.
“How’f claffef?” I asked through my peanut-butter-and-marshmallow.
Twink groaned. “History test tomorrow,” she moaned. “First day of school, and they’re already laying it on—!”
Lem gave her a sidelong glance. “Mr. Letterpress said it’s only a pre-test,” she said. “Nothing to worry about…”
“Still!” Twink cried. “It isn’t fair! What right to they have to test us on stuff after we’ve had all summer off? Before we’ve even learned it?”
Minnie chuckled, and I grinned. These four, at least, hadn’t changed in the slightest. With everything else that was going on, that was... comforting.
Lem leaned forward. “So, Cece,” she asked, “You heard from Twi recently?”
I looked sharply over at her, then slowly swallowed my bite of sandwich. “...Yeah,” I admitted.
If Lem heard something in my voice, she didn’t show it. “How’s she doing?” she asked. “Been awhile since we’ve heard from her.”
“She’s doing fine,” I said. “Just school. Friends. Y’know.”
Twink rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she muttered. “Her Ponyville friends—she didn’t even say goodbye—!”
“Keeping up with other ponies when you move away is hard,” Minnie cut in. “You try it sometime.”
Twink just huffed and leaned back against Howie.
Lem squeezed Trendy’s arm, them smiled up at Twink. “If you want,” she said, “You could come with us next time we’re down there. Lyra said she found a nice place of her own, and it’d be fun to visit. And we all could all drop in on Twi.”
Now that the attention was safely off me, I took another bite of sandwich—then practically choked when Trendy patted me on the shoulder.
“So, how are you doing, Cece?” he asked. “Holding up?”
I coughed once or twice, spraying crumbs, then swallowed. “Fine,” I gasped.
“Uh-huh,” he prompted. “Go on.”
I hesitated. “Band is… alright,” I said. “Practice has been going a little long. W-we’ve got the back-to-school pep rally coming up, so—”
“I know that,” Trendy snapped. “Band is band, Same ol’, same ol’. But how are you doing, Celestia?” he asked. “You were closest to Twi, after all… and you haven’t had us over to your place in forever.” He chuckled. “I mean, the Palace is a little stuffy sometimes, but still—”
I swallowed again, my mouth suddenly dry. I didn’t know what exactly he was asking, but I knew for sure I didn’t want to answer him. Here, I was among friends—old friends—but school friends. These were the sort of ponies that you could go out for a doughnut with, but not the sort who would let you cry on their shoulder. Not the sort who you could bare your soul to. Not the sort who would reassure you at two in the morning, by letter if they couldn’t be there themselves, that things would be alright in the end, that, somehow, though it looked hopeless now, things would end up working out, eventually. Not the sort of friends who would travel the the literal gates of Tartarus and back for you, if you asked—and not the sort you would do the same for, if you were honest with yourself.
In short: they were good ponies. And I liked spending time with them. But there was no way I could answer Trendy’s questions honestly—not in a million years...
“Well…” I began. “I…”
FWHEEEET!
Twink didn’t even wait for the yard duty to call her name. She scrambled right off the statue onto Trendy’s head, spilling her lunch on me and Lem in the process. Lem shrieked in surprise, and Trendy yelped.
Me? I took advantage of the distraction to shove the rest of my sandwich in my mouth. No way I could answer questions now. And, while Lem was brushing cracker crumbs off herself, I dabbed at my eyes with the back of my hoof.
Just in case. Couldn’t let them know I had anything to cry about, after all. Not these ponies.
“I think that’s enough math for today,” Twilight said. “What would you like to work on next, Cease?”
I heaved a sigh. We’d been working for an hour and a half, and my brain already felt like oatmeal. I glanced over at Twi, and blanched.
For the following questions, Princess Celestia (C) is 13 years old. Twilight Sparkle (T) is 11.
1. If C received her wings one year ago, how much longer until she gets used to them? 2. If the difference between Blueblood’s (B) and C’s ages is the same as between C’s and T’s ages, how many more years until B becomes something other than a useless lump? 3. If Whirligig boards a train leaving Canterlot travelling C miles per hour at T o’clock, and—
I shook my head. “Anything else,” I croaked, dropping my head to my desk.
Twilight smiled weakly. She thought for a moment, then dug in her bag.
As she rooted around, I turned to look at her and smiled. I was gonna miss her, at least for a little bit.
My birthday was next month. I was gonna be fourteen. Which meant that, after this year, I was going to have to leave the Royal Academy, and go to a high school. Aunt Velvet was trying to convince me to go to a private school, but I didn’t really want to. Lyra was already at CHS, and she said it was nice. Even so, I was a little sad—it meant that I’d have to leave Twilight behind, at least for a little while. But hey, she’d make school friends of her own, wouldn’t she? I mean, she’d have to—
Twilight dropped a heavy textbook on the table, and I jumped. “How about this,” she said. I sat up a little and looked at the cover: it had a stack of old scrolls on the front, flanked by a stylized sun and moon.
“I…” She hesitated, then giggled a little. “I was wondering if you could help me. With history.”
I sat up. History was one of the few things I was good at. Probably had something to do with the fact that I grew up hearing the legends over the breakfast table every morning…
“What topic?” I asked.
She giggled nervously. “The… the Succession Crisis,” she admitted. “I can never get the names right…”
I raised an eyebrow. Hadn’t we gone over this before?
“Okay, well…” I said slowly, “The names are easier if you remember the story. So, let’s start there…”
Twilight nodded and got out her spiral-bound notebook. As she flipped to a blank page, I started talking.
“So,” I began, “like, a thousand years ago, there were no Princesses. There was only one ruler, and she was a Queen. The Cosmic Queen. And the last one was called Celestia.”
Twilight looked up. “Like you?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. She was Celestia the First. But she was a Queen, not a Princess.” I coughed a little. “There’s… lots of Celestias. Don’t get confused.”
Twilight made a note in her book.
“Anyways,” I said. “The Cosmic Queen was supposed to move both the sun and the moon at the same time, and she used the Cosmic Stone to do it.”
“Which was both the Sun and Moon Stone at once,” Twilight interjected.
“More or less,” I said, “So: Queen Celestia had a set of twin daughters, Solis and Luna. They were both equally good and smart, and Queen Celestia couldn’t decide who should get the Cosmic Stone.”
“Shouldn’t it have been the older twin?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe it was a C-section or something. Anyways, she couldn’t decide. So she split it: Solis got the Sun Stone, and Luna got the Moon Stone.”
“But now there’s only one,” Twilight interrupted. “The Sun Stone.”
“Basically,” I said. “Okay. So, Princess Solis and Princess Luna had to work together to move the sun and the moon, each using their own Stone. And things worked well, until Solis died.” I peered down at Twilight’s notes. “You getting all this?” I asked.
Twilight made a few hurried notes, then nodded.
“Anyways. Solis died, and it was time to decide who should get the Sun Stone. Solis willed the Stone to her daughter, Helia—”
“And she’s the one who built Canterlot, right?”
I nodded “First act as Princess. So, Helia ended up with the Stone, even though Princess Luna thought it should go to her daughter, Selene, who was three years older.”
Twilight jotted something down, then nodded. “So then she—”
I nodded. “Princess Luna became super-jealous of Helia, so she turned into a monster called Nightmare Moon, who wanted to make sure the sun never rose again. So Princess Helia had to use the Sun Stone, plus the Elements of Harmony—”
“What’re those?” Twilight interrupted again.
I shrugged. “Musical instruments? Anyways, she had to use her Stone to banish Nightmare Moon, and the Moon Stone with her.”
Twilight nodded slowly. “So, now there’s only one Princess.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And that’s you.”
“Yep.”
Twilight made a little note. “Queen Celestia,” she muttered to herself. “Solis, Luna, Helia, Selene…” She glanced up. “Isn’t there a prophecy, too?”
“Huh?” I asked looking at her.
“A prophecy,” she repeated. “I… thought I read it somewhere?”
“That’s not history, though.”
“Yeah—but still.” She smiled awkwardly. “I like old stuff like that.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine,” I said. “Yeah, there’s a prophecy. Supposedly, Nightmare Moon is going to come back someday. And, supposedly, ‘The power of Sun, Moon, and Stars’ will stop her,” I added, with generous air quotes. “Though no one really believes that stuff.”
Twilight nodded, and scribbled in her book.
I watched her write for a second—then did a double take. I leaned closer… yes, I was right. she had nothing written down. Just a bunch of little nonsense marks, and “Sun, Moon, and Stars.” I looked sharply up at her, and she grinned sheepishly.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do I… do I need to go over it again?”
She shook her head, then closed her notebook. “No,” she said, “I got it.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I got it, Cease.”
Something clicked in my brain. “And you’re sure you weren’t just giving me a chance to show off, because we’d just finished our math?”
Twilight shrugged, but didn’t meet my eye. “I like old stuff like that,” she repeated, then shoved her notebook in her bag. “You ready for physics?” she asked.
I stared at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded.
“Good work there, Cece!” Applejack called. “Almost there!”
I shielded my eyes from the setting sun, and saw Applejack a few rows over, waving at me. Even from this distance, she looked exhausted—but even so, she’d done easily half the work today, and was still going relatively strong, all things considered.
I’d been here for three or four hours, barely half of what the others had done, but I was already wishing for home. Though I could probably keep going for another few hours, I’d never bucked apples before, and I was already sweaty and a little sore. But Applejack had given me a red bandana to hold my mane back (which, I have to admit, looked pretty good on me), and shown me how to buck like a pro. Besides, we were almost done—another hundred or so trees left. So, I braced my front hooves, lifted my back legs, and bucked.
The apples shook, but did not fall. I huffed. I was plenty tall, and fairly strong, which is why Applejack had picked me to buck—but I was no Applejack. She had it down to a science—Twi said she could drop the apples into the bushels every time—but, even though I tried my best, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, the others had to gather up the apples I knocked down manually… or, at least, they did when I actually managed to knock ‘em loose.
I bucked again, and a third time, before the apples started to fall. I yelped and tried to shield myself with a wing—
“I got it!” cried Twilight.
Twilight leapt towards me, an empty bushel held in her magic. She caught a few of the apples, but missed most of them, and landed flat in the dirt. She looked up at me sheepishly, but I just laughed, then walked over and helped her to her hooves.
Twilight, as always, wore her mane in a bun—something simple, functional, and out of the way. Her glasses—thick, square-framed, with black rims—had been the same for as long as I’d known her. She was rather quiet, shy, and bookish, so when she’d asked me to help her with farm work, I was, to put it mildly, more than a little surprised—but, all the same, I was proud of her for getting out of her shell a little.
I dusted her off with one wing and gave her a hug. She looked down.
“Sorry I wasn’t ready,” she mumbled.
“Sorry I didn’t check first,” I replied.
Twilight flashed me a quick smile, then turned back to the fallen apples. She used her magic to pick them up in groups of five or six, then set them in the bushel. I picked up one in my hoof and tossed it in, then scanned the tree.
“Aw, horseapples,” I muttered.
Twilight looked up at me, then turned to follow my gaze—and saw, up at the very top of the tree, a single, bright-red apple, still clinging stubbornly to the branch. She stared at it for just a moment, then lit her horn.
“No,” I cried, “Don’t—!”
But the apple glowed reddish-violet, and Twilight pulled it gently from the tree. She floated it down and set it gently on the top of one of the bushels, then turned and shot me a crooked grin.
“You’re lucky AJ didn’t see you,” I said, hefting the bushel in my own magic and setting it on my back. “She would have had a fit.”
“I’m getting better,” she protested.
“Better than tearing a tree in half isn’t much of an improvement,” I replied, nudging her fondly with an elbow.
Twilight chuckled nervously, then looked away. As I turned to walk back towards the wagon, she fell in step beside me. We walked in silence for a few moments.
“So,” I asked, “How was school? Any cute colts?”
Twilight looked up at me, a blush already spreading across her cheeks, then glanced out at the horizon before looking down again. I followed her gaze—and, in the distance, saw the old Apple farmhouse, up on top of the hill. I stared at it for a few seconds before it clicked.
“Big Mac?” I almost squealed. “You thirsty little panther! Isn’t he, like, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-two,” she muttered.
I giggled, then sighed. “Good for you,” I said. “nothing wrong with good taste.”
Twilight looked up at me, and a little smile spread across her face.
We walked in silence for a little longer.
“Hey,” I said, glancing down at her. “Sorry again about those Gala tickets.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” I insisted. “I know it was a straight-up clerical error, but that’s still no excuse to cause so much trouble—”
Twilight turned and looked at me over her glasses. “It’s okay, Cease,” she insisted. “We got it worked out. And, even if we hadn’t, October fifteenth is a long ways away.” She smiled. “All of us are looking forward to it already, by the way,” she added. “Rarity is even dreaming up dress designs for us already.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s awfully generous of her.”
Twilight shrugged. “That is sort of her thing,” she said with a little smile.
We reached the wagon just as Fluttershy and Pinkie did. Fluttershy gently placed her bushel in the bed of the wagon, and Pinkie practically threw hers on top before bounding off again. Fluttershy cried out, then zoomed after her.
“Speaking of,” Twilight said, as she hefted her own bushel, “Rarity wanted me to ask about your measurements. She’s working on a dress for you, too.”
I stopped mid-stride. “Really?” I said, a note of fear in my voice. Twilight turned back to me, a question in her eyes, and I looked down. “S-she doesn’t need to do that,” I stammered.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Twilight said. “But, like I said—that’s her thing. Plus,” she added, grinning at me, “we all need to match, don’t we?”
I nodded, and we started the walk back to the next apple tree. As we walked, I watched Twilight out of the corner of my eye. She was dirty and sweaty, but she was glowing—smiling like an idiot, waving at Rainbow Dash and Rarity as they passed (the latter wearing oversized shades and a big floppy hat). It… it almost made me a little jealous, in fact. Especially since it was Twilight. I mean, she was my best friend, but still—she hadn’t exactly been burdened with social graces when she left Canterlot. And to see her, like this, now...
I swallowed. “It seems you’re liking it here in Ponyville.”
Twilight nodded. “I am. I miss being around the Palace—and seeing you all the time,” she added, “but Ponyville is… nice.”
I nodded. “I’ve been enjoying your letters,” I said. “So, the friendship studies are going well?”
“My friendships are, yes,” she corrected me. “I don’t like ‘studies.’ Makes it sounds like a job.”
“It sorta is,” I replied. “If your ability to use the Elements is dependent on your relationships, and the Elements really are what legends say they are—”
“I know,” Twilight said, cutting me off. “But I still don’t like thinking that way. Feels…” she gestured vaguely. “Insincere.”
I picked up a couple empty bushels from the stack by the wagon and set them on my back, then turned and started walking towards the next tree in line, still heavy with fruit. “Either way,” I said, “Just be glad you don’t have to be around Loonie all the time. I mean—”
“Please don’t speak ill of Grandmother,” Twilight said quietly.
I turned and stared, but Twilight just kept walking. I scanned her face, then sighed, and trotted to catch up. I pulled up alongside her, and we walked in silence for several seconds.
“Sorry,” I said. “I… forgot how you feel about her.”
Though Twilight hadn’t spoken openly about her feelings regarding her somethingth-great-grandmother, it was pretty clear to all of us that she was equal parts awed and terrified. You couldn’t exactly blame her, of course, not with everything that had been sprung on the two of us over the summer… but still.
And yet... Twilight hadn’t been in Ponyville longer than three months or so, but she’d still started growing a bit of a backbone. Back in Canterlot, she’d hardly ever made such a request, even in the politest terms—but now, she’d started standing up for herself. To be honest, I… I was sorta proud of her.
“Apology accepted,” she said. “No harm done.”
I nodded, then set down the bushels around our next tree and eyeballed the apples above them. “Either way,” I said, “If you ever feel like coming back, there’s always a spare room for you at the Palace.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she giggled. She eyed the placement of the bushels, then picked up an empty one in her magic. “Ready?” she asked.
We stood in the darkened cavern of the Ponyville town hall, Summer Sun Celebration banners hanging from the ceiling. And, towering over me stood a mare, coat black as midnight, her mane and tail billowing out behind her in an indigo haze, her armor glinting in the candlelight.
“Lying is naughty,” she purred. “And naughty fillies must be punished…”
“Gua-ards!” I shrieked. “Help me!”
The guards were already charging towards us through the crowd. Nightmare Moon lit her horn and tossed her head, and they slammed against the wall and fell to the floor. She never even broke eye contact with me.
“The Sun Stone,” she snarled. “Give it to me!”
I clenched reflexively at the Peytral. “No!” I cried, my voice small and weak in the darkness.
Nightmare Moon looked me up and down, then narrowed her eyes. “I know your type,” she said.
“My type?” I blurted.
“Cease!” Twilight screamed from the audience. “Don’t listen to her! She’s—!”
Nightmare Moon’s eyes flashed, and she lit her horn again. A thick wall of purple smoke billowed around us, cutting off all sound.
“I know you don’t want to be Princess,” she said. “Not really. All you want is the glory, not the burden.” She smiled, showing her pointed teeth. “That Peytral has chafed since the day you put it on, hasn’t it?”
I bit my lip. I’d heard the stories, though I never believed them. I knew what she was. I knew what she’d done. I knew I had to stop her somehow. And yet, for all that...
Slowly, I nodded.
Her smile widened a little. “Then I can take your burden,” she said. “Set you free. Just…” she held out a hoof. “Give me the Sun Stone.”
I looked down at her hoof, then back up at her.
“Come now,” she said, her voice hardening at the edges. “Give it to me, and no one will ever bother you again.”
I looked up into her eyes, and I saw something there…
“Give it to me, you stupid filly,” she spat.
I clutched at the Peytral. “Never!” I cried.
She snarled and lit her horn. Suddenly, I was lifted off my hooves, and hung there, three feet in the air, dangling from the Peytral. Nightmare Moon reached behind my neck and yanked out the pin, and I dropped to the floor in a heap, coughing. The whirling purple clouds vanished, and Nightmare Moon strode from the hall amid the cries of the townsponies, peytral held triumphantly in her magic.
Twilight pushed her way through the crowd, leapt onto the platform and helped me climb to my hooves. I leaned heavily on her and took deep, gasping breaths. Already, I could see our new friends pushing against the screaming crowd, fighting their way towards us.
I peered around a column, then tip-hoofed down the hall. Palace security was very good, but I’d had seventeen years to figure out how to dodge them. And, though I was definitely going to feel the lack of sleep tomorrow, at least I hadn’t gotten caught.
I snuck to my bedroom, eased open the latch, and slipped inside. I closed the door behind me and sighed—
“Good evening, Princess Celestia,” Luna said. “It’s good to see you made it back safely.”
I looked up, eyes wide. Loonie sat in my beat-up, overstuffed armchair. The lights were out, but she had lit a small fire in my fireplace; the flames lit half her face in angry, flickering orange light. She didn’t look up at me; instead, she focused her attention on a small cross-stitch she was working on. She had told me once that she cross-stitched to relax. I don’t think it worked; it seemed like she was cross-stitching nearly every time I saw her.
Philomena, on her perch by my bed, danced from one foot to the other and squawked nervously. I shot her a quick smile, then started edging towards my bed.
“Luna,” I said evenly.
“Please bathe before lying down,” Loonie said, again without looking up. “Physical labor tends to make one sweat, and dirtying the sheets is simply rude.”
“And taking over my bedroom isn’t?” I snapped.
Loonie ignored me, instead making another stitch or two. “You will be pleased to hear,” she said, “that I went to the school dedication myself.”
I cocked my head slightly. “So… you were going anyways?”
“No,” she said calmly. “As I said, I had other obligations, but I was able to clear my schedule.” She pronounced it shed-yool—which did nothing to make her sound less pompous.
“I don’t see what the fuss is about, then,” I said, “if you were able to do it yourself.”
Loonie pulled a thread tight, then snipped it with a pair of scissors. “Do not confuse a contingency with acquiescence,” she said evenly. “You still abandoned a Royal Duty of yours, and against my direct orders. In fact, you appear to be have quite the habit of doing so,” she added, “Seeing as, once again, you left the Peytral behind.”
I glanced reflexively at the glass case on the mantle. The Peytral lay tastefully on the velvet inside. Someone must have come in to straighten it up.
“Mom didn’t wear her regalia all the time, either,” I shot back. “In fact, she left it in the case more often than not—”
“Be that as it may,” Luna said, cutting me off, “you, my dear Princess, do not wear it at all.” She jabbed the needle into the cross-stitch again. “Some pique may be justifiable, but your continual refusal to wear your badge of office, even in the face of my repeated requests, smacks of simple defiance. Defiance that I may take it upon myself to correct.”
I scowled. “Is that a threat?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she replied. “A threat wouldn’t be proper.”
Did… did she just sass me?
“Princess Luna,” I said, “I’m very tired, and would like to go to bed now. So, if you would kindly vacate my room…?”
Loonie glanced up at me, then back down at her work. “No,” she said.
I looked sharply at her. “Excuse me?” I snapped.
“As your co-Princess,” she said evenly, “I am your equal in terms of social standing. However,” she added, pulling a thread tight, “as you are still technically a child—”
“I’m eighteen in March,” I snapped.
“Then in March, we shall re-evaluate our relationship,” she said, without skipping a beat. “In any case: I am your senior, both in age and experience. Thus, it is expected that you follow my requests, while the same is not true of the reverse. To this point, I have done so largely out of courtesy,” she said. “However, as you seem to take pleasure in defying me, I have chosen to withdraw that courtesy.”
I felt my hackles rising. “Are you—are you serious?” I growled.
“I am,” she said.
“So—you’re just going to steal my bedroom for your own workspace—because you can?”
“I said no such thing,” she replied. “I wished merely—”
“Get out!” I howled. “I want to sleep!”
Luna glared up at me, and her look nearly froze me to the floor.
“The only command of yours I am obligated to follow,” she said, her voice deadly quiet, “is an official Royal Supplication.” Her eyes glittered behind her spectacles. “I assume you remember the protocol for requests to a fellow Princess, Your Highness?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Then I would be pleased to hear one,” she said, setting her sewing in her lap and looking expectantly up at me.
My lip twitched into a snarl. Loonie just sat there, watching me for what felt like an eternity, her expression growing more and more smug. Finally, she picked up her sewing again.
“I had intended to use this visit exclusively to inform you that I am less of an idiot than you seem to think,” she said, re-threading the needle. “However, I suddenly find myself with a row to finish.”
I cried out in frustration, then stomped to my bed. I ripped off the comforter, grabbed a pillow, and turned away—then turned back and grabbed my stuffed frog from where he sat by the head of the bed. I marched to the door, tore it open, and slammed it shut behind me, cutting off Loonie’s grin of smug satisfaction.
* * *
Something nudged me in the side.
“Huh?” I mumbled. “Wazzat?”
I opened my eyes blearily. One of the guards was standing sheepishly over me.
“Sorry, Princess,” he muttered. “But it’s five in the morning. Time to get up.”
I stared at him for a second, then nodded. “ ‘Kay,” I said. “Thanks.”
I rolled off the couch, wiped the drool off my face, then stretched painfully. The Canterlot Palace reception sofas, spaced more-or-less evenly around the front lobby, had been designed like most such couches: to look luxurious, but carefully crafted to put knots in all the wrong places. We didn’t want to encourage loitering—the sort of pony that spends all day sitting in the lobby of the palace tends to be trouble, after all. Still, the couches were better than the floor, especially on short notice.
I wadded my comforter and pillow up together, then stuffed them both under one wing. I grabbed Froggy, misshapen where I’d been clutching him in a death-grip, and tucked him under my other wing. I sighed, then staggered off towards my room. Unless Luna’s assholery had progressed to outright evil, she would have left by now.
The guard took a hesitant step forward.
“Princess?” he said carefully. “Is… everything alright?”
“ ‘S fine,” I said, and kept walking.
If he had seen the tears dried on my cheeks, he had been decent enough to keep quiet about them.
“Sit still, Cece,” Mrs. Velvet said. “You’re making me nervous.”
But I would not sit still. This was exciting.
We sat in a private box, in the stands behind the platform. The only light came from the lanterns hung on the walls, and stars hanging above us in the pre-dawn gloom. Mom had said Blueblood and I could bring someone along to this year’s Summer Sun Celebration. It was going to be in Cloudsdale—somewhere I’d never been. So, I picked Twilight, and Blueblood had, for some reason, picked her older brother, Shiny. Mom thought it would be just as well if she invited their Mom and Dad to come along—which turned out to be a good idea, as Shiny’d gotten airsick and his dad had to take him back down to the ground.
But still: Me and Twilight, together, watching Mom about to raise the sun, and in the really nice seats, too? Ordinarily, the Celebration was kinda boring—whichever of the Guards was watching us that day would make sure we were sitting up straight and that I was paying attention. But this time, Mrs. Velvet had bought us popcorn, and I thought I’d seen a candy bar or two peeking out of her bag.
And Cloudsdale was so pretty, too—all fluffy and white, with wide streets and tall pillars on every corner… I wanted to go exploring, but they’d told all of us—every non-pegasus in the group—not to step off the stands they’d constructed for us. They had a double safety patrol out for the Celebration, but still—one wrong step, and splat.
I almost wanted to throw something off the side, just to see what would happen. Mom would probably tell me to act my age. I would say that was a perfectly reasonable course of action for a ten-year-old, but she’d probably just ground me again if I did.
I heard a stealthy sort of rustling noise beside me. I looked down, then yanked my bag of popcorn away from Blueblood. “Hey,” I cried indignantly, “you have your own, don’t eat mine—”
“Young Lady,” Mrs. Velvet said, a faint warning in her voice, and a little too much emphasis on the capital ‘L.’
I huffed, then slumped down in my seat. I shoved a hoof-full of popcorn into my mouth and crunched noisily, then turned to Twilight. “Hey,” I said, spraying her with little bits of popcorn, “Affter this, we ffhould—”
“Shh,” hissed Mrs. Velvet, putting a hoof on my shoulder. “She’s starting.”
I rolled my eyes. This was the worst part of the whole thing, really—listening to Mom talk. It was dark, and most ponies weren’t used to getting up this early, and she had to talk at them. Why couldn’t she just get it over with? Raising the sun wasn’t that hard…
I tuned her out, and took a few more mouthfuls of popcorn. She was facing away from us, towards the gathered pegasi, so I could barely hear her anyways—all I could make out was the sound of her voice, but not the words. But it didn’t matter, really; just another few minutes, and we’d get to the cool part.
Finally, I heard her voice slowly rising in pitch and volume. I sat up; that meant she was almost done. She stamped her hoof and said something loud and brave, and everyone went crazy. Stamping, clapping, hooting, hollering, all that stuff. I grinned, and squirmed in my seat.
Mom finished talking, then turned to face the eastern horizon. All around us, lanterns went out as ponies snuffed the lights. Mrs. Velvet reached over and put ours out.
Soon, all I could see was Mom, standing on the platform, outlined against the stars. She spread her wings and lit her horn. A second later, the stone on her chest glowed, so bright it almost hurt in the dark.
Mom ducked her head, and, slowly, powerfully, like she was dredging something up from the bottom of the ocean, began to raise it. As she did, the sky in the east began to turn pink—then, a little sliver of burning orange peeked up over the horizon.
This was my favorite part—watching the sun actually rise. But I’d seen it a million times before. Twi never had. So, I turned away, and watched Twilight and Mrs. Velvet with a smile on my face.
Slowly, the orange light crept up their faces. Twilight stared, eyes wide and mouth open, and Mrs. Velvet looked like she was about to cry.
I smiled wider. This was awesome. I mean, getting to see Mom raise the sun all by herself was cool, but—
Suddenly, a new light—white, not orange—shone on their faces. Mrs. Velvet looked around surprised.
“What was that?” I asked, looking around too.
But Mrs. Velvet was staring at me. “Cece,” she whispered, the sun’s glow still creeping up her face, “your flank.”
I turned and looked. For a second, I thought I’d sat on a Cheez-Twist or something—but then I realized that orangey color on my flank wasn’t a stain—my fur had actually changed.
“My Cutie Mark!” I squealed. I stood and turned in a circle, trying to get a better look at it.
“Cece,” Mrs. Velvet said, “sit down, your mom’s not done—”
But then, I saw it.
“A sun?!” I cried.
Just then, Mom finished. Every pony in the audience went nuts again.
Which was just as well. Their screaming meant no one else could hear me shout all those swears.
* * *
I sat in the back of our compartment, scowling.
Mom had some stuff to do before she was ready to leave, so it was just us and Mrs. Velvet going home on the zeppelin in our own private compartment. Mom would make it home whenever she would make it home. Whatever; I didn’t really want to see her right now anyways.
Mrs. Velvet sat beside Twilight, watching me out of the corner of her eye.
“I think it’s neat,” she said at last. “Getting your Cutie Mark is always a big time in a pony’s life.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled, “but it’s supposed to tell you your destiny. And I already know what my destiny is.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.
My scowl deepened. “It’s no fun,” I whined. “It’s like—Blueblood got a star when he went stargazing with the Colt Rangers, and Lyra got a harp when she figured out she was good at music. Theirs actually meant something.” I crossed my arms. “Mine is just a stupid sun, when I’ve known I’m gonna move the sun ever since I was little. So why did I have to get a cutie mark in it?”
Mrs. Velvet opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. Twilight snuggled up closer to her, and Blueblood, for once in his life, was trying to ignore me.
I scrunched lower in my seat, and wondered if mane-bleach might be enough to give me a do-over.
Lem smiled at me, and Twink just groaned. I laughed a little, then pushed open the doors.
I stepped out of the school and into the sunshine, then heaved a deep sigh. It had been a week since I’d gone down to Ponyville, and, though I was starting to get into the rhythm of school and Band again, it sure didn’t make the day-to-day any easier.
Like always, the Royal Carriage stood on the cobblestones in front of the school, a guard holding the door open for me. And, like always, I was ready to hop on board without a second thought.
But today—
Today, I walked down to the sidewalk, took a left turn, and kept walking. The guards had been doing this too long to look surprised; they just fell in line behind me, like always.
I walked the route to my destination automatically. I’d done it enough that I almost didn’t need to tell my legs where to go: three blocks down, two up, third house on the left. The little light-yellow one, with the white-picket fence and the porch full of lawn chairs and the lawn that could use a mowing.
As I started my way up the walk, the guards fell back, silently taking up their positions by the gate. I took the steps to the porch in a single stride, then pulled up short at the front door. They had insisted I didn’t need to knock, but I always felt a little funny just walking right on in…
I turned the knob and eased the door open, then poked my head inside. “Auntie Velvet?” I called. “Uncle Night Light? Are you home?”
“Cece!” cried Aunt Velvet, “Of course! Come on in!”
I grinned and slipped inside.
She was in the dining room, seated at one end of the table, surrounded by a great mound of papers, a pair of thin reading glasses balanced on her nose. As soon as she saw me, she stood up and pulled me into a tight hug.
“So good to see you,” she said. “Feels like it’s been forever.”
“I know, Auntie, I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s… just…”
“I know, I know,” she said, letting me go. “we just get to missing you, is all. Please,” she added, gesturing to the kitchen, “help yourself. I just have some work I had to bring home.” She chuckled. “It’s quieter here than at the office, you know?”
“I know,” I said.
She let go of me, and I walked into the kitchen. “Want anything?” I asked.
“Just a coffee,” she said. “Should be some left.”
I cut myself some celery sticks, piled on some peanut butter and crackers, then poured the rest of the coffee from the pot into a mug and loaded up the coffeemaker again. Finally, I picked up the plate and coffee mug in my magic, carried both to the table, and set them down—the coffee by Auntie’s elbow, my plate in front of my old seat. I plopped into the chair and immediately dug in.
After Mom had passed, it had taken the lawyers months to work out her will—Mom wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but she was very good with her legal documents. If life had worked out differently, she might have even ended up as a lawyer herself. But one thing she had made absolutely clear, on the very first page of her will: Mrs. Velvet and her husband, Night Light, were to be appointed legal guardians over Blueblood and me. Ever since then, their house had been a home away from home, in the literal sense; for the few months after the funeral, I’d barely seen the inside of the Palace, and, even now, we spent practically every holiday at their place. Mrs. Velvet—or, Aunt Velvet, as she’d asked us to call her—had helped me through some of the hardest years in my life. And she was still someone I knew I could lean on, no matter what.
Even if it was true I hadn’t stopped by since Twilight had moved out...
I shot Auntie a sidelong glance and watched her work. She wasn’t an attorney herself, but a paralegal—”All the work, none of the benefits,” she’d told me once. I considered asking her what, exactly, she was working on, but, whatever it was, she looked to be in the thick of it—and besides, I remembered, she wouldn’t tell me anyways. She never had. Attorney-client privilege, or somesuch.
Auntie must have felt my gaze, because she glanced up. “So,” she said, looking back down at her work, “How’s school?”
I shrugged. “It’s school,” I said. “Not much to say. Math. Band. The usual.”
“Mh-hm,” she said. “Found a new tutor you like yet?”
“No,” I admitted. “It’s still early in the year, and Twi, she’s…” I shrugged. “Well, there’s no one quite like her.”
Auntie, her eyes on her paper, smiled. “No,” she said warmly, “no, there’s really not…” She looked up at me. “But tell me, at least, that you’re not letting your grades slip? I mean, grades aren’t everything, of course, but you still want to keep them up.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s a little early in the year still,” I said, “but… I’m late on a homework assignment or two,” I admitted.”I’m trying, but there’s been a lot going on…”
Auntie clicked her tongue, but said nothing else. I smiled weakly; that’s the kind of aunt she’d been to me. Kind, supportive, understanding—and, though I knew she cared, she wasn’t the sort to get too down on me.
That was nice. Loonie was giving me enough trouble as it was…
Loonie.
I turned and watched Auntie work. I’d wondered, off-and-on, ever since Luna had told Twilight that she was her grandmother… did Auntie ever feel jealous? Loonie was free to designate her own heir, within reason—after all, it had been long enough that the old lines of succession barely counted anymore… but still, by rights, the crown should have fallen to her next...
Auntie looked up again. “Everything alright, Cece?” she asked.
And I realized, suddenly, that I could never ask her that question. To ask the closest thing I had in the world to a mother if she ever… Well. That just wasn’t the sort of thing you did. So, instead, I asked her the other question that had been on my mind...
“How’d you get your cutie mark?” I asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “Celestia,” she said, with an incredulous chuckle, “Aren’t you a little old for these sorts of questions? And, I mean, I think I’ve told you the story a thousand times—”
“No, I mean—” I shook my head. “What does it mean? Three stars? How’d you…” I trailed off, then gestured uselessly at the air. “Stars,” I repeated, “And you’re a legal aid—?”
“Paralegal,” she corrected me, putting down her pencil. “That’s one of the troubles of being a unicorn, isn’t it?” she continued. “Earth ponies and pegasi have it easy, all things considered: fruits, vegetables, cloud formations—destiny, when it marks them, doesn’t mess around. But unicorns…” she chuckled. “Do you know how many of my friends got stars? Or wisps? Or a sun?” she added, with a nod at me. “Something like that? Something cool-looking, but vague? Oh, sure, lots of them could tell you what they were doing when they got them, but what they mean—well, that’s up to interpretation, most of the time.”
“So,” I said slowly, “How did you interpret yours?”
She sighed, then turned and stared into the middle distance for a moment. “I suppose,” she said finally, “it means that I have three important ponies in my life. Ponies I’m supposed to take care of. Twily, Shiny, and Nightie.” “Aww,” I said pathetically, “No star for me?”
“Of course not,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t think destiny anticipated I’d have you dumped in my lap, after all.” She smiled, and shrugged. “But I don’t need a star on my butt to give me permission to think of you as another daughter of mine.”
I smiled, a sudden warmth blooming inside my chest. “That… that means a lot,” I said.
“It’s true, though,” Auntie Velvet replied. “I mean, you’ve been so good to Twily… and you’ve spent so much time under this roof, anyways…”
She smiled at me, then picked up her pencil and went back to work. I picked up a cracker, then used it to spread some peanut butter on a celery stick. I took a bite of the celery and chewed thoughtfully.
“Ffo,” I said suddenly, spraying little flecks of peanut butter, “If yourf iff—”
Auntie looked at me over her glasses. “Cece,” she said, a warning tone in her voice.
My eyes widened. I covered my mouth with a hoof and swallowed. “Sorry,” I said.
She just shook her head and turned back to her work. “Seventeen years old,” she said wryly, “and you still can’t chew with your mouth closed…”
I smirked a little and rolled my eyes. “Anyways,” I said, “Your cutie mark is stars. And so is Twily’s and Shiny’s. So, does that mean that they have ponies to care for, too?”
She shrugged. “Probably. But Shiny’s got a shield, too,so he’s likely got some ponies to protect.” She sighed wistfully. “I would hope that those ponies are Twily, Nightie, and me, but I suspect he still hasn’t found his stars yet.”
She shot me a guarded look, and I swallowed, then looked away. I mean, I wouldn’t exactly mind being one of his stars… he wasn’t so bad-looking, after all…
I blushed. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. Not in front of his mother...
“And Twi,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself. “She has, like six stars, doesn’t she? That probably means that… that all the little ones are her Ponyville friends… a-and the big one is her.”
Aunt Velvet gave a little snort. She looked up and saw my face, then her expression fell the slightest bit. “You’re forgetting one,” she said.
I cocked my head. “I… don’t think so? That’s all six, isn’t it?”
She shook her head. “She has seven stars: a purple one in the middle, and a white one behind it. I think you’re right,” she added. “That purple one probably represents Twilight herself. Or maybe her skill in magic. I’m not sure. But behind it…” She poked me in the chest with her pencil. “I think that’s you, Cece.”
“Me?” I yelped.
She nodded. “Almost certainly.” She smiled at me, hesitated, then took off her glasses, folded them, and set them down.
“I… don’t think she’s told you this,” she said carefully. “Heavens, she’s asked me not to tell you this…” She sighed. “Your friendship has meant so much to her, Cece,” she said. “I mean, you’ve had your rough spots here and there—who hasn’t, really?—but you’re one of the popular kids. Always have been. And, to see someone like you give a damn about someone like her...” She sighed again, then gave a little smile.
“Like her,” I repeated. “You… you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Auntie’s eyes bulged. “Nonono,” she said quickly, “I didn’t mean it like that… it’s just…” she sighed. “Twilight… tends not to think too much of herself. She’s wicked smart—that’s why we moved her up from Magic Kindergarten to first grade halfway through the year—and why we had her start to tutor you, even though she was still a year behind you. But she’s always been made fun of—for her glasses, for her smarts, for being so young…” She looked away. “I don’t know if that’s why, but…” she sighed. “Twilight’s a bit of a perfectionist. And she tries... maybe a little too hard. It’s done wonders for her school career, of course, but her social life…” she made an uncomfortable little noise. “But you’ve always treated her well,” she continued, looking up at me. “Even when—especially when—she thinks she doesn’t deserve it. And it’s meant the world to her. And,” she added, “to me.”
The two of us sat in silence for a long moment. Eventually, Auntie flashed a weak smile, put her glasses back on, and turned back to her work. For several seconds, the only sound was the scratching of her pencil.
“Thank you,” I said.
I wasn’t sure what I was thanking her for—and, I said it so quietly, I’m not sure she heard—but still, it felt like the right thing to say.
And, truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could manage to get out anything else. Not without crying, anyways.
I watched her work in silence as I nibbled at one of my celery sticks. As I popped the last bite in my mouth, I realized: I had another question to ask her. The question.
The thought of it nearly made me ill. I licked my lips, the peanut butter on them tasting like ash.
“So, uh…” I began, “If stars mean ponies, then…” I swallowed. “Then what does a sun mean?”
She jerked her head up to look at me, eyes wide. Her pencil dropped to the table, bounced once, and lay still. I shrank back.
“I mean, uh… Well…” I trailed off.
Auntie studied my face carefully, then picked up her pencil with deliberate care.
“Well,” she said, her voice carefully neutral, “A sun could mean lots of things. Maybe you’re supposed to be a light in the darkness. Or that you’re someone everyone can look up to. Of course,” she said slowly, “the obvious answer has to do with your political position—though I suppose you’ve already considered that…”
I nodded.
She watched me for another moment, then set her pencil back down. She nudged it a little, nervously lining it up with the edge of her paper.
“Your Highness,” she said finally, “You’ve been good to me and my family, so I’m going to be frank. I get the feeling that you meant to ask another question than the one that came out of your mouth just now.”
I nodded eagerly.
“That what I thought,” she responded. “Though, I’ll be darned if I knew exactly what it was you meant to ask. And the implications of that question… well, to be honest...” she shivered a little. “Given your position, that sort of uncertainty gives me the willies.”
I looked down at my plate.
She was quiet for another moment. “Cece,” she said, a little warmth seeping back into her voice, “I want you to know that I love you like a daughter. And, if you need help and support, I’ll be here. But the question you’re asking… if it’s anything like what I suspect it is, that’s the sort of question that every pony in Equestria needs to answer for themselves.”
“How, though?” I asked in a tiny voice.
“I… don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s different for everypony. Me, I don’t think it clicked until after I met Nightie. But…” She sighed. “I’m not positive you have the luxury of that sort of time.”
I looked away. There was no sound in the sudden, stinging silence.
After another moment, Aunt Velvet sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That… that came out harsher than I was hoping.”
I made a noncommittal little head-bob.
“Hey,” she said, “why don’t we take a minute and mix up a cake or something together? Maybe that chocolate one with the pink icing that you like? I’ve been needing a break, and it’d be a nice surprise for Nighty…”
I turned and looked at her, and saw her staring back at me. Her smile was weak and half-hearted, and her eyes were beginning to mist with tears. She knew her words had hurt me—though I’m not sure she knew how deeply.
“...yeah,” I said finally. “Okay.”
She pushed back her chair and stood. “C’mon,” she said, prancing to the kitchen. “It’s been forever since we’ve done something like this…”
I stayed where I sat for a moment longer. Finally, I stood and followed her to the kitchen, her words still ringing in my ears.
Twilight and I sat in one of the palace’s salons. The afternoon sun poured through the big bay window. Across from us, Lady Luna sat, carefully filling three teacups from an antique teapot as we watched. She wore another one of her long dresses, slate-gray this time, with her little glasses perched on her nose and her mane in a bun. She looked like something out of an antique photo—except, here she sat in front of us, full-color and breathing.
I swallowed. This was the longest I’d spent in her presence since… well, since she’d returned. That was almost a month ago. We’d spoken a little while she was still in the infirmary, but she hadn’t been there for very long. As soon as she’d gotten out of bed, she’d demanded that an apartment in the Residential Tower be cleared out for her own use. As soon as that was done, she retreated there, claiming Frailty Of The Nerves; the doctors she’d allow to see her clarified that she was suffering exhaustion and hypersensitivity to light and sound. After being on the moon for a thousand years, well… she had a right to it, I guess.
She’d stayed in her room for almost two weeks, but she hadn’t been idle; nearly every morning, she had a list of requests: optometrists to fit her for a new pair of spectacles. Seamstresses to make her a new wardrobe, in styles that hadn’t been seen outside of textbooks in centuries. Needles and thread, when the seamstresses complained they weren't historians. Books from the library, on topics ranging from history to science to language. And every day, newspapers. Magazines. Gossip rags. Anything with so much as a whiff of “current events.”
It took me two days to notice she’d emerged. It would’ve been sooner, but she wasn’t exactly in a hurry to be noticed. I finally caught her out of the corner of my eye, lurking in a corner, watching me. She didn’t retreat, didn’t say anything—she just acknowledged my look with a nod and kept watching.
And she’d kept watching, for two weeks now. When I raised the sun. When I left for Band. When I held Court. When I wrote Twi. Always just… watching.
For a literal mare out of legend, she was actually turning out to be pretty creepy.
And now, she’d requested a private meeting between her, myself, and Twilight. For what reasons, I could only guess.
I snuck a glance at Twi, seated beside me. I’d hardly recognized her at first; Rarity had dolled her up in a pretty little blouse and skirt. Done her makeup, too. She even had a little bow in her hair. Twi was making me a little self-conscious, in fact; I was just wearing my crown and Peytral.
We still didn’t know what Luna was after, but dressing up just seemed… appropriate.
Luna set down the teapot, then added two lumps of sugar to her own cup.
“Princess Celestia? Twilight?” she asked, without looking up. “How do you take your tea?”
I leaned down to Twilight. “Uh… what’s good?” I muttered. “Does it work like coffee?”
Twilight glanced up at me, then back to Luna. “Two sugars and two creams,” she said, “for both of us.”
Luna nodded, dropped two sugarcubes into each of our teacups, then picked up the little pitcher of cream. The whole thing felt like some carefully-orchestrated ritual. I was about to make some snarky remark to Twi, when I noticed that the cream was trembling slightly as Luna held it.
Luna added the cream to our cups, set down the pitcher, then pushed our cups towards us. Twilight took a sip from hers, making a appreciative little noise as she set it down, but I gazed uneasily down at mine. I had never really been a fan of tea…
Luna took a sip from her cup, then set it down again.
“I was somewhat surprised to hear,” she said suddenly, “that you had moved to Ponyville, Twilight. I thought you enjoyed growing up in Canterlot?”
Twilight bowed her head. “Yes, Milady,” she said.
I glanced at her, but she said nothing more. In fact, her head stayed bowed, her eyes on the floor—and, like the cream, she was shaking a little too. I looked up and cleared my throat.
“She wanted to be closer to her friends,” I said. “And, since she has such a hard time making friends in the first place, I thought it would be good for her. Plus, I thought she should be close to the other Element Bearers, in case they’re needed again, for something like Nightma—”
Luna’s eyes flashed. Twilight kicked me under the table, and I snapped my mouth closed. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.
“I should appreciate,” Luna said, coldly, “If we did not discuss my past… indiscretions.”
I glanced up at her and saw something impenetrable in that gaze of hers… anger? Sorrow? Pain?
I just nodded, then took a sip of the tea to fill the silence. It wasn’t terrible...
Luna sighed, then adjusted her glasses—and, for just a moment, she reminded me very, very much of Twilight. “That… that seems a good decision, all things considered,” she admitted. “Though I hope that your mother is with you, at least…?”
Twilight looked up. “No, Milady,” she said quietly. “Princess Celestia appointed a guardian for me.”
Luna raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “The local schoolteacher,” I volunteered. “She’s responsible, and good with foals, so I thought she would be a good fit.” I swallowed nervously. “A-and I got a stipend for her. Them,” I corrected myself. “Twilight has a little something to live on, and Miss Cheerilee is getting a little something for watching her.”
Luna’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and I gulped. She’s going to see right through me, gonna see that Cheerilee is too busy to keep close watch on her, gonna see that I set it up so Twilight would be free, pay her back for everything Aunt Velvet’s done for me…
Luna looked away, and I tried not to gasp for breath. “Will she be your teacher in the fall, then?” she asked, turning back to Twilight.
“No,” Twilight replied. “I got my records moved to the local high school.” She looked down. “I-it’s not as good as CHS, but…”
Luna watched her for a moment longer, but she said nothing. After another moment, Luna sighed, then turned her gaze to me. I looked away.
“I understand you’re taking summer courses, Your Highness,” she said. “I approve; that shows good initiative and responsibility on your part.”
I looked at Twilight, confused. Twilight glanced at me, then cleared her throat.
“Princess Celestia isn’t taking formal classes, Milady,” she said. “She’s in Band.”
Luna looked faintly alarmed. “Band?” she repeated. “W-what band?”
“It’s, uh…” I coughed. “The marching band. For school. We’re doing summer practice now, to keep in shape,” I added.
Luna nodded. “I… see. And what do you play?”
“I’m second trumpet,” I said proudly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” she said. “Though, brass isn’t exactly ladylike, is it…?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. Luna shot me a guilty look, then coughed politely. “Pray tell,” she said, “what exactly drew you to that instrument?”
The uniform—pretty blue-and-gold—turned any pony, no matter who they were, into a part of the whole, a thousand throats singing with a single voice, Princess and pauper together, all the same…
I shrugged. “My dad, I think,” I said. “He was big into swing music, and I think maybe I got his genes.”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “Was?” she repeated.
I nodded. “Died when I was little,” I said. “Never knew him.”
“Ah,” she replied, looking down. “Indeed; I should have remembered. My condolences…”
We sat there quietly for a long time. I took another sip of my tea. I think Luna was waiting for us to speak—but Twilight was shy at the best of times, and, despite her attempts at small talk, Luna still gave me the willies.
After a moment, she sighed. “I shall get to the point, then,” she said. She looked gravely across the table at us. “I have some rather weighty matters to discuss with the two of you.”
Twilight nodded. I glanced at her, then nodded as well.
“First,” Luna said, turning to me, “I wish to inform you that I shall be renewing my claim to the Lunar Throne.”
I stared at her blankly for several seconds. “Come again?” I said.
“The Lunar Throne,” she repeated. She lifted a hoof and tapped her chest with a metallic ring. I raised an eyebrow—she had her Peytral on under her dress. “I still possess the Moon Stone,” she said, “which makes me a Princess. The Lunar Throne, however, has been vacant since I…” she swallowed nervously. “...since I left. But, as far as my studies show,” she continued, “it is still a legal entity, despite long neglect.” She took a deep breath. “I do not need your permission to do this—historically, the Solar and Lunar Thrones have been independent, equally-powerful positions—but I wish to inform you of my design, as this will impact your office as well, Princess.”
I swallowed. “How so?”
Luna sighed. “Unless the laws have changed, I shall take over some of the responsibility of ruling. We shall have to consult with each other on certain matters. And…” she hesitated. “we shall have limited oversight of each other’s affairs.”
She shot me a sidelong glance, and I frowned. There was something in the way she’d said “oversight”... it felt almost like she was trying to tell me something, sending me a code I didn’t understand. But, even so, she’d just offered to help rule...
I nodded. “Sounds good to me,” I said.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but her eyes remained hard. My answer had both pleased and irritated her. Had I said something wrong?
Before I could ask, she spoke up. “Very well,” she said. “I shall lodge my claim with the royal solicitors tomorrow. Now,” she said, turning to Twilight, “I have something to discuss with you.”
Twilight bowed. “Of course, Milady. What is it?”
Luna took a deep, trembling breath. “I understand that you have just gone to all the trouble of moving, and will begin attending a new school shortly. However…” She hesitated, then spoke slowly. “...when you feel it would be appropriate, I would ask you to return to Canterlot. I would like to begin instructing you in how to be a Princess.”
Her words hung there in the air. Nothing moved. No one spoke.
Finally, I glanced between them. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but, did I hear you right? You want Twi to become a Princess?”
She nodded. “Correct. I… I wish to name her my heir to the Moon Throne.”
“But why?” I blurted out.
“Three reasons,” Luna said quietly. “First, I wish to avoid any…” she hesitated. “...unpleasantness after I pass. Designating an heir now would make that process easier, when that time comes. Second, from what I understand, Twilight has proven herself to be intelligent and wise. Admirable qualities in any leader. Thirdly…” Luna hesitated again. “...I believe her to be my granddaughter.”
You could have cut the silence with a knife.
Luna bit her lip. “The records, insofar as I have been able to find them,” she said nervously, “indicate that Twilight is descended, mother-to-daughter, from my own daughter. By my count, I am your fifteenth-great-grandmother, which…” she smiled a little “...though it’s not much, is sufficient in this case.” She glanced over at me. “Incidentally,” she added, “I believe this would make you cousins. Exceedingly distant ones, to be sure—but cousins nonetheless.”
I stared stupidly at Luna. After a second or two, I turned to Twilight and slugged her gently on the shoulder.
“Hey, we’re cousins,” I said. “How’s it hangin’, cuz?”
I stared at her blankly for a second. “Twi?” I asked.
Twilight turned to stare back at me, her chest rising and falling in quick, fluttering gasps. Her glasses slipped from her face as her eyes filled with fear and horror.
I took a deep breath, then pressed the mouthpiece of my trumpet to my lips. I worked the valves experimentally with my hoof, then closed my eyes and concentrated. I blew into the horn, and the moonlit courtyard below filled up to the brim with the velvet tones of “A Kiss To Build A Dream On”.
Or, something like it, at least. I was still trying to figure out the exact notes. But still, something that sounded something like dear old Mr. Hoofstrong managed to stagger drunkenly around the courtyard below me. I… wouldn’t call it a comforting sound, exactly—I was still too shaky for that—but it was somewhere in the neighborhood, at least.
I was out on my balcony again. The moonlight spilled inside my room, illuminating my empty trumpet case, and, beside it, the fallen sheet music that Professor Trebleclef had asked me to spend some time with. I would have done it in a heartbeat, ordinarily—but tonight, I needed some time to myself. It had… it had just been that kind of day.
As I played, I fell into the rhythm, and, slowly, the notes faded away. Soon, it was just me, my trumpet, and the music. I poured my soul into that song, and the echoes that bounced back to me off the marble below sounded somehow faraway and sad. Almost like the music knew how I felt, somehow.
I started to cry. As the tears rolled down my cheeks, I tried to keep playing, but in the middle of a measure, a sour note slipped out, I cringed, and my trumpet fell suddenly silent. I tried to keep myself together, just for a second—maybe even start the whole thing over again—but I couldn’t even manage that. I put my arms on the railing, dropped my head into my hooves, and sobbed.
After a moment, I heard a swoosh and the clack of talons on the rail beside me, and, automatically, I held out one arm. Philomena hopped up onto it, then sidled up to my shoulder, and rubbed fondly against my mane. She was so good to me… sometimes, I felt like I didn’t deserve—
Whumph.
My ears pricked up. I looked up, then reflexively grabbed the scroll hanging in the air in front of me before it could fall, sending Philomena swooping away with an undignified squawk as I did. I set my trumpet carefully on the marble bench at my side, then walked to my bed, my hooves shaking. I sat, then unrolled the scroll.
Hi Cece! Just wanted to drop you a line real quick. I finished my homework early, and we’re due for a storm tonight, so I’m planning on just staying in. How are you? Do you have time to chat?
I wiped away my tears, then looked back down at the scroll. It was Wednesday--Twilight usually only wrote on Fridays, when she told me about her latest friendship experience. I mean--I wasn’t gonna complain. Tonight, of all nights, I could use a friend.
I leaned over and grabbed a quill off the nightstand.
I’m doing alright. Not much is going on here—just the usual. How’s things?
I rolled it up, then lit my fireplace with a spark from my horn. I pitched the scroll inside and watched as the flames caught it. Instantly, it vanished, and the little stream of smoke streaked away.
I laid back and waited.
Whumph. The scroll re-appeared in front of me with a flash of smoke. I grabbed it and tore it open. Below my response was a new reply, the ink still drying:
It’s quiet, as usual. Ponyville’s really country, especially compared to Canterlot. But sometimes, that’s nice.
How's school working out for you? Still liking it?
Yep! It’s still a little weird going to a public school… don’t get me wrong, though, Dream Valley Union High is really nice. Not as many magic classes as the Royal Academy, but I like it anyways… it’s just different. For one thing, I have English with Pinkie, and she’s always a hoot.
Pinkie’s in your class? I thought all your friends had graduated??
Rarity and Fluttershy have. AJ’s a senior this year, Pinkie’s a junior, and I’m a sophomore. I think Rainbow dropped out?
Good for her, I guess. I could ask around and find out for sure, if you want?
Don’t worry about it. I’m not.
Speaking of school—how’sMs. Cheerilee treating you?
She’s… alright? I know you appointed her to be my Guardian while I’m out here, but she’s busy all the time, and I don’t think she really knows what to do with me… but she makes sure to have me over for dinner about once a week, and gets me groceries every so often. So that’s nice.
I permitted myself a smirk. Looks like that plan was working, at least.
And how’s that librarian treating you? Same as always?
Mr. Goldleaf is still as… opinionated as ever. We’ve even argued once or twice about whether he can still keep the library’s coffeemaker up in my little kitchen. But he’s actually really nice, once you get to know him, and he really appreciates when I can help him sort books. Brings me cookies from Mrs. Goldleaf every so often, too—even made me my own unofficial “Junior Librarian” badge. In fact… he’s been dropping hints that he’d like me to take over entirely after I graduate, so he can finally retire.
”MissLibrarian Sparkle”... you know, I think I actually really like the sound of that.
Now that you mention it… me too.
I nibbled on the end of my quill for a moment.
Y’know… now that I think about it, I think we might have a game scheduled at DVUH soon. Maybe we could hang out?
Oh, really? That’d be fun! You’ll have to ask Grandmother if you could come down early or something.
I hesitated. Right now, I didn’t feel like asking Loonie for anything.
Maybe. That would be nice.
The next note took several minutes to arrive.
You should try. You never know until you ask. And maybe you’ll like her, if you give her a chance?
I snarled. I grabbed my pen and almost started in on a scathing reply—but suddenly, I heard voices outside my door. I quenched the fire and listened. Hoofsteps came closer, and closer—and, suddenly, through the door, I heard a mare giggle. Beside her, Blueblood said something indistinct, and they kept walking. I waited until they had passed, then lit the fire again.
Bleh. Blue brought home another one night stand tonight.
Eesh. Really?
Yep. I’ll need to find my earplugs before I lie down.
Dang. Is he really that much trouble?
Yeah. He really is. You’d think, with that star on his butt, he’d spend his nights at the observatory, not cruising for tail, but nooOOoo...
Have you considered talking to Grandmother about it?
I bit the end of my quill. I hadn’t… but, given that this was Blueblood we were talking about, it might be worth the risk…
After a moment’s thought, I dipped the quill in the inkwell.
He kisses up to her so much, I don’t think she would do anything.
Ah. That’s… unfortunate.
I blew my mane out of my eyes.
“Unfortunate.” That’s kinda par for the course right now.
Another long pause.
Cece… is everything okay?
My hoofwriting shook a little as I scratched out my reply.
‘Course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?
I could almost feel the reproach in her reply.
Cece… you can be honest with me. What’s going on?
I stared at the letter. Slowly, deliberately, I dipped my pen in the inkwell.
Things are going goo
I dragged my pen across the line, striking it out.
Things are going goo I’m alright, reall Same as usual, everyone just
I paused. I took a deep breath, then began to write.
Where do I start, Twi? How do I start? I’m so twisted up inside, and I can’t tell anyone except you, and you’re so far away this is the closest I can get to you half the time.
My pen started to write faster and faster.
Everyone wants me to do so much, to be someone I’m not. Everyone wants me to be Princess & all I want is to be left alone. i hate it, I’m not a politician like Mom or Loonie, i’m a little filly, I should be worried about boys and grades, not accidentally starting a war
The scratching of the pen rose to fever pitch.
& loonie has it out for me & everything I do gets me in trouble & I don’t know wht to do b/c you asked me not to talk to you about it I just want to scream & break something I want to hurt someone but I can’t because i’m a princess and they want me to do better, Oh Harmony, Twi, I’m so lonely—
My pen ran dry.
I stared down at the paper and swallowed, two or three times.
Slowly, I reached down and picked up the paper in my hooves. I held it there for just a second, feeling the weight of the words, then smashed it up into a tiny ball. I let it drop to the floor, then pulled out a fresh sheet. I dipped my pen again, then started to write.
Everything’s fine, really. I’ve just had a long day, is all…
Whumph.
I looked up, startled. Another scroll had appeared. I snatched it out of the air and read:
Oh Harmony, Cease, I’m so sorry. Rarity and Applejack got caught out in the storm, and they needed someplace to dry off, so I brought them inside. I can’t really write anymore tonight, but send me a message, and I’ll answer tomorrow morning!!
As I read the words, my blood begin to boil. I growled, then stood up and marched around my room two or three times. I snarled at the empty air, then kicked Froggy across the room, where he bounced off the wall and lay still.
Finally, I sat.
Yeah, Twi, that’s fine. I understand.
I pitched the scroll into the fire, not even bothering to roll it. I walked to my bed and flopped down into it, then pulled the covers over my head. I lay there until I heard the whumph of Twilight’s reply. After a second, I heard it bounce of my nightstand and lay still on the floor. I didn’t move.
The train rolled to a stop, then let out a long, low hiss of steam. I leaned forward and peered through the gap in the curtains, then sat back and smiled.
“See?” I said. “Ponyville. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Twilight pushed her glasses up her nose. She wore the little scowl of defiance I’d come to recognize as a precursor to one of her rants.
“The train ride was not the problem,” she said carefully, as if she was afraid her words would break and shatter. “All my calculations show that, tonight, the stars will align with the moon, and—”
“Oh, come on, Twi,” I said, cutting her off before she could work up a head of steam. “I heard you the first time. Nothing’s gonna happen—we’re just here for the Summer Sun Celebration, then we can go home. That’s it.” I leaned back and put my hooves behind my head. “You’ll be back to your books in two days. I promise.”
The car filled with the heavy, smoldering silence that meant I’d won. I tried not to let Twilight see my grin.
“Speaking of books,” I said, “I have a bit of a surprise for you. But that’ll have to wait. First, I need your help.” I whipped a scroll out of my bags. “We’ve got a lot to check on today,” I said. “I’ll be handling the venue, and you’ll be checking on the other arrangements.” I floated the scroll over to her. “They’re all written down, should be easy.”
Twilight hesitantly took the scroll, then unrolled it.
I glanced up. Twilight’s eyes had stopped running down the page, and her chest was rising and falling in shaky, rapid flutters.
“Re-lax, Twilight,” I said. “I just need you to check and make sure that they’ve got things under control, like they promised they would. I’ve even told them to expect you, so no problems, right? All you gotta do is go meet some new ponies. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
Twilight paled. “T-t-they’re expecting me?” she blurted, her voice rising an octave or two. “C-couldn’t you do it? Or Raven, or s-someone?”
No, because you need to get out of your shell a little. Be good for you.
“No,” I said aloud, “because I told them to expect you. Don’t want to inconvenience them any more than we already are, do we?” I stood, then draped my saddlebags over my shoulders. “I can send a guard with you, if you like.”
Twilight stood reflexively. “ ‘S fine,” she mumbled, picking up her bag. “I’ll just…” She hesitated, then turned and walked towards the door of the compartment.
“Thanks, Twi,” I said, “You’re the best.”
She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide. Through the sunlight shining on her glasses, I couldn’t tell if that was anger or fear that I saw.
I tried to keep myself from smiling. I’d barely met this stallion, and already I liked him. “You may,” I said. “What should I call you?”
“Silver. But my friends call be Sill,” Sill said, flashing me a smile. “Like I was saying, Cece, I find myself in a bit of a bind. And… well, I was thinking...” He paused, then closed his mouth and shook his head.
“Go on, please,” I urged him.
He hesitated, then looked away. “No, no,” he murmured shyly, “I couldn’t possibly—it’s just a family matter, it isn’t worth Royal attention....”
I leaned forward a little on my throne. “Please, Sill,” I said, “Let me help.”
And I could help. It was my Royal Duty to help. This was Open Court, after all—the one real duty I had. I would sit on my throne, ponies could come to me for help with their problems, and I would do what I could to help. Nearly everything else in the Palace had some minister or other in charge of it—but helping ponies was my responsibility.
And, of course, ponies as nice as Sill here made that duty all the easier. Sill sighed deeply. “Well, as I said… I’ve made a slight mistake. You see, months ago, my family and I booked a trip to Playa Caballo, on the Gulf of Mexicolt—you ever been?” he asked eagerly.
I shook my head. “No, I haven’t,” I said.
He sighed. “Oh, you really should. It’s beautiful down there, especially this time of year…” He shook his head suddenly. “Anyways. Though my little ones have been looking forward to this trip for months, my grandmother has suddenly fallen quite ill, and I’m not sure we can get away… she practically raised me, after all, and the doctors say she could go at any time, really…”
He sighed, and my heart broke a little. Here he was, such a good stallion, with his grandmother about to pass...
“And then there’s this vacation package,” he said, almost with disdain. “Nonrefundable, with all the money already down… the money isn’t important to me, of course, it never is, it’s just… I hate to see it go to waste like that…” He looked sidelong at me, a sort of pleading in his eyes. “It would be such a load off my mind if I knew somepony was making good use of all our planning…”
I watched him for a moment, sad, downtrodden, and sighing—and a small thought occurred to me. I sat up a little straighter.
“If it really would help,” I said, “I could take those tickets.”
He looked up at me, awe and gratitude in his eyes. “You… you would?” he said. “Oh, Princess—if you could, that—that would mean the world—”
And then, a shadow fell across the sun.
I looked up. Luna stood, towering over me. She glared down at me, then to Sill, and back to me again. Her eyes were full of disgust, disappointment, and frustration—but even so, she examined my face carefully. I glared back at her, my hackles rising—
Wordlessly, she turned back to Sill. And then, without warning, she smiled.
I stared. Smile wasn’t the word. It wasn’t a smile, it was a grimace that had murdered a smile and was wearing its skin. I watched as she pulled back the corners of her mouth and showed her teeth, like she was following instructions in a manual; it looked less like a genuine grin and more like she was trying to stretch a piece of leather over a coat hanger. As I watched, I only just remembered to keep my mouth closed.
“I am so... very sorry, Mr. Tongue,” she said, in a saccharine-sweet tone that would have wilted flowers, “but I believe Princess Celestia has an... obligation that has slipped her mind.” She stretched the smile another fraction of an inch. “She shall have to decline your offer.”
“Wha—?”I spluttered.
Luna whipped her head around and shot me a freezing glare, looking, for just a moment, like the old battleaxe I’d come to despise—but she turned back to Sill again, and, in an instant, she was giving him the dead-eyed shark smile again. Sill himself glanced at me, his eyes frightened, but Luna took a deliberate step between the two of us, partially blocking my view of him. I was no longer part of the discussion, it seemed.
“Perhaps you could find another use for your arrangements,” she said. “After all, Her Highness can arrange a diplomatic visit to Mexicolt any time she pleases. Not to mention that there are any number of charitable organizations that would be glad of any sort of donation you could make.” Loonie laughed, with a sound like rattling silverware. “That seems like it would be an easier solution, doesn’t it? No need to go through all the trouble of seeking a Royal audience—” Her eyes flashed. “—and no risk whatever of being brought up on corruption charges.”
I sat up straight, eyes wide and staring. Luna was still smiling, but her eyes were hard and sharp. Gone was any sort of pretense: that had been an open threat. And Sill knew it, too; he was trembling, and looked up at Luna with frightened eyes.
“W-what a splendid idea, Highness,” he managed. “I-I’ll go do that right—”
Then, he turned and walked away, with the careful, deliberate gait of someone trying desperately to not break into a dead run.
Luna sighed heavily, then turned away. She took a step towards the exit—but as she passed me, I leaned forward.
“Did you have to do that?” I hissed. “Really?”
Loonie turned back to me, her gaze ice and steel again.
“Apparently,” she hissed back. “However, it is neither the time nor place to discuss such things. Shall we reconvene over tea?”
“No,” I snapped. “I want to know why you’re so damn determined to keep me from having any fun. And I want to know right now.”
Luna shot me a hard look, then stood a little taller and turned to Shining Armor, who stood attentively at the foot of the dais.
“Grandson, if you please,” she said, loud and clear, “The Princess and I should like a recess.”
Shiny nodded smartly, then turned to the line of ponies waiting to see me. “Right, everyone out,” he called, to a chorus of groans. “Open court shall reconvene in—” he shot Loonie a look.
“A half-hour,” she responded.
“A full hour,” I said, louder.
Shiny looked uncertainly at me, then turned back to the crowd. “Sixty minutes,” he called, to a fresh wave of groans. “Please keep your tickets, you’ll need them—”
I stood up and stormed out the back entrance. Luna followed.
We walked in silence until I ducked inside one of the private salons, then plopped myself down on a seat at one end of the table. Luna followed, closing the door behind her. As soon as the latch clicked shut, I snarled.
“What in Tartarus do you think—?”
“Princess Celestia,” Luna roared, and my eyes went wide. I fell silent.
Luna sighed. “Your style of discussion wears on my nerves,” she said, lowering herself into the seat across from me. “So, for both our sakes, please let me speak.”
I closed my mouth, fuming. Luna sighed, then spoke.
“It astonishes me I have to say this aloud,” she said, “but you were about to accept a bribe—”
“I was not!” I cried.
“—wrapped, though it was,” she continued, “in a plea for help. Your conscience is admirable, Your Highness, but, if it’s going to get you into trouble, then—”
“It wasn’t a bribe,” I snapped. “There was no cash involved!”
“Of course not,” she said. “If there were, you would have turned him down. But he was not appealing to your greed, but to your pity. He just needed a little help, that’s all, with his grandmother about to die—” she snorted “—probably for the third or fourth time—”
“You don’t know that,” I snapped.
“You’re right,” she said, “I don’t. But I do know what would have come next: you would have had a wonderful time in Mexicolt, perhaps even with all of your friends tagging along. But, as soon as you came back—perhaps even while you were still away—you would have received a letter from Mr. Silver Tongue asking, if you could, please, sign here on the dotted line. What he would have wanted, I have no idea,” she scoffed. “Perhaps allowing underage spotted owls to purchase cigarillos, or something dreadful of that sort…” she shook her head disdainfully. “Either way, you would have done so without even reading the text, because he’s been oh so kind to you, and such a kind stallion could have nothing but the purest intentions.” She looked down at me. “Am I wrong in any particular point?” she said. “Because, if I am, I would appreciate the correction.”
I glared at her for a moment longer, then sank down in my seat, fuming. “It’s happened before,” I grumbled. “And nothing bad’s happened—”
Loonie’s eyes widened. “You’ve done this before?” she repeated in disbelief. “You mean—this isn’t the first time someone’s offered a gift? A-and you accepted?”
I nodded. “And nothing happened,” I repeated.
Luna growled. “Your continued self-centeredness never ceases to astonish,” she said. “I shall have to arrange a tutor for you in the matter of Governmental Ethics. Perhaps even a remedial tutor.”
I scowled.
“In either case,” she continued, “I was being honest. You have an obligation that would prevent you from taking his offer.”
“What is it?” I snapped.
“I will be taking a short leave of absence next week,” she said. “While I am gone, I need you to—”
“Where will you be going?” I interrupted.
She stuttered to a halt, then sighed. “Ponyville,” she admitted. “The local archaeologists wanted my help in their excavation of the Castle of the Two Sisters. I plan on being gone approximately a week, so, when I leave…”
“You’d like me to come with you,” I interjected.
After all the hell she’d put me through, it was pure joy to see her face in that moment. Her usual cold confidence gave way to puzzled incomprehension, followed swiftly by an expression made of equal parts “how dare you?” and “I knew you would do this.”
“I do not mind your company, of course,” she lied through her teeth, “but this visit is of a personal nature, and I—”
“I understand, of course,” I interrupted again. “And I would hate to disturb you at such a sensitive time.” I smiled. “But I, too, have personal business in Ponyville, and this seems as good a time as any to take care of it. After all,” I added, smirking, “wouldn’t it be less disruptive to Ponyville if we made only one Royal visit, instead of two?”
Luna adjusted her glasses. “Of course,” she admitted. “However, I feel quite strongly that—”
“Oh, I agree,” I said, leaning forward and patting her on the hoof. “Having both Princesses visiting at once would be quite a special experience for Ponyville. That would definitely be quite the boost in morale, especially after all the… unpleasantness of our last visit… such a shame we had to cut it so short... all those Parasprites, you know...”
A muscle under Luna’s eye twitched. I grinned.
“Besides,” I continued, “I’ve been meaning to make this visit for some time. A local seamstress has offered to make my dress for the Grand Galloping Gala, and she needs me there, in person, for my fitting.” I could barely keep myself from giggling. “It always feels so good to patronize local small businesses, doesn’t it? Especially given the economic boom that will come to Ponyville when everyone sees me wearing something she’s made…”
Luna’s gaze hardened. She opened her mouth to speak, but I went for the kill.
“And thank you for being so gracious as to invite me,” I added. “I know you didn’t want to impose, but it really means so much that you would think of me. I only hope that, one day, I’ll be able to return the favor.”
Luna squirmed, and I smirked. Luna’s propriety had its advantages; no way she was going to back down from that sort of praise.
“Very well,” she conceded, anger creeping into the edges of her voice. “I am beginning to see the... advantages in having you along. Just… be sure to speak to your instructors at school and ask them for next week’s work. And I shall inform Raven of our…” she sighed. “...arrangement.”
She stood, then marched stiffly out of the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned back in my chair, put my back hooves up on the table, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Sometimes, it felt pretty darn good to be a winner.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Goldleaf,” I said grandly. I tucked away the big, old-fashioned key he’d given me in my bags.
Old Mister Goldleaf huffed a little at me. “Young lady,” he said, a little too loudly, “I don’t mind you taking over my library for the evening, but please, don’t rearrange the books—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Goldleaf,” I said.
“—I don’t mean to imply you’re irresponsible,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard me (which, now that I think about it, he probably hadn’t), “but it takes me hours every day to put back all the books those young whippersnappers leave out of place.” He gestured angrily. “They just—throw ‘em around, like they own the place! Got no respect for the Dewey Decimal system, that’s what’s wrong with this generation…”
I smiled a little, then looked around as Old Mister Goldleaf continued to rant. We stood on the main floor of the Golden Oak Library, the air filled with the scent of dust and age. I wasn’t much for reading, myself, and the library was almost depressingly small, but it was a library. And a government building, to boot. Treehouse? Government Treehouse.
In either case: one of the perks of my position is that I had free run of any government building, be they inside trees or no. Which meant that, when I was looking for somewhere fun and exciting to stay while in Ponyville for the Summer Sun Celebration, and happened to stumble across the detail that the library had a disused apartment on its second floor, I knew exactly where we would be staying.
That was the other reason I’d given Twilight that long list of errands to run: so I could get here first, and spend some time getting it ready for the two of us. But first, I had to get rid of Goldleaf, who was still going on about foals these days—and was, somehow, oblivious to the fact that one of said foals was standing directly in front of him, patiently waiting for him to finish.
I continued listening with half an ear until he shifted from ranting about foals these days to that’s what’s wrong with government, at which point, I realized that he was going to be a while.
“Yes yes yes,” I said, raising my voice again. “I’m sure that you’re right—after all, you have thought long and hard about these things…”
Mr. Goldleaf finally shut up, then looked up at me owlishly through his eyeglasses. It seemed that, for just a second, he’d forgotten I was even there. Nevertheless, I took him by the hoof and started walking him towards the door.
“I’m sure our Palace analysts could use the opinions of someone so wise and philosophical as yourself,” I said, tugging him along, “but it really is getting late—it’s almost five-thirty already! Why don’t you get along home to your wife, and we can talk about this more tomorrow, hm?”
He puffed out his chest a little. “Why, of course, young lady,” he said. “And it’s wonderful to find that there’s someone out there who—”
“Of course, of course,” I said, cutting him off. “Now, run along home—and I’ll take good care of your books for you. No one will dare disrespect Mr. Decimal on my watch!”
By now, we were at the door. I held it open for him, and he almost pranced out into the mid-summer air. “I have every confidence you will,” he said. “And I shall—”
I smiled at him, then shut the door before he could get started again. I quickly drew the key from my bags, locked the door, sagged against it, and sighed. I tossed the key in the air, caught it again, set it on top of a nearby bookshelf, and trotted upstairs.
I pushed open the door to the apartment, poked my head inside, and stared. After a minute, I let out a low whistle, then walked the rest of the way in. They hadn’t been lying: there was an apartment up here on the second floor, with a bathroom and a kitchenette and everything. But they hadn’t mentioned it was so tiny—I probably could have fit the whole thing inside my bedroom twice over! Nor did they mention that, apparently, Mr. Goldleaf had been using the space as his own private breakroom.
In the center of the floor stood a card table, with a couple mismatched folding chairs around it. A coffeemaker sat on the counter next to the sink, surrounded by a little flock of coffee stains. A stack of cardboard boxes stood in one corner, and I could already see the cobwebs from here. And, of course, every flat surface was covered in crumbs.
I stared for a moment, then cracked a grin. I had to admit this was… unexpected, but all it really needed was a little elbow grease. Plus, I had another hour or two before Twi was supposed to be home, so I had time.
I fished a scrunchie from my bag, then drew my mane back in a ponytail. As I snapped the scrunchie in place, I looked around for the broom.
* * *
About half an hour later, right as I was deciding where to stash the card table, the door downstairs clicked open.
I brightened, then skipped to the door of the apartment. I swung it open, eager to greet Twilight—but froze.
The first thing I noticed was that the key to the door was where I had left it, on top of a bookshelf by the door. The second thing I noticed was the pink pony staring guiltily up at me.
She looked rather young, and had a light-pink coat, with an absurdly curly mane. She wore saddlebags already stuffed to bursting, and the small cart she’d parked outside groaned under the weight of its contents. In her mouth, she held a metal ring, with several thin pieces of twisted metal dangling from it.
“Can I… help you?” I asked slowly.
She flashed a bright, almost-blinding grin at me—somehow making her lockpicks vanish as she did.
“Are you the Princess?” she asked eagerly.
“I am,” I said.
The little mare grinned wider, if that was even possible, and bounced—bounced—towards the stairs
“I’m Pinkie Pie,” she beamed. “But you can call me Pinkie.”
“Well, Pinkie,” I said, “care to tell me what, exactly, you’re doing here tonight?”
“Throwing a surprise party!” she cried.
“A surprise party?” I repeated.
“Yep! For my new bestest friend, Twilight Sparkle!”
I raised an eyebrow. “So… you’ve met, then?” I asked.
“Sorta,” she admitted. “We… passed in the street.”
“And that’s enough to make you want to throw a party for her?” I asked.
“A surprise party,” she corrected me. “To welcome her to Ponyville. I do it for everyone who’s new to town—I woulda thrown one for you, too,” she added, “if I knew you were staying overnight…”
Does that mean she picks everyone else’s locks, too?
“Are you Ponyville’s welcoming committee, then?” I asked aloud.
“Not officially,” she said. “Just want to make sure everypony feels welcome, and that they meet a whole buncha other ponies on their first day here. Everyone needs a friend in a new town, after all…”
I felt a little smile creep across my face. Her enthusiasm was positively infectious. Plus, the prospect of helping Twilight meet more ponies…
“You want any help?” I asked.
She stared at me for a second, then, broke into her bright, sunshiny grin again.
* * *
I was helping her hang streamers when she asked me the question.
I had already taped one end of the streamer to the ceiling with my magic, and was trying to judge where to hang the other end, when Pinkie looked up from the balloon she was tying.
“So,” she said, as if we were already in the middle of a conversation, “what’s it like being Princess?”
I looked over at her, then turned back to the streamer. “That’s… kind of a big question,” I said. “Anything in particular you’re wondering…?”
“Oh, lots,” she said, off-handedly. “Like, what’s it like moving the sun?”
I snorted. “I don’t think you’d understand,” I said, glancing up at the empty space in the middle of her forehead. “No offense, it’s just that you’re…”
“A caring individual who wants to understand the lives of her friends?” she said, without skipping a beat. “Try me.”
I raised an eyebrow. Didn’t take her long to make “friends,” apparently. “Well,” I said slowly, “It’s… actually not that hard, to be honest… the Sun Stone does most of the work. I just kinda need to fire it up, and make sure the sun moves in the right direction.”
“Do you have to set the sun, too?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nah. Momentum takes care of that. I just gotta raise it in the morning, is all.”
She nodded. “And what’s with the season changes?” she asked. “The days get shorter and shorter as it gets colder… do you have a schedule or something…?”
I blew out a long, slow breath. Don’t ask me, I thought to myself, I didn’t exactly ace my astrophysics course, after all...
“Not sure,” I admitted. “I always start raising the sun at the same time… but something about the seasons makes it move faster or slower. I… I think it has something to do with the Stone itself…?”
Pinkie nodded, then grabbed another balloon and started to blow it up.
“It… it takes a lot out of you,” I admitted. “Raising the sun, I mean. Especially the Summer Sun Celebration, but…” I shrugged. “I’ve kinda got used to it. Hardest part is still the moon, of course.”
Pinkie looked up at me. “What’s the moon got to do with it?” she asked.
“Well…” I said slowly, “I’m in charge of the sun… But the moon’s gotta move, too. A-and, sometimes, when I move the sun, it gets a lot harder, suddenly.” I scratched my head. “I think the sun kinda pushes the moon along, a little?”
Pinkie shrugged. “Makes sense,” she said. “So… what else do you do, when you’re not raising the sun?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, “the usual. School, homework, that sorta stuff.”
“Any other Princess-ing you gotta do?”
“Not really,” I said. “I have ponies taking care of almost everything. All I have to do is hold Court twice a week in the afternoons, and rubber-stamp anything big that someone wants to do. My…” I swallowed. “My mom set it up that way. Before she died.”
Pinkie glanced up at me, then nodded. “Sounds easy,” she said.
I looked over at her. She was fishing another balloon out of the pile. I didn’t have the heart to argue with her. Plus, I wasn’t sure she’d understand… she didn’t know what it was like, everyone expecting you to have all the answers, all the time… everyone treating you like you were different, somehow, just because your mom willed you a piece of jewelry when she died…
“Sorta,” I admitted.
I stuck the other end of the streamer over a window. It wasn’t even, but I wasn’t sure I cared anymore.
“So,” I said, trying to force some enthusiasm in my voice, “Who all is coming to this shindig?”
“Surprise party,” she corrected me. “Not a shindig. Whole different can o’ spaghetti.” She looked up at me and smiled. “I’ve invited practically everyone,” she said. “Including some very very dear friends of mine.” Her eyes glittered. “You’ll love these ponies,” she said. “There’s Rainbow Dash, who likes to play tough but is really a pushover, and Fluttershy, who’s so timid she really is scared of her own shadow sometimes, and then there’s Rarity, who…”
All of us sat quietly as Twilight walked across the lobby of the Carousel Boutique, then started up the stairs. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Pinkie leaned towards me, her eyes glittering.
“So, Cece,” she said, grinning, “dish.”
I glanced around the group. Rainbow Dash looked bored, Applejack watched me curiously, Fluttershy was pretending not to listen, and Pinkie waited eagerly for me to spill my guts. I grinned—I’d forgotten just how much I’d missed these ponies.
The past few days had been rather uneventful, truth be told. Luna had been giving me the silent treatment more than anything, which was always better than the alternative. And I was very much looking forward to spending a week without having to deal with her, on either a personal or professional level. We’d arrived in Ponyville on Sunday night and checked into the two suites we’d reserved in the hotel. I would’ve snuck out right then to go see Twilight, but Luna took a seat by the fire, with her front door hanging wide open, and pulled out her sewing. From where she sat, she had a clear view of my door, and I couldn’t figure out a way to sneak out without her noticing. I spent so long waiting for her to go to bed that I fell asleep myself.
The next morning, Luna put on a pith helmet and matching khaki blouse and skirt, then disappeared into the forest. I, on the other hoof, spent the day shaking hooves and kissing babies. As much as I hated to admit it, I could tell I was already on thin ice with Luna, so I had to put in my due diligence. Had to show that I could be the Princess she wanted, if I cared enough.
But you bet your hooves the second Mayor Mare clocked out for the day, I was practically pounding down Twilight’s door. She must have been waiting for me, because she opened it immediately. She smiled at me, and then we just hugged each other for a long, long time.
“I missed you,” I said, my voice thick.
“Me too,” she said. “But you’re here. For now, at least.”
Half an hour later, the others started showing up, and we had a bit of a party. I ordered pizza on the Royal expense account, Rainbow tried to convince Rarity to go get a couple six-packs for all of us, and Pinkie insisted we play at least one round of “Pin The Tail On The Pony.” It very nearly turned into a full-blown slumber party, until I mentioned that Luna would crucify me if I wasn’t back in my suite at a reasonable hour. I had dropped enough hints that something big had been going on at the palace, and one or two of them even asked for details. But, we all knew how Twilight felt about her grandmother—equal parts profound respect and abject terror—so I’d just told them “Not now. Maybe tomorrow.”
And now, tomorrow was here. Today—Tuesday—was my only real obligation of the week. That afternoon, after everyone got out of school, we had an appointment to drop by Rarity’s and see what she’d done with our Gala dresses—and, she’d said, she might even schedule a fashion show for us on Thursday or Friday, if things went well. After we all arrived, she started bringing us up to her workroom one at a time, to keep our measurements confidential or something. Everyone had gone except Twilight and me, and I could tell that the anticipation of what I had to say was killing the rest of them.
And, at last, Rarity had called Twilight up. And now, with her out of the room, I could finally tell them just how evil Luna had been to me.
And so, as Pinkie put it, I dished.
I told them what it was like living with Luna. I told them how cruel and petty she was. I told them how hard she rode me, how much she hated when I even looked at her sideways. In short, I gave them a guided tour of the special sort of hell my life had become since that fateful morning in June, when everything had turned upside-down.
When I finished, no one spoke for several seconds. .
“Damn,” Rainbow said finally. “Almost makes you wish we’d just finished her off when we’d had the chance.”
“Rainbow Dash!” Fluttershy cried. “That’s—that’s—that’s so mean—!”
“Why?” said Rainbow. “It’s true.”
“That might be taking it a little far, Dash,” AJ admitted. “But th’ Princess sure don’t sound like she’s takin’ pains to be civil, neither.”
“That’s the frustrating part,” I interjected. “She’s obsessed with civility and respect, but, whenever it comes to me, she’s just—"
“A total party pooper?” Pinkie offered, giggling.
“Pretty much,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know what’s wrong—I get good grades…”
“Decent,” Fluttershy corrected me.
“Decent,” I admitted. “Which I think is pretty good, considering I have to get up at five every morning to raise the sun, and do well in school, and deal with her nonsense...”
Suddenly, the door to the stairway opened. We all looked up. Twilight stepped through the door and walked quickly towards us, head down, and squeezed into an empty spot on the sofa between Applejack and Fluttershy. A moment later, Rarity staggered into the doorway.
I swallowed. Haggard. There wasn’t really another word for her look. Her mane was disheveled, her glasses askew, and her yellow measuring tape hung limply around her neck. As she leaned on the doorframe, she reminded me of nothing so much as a painting I’d seen once: a medieval portrait of some queen or other, being led to her execution with a rope around her neck, a look of defeated resignation on her face.
“Cece,” Rarity said simply, “You’re next.”
I swallowed, then stood. I paced across the floor and ducked inside the doorway, squeezing past Rarity to fit in. I climbed the steps, then let myself into the workroom.
Rarity’s workroom was circular, much like the rest of the boutique. Sketches and fabric swatches were pinned against every wall, and fell across much of the floor. Against one wall stood Rarity’s sewing machine, a hoof-pedaled antique, with several baskets of thread on the floor beside it; against the opposite wall stood Rarity’s bed, more patterns and fabric swatches scattered on top of it like autumn leaves. I’d been in here once or twice before, and it had always been a place of cheerful disorder, the sort of mythological chaos that gave birth to Creation..
But today, a pallor hung about the room. Something was wrong.
Rarity appeared at my side and led me silently to one side of the room, where stood seven dress forms, each draped in a pale white sheet. Poking out from under the wrappings, I could see green, and navy, and pink, and rainbow stripes…
Rarity lit her horn and pulled one of the dress forms away from the wall, then whipped off the sheet. The dummy wore a half-finished dress, held together with big, hasty stitches, the cloth in shades of maroon, and salmon, and burgundy.
“I’ve only done the preliminary sketches,” she said, her voice full of brittle, saccharine enthusiasm, “but I am quite pleased with this design.” She lifted a sheet of paper from the desk, then carried it back to me. “The swatches aren’t final. Just wanted to give an idea of what the colors will look like when it’s finished.” She handed me the sheet of paper, then took a deep breath. “Please,” she said, with the air of someone pronouncing their own doom, “Let me know if you’d like any changes.”
And then she braced herself. It wasn’t a dramatic motion by any means, but she drew back an inch or two, turned her head slightly, and bit her lip. It looked almost like she was waiting for me to physically strike her.
I watched her for a moment longer, then turned my eyes to the sketch. I studied it for several moments, eyed the cloth on the dress form, then turned back to the sketch again.
“So, what do you think?” asked Rarity, breaking the silence. I jumped a little. “It’s not too much, is it?” she added, a faint note of hope in her voice.
“No,” I replied hesitantly, “It’s beautiful, it’s just…”
Her shoulders sagged. “Not what you wanted,” she finished.
“Well…”
“You can be honest,” she added hopelessly. “Everyone else has been, already…”
I bit my lip... then nodded.
Rarity sighed and snatched the sketch away from me. “That’s fine,” she said, in a voice that very clearly indicated it was not fine. “What did you want?”
“It… really is nice,” I offered. “It’s just… I was hoping for something…” I hesitated. “Something more… plain,” I finished.
I glanced at Rarity. She looked exhausted—too tired to even be irritated with me.
“Plain,” she repeated.
I nodded. “But not ugly,” I added quickly. “Y’know, just something… ordinary.”
“Ordinary,” she repeated.
“Like, uh… ” I swallowed. “Like a moth.”
At this, she looked up at me. “Like a moth?” she repeated. “What do you mean, like a moth?”
I gestured vaguely. “You know… like a moth. Pretty when you see it, but not something that stands out, really. You have to look for it, and even then you might miss it…”
She looked up at me over her glasses. “Cece,” she said wearily, “Are you asking for a camouflage gown? Because, I can do it… that’s not even the craziest request I’ve gotten today…”
“No,” I replied quickly. “No, just…” I sighed. “Something pretty. But not something that stands out.” I scratched the back of my head nervously. “Does that make sense?”
Rarity watched me for a moment. “Perhaps,” she replied. “Let me see what I can do.”
I nodded eagerly. “Thanks, Rarity,” I said, “You’re the best.”
Rarity wearily threw the sheet back over the dress form, then pushed it back in line. I got the distinct impression that it was time for me to go. I turned and quickly slipped out of the room.
On my way back down the stairs, I noticed a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach—like, somehow, I had said the wrong thing.
Though, where exactly I had gone wrong, I couldn’t say…
* * *
Rarity’s look still haunted me that evening, as Twilight and I sat in my suite in the Ponyville Hotel. We sat quietly doing homework, while Philomena, perched on the wardrobe, preened herself. It wasn’t how I wanted to spend my vacation, but it was part of the deal, and I wasn’t going to say “no” to Princess-mandated time with Twilight.
I stared down at my textbook (14a. Integrate f’(x)={[(√x)(7x2+6)]/2} ). After a few minutes of silence, I looked up.
“But… she offered, right?” I said. “To alter those dresses, I mean?”
Twilight nodded. “She did offer. Insisted, even.”
I nodded sullenly, then looked back at my math. After a few seconds, I scoffed, then threw down my pencil. I held out one arm and clicked my tongue. With an elegant swoosh, Philomena swooped in and landed on my arm. She hopped up towards my shoulder, and nuzzled me under the chin. I smiled and nuzzled her back; I hadn’t planned on bringing her, but, as soon as I realized doing so would irritate Luna, I’d insisted. But, even so, it was… nice to have her along.
She didn’t do much to help the pit in my stomach, though...
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Twilight glance up at me over her glasses. “Taking a break,” I called. “Those are allowed, you said so.”
Twilight returned to her work without comment.
“Who’s my good girl?” I said, nuzzling Philomena again. “You are, yes you are—”
And suddenly, Philomena coughed. One long, red-gold plume dropped from her wing and fluttered to the floor. I looked sharply at her, and she looked back at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. I thought for a second, then grinned wickedly.
“Hey, Twi,” I said, looking up. “Fluttershy—she’s good with animals, right?”
Twilight looked up, then nodded slowly.
“Does she have any experience with…” I grabbed the loose feather and held it up. “...phoenixes?”
Twilight stared blankly at me for a moment, then her eyes went wide. “Nononono,” she said, dropping her pencil. “That’s not a good idea—”
“Aw, c’mon,” I said, “It’s just a little prank—maybe it’ll give us a laugh, help us all feel a little better…”
“Cece, please,” Twilight said, standing. “You don’t know her like I do, and I’m telling you—”
“Aw, c’mon,” I said, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Nightmare Moon howled in rage as the rainbow of magic slammed into her. She dropped my Peytral, and it bounced, then rolled to a stop at the top of the stone platform. I snatched it up from where it lay, clapped it around my neck, and slid the pin into place. Instantly, I felt the power course through my body and up my wingfeathers. I planted my hooves and spread my wings—and it happened.
To this day, I’m still not entirely certain what it was. It felt… it felt a little like the Summer Sun Celebration, I guess. The Sun Stone grew hot against my chest, and its power flowed up to my horn. But instead of moving the sun, the magic shot out and combined with the rainbow, adding a blazing white streak. It shot at Nightmare Moon, and she screamed—
—and, suddenly, it was over. The light faded, and the dias before us was empty. I stared in silence for a heartbeat.
Then, I squealed.
“We did it!” I shrieked. I ran over to Twilight, who stood there, glasses askew, swaying on her hooves, her tiara with the pink stone still smoking gently. I swept her up in a hug and danced around with her; after a moment, she smiled crookedly and hugged me back.
Soon, her friends dived in for a group hug, and we collapsed, laughing, in a heap on the floor.
“That was awesome, Cece!” cried Pinkie Pie.
“You all were awesome,” I cried back. “If you hadn’t distracted her…”
Twilight pushed her glasses up her nose. “I don’t get it, though…” she said. “I don’t think we did it right. The prophecy said sun, moon, and stars… but all we had was sun...”
“Prophecy schmophecy,” Rainbow interrupted. “We killed her, didn’t we? That was the important part—”
Suddenly, we all stopped laughing and looked up at the ruin of the dias. In the silence, we could hear something, very clearly—a frightened, whimpering murmur. Twilight wriggled out from the bottom of the pony-pile, then tip-hoofed closer.
“Twilight, don’t—” called Fluttershy.
Twilight stopped, then turned back to look at us—look at me—with wide, frightened eyes. Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy clambered off my back, and I stood. I stepped closer, and, as I walked up beside Twilight, the murmur resolved into words—a babbling stream of words.
“I do so apologize I didn’t mean to inconvenience I shan’t do it again—”
In the center of the dias, where Nightmare Moon had stood less than a minute ago, was a shallow crater, burned black. Inside the crater, lying in a small pile, were broken shards of armor and tattered, black feathers.
And, in the center of the wreckage, lay a mare, babbling like a fool.
She lay on the floor, covering her eyes with her hooves. Her mane fell about her in a steely-blue curtain, her coat a deep, inky blue. She was ancient.
“Who in Tartarus is—?” I began.
But then I saw it: she had both wings and a horn.
Whoever she was, she was a Princess.
Twilight bowed. I looked sharply at her, then quickly bobbed my head.
Something about the motion caught the mare’s attention. She stopped her babbling, then looked up. She looked at me first, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She stared at me with that distant, unfocused look Twi had when she couldn’t find her glasses—she must be as blind as a bat, this one.
We locked gazes for several seconds. Her expression remained distant and frightened. Finally, she tore her gaze away from me, and turned to Twilight. As soon as she laid eyes on her, she froze.
“Selene?” she breathed.
Twilight and I looked at each other.
“Selene, my darling, my daughter…” she said, standing unsteadily. “What—what are you doing here?”
Twilight sucked in a gasp, then looked up at me, her eyes wide and frightened. I stared at her blankly, then turned back to the mare. She was staring at Twilight eagerly, her legs wobbling, but, as I watched her, her face began to fall. She turned to me, a question, unspoken, on her lips. I looked between the two of them, uncertain of what to say.
“And, once again,” Aunt Luna growled, “We find ourselves having this discussion.”
The three of us—Great-Aunt Luna, Twilight, and I—stood in Loonie’s suite, just across the hall from mine. I had promised myself I could make it to Sunday without getting into a fight with Loonie—but here it was, only Thursday night, and she already looked like she wanted to tear my throat out.
I watched Loonie pace the room, wearing nothing but her Peytral. Her khakis lay draped over the armchair, her pith helmet perched on top, both covered in ash.
I snuck a glance at Twilight. She stood beside me, head bowed, looking properly ashamed. Her glasses were crooked on her face, and she had ash in her mane. I probably did, too, but there were more important things at stake at the moment. I turned to look at Luna again, mustering my most defiant glare.
Suddenly, Aunt Luna stopped, then turned to glower at me.
“Princess Celestia,” she said gravely.
“My name is Cece,” I growled.
Loonie’s eyes flashed. “I will not call you by such a ridiculous nickname,” she snapped. “You are a Princess, not a child.”
“Then why do you keep treating me like one?” I shot back.
“Because you insist on being childish,” she snarled. “On top of all your other mischief,today, you had the gall to—” She stopped, sighed, then put a hoof to her forehead. After a moment, she spoke again, quieter. “I cannot rightly apprehend,” she said slowly, “what exactly you were hoping to accomplish by giving your friend Butterfly—”
“Fluttershy,” Twilight interjected quietly.
Luna nodded her thanks. “Fluttershy,” she repeated. “You gave your friend Fluttershy your dear Philomena to take care of, on the eve of her Rebirth, claiming her to be gravely ill. If you weren’t trying to break her heart, then I have no idea—”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” I pleaded. “It was just supposed to be a simple prank. Philomena always Rebirths about an hour after she molts. How was I supposed to know she was going to hold on for another forty-eight?”
Luna shot me a scathing look. “Would it have hurt Fluttershy any less,” she said icily, “if it had happened sooner?”
“Yes,” I growled. But, even to me, the word sounded hollow.
Luna smirked a little, and I snarled back. We both knew the score. Loonie one, Cece zero.
Loonie took a deep breath. “Prank, trick, or outright lie,” she began, “there’s little difference in the end. But be that as it may, your actions against Fluttershy were bad enough on their own. But the impact they had on Rarity was simply disgraceful. Poor Fluttershy was so distressed that she missed Rarity’s fashion show, jeopardizing the whole endeavour. Further,” she added, building up steam, “Fluttershy rushed the stage in the middle of the show, scattering Philomena’s ashes all over everyone and everything present—especially on all of Rarity’s hard work.” Her eyes flashed again. “To say nothing of the fact that you took shameful advantage of Rarity’s generosity—”
“She volunteered!” I cried out. “She wanted to make us dresses! You have no right—!”
“And you have no right—!” Luna roared.
“Grandmother,” Twilight said quietly.
Both of us stopped and turned to look at her. I shot Luna a glance; buried somewhere deep under the ice and steel in her gaze, I caught the faintest glimmer of warmth. I huffed indignantly.
“Grandmother,” Twilight repeated, “I know it might not have been right to snub her work like we did…” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “But Rarity was only trying to make sure we were happy with her gifts. That’s all.”
“I understand that, Twilight,” Luna said gently. “And I can appreciate that instinct. However,” she added, turning to me again, “be that as it may, that does not give you license to abuse her generosity like you did. She made you, each of you, beautiful dresses, and you just—”
“Mine was awful!” I cried. “Did you see it?”
Luna turned and shot me a withering glare. “I did,” she said.
I stared back at her blankly. “You did?” I repeated.
She nodded. “She… asked my advice,” she admitted. “I... have something of a reputation as a seamstress, and she wanted to know what colors I would recommend. And I was the one who suggested she use that beautiful burgundy…”
I glared at her. “So it’s your ego talking, then,” I hissed.
She glared right back. “My ego has nothing to do with it,” she said. “You could have worn a pillowcase and I would have been happy for you, if only it had been honestly given and graciously received. And wear a pillowcase you very nearly did,” she added, with a disdainful sniff. “In all earnest, your dress was a travesty. Gray and shapeless—you looked almost like some feral mustang that had stumbled—”
“I looked normal!” I roared. “I don’t want to be some figurehead to be admired—I want to be like everyone else! I want to be able to live my life, the way I want, and not have anyone try to make me be someone I’m not!”
In the sudden, ringing silence, Luna’s gaze hardened. She lowered her head and stared directly into my eyes. I shrank back, but I could not tear my gaze away from hers.
“Princess Celestia,” she said slowly. “Since the moment you took the Peytral, you have been nothing like ‘everyone else.’ Now, you are a Princess. That means your life is not your own. And that you will never be normal again.” My gut twisted, and I felt my wings hanging, hot and heavy, by my side. “You had best make peace with that fact,” Luna said, raising her head again. “The sooner, the better.”
Loonie two, Cece zero.
Luna slowly straightened up, watching my expression. I glared back, counting the ways I wished I could make her suffer.
After a moment, Luna sighed.
“Very well, then,” she said, “If you insist on being defiant, then you are hereby barred from attending the Grand Galloping Gala.”
“What?!” I exploded.
“Grandmother,” Twilight cut in, “I don’t think—”
Luna stood a little taller, glaring down at me. “You do not appreciate the gravity of your situation, Your Highness,” she said, her tones dripping acid. “If you insist on kicking against the spurs, then one must make them too costly to kick. And, since it seems the only thing you care about is spending time with your friends,” she spat, “that is the most obvious screw to turn.”
“But you can’t!” I cried. “Rarity—the dresses—”
“I can’t, can I?” Luna crowed. “Well then, the answer is simple.” She sneered down at me. “Fall in line,” she spat.
“Fall in—?”
Luna grinned wickedly. “Ever since I returned,” she hissed, “You have done nothing but destroy your own position. Your subjects have no respect for you. Your guards have no loyalty. And if you insist on going down this path, Equestria will burn.” Her eyes glittered. “So,” she said, “If you really do want to be like everyone else, prove it and renounce the Peytral.”
Twilight let out a little gasp, and I stared at Loonie in frank astonishment. She simply gazed back with a smug grin on her face.
“Since you appear unable to offer even that courtesy,” Luna continued, “the choice is simple: either cease this nonsense and act like a Princess should, or I will be forced to remove your temptations to misbehave.”
She stood there staring at me, and I felt a fire building in my chest. Who was she to—? What made her think she could just—?
Luna turned away, then stepped to where her dress lay. She picked up her helmet and dusted it off. “If that is all, then,” she said nonchalantly, “I would be much obliged if you would—”
And suddenly, something inside me boiled over.
“You know what, Loonie?” I growled. “Sometimes—sometimes you’re an absolute Nightmare!”
Luna whipped her head around and stared at me, eyes wide, her helmet dropping from her grasp. Twilight clapped her hooves over her mouth. And I took a half-step backwards, my mouth hanging open in horror.
“Great-Aunt Luna,” I croaked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Be silent,” she hissed. I closed my mouth so fast my teeth clicked. Luna stood there, barely moving, save for her expression. She swallowed several times without speaking as the muscles in her face twitched and spasmed. Half the emotions that I saw there had no names, but those that did—sorrow, rage, disgust, horror—and, yes, even hatred—terrified me.
Finally, after an eternity, she spoke.
“Princess Celestia,” she said, her voice barely audible.
I bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She did not acknowledge my bow. “You will return to Canterlot by the next train. You will not argue this point.”
I nodded, not even daring to glance at Twilight.
“From now until the Gala,” she continued, no trace of emotion in her voice, “you will behave yourself. If you do anything more to compromise the authority and dignity of your office—if you set one hoof out of line—I will order the guards to bar your friends from the Gala, and to detain you in your chambers for the duration.” Finally, she met my gaze, and I quailed. “Is this clear?” she said.
I nodded again. “Yes, Your Highness,” I repeated.
“This will be the last time we discuss this,” she said. She continued to glare at me, and I bowed again, bowed so low my horn nearly touched the floor.
* * *
It was only later, after I had cried all the tears I had left into my pillow, that I realized I had given Luna exactly what she wanted. I had promised her I would act the way she demanded, and had agreed to the punishment that she had set if I failed.
That thought alone almost made me hate myself more than I already did.
Well, I thought, turning over in my bed, screw her.Her, and her ego. She’d got her way—but we both knew that I had won. In fact, she was probably back at her room in Ponyville right now, all alone with her ghosts, bawling her eyes out.
Well. I’d play her game, sure—but only until I could find a way to make her eat her words. And, for all I cared, she could just choke on those tears of hers.
I trotted happily down the hall towards the throne room. I was a mess—paint all over me, though I had cleaned my hooves—but I was in a good mood. I held my gift in my mouth: a painting, for Mommy.
I had hoof-painted it myself: a green mountain, a smudgy yellow sun, and our palace outlined in black. Me and Mommy along the bottom. And, on the front, I had carefully traced my name in red: C.C. Age 5.
(I knew how to say my name, but spelling it was hard)
As I approached the throne room, my heart sunk. The doors were closed, with guards standing outside. And I could hear voices. That meant that Mommy was busy. Maybe she had some important visitors.
But, then again—she was my Mommy. And that meant she loved me. And always had time for me, no matter what. She’d send whoever it was away and put me on her lap and hug me tight. She’d done it before.
I trotted up to the doors, then lit my horn and turned the handle.
“Whoa, Milady,” said one of the guards, putting out his arm. “You can’t go in—”
But I smiled my cutest smile at him, and, while he was distracted, pulled open the door. I darted inside before he could grab me.
The throne room was bright in the morning sun. This door stood behind the Throne itself, so I could see the back of Mommy’s head. And, in front of her, all the ponies waiting to see her.
They were holding dresses. And little cakes. And one or two musical instruments. That meant it was almost time for the Gala again.
Suddenly, my tummy started to feel all funny.
But—I remembered—I had a present for Mommy. And she always liked my presents. So that would make me feel better.
Head held high, I trotted towards Mommy, and—
“Hey, Sunshine,” someone said, as they picked me up around the middle. “What are you doin’ in here, huh?”
I almost screamed—but I knew that voice. I looked up to see a pair of warm, brown eyes behind a pair of glasses.
“Raven!” I cried, almost dropping my painting.
I liked Raven. She was Mommy’s secretary. She was old—like, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, even. But she was nice.
She pulled a hankie from somewhere, then wiped at the streak of red paint across my nose. I giggled.
“Got another painting for Mommy,” I said. I lit my horn, then held it up for her.
“Lemme see,” she said eagerly. She examined it for a moment, then turned to me with a smile. “So…” she said, “that’s you. But—is that me?” she asked, pointing at Mommy.
“No,” I giggled. “That’s Mommy, silly Raven.”
She squinted at the painting. “You’re right,” she said. “I am silly.”
She stopped walking. I looked up; I hadn’t even realized we were moving. We were standing back out in the hall. I frowned. My tummy felt all funny again.
Raven put me down, then crouched down so she could look me in the eye. I looked away.
“That’s a very pretty painting, Milady,” she said. “And I’m sure your mom will love it. Why don’t you give it to her tonight?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to give it to her now,” I said. “I mean…”
I stopped talking. I felt like I was going to cry.
Raven frowned. “What’s going on, Sunshine?” she asked.
“I… I was thinking…” I sniffled, “that… That maybe she could… could give it to her doctor. To put on the wall.”
Raven cocked her head. “But… she’s not going to see a doctor today,” she said.
“Not now,” I said. “But she’s sick so much, and…”
And I was afraid that, next time she had to see the doctor, that I might not have time to make a painting for her before she left. But I knew that, if she hung my painting up next to her bed in the hospital, it would make her happy to see it. And, if she was happy, then maybe… maybe she’d get better, faster.
That was what I felt on the inside. But I didn’t know if I could say all that. Not without crying.
Raven’s look softened. She reached up and brushed a hair out of my face. “That’s very sweet of you, Sunshine,” she said. “But she’s not going to go see a doctor today. I know that for sure,” she said, smiling. “It’s not on her schedule. And she has a lot of other ponies to talk to, besides. Lots of important ponies. And, though I know she wants to, I don’t think she’ll be able to see you just now.”
My tummy felt even more funny. I knew she was right—but wasn’t I important, too? Not even important enough for five minutes?
Raven smiled a little, then put her hoof under my chin and lifted my gaze.
“Listen,” she said, “If you’re a good little filly this afternoon, and do everything your foalsitter says, and put on a bright smile, I’ll make sure your mom will have a few minutes for you before you go to bed. I’ll put it on the schedule and everything.”
“Promise?” I sniffled.
“Promise,” she said.
Somewhere, in the back of my brain, I knew that something about this exchange was deeply wrong. That a great injustice was being inflicted on me, and that I was being asked to consent to it.
All I wanted was five minutes. To get a hug, and to see her smile, and to give her something that I just knew was going to make her all better. And I was being told that Mommy didn’t have the time for it. For me. But, if I asked nicely and did my very best to earn it, Raven would pencil her in for a fifteen-minute chat over coffee, at seven-forty-five, sandwiched between her dress fitting and a review of the menu, just like any other pony off the streets.
Somewhere, I knew all this—felt, in my bones, that it was wrong. But I didn’t have the words to express it—even the words to understand the concept—so it came out as a funny, twisty feeling in my tummy, and the threatening tantrum that I knew was coming.
But Raven was smiling. She was trying so hard. And I wasn’t about to say no to time alone with Mommy. So, instead, I nodded.
Raven sighed, then smiled. She ruffled my mane a little. “That’s my Sunshine,” she said. “Now, go be a good filly, and go on back to your room. Okay?”
“Okay,” I muttered. I turned and plodded back down the hall, back where I had come from.
* * *
Late that night, I lay on the couch in our suite. I was still clutching at my painting. It had got all sweaty from how long I’d been holding it. But I knew Mommy would still love it. She always loved my paintings…
...but… I’d been waiting so long…
My eyelids started to droop.
...just a few more minutes, and Mommy would be here…
Dimly, I heard the clip-clopping of hooves coming closer. That must be Mommy now… she’d pick me up and carry me to bed, and then I’d get to talk to her, all by myself, just like I wanted...
I heard the rustling of paper—and then, someone snatched my painting out of my grasp. My eyes flew open.
“Blue-bloooooood!” I howled. “Give it back!”
I leapt from the couch and charged after him, but he just pranced away, holding my painting over his head in his magic, laughing at me over his shoulder.
I chased him through the Palace, but he was too fast. I skidded to a halt in one of the big hallways and stood there, my chest heaving, for a while.
Eventually, I looked around. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was anymore. As my gaze swept the hall, I noticed a tall grandfather clock standing between two suits of armor. And, suddenly, the bottom fell out of my stomach.
I didn’t know how to tell time yet. That’s what school was for. But I knew that, when the little hand was pointing at the eight, that it was time for bed.
The little hand was already on the eight. Just past it, actually.
I swallowed. Mommy wasn’t coming to see me. I knew Raven had told her about me—she liked me enough to do it, and I trusted her—but here it was, past my bedtime, and Mommy hadn’t come to see me.
I turned and walked down the hallway, looking for a landmark, or a pony who could lead me back to my room, trying to keep the tears from coming.
I shouldn’t be surprised, I thought to myself. I mean, it’s not even the first time she’s done this…
And it won’t be the last, either.
Trumpet, Piano, & Voice in C Major, "That Lucky Old Sun"
I pushed open the door a few inches, then peered cautiously around it. The hall was empty. Good.
I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, then let out a long sigh into the silence. This hall was usually busy, but now, after dinner but before sunset, when the Palace was closing up for the night but before all the workers had actually gone home, it was empty. All was quiet—the quiet of the spirits of the dead, and the weight of time.
This was the Memorial Hall.
I walked down the corridor. Luna had been making me wear my regalia—Peytral, crown, and horseshoes—so I was glad the carpet was there to muffle the sound of my hoof-falls. The Memorial Hall was a long, straight, narrow corridor, connecting the Palace lobby to the throne room. Both walls were filled with tall, pointed windows, with two-thirds of them filled with stained glass. I tried to avoid this hallway when I could, but, sometimes, I liked to come here to think. Like tonight.
I walked past the first window, filled with a massive stained-glass image of a beautiful mare, a golden Peytral around her neck, and a sun disk of yellow-gold glass behind her head. There was a small plaque by her window, but I didn’t need it. I knew her name and her history—hers, and the sixty-one who followed her, just as well as I knew my own. Many of them had lived and died, largely unremarkable and barely remembered, but Equestria had been built on the backs of these mares. As I passed the big ones, the important ones, their names leapt, unbidden, to my mind:
Helia, Second Princess of the Sun. Daughter of Solis, first Princess. She held a trowel, and around her hooves stood the half-completed towers of Canterlot Palace. She’d been the first one to earn a window, after she passed; whatever memorials there were to my foremothers before her lay buried in the old castle in the woods.
Celestia III, Ninth Princess. She held a spear and wore a helmet, and a frightened griffon cowered at her hooves. She’d driven the griffons into the mountains, and there they’d stayed ever since. Even a mention of her name was still supposed to scare them away.
Celestia Heartwood, Fourteenth Princess, one hoof on the head of a sick pony, the other holding a foal. She helped heal ponies during a time of plague, and her people loved her for it. She’d even written textbooks that were still being used in hospitals four hundred years later.
Theia, twenty-first Princess. Most of the mares in the windows had pale coats, but hers was a deep, vibrant red. Unlike the others, she wasn’t wearing the Peytral—instead, she carried it in her hoof. Theia was actually a regent, waiting for her charge, an infant whose mother had died at birth, to be old enough to wear the Peytral herself. She helped centralize power in Canterlot—some suspected, to legitimize her own position—before being assassinated in her sleep. The murderer was never caught, but most suspected the now-teenager whose throne she’d conveniently forgotten to concede had something to do with it.
Noctis and Umbra, side-by-side, Twenty-Seventh and Twenty-Eighth Princesses—the Shadow Queens. Both were armed and armored—one of them held a sword, the other an axe—and the sun-disks behind their heads were purple and dark. The two of them, cousins of a childless Princess, both claimed the throne after her death, sparking the Shadow Wars. No one was quite sure in which order they got hold of the Peytral, nor which of them was the one who plunged the world into night, but someone had decided that, as Princesses, they both deserved their window. I would have objected, myself, but it was far too late to argue.
Celestia VI, Thirty-Third Princess. The artist had given her a dark shadow, who most identified as her father, Prince Gladius. Though no one could prove it, rumors were that Gladius had killed Iris, Thirty-Second Princess, and tried to take the Peytral for his own. The legends say that whatever magic turned ordinary mares into Princesses refused to work for him, so he passed the Peytral on to his weak-willed daughter, and turned her into his personal puppet.
Starcatcher, Thirty-Fourth Princess and niece of Iris, carried a staff and wore a star-spangled cape. She used her magic to defeat Prince Gladius and Princess Celestia VI, then take the Peytral for her own. The legend goes that she was born under a special star, and was therefore fated to right the wrongs done to Equestria—but it may have had something to do with the fact that Gladius was an old stallion by that point, and Celestia VI deeply unpopular.
Celestia IX, Forty-Third Princess, held a telescope and stood in the bow of a ship. Sailed around the world, twice, helping to spread Equestrian influence all over the world, before ever settling down.
Amethyst, Forty-Fourth Princess, daughter of Celestia IX. She’d apparently taken after her father: she stood in front of a burning fireplace, a rocking chair by her side.
Celestia Rue, Forty-Eighth Princess, poor dear. She carried a paintbrush, and stood in a garden of flowers. She’d worn the Peytral for a year-and-a-half before her mind snapped. They’d crowned her successor, her younger sister, just before throwing her in the madhouse.
And then—I smiled a little—there was dear old Willow. Fifty-Second Princess, wearing a headband and carrying a lyre. Mother of the Flower Children: Heliotrope, Cornflower, and Snapdragon, Princesses Fifty-Three, Fifty-Four, and Fifty-Five, respectively. By all accounts, Willow was very kind, but, well… she was more concerned with having a good time than such mundane activities as ruling. She never married, but had five different children by at least three fathers. And, though she had the religious authorities frothing at the mouth, the historians had to admit that this was one of the benefits of a matriarchal succession: since there was no question who the mother was, it followed that there were very few questions of legitimacy.
Celestia Jessamine, Fifty-Sixth Princess, carried a book and a torch. Some called her a reformer, others a zealot, but everyone agreed she was a Believer. In the wake of Willow and her daughters, Celestia Jessamine fought to redeem Canterlot’s failing morals, and bring us all back to the True Path. She had only mixed success, in the end, but still had her own fountain in downtown Canterlot. So that was something, at least.
Celestia XVI, Sixty-First Princess, had some gray in her mane. She came to the throne at age thirty-five, and had lived past eighty. She wore a lab coat and carried a flask; she’d spent most of her time in the lab, discovering, inventing, or refining some great new invention. She had ruled for so long that it wasn’t her daughter, but her granddaughter who took the Peytral after her.
I swallowed, then stopped walking. After a moment, I turned to look at said granddaughter, where she stood in the next window. The last Princess stood tall, proud, and beautiful, her coat a soft cream, her mane a dark reddish-brown. She carried an open book and a quill; she’d nearly graduated law school by the time that the Peytral fell to her, and she’d applied her lawyer’s mind to her new Princessly duties. She’d done great things for Equestria, like simplifying and streamlining the bureaucracy and the legal code—but those had been accomplishments that didn’t exactly grab headlines. That, plus the fact that she’d been sick so often, meant that she didn’t really spend a lot of time in the public eye—which lead to the common, though mistaken, belief that she hadn’t really been much of a Princess at all.
And, truth be told, she wasn’t that much better of a mother.
I sighed. “Hey, Mom,” I said.
Mom—or, the glass image I’d come to think of as Mom—said nothing.
“How are things?” I asked. “Same as always?” I chuckled at my own little joke… even though it hadn’t been funny for at least the past hundred times or so.
The window said nothing.
I looked down at the carpet. “Me? Well… you know. School sucks, Blueblood’s wild, Loonie’s awful. Not much to say beyond that.” I sighed. “Twilight’s still in Ponyville. I wish she was still here… I… I could really use a friendly face these days…”
The window said nothing.
I looked away. “I’m still grounded, if that’s what you’d call it,” I said. “Loonie watches me like a hawk, and I’m always nervous around her—waiting for her to decide that the way I’m breathing is somehow un-Princessly. I… I thought she was hard on me before, but now…”
I turned and started pacing. “With her, it’s…” I sighed. “I never know if I’m doing the right thing, y’know? I try to do what I think she wants me to, but every time, it feels almost like…” I gestured vaguely. “Like she’s still judging me, even when I’m doing my best. Like I’m… wrong, somehow, but I can’t tell how or why…” I sighed, then glanced back at her. “Does that make sense?” I asked. “Trying to do right by someone, but every move I make is the wrong one? And knowing that, if I made her mad enough, she’s gonna…”
I looked back up at the window. Was that the faint hint of a smile on her face? I could never decide.
I shook my head, then looked away. “I feel like a prisoner,” I said. “I haven’t spent time with my friends in three weeks—I haven’t even seen Twilight since I left Ponyville…” I growled. “I can’t even write her without Luna knowing. She won't let me keep parchment and quills in my room anymore. It’s…” I snarled uselessly, then trailed off.
After a moment, I walked back over to Mom, then looked up at her. I stood there for another moment, then chuckled a little. “You know,” I said, looking away, “I spend a lot more time talking to you now than I ever did back before… well…” I fluffed my wings a little. I took a deep breath, then let it out. “Maybe it’s because you can’t really get on me for talking back anymore…”
The window said nothing.
I glanced down at the carpet again, then looked down the hall. In the light of the setting sun, my ancestors shone. Paintbrushes, axes, telescopes, and staves glowed, larger-than-life, where the sunset had thrown them on the carpet.
“How did you know?” I asked quietly, looking back up at Mom. “All these Princesses had something to do. Some war that needed fighting, or some problem that needed solving.” I chuckled darkly. “Even Willow found something to keep herself busy, at least.” I sighed again. “But me…? All I have is a creaky old nightmare of an Aunt and a GPA that would scare off any college recruiter—at least, if I wasn’t a Princess...”
I glanced nervously at the window next to Mom’s—my window. It was still plain glass, waiting for me to kick the bucket before they could decide what was really so great about me, after all. I glanced back at Mom, then ran my hoof through my mane. “I… I don’t even know what to say. I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like… I don’t know, like I should have a war, or a plague, or something. Something to fight, or fix, or take care of. Right now, with all the lawyers and bureaucrats and advisors, the only thing I really have to do is raise the sun in the morning, and the rest of the country pretty much takes care of itself. It’s been—what, almost three weeks since Ponyville? And all I’ve done is school and band and study.” I put a hoof to my forehead. “I—I feel like I’m starting to go crazy, and—”
I took a deep breath, staring into Mom’s cut-glass eyes. “I-I feel so useless,” I stammered. “All I want to do is be left alone, but I can’t—I have this damn—” I tugged at my Peytral. “What do I do?” I pleaded. “What sort of Princess should I be?” I took a step forward and looked up, desperately, at my mother. “For once in my life, Mama,” I said, “help me.”
The window said nothing.
As I stared up at her, the silence in the hall grew deeper. Deafening. Crushing. I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes.
“Nice talk, Mom,” I said bitterly. I turned away and stalked back down the hall.
I fwhmped onto the air mattress and let out a long sigh. I pulled my party hat off and dropped it on the floor, then sat up. I shook out my mane a little, divided it into three parts with my hooves, and started weaving it into a sleep-braid.
As I worked, my gaze slowly wandered around the tiny apartment. It was dark, though the light from the firefly lantern we’d scrounged up cast its shadows on the ceiling. Pinkie and I had got the place cleaned up pretty well, actually; just a few cobwebby boxes left in the corner. We’d even managed to get both air mattresses in, though it was a bit of a tight fit. I mean, mine was practically up against the door, and Twilight’s—
I paused. Twilight sat on the edge of her air mattress, looking at the floor. She clutched her pillow to her chest, looking exhausted and miserable. She’d already taken off her glasses, but they lay haphazardly on her bags.
I watched her for a little while, but she didn’t move. I took a deep breath, looked away, and started braiding my mane again.
“That was a fun little party,” I said, to break the silence.
“...yeah,” Twilight replied, in a very small voice.
“Seems like you made some friends, at least,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, in the same tone.
I shot her a glance. She still hadn’t moved.
“Aw, c’mon,” I said, “lighten up a little. I thought you’d like this place,” I added.
Twilight sighed. “It’s… nice,” she said.
I glanced over my shoulder again, then turned to face her. “C’mon, Twi,” I said, “this is supposed to be a vacation. What’s wrong?”
She was silent a long while—but it was the hesitant, thoughtful silence she used when carefully putting her words in order.
Finally, she spoke, her voice so quiet I could barely hear her, even in the silence.
“I… could have done without the party,” she said.
“Really?” I said. “I thought your friends were nice.” I smiled a little. “Especially Pinkie. She got irritating after a bit, but she was just so enthusiastic about surprising you…”
I trailed off, then swallowed. Watching Twi’s face… this sort of talk wasn’t helping.
“That’s not it,” Twi said, quietly, shaking her head a little.
“Then what is it?” I asked.
She shook her head again. “Nevermind,” she said. “Just… today’s been... “ she swallowed. “...hard.”
“Twilight...” I said gently.
“I would like to go to bed now,” she said, a little louder than necessary “We only have a few hours before the Celebration, after all.”
“...okay,” I said. “Just…”
I reached over and dropped the shade on the lantern, plunging the room into near-darkness.
“ ‘Night,” I said, returning to my braid.
Twilight laid down, but said nothing.
For a long time, there was no sound save the crickets outside. It was a beautiful summer night, warm and cloudless. The sort that would be great for roasting marshmallows. Maybe tomorrow night we could get the gang together and do something in the Palace gardens. But then again, the Summer Sun Celebration always wipes me out, so maybe—
I paused, only two-thirds done with my braid. I hesitated, then went back to braiding.
But then, I paused again. I’d definitely heard something that time. I strained my ears, then, slowly, turned to look at the source of the sound.
Twilight, lying facedown, had her face buried in her pillow. Her shoulders shook, and a strangled little sob squeezed its way past her arms.
I stared, wide-eyed.
Oh, Celestia, you complete, absolute ass.
I leaned forward and tried to take her into a hug, but she snarled and swatted my hoof away, then pressed her face back into her pillow.
“Shut up,” she moaned. “Shut up, and leave me alone. I don’t wanna meet anypony, I don’t wanna see anypony, I don't want anyone else telling me I'm crazy—I just want to get some quiet, and some damned sleep. Is that too much to ask?”
I stood. For a long time, I just watched her, lying there, shaking under her blanket. Then, I turned and left the room.
* * *
I only had to knock twice before Pinkie opened the door.
“Heya, Cece,” she said brightly. “Good to see you again.”
I rubbed my eyes sleepily. “Hey,” I said. “It’s not too late, is it?”
“Nah,” she said. “Not goin’ to bed tonight. Got too much baking to do for the Celebration.”
“Seriously?” I said. “That must be rough.”
“I got coffee,” she said. “And the Cakes are staying up, too, so I’m good.”
I nodded. “That’s nice,”
She leaned on the bottom part of the half-door, then looked down at the ground. “So…” she said carefully, “I’m guessing this isn’t really a social visit.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Then what can I do ya for?”
I sighed. “How are your doughnuts?”
“Best in Ponyville,” she said—then, she made a face. “But, also... the only ones in Ponyville.”
I nodded. “Point taken,” I said. “How’s your cupcakes, then?”
She brightened. “Second to none,” she said. “ ‘Cept maybe the Royal Kitchens.”
I raised an eyebrow. That was quite the impressive claim. But I wasn’t in the mood to argue.
“Do you have any strawberry ones?” I asked. “Fresh? With chocolate frosting?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not… with chocolate,” she said carefully.
“How long would it take you to make some?” I asked. “A half-dozen, say? I know you’re busy, but I’ll pay whatever extra you want.”
She looked at me oddly. “Is this a Cupcake Emergency?” she asked, enunciating the capitals.
I shook my head. “Not as such. But it is urgent.”
She looked carefully at me for a moment. “Half an hour, quick and dirty,” she said finally. “Hour and a half, if you want the nice frosting.”
“Really?” I asked.
She shrugged. “They gotta cool off before you can frost ‘em properly,” she said.
I thought for a moment. “Nice frosting,” I said, finally. “With sprinkles. And…” I swallowed. “Can you add a card?”
“Sure,” she said. “What do you want it to say?”
I swallowed several times before speaking.
“Just…” I said finally, “Just... Sorry. Sign it ‘Cease.’ ”
She nodded. “Will do.”
* * *
EET EET EET EET
When the alarm clock went off, I jumped. I turned and looked up at the door to the apartment until the alarm clicked off. I waited, but there was no sound for several minutes. I sighed, then turned back to my reading.
By the time I’d finally gotten back to library, I had no desire to sleep. And I would have had to get up in a few hours, anyways. So, I’d found a collection of Power Ponies, pulled up a chair, and read by the light of a small lamp.
Doctor Manehattan was halfway through explaining his plan when I finally heard Twilight stir. I heard her walk across the floor and into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, and turn on the shower.
When she shut off the water fifteen minutes later, I closed the book, stood, and stretched. I found the empty spot on the shelf and put back the comic, just as I’d promised Mr. Goldleaf, then walked up the stairs. Slowly, I pushed the door to the apartment open and slipped inside.
Twilight, her mane still damp, had already let the air out of our mattresses, and had started folding our blankets. She was facing away from me, perhaps listening to the midsummer cricket-song through the open window.
I tiptoed my way over to my bag, leaning up against one wall. I fished out my bath towel, my shampoo and conditioner, and my loofah, before turning and shooting another guilty look at Twi. Beside her on the floor sat the pink Sugarcube Corner box, the lid left partway open, and pink crumbs scattered on the floor around it. On top lay my card, the envelope torn open. I looked up at Twi herself, but she was still concentrating on the blanket she was folding. I smiled a little, then crept to the bathroom.
Nothing more was said about it. That wasn’t Twilight’s way. But, as we made our way towards Town Hall, I noticed that she walked a little closer to me than she had on the way from the train station.
I sighed, then leaned my head on the balcony. The mid-October air was crisp, but not yet cold. Below, the lights of Ponyville gleamed and twinkled in the setting sun. I smiled a little; the view almost made me wish I had my trumpet again. My hoof twitched, itching to feel the valves under them. Already, I could hear the notes of A Kiss To Build A Dream On…
Dah dah, da-dah da-dah duh-da-dah...
I was halfway through the second bar when Twilight stepped up beside me.
“Hey,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulder. “Everything alright, Cece?”
I looked over at her. She had her mane in an up-do again, but there was something deliberate about it this time—something special. She had a little rouge on her cheeks, and she wore a set of wire-rimmed glasses that sparkled in the dusk.
“Yeah, it’s…” I sighed again. “It’s alright.”
She pressed her mouth into a thin line.
“What’s going on, Cece?” she asked. “You can tell me.”
I shook my head. “No,” I protested, “No, it’s fine—”
“Cece, please,” she said, a note of firmness creeping into her voice. “I don’t like it when you’re not honest with me.”
I looked up at her again. For just a second, I saw a hint of Loonie in her face—and I shuddered.
But then, she smiled, and rubbed my shoulders a little, and she was Twilight again.
“I know…” I said. “But… not tonight, okay? Tonight, I just wanna have fun. Can we talk later?”
She smiled. “Sure, Cease,” she said. “Later. But I don’t want moping, now,” she said. “I mean, you earned tonight. You made it. A month of good behavior…” I could hear the grin in her voice. “And tonight we’re going to have the best night ever.”
I rolled my eyes. “Geez,” I muttered, “Drama queen much?”
She smiled. “Maybe Rarity’s rubbing off on me,” she said. “Speaking of—why don’t you come inside?”
My ears perked up a little. “Everyone ready?”
“Almost,” she said. “But either way, remember—” She smiled a little. “This is your night. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend it by yourself, okay?”
At that, I smiled, then turned away from the balcony. “You know just what to say,” I murmured as I walked back across the balcony with her.
“I’m getting better at it,” she said, pushing open the door. “Ever since you moved me here, at least.”
And with that, I stepped into Twilight’s apartment.
It had never been the biggest place in the world, nor the nicest, but tonight the place was packed. Fluttershy was putting the finishing touches on Applejack’s makeup, while Rarity was trying (and failing) to polish Rainbow’s hooves. Pinkie, already dressed, sat in a corner, bouncing impatiently and humming to herself.
Everyone was already wearing Rarity's dresses—including myself. I paused by the little square of mirror Twilight had hung on the wall for the occasion and examined my reflection. I had to admit, as I turned this way and that, that Rarity really knew what she was doing.
My dress was more of a wrap, really—it hung about me, maroon and salmon and burgundy, almost like a toga. It made me look like those old, ancient statues of goddesses and heroines that you saw in history books. Not what I would have chosen, myself, but I had to admit—it made me look pretty damn good. And all that hoof-stitching—
That hoof-stitching.
As I stared down at the needlework, my skin started to crawl, and I looked away. The hoof-stitching wasn’t Rarity’s doing—it was Luna’s.
Fluttershy and Rarity both had told me, in hushed voices, what had happened after I left Ponyville the night of our disastrous fashion show. The morning after our fight, Fluttershy went by to Rarity’s to see if she could help, and Rarity brought her up to her workroom and had her start sewing dress panels. A few minutes later, the door opened, and both of them looked up to see, to their astonishment, Princess Luna standing there. She nodded to both of them, then walked to one of the dress forms and looked it over, then examined Rarity’s sketches. And, without a word, she sat down and pulled out her needles.
Both Rarity and Fluttershy told me, several times, that they had been terrified of her--especially after she started sewing. She'd threaded seven or eight needles at once, then, holding them in her magic, started stitching. She didn’t stop until about four that afternoon, when she’d put together mine, Pinkie’s, and Applejack’s dresses, all by herself; in that same timeframe, Rarity just barely finished Twilight’s, and Fluttershy was only about half-done with Rarity’s.
They’d held a second fashion show the day following, a Saturday. Luna was in attendance, as were several fashion writers Rarity hadn’t expected—and Blossomforth, who they’d recruited to fill my spot, apparently didn’t do too bad (at least, after they’d pinned my dress up to fit her). Luna herself didn’t stay; she watched long enough to make sure that everything was going to go alright, then slipped away.
Throughout the whole affair, she’d never spoken, except to ask Rarity for clarifications on her design, or to ask her approval for the work she’d done. Neither Rarity nor Fluttershy was entirely certain of her intentions: Rarity seemed to think that she was simply enamored of her work, but Fluttershy thought she was apologizing for how I’d treated the two of them. I was almost inclined to agree with Flutters—except for the fact I didn’t know that she was capable of an apology. In fact, she hadn’t even—
Rarity growled. The sound shook me out of my reverie, and I turned to look at her. She had just stood up, and was glaring daggers at Rainbow.
“For Harmony’s sake, quit squirming!” she cried. “Your hooves are a nightmare—” Twilight and I both flinched, but Rarity was focused entirely on Rainbow. “—and you’re going to need everything you’ve got, if you want to get a chance at seeing those Wonderbolts—”
I smiled to myself. “Actually,” I said, “while we’re on that subject—I have a bit of an announcement.”
Rarity fell quiet, and everyone turned to look at me.
“As you know,” I said, “I… haven’t had a whole lot to do recently. So I spent my time working on gifts for everyone. Sort of.”
Rarity raised her eyebrows. “Oh, darling,” she said, “you didn’t have to do that…”
I shook my head. “I didn’t. But I wanted to. After all, you girls…” I swallowed. Suddenly, I couldn’t get the words out. “Your… your friendship has… it means...”
I swallowed again, then took a deep breath. I turned to Fluttershy. “Twilight told me how much you were looking forward to meeting the animals of the Royal Menagerie,” I said, my voice carefully level. Fluttershy squeaked, then looked around nervously. “I don’t know if you’ve ever visited before,” I continued, “but the Canterlot animals are a lot less tame than your friends, and they don’t really trust strangers. So, I pulled some strings, and I was able to convince the Game Warden to give you a personalized tour tonight. He’ll be ready anytime you ask.”
Fluttershy blushed and stammered, but looked away. I grinned and turned to Applejack.
“And I know you’ve been baking apple treats for three or four days, nonstop,” I said to her, “but it’ll be hard to compete with the Palace kitchens. So I got you a contract,” I said, pulling an envelope out of my dress and passing it to her. She opened it, pulled out the papers, and began to read. “Long story short: the kitchens have a spot ready for you at the refreshment tables. Just bring what you have, and the catering staff will take it from there. They’ll pay you for anything that gets eaten, and you can take the rest home.” I smiled a little. “Just try to enjoy the party, okay?”
Applejack bowed. “Thank y’kindly, Cece,” she said quietly.
I turned to Rarity, and she looked back up at me, hopeful. I bit my lip. “Now,” I said carefully, “for you, I have some advice. I know you’ve been champing at the bit to meet Prince Blueblood…”
She gave a little, eager nod.
“...but I want you to trust me on this,” I said, taking her by the hoof. “Don’t even give him the time of day.”
Her eyes widened. “B-but… Ponies Magazine said—!”
I rolled my eyes. “Rares,” I said, “I’ve lived with the colt for seventeen years. He’s good at putting on a face when there are ponies around, but Blueblood, he…” I gestured vaguely, searching for the words. “He… he’s not the marrying type, if you know what I mean.”
Rarity’s eyes widened.
“Trust me,” I said firmly, “you’d be better off with basically anyone else at the party.” I thought for a second, then smiled. “Maybe Shining Armor,” I said. “He is kinda cute—”
“He’s working,” Twilight said curtly.
I shrugged. “Oh well.” I turned back to Rarity. “But… you get what I’m saying, right?”
She swallowed. “I understand,” she said, with a little sniff. “Much obliged.”
I nodded, then turned to Rainbow—and I giggled a little. I couldn’t help it. An hour ago, when Rarity had been trying to stuff her into her dress, Rainbow squealed like a stuck pig. But now, that everyone was looking elsewhere, she had finally calmed down—and, in fact, looked almost like she was enjoying that dress of hers. At my giggle, everyone turned to look—but I quickly cleared my throat, catching their attention again.
“You won’t be the only one trying to catch the Wonderbolts’ attention tonight, Rainbow,” I said to her. “In fact, they have their own, cordoned-off section of the floor just to give them a little space—and it’s always one of the busiest areas of the Gala, anyways. There’s no way in Equestria you’ll get their attention on your own.”
Rainbow deflated—and I grinned.
“Which is why I got you an appointment,” I said. “Between ten and ten-thirty, you have a private meeting with Spitfire—maybe even longer, if she likes you.”
Rainbow’s eyes went wide. “R-really?” she squealed. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I said, grinning. “Speaking of…” I turned to Pinkie, who was grinning at me, smiling brightly, her eyes wide and glistening.
“Pinkie, I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “And I want you to know: this isn’t that kind of party.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that,” I said. “I know you like dancing and party games and all that, but the Gala isn’t that kind of party. It’s more of a… a social gathering,” I said. “Like a see-and-be-seen sorta thing, you know what I mean?”
“B-b-but,” Pinkie stammered, “that’s a soiree! Or a hobnob! Not a party at all!”
“Of course not,” I grinned. “Which is why I took the liberty of planning a pretty kick-awesome afterparty for us.”
Everyone looked up at me, surprised.
“Of course,” I said, casually lifting one of my hooves and examining it, “it’s going to be one of the most exclusive parties in Canterlot. Only about a dozen ponies are invited—me, you, and a few of my and Twi’s friends from school. Catered, too, by the one-and-only Canterlot Kitchens. Maaaaybe even a bottle of champagne or two from the Palace winecellars.” I looked up at each of them and grinned. Their expressions ranged from astonished to eager. Pinkie looked like she was about to explode. “Sound good?” I said.
She nodded eagerly. “Totally!” she cried. “Anything for a kick-awesome party!”
I chuckled, then turned to Twilight. I opened my mouth, then hesitated. She looked up at me, bright-eyed, with a knowing smile on her face.
“I… I don’t really have anything for you,” I admitted. “I-I know you like books and stuff, but the Gala isn’t really a place for reading… and, y’know, you already live in a library, so…”
Twilight smiled. “That’s fine,” she said. “Parties aren’t really my thing.” Pinkie gasped, scandalized. “Just spending time with you is enough,” Twilight finished.
I watched her for a moment, then smiled wide. “Then that will be my gift,” I said. “I’ll spend as much time as I can with you tonight. Just the two of us.”
Twilight’s eyes widened. “N-no,” she stammered, “you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I said. “And I will. That’ll be my number-one priority tonight—right after the reception line, at least.”
Twilight hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, then,” she said simply.
I looked around the little circle, and I felt my smile widen. When Twilight had said it, I was… well, skeptical might be the word. But looking at the faces, I was starting to agree.
Maybe—just maybe—this was going to be the best night ever.
I jerked my head up, gasping and spluttering, spraying pink frosting everywhere. I reached up and scraped great blobs of cake out of my eyes, then opened them. The ponies seated across the table from me sat frozen in a tableau of shock and horror: Shiny had gone even more pale, Aunt Velvet was about to cry, Twi stared back, eyes wide, and Uncle Night Light was snarling.
I looked down at what was left of my cake. Three seconds ago, it had said “Happy Birthday Cece,” with fifteen still-smoking candles in it. Now, it was a big, sloppy mess, with a crater the approximate size and shape of my face right in the center.
As I stared down at it, I growled. I turned to my left, where Blueblood stood, two feet away, staring back at me with the shittiest of shit-eating grins.
I snarled, then started whaling on him with my hooves.
“Blueblood, you—you—you jerk! I’m gonna—”
Blueblood laughed and batted my hooves away.
“Oh, come on,” he said, still fending me off. “It’s not like this isn’t your third birthday cake this week, or anything…”
I growled again, and my horn started to glow—
“Cece, Blue—that’s enough.”
We both froze, then turned to look.Uncle Nightie stood at the head of the table.
“Blueblood,” he said tersely, “Kitchen.”
Blueblood groaned, but stomped off around the table.
“It was just a joke,” he muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
As he walked into the kitchen, Uncle Nightie turned to me.
“Cece,” he said, “go wash up.”
I rose, then walked around the table and towards the hall.
“I-if you need a shower,” Aunt Velvet said weakly, “you know where the towels are…”
I nodded, then walked to the bathroom. I flicked the on light and closed the door, then looked in the mirror and stared. I was a mess—pink frosting all over my face and horn, some in my mane, even. I hesitated, then prodded at my muzzle. It was still tender from where Blueblood had slammed it into the table, but nothing was hurt too bad.
I sighed, then turned on the faucet. I lit up my horn and started scraping off as much frosting as I could manage with my magic.
Blue was right, sorta—this had been my third birthday cake. That didn’t make it any better, though—this was the family cake, the one I always looked forward to the most. I mean, the Palace always held a party for me, but it was a stiff, formal affair, where I was just supposed to sit still and look pretty for the politicians who competed over who could give me the most sincere birthday wishes. And then there was my friend party, with everyone from school, but most years, it just turned into another chance for everyone to show off.
But the family party—that was the big one. Blueblood and I celebrated most holidays with Twilight’s family—after all, they were basically the only family we had anymore. And it was the one party I could count on there being people who cared about me—really cared about me—and I about them.
And—as corny as it sounded, I really was looking forward to that darn cake. Palace food was nice—like, five-star nice—but I paid for it to be nice. There was about as much love in their cakes as in Quilinese takeout. But, though Aunt Velvet wasn’t much of a baker—she tried, for sure, but if it didn’t come out of a box, even Shiny wouldn’t touch it—I always looked forward to her desserts. Oh, sure it might not have been the prettiest, or the tastiest, but she cared. She couldn’t bake to save her life, but she baked for us. And that’s what mattered.
I slopped another clump of frosting into the sink, then looked in the mirror. I’d gotten most of the big chunks of frosting out, but there was still a lot stuck to my coat and mane. I sighed, then grabbed a washcloth from under the sink, ran it under the tap, and started scrubbing.
A few moments later, someone tapped at the bathroom door.
“Come in,” I said.
The doorknob turned, and slowly, the door eased open. Auntie Velvet poked her head inside, her eyes wide and quavering.
“How’s it coming, Cece?” she asked.
I held up the washcloth, already streaked with pink frosting.
“...oh,” she said. She looked down at the floor, then back up. “Do you… need any help?”
I shook my head.
“...alright,” she said. She stood there for a second longer, then began to pull her head back through the opening.
I turned back to the mirror—and, as I did, I caught her eye in the reflection. She quickly looked away, but her gaze sent a chill down my spine.
Auntie was heartbroken. She’d worked so hard on that cake—tried to make it perfect, because she knew how much it mattered to me. And she was proud of it, too—probably one of the better cakes she’d made all on her own, truth be told. And Blueblood—the colt she’d raised as one of her own—had used her gift as a weapon to try and hurt me. Me, not just his one and only sister, but also his Princess. And on my birthday, no less—the one day of the year that she had expected he’d leave his attitude at the door.
My gut twisted. I had to say something.
“Auntie,” I said without thinking.
She hesitated, then pushed the door open a little wider.
“Listen, Auntie,” I said, “don’t worry about it. I probably don’t need any more sugar in my diet, y’know?”
She hesitated, confused. I smiled, then put a hoof on her shoulder.
“Blue’s right about one thing,” I said. “I have been eating a lot of junk food lately. I would have loved to try your cake—heck, I know you worked hard enough on it—but I still know you took the time out to make it yourself. And that’s almost as good, in my book.” I grinned. “Plus, I can still fit in all my dresses.”
Auntie flashed a watery smile. I was getting somewhere.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I know how much Shiny and Uncle Nightie were looking forward to it. Would it help if I brought cake over?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Cece,” she said, “it’s your birthday, you don’t have to do that—”
I shook my head. “I don’t. But I’m paying all those caterers enough as it is,” I said. “Might as well get some use out of ‘em.” I smiled a little wider. “So: would it be alright with you if I had them make a cake, just for us? Triple-layered, with chocolate mousse filling? If you haven’t had that stuff, it’s to die for.” I winked. “And you don’t even have to sing again, if you don’t want to.”
Her smile brightened a little more. “That might be… nice,” she said.
“Great,” I said. “I’ll get ‘em started on it first thing tomorrow morning, and hopefully, it’ll be ready by tomorrow night. Unless that’s too soon?”
She shook her head. “Should be okay right after dinner,” she said.
“Great,” I said again. “I’ll be by for dinner again tomorrow.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What about Blueblood?”
“He’s a big colt,” I said. “He can fend for himself.”
She snorted, then hesitated. I looked at her questioningly, but, before I could speak, she took a step forward, took me in an awkward hug, and kissed me on the forehead.
“Oh, you silly goose,” she said fondly, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. She squeezed me a little tighter. “Thank you.”
I grinned, reached up my free arm, and squeezed her around the shoulders. She laughed a little, then took a step back.
“I’ll… let you wash up,” she said, a little self-consciously.
“It’s fine, Auntie, really,” I said.
She smiled, gave me a little nod, then slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her. I grinned, then turned back to the mirror.
* * *
“And… I think this is the last one, Cece.”
I took the thin, flat package from Uncle Nightie. Looked like a box of chocolates, from the shape, but it was really heavy.
The five of us were all sitting on the couches in the living room. After I returned from the bathroom, Auntie had handed me the traditional plastic birthday crown, which I wore with pride; everyone else was wearing cardboard party hats for the occasion.
(I snuck a glance at Shiny, wearing a navy-colored hat with aqua stars. It matched his mane well—really well.)
(...Is it weird to admit that you think that your almost-brother could be pretty cute, sometimes?)
A clatter came from the kitchen, and I looked up. From where I was sitting, I could see Blueblood standing at the sink where he’d been exiled, his back to me, already elbow-deep in dishes. I snorted. Served him right.
I looked down. On the floor in front of me, in a pile of wrapping paper, were my gifts: a big book of Power Ponies from Shiny, a biography of Joust Hoofstrong from Twi, a bird toy for Philomena from Uncle, and a stuffed animal—a frog I’d already dubbed “Froggy”—from Auntie. And then this one…
I ripped the paper off it, then stared. Slowly, I held it up: it was a wooden case, made of deep, rich walnut, with a brass latch and hinges. On the lid, in plain, gold letters, it read “REVEILLE & SONS TRUMPET CLEANING KIT.”
“No way,” I breathed.
I fumbled with the latch and reverently lifted the lid. Inside, on dark red velvet, lay a small army of cleaning tools—brushes of all shapes and sizes, a half-dozen cleaning cloths, and three glass bottles—glass—of metal polish, valve oil, and slide grease. It even smelled expensive.
“Lemme see,” Twi said, craning her neck.
I slammed the case shut and pushed it aside. I grabbed at the wrapping paper, looking for the card. I found a square of wrapping paper, folded over, taped to the front. I flipped it open, and stared.
“Who’s it from, Cece?” asked Auntie.
Slowly, I raised my eyes. In the kitchen, Blueblood still stood with his back to me, elbow deep in the dishes.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had no idea what to say—nor whether I could even believe what was happening.
Fantasia Suite For Ensemble, "Carnival of the Animals"
“Ah, Ambassador Ivy,” I said warmly, “It’s so good to see you! How are you?"
Agony.
“Oh, that’s too bad, really. Did you have a good trip, at least?”
I’d been in this line for two hours. My hooves felt like they were going to fall off.
“And how are your children? The littlest one should be about ready to start school, right?”
Luna had the right idea. She wasn’t standing in line, she was holding court. She had a couch and everything. And Blueblood had swanned right off with the first pretty, unattached mare he saw.
“Oh, he got his cutie mark? You must be so proud!”
This was all Luna’s fault. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be walking around, mingling, like I usually did. But she’d insisted that I man the reception line. Like a real Princess.
“And how’s your wife? Oh, you’re expecting again? Congratulations!”
I needed to sit. I needed water. I needed out.
“You know me, Ambassador—tonight is for pleasure, not business. But, if you send a letter to the Palace, attention Celestia, I’ll take care of it as soon as I can.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Twilight walking towards me with a glass of water. It took everything I had not to shove the Ambassador out of the way and sprint towards her.
“Always a pleasure. Enjoy the Gala, Ambassador.” I smiled, then turned to the next pony in line. “Ah, Lord Winesap. Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m just going to take a little refreshment. Her Highness would be more than happy to see you in the meantime, of course,” I said, as I steered him towards Luna’s couch. As soon as he stepped away, I turned to Twilight and took the glass.
“Get me out of here,” I whispered, then took a long drink.
Twilight looked over my shoulder. “There’s only twenty or thirty more…”
I lowered the glass and gasped for breath. “I don’t know that I can take it. I need a minute…” I eyed my glass, already about half empty. I briefly considered dumping the rest over my head and neck to cool off, but decided against it. “Can you run interference for me?” I asked Twilight. “Just for a minute?”
Twilight’s eyes widened. “S-sure,” she said. “J-just for a minute…”
I staggered to a chair at a nearby, empty table, and flopped into it. I slipped my throbbing back hooves out of my horseshoes, then took off my crown and dropped it on the table. I wanted to take my Peytral off, too, but I’d have to find a way to get it out from under my dress without messing up my top, and my neck wasn’t that sore yet. I took another long drink, then laid my chin on my arms and whimpered to myself.
I stayed that way for a few moments, then took another sip of water. As I set the glass down, I heard a small, frightened squeak to my right. Slowly, I turned to stare.
Two chairs over—so small I could barely see her over the table—sat a little filly, wearing a yellow dress and dumbstruck expression. Couldn’t have been older than twelve, at the absolute most.
She closed her mouth, then swallowed. “Y-y-you’re—” she swallowed, then tried again. “You’re P-Princess Celestia! A-and you—!”
Inwardly, I groaned. I knew her type: the starstruck little filly. She was in the presence of the one pony that made all of existence function, and she wouldn’t be able to let go of that fact. She was exactly the sort to treat me like a china doll: special, fragile, with cotton insides. I wasn’t a real pony. I was an object to be admired.
She was exactly the kind of pony I hated.
And yet… she reminded me of...
I smiled a little. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I am. Call me Cece.”
Somehow, her eyes grew even bigger. “See-see,” she repeated, awed.
“Yep,” I said. “What’s a young lady like you doing here at the Gala, anyways?” I asked.
She deflated a little. “Mama and Daddy brought me,” she said, quietly.
I nodded. “Are you having fun?”
She closed her mouth and looked away—and, in the glint of the lamplight, I saw a shining trail of tears running the way down to her chin.
“Ah,” I said quietly. I hesitated, then:
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Dew Drop,” she sniffled.
“Well, Dewey,” I began—then I leaned closer. “Wanna hear a secret?”
She looked up at me, sniffled, then nodded.
“I know exactly what you’re feeling,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. She looked up at me, mystified. “Your Mom and Dad probably brought you along because they wanted to show you off, right?”
She sniffled, then nodded again.
“And you’re upset because they want you on your best behavior—which means you can’t run around and have fun, right? And you only got one dessert, too?”
She looked up at me like I had two heads. I grinned wider.
“My mom did the same thing, if you can believe it,” I said. “I had to come every year, and it was always the same.”
Dewey slowly nodded, eyes wide. “First time,” she murmured.
“And it’s not what you thought it would be, right?”
She shook her head.
I leaned closer. “Want some pointers?” I asked.
She nodded faintly.
“Look around,” I said. “You see all the ponies in the uniforms? With all those ribbons and medals?” She nodded again. “Go around and find the one with the most. Then ask them what the biggest medal on the uniform is for. See if you can get him to tell the story behind it.” I grinned. “That’s what I did when I was your age—and it made the night just whiz by.”
She broke into a wide grin. “For reals?” she asked.
I nodded. “For reals,” I repeated. “Now, get out there and have some fun.”
She let loose an excited little squeal, then hopped down from the chair. “Mom! Dad!” she cried as she scurried off. “Princess Celestia—Cece—she—!”
I smiled to myself, then took another sip of water. I watched little Dewey for a moment, chatting excitedly to her parents, both of them trying not to look my way. It had been something so small—just a minute or two—but something about talking to Dewey had really cheered me up. I wasn’t sure exactly what to call it, but, if you twisted my arm, I’d have to say—
I frowned a little. I got a sudden prickling on the back of my neck: someone was watching me.
I scoffed, then shook my head. This was the Gala. Of course someone was watching me. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling… this wasn’t just a casual observation, someone was actually staring. I glanced around, ready to snap at the creep…
...until I spotted him, that was.
About twenty feet away, trying very hard to look like he hadn’t been staring at the back of my head, stood a young pegasus stallion. He wore a sharp-pressed Flight Squad uniform, the silver bars over the chest pocket designating him a low-ranking officer—and yet, on his sleeve, he wore the stripes of a Wonderbolt.
And he wasn’t too bad looking, either.
As soon as I saw him, he turned away and trotted up the steps towards the open front doors. But he wasn’t getting away that easily. I slipped back into my horseshoes, put on my crown, and stood again—gasping only a little at the fresh spike of pain—then smoothed the front of my dress. I skipped up the steps after him, and found him on the landing, pressed up against a pillar, looking like he’d been caught in the cookie jar.
But, before he could speak, I held out my hoof.
The young lieutenant hesitated for just a moment, then gingerly took my hoof in his. He leaned down to kiss it. As soon as I saw him pucker up, I scoffed, turned it sideways, and thrust it towards his chest.
“Celestia,” I said. “Princess Celestia. And what exactly do you think you’re up to, Mister...” I peered at the nameplate pinned to his uniform. “...Lieutenant Skies?” I corrected myself.
He blushed a little, then took my hoof again, shaking it properly this time. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just… well, that was awful nice of you back there,” he said.
I shrugged. “She needed some help,” I said, “and I’ve been there. It wasn’t much.”
He nodded. “True—but I think most ponies in your position would have simply blown her off.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. For some reason, it felt like a bad idea to tell him that I almost had.
But, wait—why was I suddenly worried about what he thought of me?
For moment, neither of us spoke. I almost said something just to fill the space, but nothing came to mind. I chuckled nervously, and he smirked a little.
“I hope this isn’t too forward,” he said, “but I have to ask: have you considered joining the Wonderbolts?”
I turned to stare, and he looked away. “I-I mean,” he said, “you have a beautiful pair of wings, if you don’t mind me saying… and, I’m sure, with the right training...”
I snorted. “That your job, then?” I asked. “You’re the ‘Bolt’s official Wing Inspector?”
He shrugged. “I... do do some recruiting from time to time,” he admitted, “but that’s besides the point... I-I’ve just spent enough time in the air to know a quality set of wings…” he swallowed nervously. “...and you’ve got one.”
I fluffed my wings self-consciously, then looked down. I felt myself blushing fiercely. Lieutenant Skies was quiet for a moment, then chuckled to himself. I looked up and opened my mouth to say something—
—when suddenly, a voice cut through the chatter of the crowd.
“Hi, I’m Twili—L-Lady Twilight S-Sparkle. What’s your name…? Y-yes, Grandmother is my Luna—I mean, Luna is my Grandmother. I—oh? Cece, she—I-I mean, P-P-Princess Cece will be back in a minute—oh, g-goodbye, then… Hello, I’m Lady Cece—oh, dammit, I mean—”
I turned and stared. From where I stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the Gala, I had the perfect view of everyone in attendance. I could see the Wonderbolts, milling about in their own private VIP section. I could see Luna, still sitting on her couch, surrounded by hoof-kissers and sycophants. And I could see Twilight—
I swallowed. Twilight stood in my place at the head of the reception line, still fifteen or twenty ponies strong. Even from this distance, I could see that her glasses had slipped crookedly down her nose, and her chest was rising and falling in short, rapid flutters. She needed my help—and I had to—!
I took a step forward—then I saw the rest of them. I saw Rarity, sitting pathetically all by herself at one of the tables, everyone in ten yards carefully avoiding her gaze. I saw Applejack, hat pulled low over her eyes, standing by the refreshment table—almost everything eaten, except for piles of apple fritters, apple tarts, and apple pies, practically untouched. And I saw, below one of the massive gallery windows on the opposite end of the hall, Rainbow sitting on a bench, face buried in her hooves, and Pinkie Pie at her side, tugging forlornly at her elbow.
And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.
“I’m the people Princess,” I whispered to myself.
Lieutenant Skies cocked his head. “Pardon?”
I turned to him and flashed my winningest smile. “It’s been a pleasure, it really has, Lieutenant Skies,” I said, “but you’ll need to excuse me. I’ve just realized I’m needed elsewhere.”
“Please,” he said with a little smile. “Call me Soarin’.”
“Soarin’,” I repeated. “Old nickname?”
“Sort of,” he admitted.
I nodded. “Well then, Soarin’,” I said, “you can call me Cece.”
He looked faintly surprised. “Good to meet you, Cece,” he said. “And, of course, you’re welcome to dash off anytime you like, but still, I’m curious—what are you suddenly needed for?”
“For the one thing I’m good at,” I said.
“And that is?” he asked.
I grinned wider. “Bullshitting,” I said brightly.
And, without another word, I turned and strode down the stairs towards Twilight.
People said you couldn’t polish a turd. But I could do it—I did it all the time. I polished turds until they shined. Could practically chrome-plate the suckers.
I mean—look at what I’d done with myself, after all.
I hit the back of the reception line like a hurricane. As I walked towards the front, I grabbed each pony by a forehoof, shook it warmly, and moved on. And, the entire time, my mouth never stopped moving.
“Welcome,” I said, the words flowing like water. “Welcome to the Gala. Princess Celestia. Thank you for coming—it’s a pleasure, really. Try the apple pie, it’s delicious—”
I practically shoved Twilight out of the way, and shook the hoof of the B-List celebrity she was currently embarrassing. “I’m so sorry to do this,” I said, “but I need to speak to Lady Twilight in private for just a moment. Please, enjoy the Gala.”
And with that, I swept away. Twilight flashed a weak smile at her guest, straightened her glasses, then trotted after me. Loonie was probably glaring daggers at me from her couch, but I didn’t care. This was my party now.
With a stream of endless shoulder-pats, hoof-shakes, and Excuse me's, I carved a path through the crowd, like an icebreaker through the Arctic. Twilight trotted along in the wake I left, trying hard to keep up with my stride.
We broke into the clearing around Rarity. She looked up at me, and I could tell she was on the verge of tears. But, before she could open her mouth, I slid into the seat beside her.
“Hi, Rarity,” I said, a little louder than necessary, “How’s your evening been?”
I didn’t have to ask: I could read both sorrow and rage on her face. But that wasn’t the point, of course.
Rarity heaved a dramatic sigh. “Terrible,” she began. “Prince Bluebl—”
“I agree,” I said, a little louder, “It has been too long. We’ll have to catch up next time I see you—next weekend work?”
She looked up at me, scandalized, but I winked. “But tell me,” I continued, “How is your sister? We haven’t spoken in ages—she’s still doing well in math?”
Suddenly, I stood. “By the way, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned,” I said, “but I adore this dress you made! I mean—” I twirled experimentally, taking the opportunity to scan the crowd. More than a few were watching me. Good. “It’s an absolute dream!” I continued. “I just adore how it swishes!”
Twilight was staring at me like I had just taken a bite out of the table, and Rarity’s eyebrows were raised so high they were about to disappear under her tiara. I grinned. Time for the killing blow.
“When will I have to put in next year’s order by?” I asked. “And should I just send it to Carousel Boutique in Ponyville, or do you have a PO Box?”
Rarity opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I-I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe end of September…?”
I scoffed. “Rarity, that simply won’t be enough time!” I cried. “With all your orders, I would hate to get lost in the shuffle. I’ll get it in by June, would that work?” Without waiting for her to reply, I grabbed her hoof. “Now,” I said, “Lady Twilight and I are going to go get some refreshments. Come with us. I hear the apple tarts are divine.”
And I swept away. A little overdramatic, perhaps, but I needed to give everyone time to gossip over the rumors I’d just started—rumors about how a certain, little-known seamstress was apparently the Princess’s favorite. I just hoped that she’d have the good sense to follow…
I crashed through the waves of high society again, this time heading towards the snack table. I knew exactly where it was—it was where I’d spent most of my time at these Galas until I was at least thirteen, after all—but, even so, I didn’t need directions. When I got close, I could hear the remarks:
“Oh, please,” I heard a stallion saying, his voice absolutely dripping with high-society disdain. “Apple fritters at the Grand Galloping Gala? This is a Society function, not a farmer’s market! And, really, they look like some sort of accident you’d have the Help clean off the floor—”
I burst through the last line of ponies practically on top of him. He stared, open-mouthed at me, and his wife (I assume) moved to stand slightly behind him.
“Good evening,” I said, shaking both of their dumbfounded hooves. “Princess Celestia. So, have you tried the artisanal pâtisserie tonight? I must say, we had to work hard to get them here, but the results are quite encouraging…”
Applejack, leaning against a nearby pillar, lifted her head slightly.
“A-artisinal pâtisserie?” the stallion stammered.
I nodded. “Of course. Those apple treats down at the end,” I said, pointing. The pointing wasn’t necessary; nearly everything else had already been picked over, but Applejack’s cooking—arranged artfully-as-possible in wicker baskets, lined with red gingham—had barely been touched. “When Princess Luna suggested we have a small business help cater tonight’s event, I was a little skeptical, but they won me over—after all, everything is hoof-made, using organic, locally-sourced ingredients, and prepared according to old-fashioned recipes.” I smiled a little. “Of course, I understand they might not look up to the standards that you’d expect from the Canterlot Kitchens, but that’s just aesthetics, isn’t it?”
He nodded slowly. “Of course, Your Highness—”
“Good,” I said, “Then I hope you left some room for more. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
I swept past him, feeling the gaze of the onlookers following me, and made a beeline towards the apple treats. That stallion was right; from this distance, they weren’t much to look at, considering.
I grabbed a small stack of plates and started loading them up with everything I could reach. When Twilight and Rarity caught up, I handed them each a plate; when Rarity twittered at me for putting a second fritter on her plate, I added a third.
“Now eat something, and like it,” I hissed under my breath.
Twilight picked up a fork in her magic, cut off a small chunk of apple tart, and ate it; Rarity hesitated, then followed suit with one of her fritters. They both smiled; if this was anything like Applejack’s other cooking, they didn’t need to fake it, but it was still good to see them make the effort..
I grabbed a whole slice of pie in my magic and took an enormous bite. As I chewed, I made eye contact with Applejack, then gave a pointed side-nod towards where Rainbow and Pinkie were sitting. She nodded back, and started working her way through the crowd, her calls of “ ‘Scuse me, thank yeh kindly” audible even over the murmur of voices.
“Alright girls,” I said, “Let’s go.”
I led them towards the back corner of the room, still holding three or four plates—and I grinned a little as I heard, behind me, tentative hoofsteps approaching the refreshment table. As we passed a pillar, I noticed Shining Armor, standing at its base with a couple other guards, scanning the crowd. As soon as I saw him, I veered off.
“Captain Armor,” I said amiably. “My friends and I would like a little privacy, if you please…?”
He nodded, then turned and barked an order to the other guards. By the time I caught up to Twilight and Rarity, a squadron of golden-armored soldiers were following right behind me; as we reached the corner where all my friends were gathered, they deployed in a half-circle around us and stood at attention, shoulder-to-shoulder, facing outward. Though we were smack-dab in the middle of the biggest social event of the year, with their help, we were suddenly as isolated as if we’d been on the surface of the moon.
I nodded in satisfaction, then turned to the bench, where the rest of my friends huddled. As soon as I saw them, my smile withered away.
Rainbow perched on one edge of a marble bench, turned away from us, face in her hooves, bawling her eyes out. Next to her sat Pinkie, tears still fresh on her cheeks, looking up at me with deep, sad eyes. The others crowded around them—Twilight looked frazzled, Rarity defeated, and Applejack enraged.
“Oh, girls,” I said quietly, “I’m so sorry—”
And then they all started talking at once.
“Blueblood, he—!”
“And then she—!”
“—an’ they said it was—”
“How could you—!”
I snarled, then stamped my hoof. The sharp crack of metal on marble was enough to scare them into silence. I took a deep breath, then sighed.
“Look,” I said, “To start off—I’m sorry you’re all having a bad time. But the evening’s not over yet; let’s see if we still can’t save it. So…” I levitated three of the four plates I was still holding towards Pinkie, Rainbow, and Applejack. AJ took hers with a grateful nod, and Pinkie took the other two, then glanced at Rainbow, who was trying, and failing, to rein in her tears.
“Eat up,” I told them. “It’ll help. And Applejack needs to know someone ate her snacks…”
Applejack’s eyes blazed. “Darn tootin’,” she snapped. “You didn’t tell me that these are the sorta folks to insult a mare’s cookin’ to her face—”
“I should have warned you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Applejack continued like she hadn’t heard me. “And there they are, sayin’ all sorts a’ garbage—apples are peasant food, and have no place in Canterlot—”
“Applejack,” I interrupted, “I know.” She glared at me, then snapped her mouth shut and folded her arms. I sighed. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated. “Hopefully, they’ll change their tune once they actually try them.”
“I doubt it,” Rarity huffed. “These ponies are petty and cruel. Did you know Blueblood actually tried to come on to me?”
“I didn’t,” I said, “though I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Well, he did,” Rarity continued. “I told him off like you said, and someone else must have heard. Now, no one willeven look at me unless—”
I bit my lip. “That… happens,” I admitted. “And, once again, I’m sorry. But I think your results with the dresses outweigh anything they could have said...”
Rarity huffed and looked away. Twilight glanced at her, then back to me, then looked at the floor.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do a good job in the line,” she said quietly. "I was just trying to help, and... well..."
I smiled weakly. “That wasn’t your fault,” I said. “I should have planned a better…”
“Yes!” Pinkie cut in. “This stupid Gala is so boring! Someone should have planned something to keep everyone from going all bonkazoid like this!” She dropped her head into her hooves. “I’ve been wandering around trying to find someone to talk to,” she whimpered, “Or someone who wants to dance. But everyone’s busy, and stuffy, and boring—”
“She did warn you,” Applejack added.
“I didn’t know it was going to be this bad!” cried Pinkie. “This isn’t a party! It’s not even a soiree! This is a stand-around-and-try-to-bore-each-other-to-death-festival!”She dropped her head again and sniffled. Twilight and I shared a look; up until this point, I’d always thought that 'bored to tears' was just an expression.
“Pinkie,” I said gently, “I don’t know if this means much at this point, but I’m sorry.”
She sniffled again and gave me the vaguest hint of a smile. I returned it, then looked to Rainbow. She wiped her nose on her arm, then looked up at me.
“I blew it,” she moaned.
I widened my eyes. “What happened?” I asked.
She turned to the rest of us, the picture of absolute grief. “I blew it,” she repeated. “I went to go talk to Spitfire, and she was so cool and famous, and I tried to keep a lid on it, but I just started babbling… a-and then I musta said somethin’, ‘cause she got mad, and…” She buried her face in her hooves again and started blubbering.
I looked around at each of them, and, as I saw the heartbreak and disappointment in their faces, I felt my heart rise to my throat. All of them had come to the Gala because I had promised them the best night ever. They had sweated and dreamed and worked for it, because I said it would be amazing. They had come, eyes full of stars, to the Gala, knowing that things would work out, because I had said they would.
And now, because I had promised the impossible, each and every one of them had their hearts shattered…
“Girls,” I said, my voice thick, “I am so, so sorry. This is all my fault…”
“No, it’s not,” Twilight said quietly.
“It is,” I insisted. “I… I wanted you all to come, because I thought you’d enjoy it… And, well…” I sniffled, then rubbed at my eyes.
“Twi?” I said, my voice shaking.
She looked up at me. “Yes?”
“What time does Doughnut Joe’s close again?” I asked.
“Midnight most days, 2 AM weekends,” she responded immediately.
I smiled a little. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Take a minute to regroup and talk it over. The night’s not done. We can save this.” I looked around. “Wanna give it another shot?”
Pinkie nodded eagerly. Rainbow gave a half-hearted shrug. Applejack smiled a little, then stood. Rarity looked at me, then nodded as well. Twilight glanced at her friends for a moment, then turned to me.
“Yes,” she said, “Let’s give that a try.”
I sighed, then smiled a little. I had screwed it all up—but, maybe, things were starting to get a little brighter.
“Good,” I said. “Good. Just, let me see if I can get away, and…”
Suddenly, I frowned. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s Fluttershy?”
At that instant, a rumbling shook the floor. A cry rippled through the Gala, but I froze. High, shrill trumpeting filled the air—but it came, not from the orchestra, but from outside. Slowly, I turned to face the tall glass doors at the end of the hall.
[The memory is indistinct and incomplete, like a photograph reflected in a soap bubble.]
I am [...?] years old. I am at the Gala. My dress is pretty, but it’s also so [...?]. I hate it. And my shoes hurt, too.
I like the Gala. That’s when Mommy carries me in her arms, or holds me by the hoof the whole night. I like it a lot.
But this is not the Gala. Mommy said it was, but it’s not. Mommy said I am old enough to go on my own. Mommy said she won’t carry me, or hold me by the hoof. I am a big girl now, and must act like a big girl.
I do not want to be a big girl anymore.
[I am alone. And I am scared. Why am I alone? Have I slipped my caretaker for the evening?]
I like the ballroom. It is big and empty, and it echoes when I shout my name. But now it’s different. Now it’s all [...?], and I can’t see anything except legs and skirts.
I do not want to be here. I want to be back in my room, with [...?].
I walk between legs, as [...?] as trees. I try not to cry. My ballroom, so [...?] this morning, is now [...?].
And then—
[And then—]
Mommy comes.
Mommy picks me up, and she snuggles me. She smells like Mommy, but she smells like doctors, too. Like—
[Like talc and latex and ammonia. Hospital smells. I thought that most of her surgeries happened when I was older, but, perhaps…?]
Mommy breathes. I hear the wind moving in and out of her. She says something, and I feel the sound of her voice through her chest. I look up at her. She sounds happy, but sad, too.
[There is... a hole in my memory, wherever my mother is. Whenever I see her face, I see her stained-glass portrait, not the living pony; whenever she speaks, I hear the shape of her voice, but not her actual words. I… remember her picking me up, trying to reassure me, but I remember it like an incident in a storybook: it happened, of course, but it didn’t happen to me—it happened to someone far away, someone that might not even exist.]
[My memories of mother are almost like music playing behind a locked door: something beautiful and transcendent is happening just beyond, and I could join in, too, if only I could remember how to open it… but, no matter how hard I search, it seems I can no longer find the key.]
[I feel… cheated, somehow, unable to remember anything about the pony I loved most. That… that hurts a lot more than I think it should.]
Mommy holds me tight, and I snuggle up to her again. She walks, bouncing me in her arm as she moves. She sits, and sets me down next to her. I snuggle up into her lap. She strokes my mane and talks to me again.
She gives me cake. Before, she told me no more dessert. But when I’m there with her, she gives me cake. So I eat it.
She strokes my mane. She talks some more. Her words make me feel all [...?] inside. I snuggle up closer to her.
When I am done with the cake, she wipes my mouth, then picks me up and hugs me tight. And she talks again.
[And this time—this one, lonely memory—I understand. Her voice turns from meaningless sound into words, words that are still burned into my memory. I have about eight more years with her, but these are the only words of hers that I can recall:]
“That’s my Cece,” Mommy says. “That’s my little filly. You’re going to have to grow up someday—maybe someday soon—but don’t forget this moment. Don’t forget what it’s like to need someone, and to have that someone come to help you. And,” she adds, “don’t forget me.”
She holds me for a while. Then, she puts me down, and pats me on the bottom, and tells me to run along and [...?].
I want to stay, but I know I can’t. But that short time with her has made me feel better. Made me feel not so scared, not so alone. So, I go back into the sea of ponies again.
[In the years since that night, I’ve done a lot of things, Mom. Most of them, I think you would be ashamed of. Some might even make you proud. But, despite what you said, despite what you asked me to do, this, the first time I really needed you… now, you’re almost like a bad dream to me—everything gone but the worst parts of you. I’ve forgotten almost everything you were—I can’t even remember your smile, or the way it felt when you held me. But one thing I have never let go of—one thing I have never forgotten—is this moment.]
[True, it’s only half there—and only when I can force myself to remember it—but those words, that feeling, sunk into my heart deeper than you could ever know.]
[In fact, in some ways, you could say that those words became my guiding star.]
The room was dark, lit only by a small lamp. I was lying flat on my back in a bed I didn’t recognize. And… I hurt. It was more of a general soreness than actual pain, but it was there, lurking at the edges of my consciousness.
I tried to push myself upright, and immediately let out a sharp little cry. I looked down in wonder at my left foreleg. Funny; I didn’t remember it being in a cast this morning…
I lay my hoof back down, and something crinkled. I lifted up my blanket and peered underneath. Huh. I was wearing a green paper gown. And there was a thin, clear tube taped to my right forehoof. Which meant—I looked around the room with newfound appreciation—this was a hospital.
I blew out a long, slow breath. Seems like I hadn’t managed to save the Gala after all, then...
I sat up—carefully keeping the weight off my left foreleg—then took careful inventory of my injuries. I could move all four of my hooves, so I hadn’t been hurt too badly, at least. And, aside from the cast, I had a big bandage on my shoulder, and a smaller one across the bridge of my nose. I spread my wings experimentally—my beautiful wings, Soarin’ had called them—and they seemed fine, too.
I lifted my right arm and eyed the IV drip line, then followed it with my gaze. The line led to a clear plastic bag hanging from a wheeled stand by my bed. I nodded appreciatively; the label consisted mostly of an unpronounceable soup of letters. Maybe that’s what was making me feel so good.
As I dropped by eyes back to the bed, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: my room had a window, still dark. And, underneath the window stood a row of three or four green chairs. And, in the chair closest to my bed sat Blueblood.
He was dozing, with his head down on his chest. He was still wearing his white suit from the Gala, but it was torn and dirty. He’d even lost the flower in his lapel.
As I watched him, he shifted uneasily, then looked up. He blinked once or twice before finally smiling.
“Hey, Sis,” he said gently.
I said nothing.
He stared at me for a moment longer before his smile faltered. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said. “Sore.” I swallowed. “What happened?”
He grinned. “Before or after I fished your sorry carcass out of the rubble?”
My eyes widened a little, but I stayed quiet.
After a moment, his grin faltered again, and he sighed heavily. “Apparently,” he said slowly, “Fluttershy was touring the Menagerie, and asked to meet the big bull elephant up close. You know how he’s always been rather high-strung?”
I nodded.
“Something about Fluttershy spooked him. The Warden said it may have had something to do with having an unfamiliar pony, in his own private pen, past his bedtime, wearing something that flapped in the breeze…” He shrugged. “Either way. He attacked Fluttershy—”
I sucked in a breath. “Is she okay?” I asked.
He shrugged again. “You got it worse, believe it or not,” he said. “When he charged, she actually fainted. And, though he threw her around a bit, the fact that she’d already gone limp meant she walked away with not much more than a few nasty bruises.” He sighed. “In any case: the elephant panicked, broke out of his pen, and ran towards the lights, which just so happened to be the Gala. You know the rest, I think,” he said, smiling a little. “Bull elephant plus load-bearing pillar equals minus-one Princess.”
I opened my mouth, but he interrupted before I could speak.
“No,” he said, “Luna’s fine.” He hesitated. “It was a joke.”
I scowled a little, and he sighed. We were quiet for a minute.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, finally.
He looked up at me. “At the palace,” he said, “in one of the spare suites. They all wanted to stay, but I made ‘em go. There was nothing else they could do for you, and they looked like they could use the rest… especially Twilight.” He chuckled a little. “She feels super-guilty, you know. All of them do, but Twilight most of all. She said that, when everything started to collapse, she just kinda froze—but you pushed her out of the way. She said you even caught the pillar that was just about to squish her. Or tried to, anyways.” His smile fell a little. “I tried to convince her that there was nothing she could’ve done, but I don’t know that she believed me…”
I swallowed. “What’s the damage, then?” I asked. “Bad?”
He shrugged. “Good news is, you’ll get to redecorate the Ballroom. Bad news is… well…” He took a deep breath. “About a dozen ponies injured, none too seriously, though. Your Peytral was damaged pretty badly, but the Sun Stone is intact, at least. And yours and Fluttershy’s dresses are ruined beyond repair.” He chuckled to himself. “The elephant was okay, though,” he added. “The Warden brought him down pretty quick with a couple stun rays. Though they’re already looking for some sort of wildlife preserve to re-home him at.”
“So,” I said flatly, “he’s going to a nice farm in the country, where he can play with all the other elephants.”
He smirked. “Not when you put it like that,” he said. “But, yes.”
We both fell silent again. After a minute, he shifted his weight in his chair and smiled. “It’s okay, Sissy,” he said, leaning forward and patting me on the knee. Where he touched me, my skin crawled. “It know it looks bad,” he said, in the voice he reserved for pretty, single mares, “but you’ll be okay. And hey, there’s always next ye—”
“S-stop it,” I said, my voice quavering, a little louder than I meant.
His eyes widened. “Stop what?”
“You know what,” I said, firmer. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but the only time you’re ever this nice to a mare is when you’re trying to get in her skirt. And unless my life has suddenly become a bad Game of Ponies joke...” I shuddered, then glared at him. “You’re creeping me out,” I said. “Quit it.”
And then, to my astonishment, something happened that I never expected to see.
Blueblood looked hurt.
And not his cute, “come over here and comfort me, you pretty little thing” hurt either—I’d genuinely struck a nerve.
“That’s a little harsh—” he began.
“All the same,” I said, a little venom draining from my voice. “Care to explain what in the name of Tartarus you’re up to?”
He gazed sadly at me for a moment, then raised his hooves. “That’s fair,” he admitted. “I… don’t have a good track record with you, do I, Sissy…?”
“And why are you calling me that?” I snapped. “You haven’t called me Sissy since I was, like, twelve. I don’t like you making fun of me…”
“Cece,” he said quietly, “what happened when you were twelve?”
I scoffed. “I got these damn wings. Everyone knows that.”
“And what else?”
I frowned. “What do you mean, what else? Isn’t that big enough?”
He sighed. “When you were twelve,” he said, “I made a promise. To Mom. On the day she died.”
Whatever snarky comment I had on my tongue turned to ash. But he wasn’t done.
“Mom died, and I…” he sighed. “And I screwed everything up.”
I waited for him to continue, but he said nothing.
“Blueblood,” I said slowly, “what’re you saying…?”
He looked up at me, and, even in the dim lamplight, I could see tears glistening in his eyes. “What’s my Cutie Mark?” he asked.
I didn’t have to look. “A star,” I said. “You got it in Colt Rangers, from a camping trip. You were…" I swallowed uncomfortably. "...stargazing...?”
He shook his head. “Not a star,” he said. “A compass rose. I got it from an orienteering course.”
“Orienteering,” I repeated faintly.
“Navigation by compass,” he said. “I showed Shining Armor how to read his map, and pow: cutie mark.”
I hesitated, then shook my head gently. My brain felt like it wasn’t working right… was it the drugs?
“Shiny was in your Ranger Troop?” I asked.
He nodded. “He’s just a year younger than me.”
I shook my head again. “So…” I said slowly, “your Cutie Mark is in navigation?”
He shook his head. “No. That’s when I got it, but it wasn’t what I was doing. I got it when I showed someone else the way.”
I nodded. “So, your calling in life is to be…”
“A guide,” he said. “Not a teacher, that’s different. I have to show other ponies how to act, how to be…” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Though I haven’t been doing a very good job at it, have I…?”
“Yeah,” I murmured, “you’re kinda terrible.”
He chuckled again. “Hey, that hurts,” he said.
“You said it, not me,” I said, with a little hint of a smirk.
“Still. It’s different coming from someone else,” he said.
We both fell quiet again. This time, it definitely wasn’t the drugs—I just felt stupid. How had I not known this? Granted, we hadn’t really had a… solid relationship for some time, but still...
I swallowed. “So… what does Mom have to do with this?” I asked.
He glanced up at me, then looked back down and sighed. “I… talked to Mom before…” He swallowed, and stopped speaking.
“Before my coronation,” I suggested.
He nodded. “Before your… coronation,” he repeated. “And she made me promise to help you.”
I almost spoke up, but something stopped me. I don’t think I’d ever seen him like this before—in fact, I wasn’t sure he had seen himself like this before.
“Mom said… said you were headstrong. Stubborn. Didn’t like following rules. And, though you had a good heart, that you could be… insensitive, sometimes.”
I scowled. “I am not insensitive,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, Celestia,” he said, “you can be quite the bitch when you don’t get your way.”
My scowl deepened. “Can not.”
“Can too.”
“Can not.”
Blueblood smirked. “Can too, Sunbutt.”
“Blueballs.”
“Bitchface.”
“Dirty horse.”
At that, he chuckled, and I smiled. He settled into his chair a little, and I sighed.
“So… what’d she say?” I asked.
He looked up at me. “Hm?”
“Mom.”
He stared at me for a second, then nodded. “Ah. She…” he sighed. “She said my talent was keeping ponies on the straight and narrow. And that you needed help with that, more than most.” He looked into my eyes. “She made me promise, Sissy,” he said. “Made me swear that I’d help you grow into the Princess that she knew you could be. That’s why I haven’t left,” he added. “I stuck around because of you. But, that kinda got lost in…” he gestured vaguely. “I mean, it didn’t… I wasn’t…”
“You were mad,” I said.
He looked up at me, mystified. I looked down, then took a deep breath. “You were angry at me,” I began. “Not at me, I mean—but who I was. There I stood, wearing Mom’s Peytral and crown like I owned them. And… though Mom wasn’t the best Princess, even so, it felt like I was taking her spot. Like I was trying to replace her. And you hated me for it.”
He swallowed. “How did you know?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
I sighed. “I felt the same way, every time I looked in the mirror,” I admitted. “Kinda still do, sometimes.”
He nodded slowly, then folded his arms. “Jealous, too,” he said. “There has never been a ruling King or Prince in all of Equestria. Not since the beginning. I was taught not to expect anything, so that wasn’t it. It’s just…” he sighed. “I’m older than you. And to have everypony tell me, ever since you were born, that I literally did not matter has been…” He swallowed. “...hard.” He chuckled a little. “Especially because the only thing that really separates me from you is a Y chromosome...”
I nodded. “So… you were mad. And jealous. And having to be responsible for keeping me in line with all that was… hard.”
He nodded. “But I couldn’t leave,” he said. “I’d promised. Those were the last words I said to her, actually—’I promise.’” He fell silent for a moment. When he began again, his voice was low and hushed. “But I didn’t know how hard it would be… and it was… easier to… to be…”
“A bit of a bastard,” I said. “To do whatever you could to distract yourself, while occasionally harassing me. That way, you could trick yourself into thinking that you were doing your job. And that you didn’t really feel all that hurt on the inside.”
He nodded. “Right. And, would you believe it? It took watching you almost get crushed by a two-ton chunk of marble to make me realize all that?”
I nodded. “That would do it,” I said with a smile. “Though, to be honest, I…” My smile faltered. “I have no idea what I would do, if you were in this bed, and I was in that chair,” I admitted. After a moment, I smirked a little. “Maybe go out for doughnuts with Twi. Maybe even splurge a little, get some sprinkles.”
“Ouch, Cece,” he said, dramatically clasping his hooves over his heart. “That hurts. But…” He chuckled, then set his hooves down on the armrests. “I do kinda deserve it.”
We were both quiet for a long moment. After a while, I looked up.
“You know what?” I said. “You’re alright, Bloob.”
He looked up at me, his mouth slightly open. I hadn’t called him Bloob since… well, at least since he’d called me Sissy.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” he said. It sounded like he was already close to crying. I would’ve made fun of him—but I wasn’t much better off, myself…
After a minute, I wiped my eyes. “So, Grand Vizier Blueblood,” I said, “it’s your job to give me advice…?”
“Sure,” he said. “Not sure it’ll be any good, though.”
I glanced up at him. “I could still use it, I think. Even if it’s just for perspective.”
He sat up a little straighter. “Fire away, then,” he said.
It took me a moment or two to gather my thoughts. Finally, I spoke.
“Where do I go from here?” I asked.
He frowned. “Pardon?”
“What do I do now?” I asked. “Every time I try to be a Princess, I screw it up somehow, or I make Loonie mad at me, or both. Not that she needs the help,” I added. “She already hates me.” I looked down at my lap. “It’s my fault Fluttershy was in the Menagerie tonight, you know,” I said. “I almost killed her—killed all my friends—not to mention half the ponies that actually matter in Canterlot—all because I wanted to do something for my friends.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know how to figure it out. Honestly, I…” I sighed. “Honestly, I kinda wish you could be Princess. That way, I wouldn’t have to.” I looked up at him. “How do I fix this?” I asked. “What should I do?”
He took in a breath, then let it out slowly. “That’s… a lot to ask for my first act as big brother in half a decade,” he said.
“Gotta start somewhere,” I said with a grin—but the grin quickly fell. “But, even so… it’s an honest question.”
He looked down and thought for a moment. “Cece, I… I think...” He swallowed. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but…”
“What is it?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “I think what you should do next,” he said slowly, “is apologize to Aunt Luna.”
“What?!” I shrieked, sitting bolt upright. “I bare my soul to you, and you—!”
He stood. “I know, I know!” he cried. “Just—just chill out for a second, okay?" He scowled. "Let me finish before you jump down my throat, at least.”
I closed my mouth, then sat back in the bed and crossed my arms. Blueblood let out a long sigh.
“Listen,” he said. “I know you hate her. And she’s given you plenty of reason to, but…” He swallowed. “I… I think there’s more happening than you know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you saying?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just… she’s having a hard time, too. I’ve been watching her since she came back, and…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you two are all that different, in the end.” He smirked. “For one—she can be quite the bitch herself.”
Despite myself, I smiled a little.
He ran his hoof through his mane. “If you’re asking me what to do,” he said, “that’s where I’d start. Seriously. Sure, she’s old fashioned, and rides you hard, but I really do think she means well…” He smirked a little. “Deep down, at least. And, if you want advice on being a Princess, well—she was in charge for like fifty years before she…” He swallowed. “...disappeared.”
I stared at him. He looked away.
“She’s been awful to you. But, you have to admit—you’re… kinda awful to her, too. And I think, despite everything, she’s too proud to be the first to cross that bridge.” He looked back at me. “If you want help, I really think she could help you,” he said. “But I honestly think that it needs to be you who makes the first move.”
I stared at him in silence. I stared at him for a long time—to the point where he looked away and laughed to himself. He looked back and opened his mouth—
“Fine,” I said, cutting him off.
He closed his mouth in surprise, then opened it again. “Really?” he asked.
I nodded curtly. “I’m trusting you this time, Bloob,” I said. “And I hope to Harmony I’m not going to regret it.” I sat up, then peeled off the thin hospital blanket. “Here,” I said, “help me up.”
He took a step forward. “Cece, what are you doing?” he asked, alarmed. “You shouldn’t be out of bed—”
“I’m Princess. Who’s gonna stop me?” I said. I used my magic to drag the IV stand closer, then leaned on it like a cane.
“Cece, I’m serious,” Blueblood said, his voice hardening. “If you leave now, you could—”
“Blueblood,” I interrupted, “remember what you said? Headstrong, stubborn, bit of a bitch? I’m going,” I said.
Blueblood hesitated. I watched him debate with himself for a second, then sigh. “If I can’t stop you, will you at least tell me where you’re going?” he asked.
“Home,” I said. “I got something I need to do.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I’m already awake, and I gotta get up in a few hours anyway.”
“Cece, I—”
I turned to look at him. “Blueblood,” I said. “After I get the sun up, I promise I’ll come back. I just need an hour or two.” I took a halting step forward, then smiled. “You asked me to trust you,” I said. “Now I need you to trust me.”
He thought for a moment, then smirked a little. “Alright, then,” he said. “You’re sure I can’t stop you?”
I smiled back. “You’ve never managed before.”
He sighed. “I’ll try and keep the doctors off your back then,” he said. “Just... don’t do anything stupid?”
“No promises,” I replied. I turned and started hobbling towards the door.
Behind me, Blueblood cleared his throat. “Love you, Sissy,” he said.
I stopped with my hoof on the door handle. I swallowed once or twice, then turned back to look at him.
The mare in the bed lay still. Her mane was bluish-silver, and her coat a deep, almost navy blue. She was ancient, her face so wrinkled you could almost call it shriveled. But she had a strange sort of beauty about her, too.
Not to mention the black Peytral around her neck. Or the fact that she had both wings and a horn.
I glanced up at Twilight, who sat beside me. She looked nervously at me, then turned back to watch the mare again. The mare had collapsed soon after the Nightmare had vanished... after she had… appeared… and no one was quite sure what to do with her. I’d ordered her brought back here, to the Palace Infirmary, but mostly because I wasn’t sure what else we could do with her. Beyond that, well…
The Infirmary offered other benefits, too. The nurses were mostly used to dealing with scrapes and common colds, but they could do one thing Canterlot General couldn’t: keep the public out. I’d asked the guards to keep visitors away, including and especially the media; I didn’t want word of… of whoever she was getting out until I knew for sure whether she was a friend or an enemy. And I’d asked the rest of Twilight’s friends to stay in Ponyville; though I could have definitely used their help, it didn’t seem the right time for a crowd. I’d asked Twilight to tag along, though—the mare seemed to know her, somehow, and I wanted to know why. And besides, It just felt… right to have her here. So the only ponies in the infirmary were me, Twi, one doctor, two nurses—and a mysterious Princess that none of us had ever seen.
I glanced down at the mare’s chest—down at her Peytral. I had never seen it before in my life, but I’d read about it before… and I’d be willing to bet more than I cared to admit that it was the long-lost Peytral Ferrum, the Iron Peytral. And in it, the Moon Stone… Though, what she was doing with it, I was afraid to guess...
The mare in the bed stirred.
I sat up a little straighter, and Twilight gasped. I heard the nurses behind us stop chatting. It seemed like the very room itself held its breath.
And then, the mare opened her eyes.
She stared up at the ceiling, then blinked owlishly once or twice. Slowly, she sat up a little, then looked around the room, saying nothing. Finally, she looked at me.
When our eyes met, she flinched a little. I watched her carefully; she still looked like she couldn't see past the end of her nose, but she had apparently seen enough. Something about me scared her, though what that was, I couldn't begin to guess.
And then, she slid her gaze over to Twilight. Instantly, she brightened—but, just as quickly, she deflated. The joy on her face gave way to a guarded disappointment, a sort of sorrow, only half-expressed.
The mare dragged her gaze back to me, then swallowed.
“If you please,” she said quietly, “what are your names?”
“I’m Cece—” I began.
Her ears twitched, and she winced. “Please,” she said, “not so loud. And…” She held up one trembling hoof, shading her eyes from the sun.
I turned around to see one of the nurses, holding a clipboard, standing a few feet behind me. I nodded, and she scurried over to the window and drew the curtains.
The mare in the bed sighed deeply. “Thank you,” she said.
I swallowed. “Like I was saying,” I said, quieter this time, “I am Princess Celestia.”
Her eyes widened. “Celestia,” she repeated slowly. “That… that was my mother’s name…”
I wasn’t sure how to respond—there had been lots of Celestias, after all—so I said nothing.
After a moment, Twilight coughed a little. “And my name is… Twilight Sparkle, Ma’am.” She shook her head. “Your Highness.”
The mare nodded graciously at the title. “My name is Luna, of Equestria,” she said quietly. “I am Princess of the Moon.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Twilight, however, looked up sharply.
“Really?” she asked. “The same Luna from a thousand years ago—?”
“Twi,” I hissed reproachfully.
The mare—Luna—froze. She stared at us, eyes wide and unblinking, for several moments. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“I… see,” she said finally. “A thousand years. That is… unexpected.”
For a long time, none of us said anything. Finally, Luna swallowed.
“Please,” she said into the silence, “where are we?”
I looked up, glad of the distraction.
“In the infirmary,” I said. “At the Palace in Canterlot.”
When she heard the name, her eyes widened. “C-Canterlot?” she breathed.
I nodded. “Yes.”
She stared at me a moment longer, then slowly lowered herself back onto the bed, letting out a long breath. For several seconds, she stared wordlessly up at the ceiling. I glanced uncertainly at Twilight, who stared silently back at me.
I turned back to Luna—and frowned. Something very strange was happening.
Luna was tall, no doubting that. But, ever since we’d brought her here, she seemed… slight. Fragile. Delicate. It was almost as if a stiff breeze could break her apart and blow her away. And, ever since she’d woken, her eyes had been full of a sort of frightened deference, like she was scared to impose on ponies she had just met.
But now, there was a scowl on her face, and a growing fire in her eyes.
She sat up again, but this time, she drew herself up to her full height. She took a deep breath, and, as I stared at her, her gaze hardened. Twenty years fell away from her in an instant. Before my very eyes, she turned from bone china to steel by pure force of will.
She stared down her nose at me. “I should prefer to make my convalescence in privacy,” she said coldly. “I ask that you free up a private bedchamber for me at your next convenience. With the attendants and furniture a bedchamber for a Princess would require, of course.”
“B-but—” I stammered.
“If you please,” she interrupted. “And I should like an appointment with a lens-grinder as soon as can be arranged,” she continued. “I am in need of a new pair of spectacles.”
I stared up at her, bewildered, even as I felt a growing rage in my own heart.
I’m the Princess. Who does she think she is, to order me around—!
I nodded. “Yes, of course,” I said delicately. “A-at my next convenience.” I swallowed. “Anything for a Princess…”
* * *
In the months since, I’ve occasionally reflected on that moment—on the first time I heard Loonie’s voice, and on how quickly her demeanor shifted. I asked myself, for months, why I hadn’t taken her sudden demands as a warning, and somehow shut things down right there.
But now, as I hobbled back from the hospital myself, I started to wonder…
I’d always thought that the most telling moment in that entire visit had been the moment she stared down her nose at me, the moment I first saw the real Luna.
But now, I found myself wondering whether the real Luna wasn’t the one that made the demands, but the one that lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, hearing that everything she had ever known had slipped away from her.
I didn’t need to push open the door to the ballroom: it already hung partway off its hinges. I ducked under the yellow CAUTION tape and stepped inside. I was still a little woozy from the drugs, but at least I’d convinced the doctors to let me leave the IV behind--not to mention give me a brace for my bad leg.
As I stepped inside, the breath caught in my throat. The hall was dark, but even by the silvery light of the moon, I could see the devastation. Half the ceiling had collapsed when the pillar fell, and broken stone and shattered glass lay scattered all across the floor. Everywhere, there were upended tables and chairs, shards of shattered china, broken lamps and bent candlesticks. It looked like a museum had exploded: unimaginable luxury, and total devastation all at once.
My throat tightened. I had made it out, more-or-less alright… I just hope that no one else was hurt too badly because of me—
Crack.
I looked up. I had thought the room was empty, but I had heard, clear as day, the sound of breaking china. I narrowed my eyes and swept the room again with my gaze—and this time, I saw her.
Luna.
She stood by the fallen pillar, facing away from me, still wearing her gown from the Gala. She picked halfheartedly at the debris, then turned and looked out at the moon. For several long seconds, she did not move.
As I watched her, I realized that I was frightened. I wasn’t the only one to blame for what had happened tonight, but I doubted that Luna would be especially concerned with the intricacies of who was guilty. Either way, this was my single biggest screw-up to date, bar none. If Luna had rode my ass before, I couldn’t imagine what she was going to do to me now...
Butshe could help you, Bloob had said. If only you made the first move...
I swallowed, then descended the steps.
As I walked, my brace banged on the floor.
Clip-clop, clip-BONK, clip-clop, clip-BONK.
I winced, but I clip-BONKed my way down the stairs and across the floor. The walk was only a hundred yards or so, but it felt like miles—and Luna did not move a muscle.
I clip-BONKed up to within twenty feet of her, then stopped. She still hadn’t moved: she still stood there, turned three-quarters away from me, cold and still as if she’d been carved from black marble.
I watched her for another moment—and my eyes widened. No, she wasn’t perfectly still: she was trembling. She was trembling, and her chest was rising and falling in short, jerky bursts, and tears glistened in her eyes. For the entire time I’d known her, Luna had kept her emotions in check—but now, unless I missed my guess, she was fighting to hold back a storm the likes of which I’d never seen.
But I couldn’t back out now. Not when I’d come so far. Not with Bloob behind me.
So I swallowed. And licked my lips.
“Aunt Luna,” I said, my voice echoing in the vast emptiness of the hall.
Luna pinned her ears back, and I flinched. I hesitated, then swallowed again. “I… I just wanted to let you know,” I said, “that I’m sorry for ruining the Gala. I’m sure you were looking forward to it, too…" I looked down at the floor. "...and I’m sorry that it ended like this.”
The echoes of my voice died away. For several heartbeats, she did not react. Then, she opened her mouth.
“You are sorry,” she repeated, her voice low and cold.
I nodded. “I am.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said, “no, you are not.”
She looked over her shoulder at me, and I shrank back. She snarled, then turned to face me. Her gaze had always been ice—but now, her eyes were full of fire.
“I warned you,” she hissed, stalking forward. “I warned you. Every single day, for the past four months, I warned you this would happen. And now you are sorry.”
I took a step backwards, away from her. “Aunt Lu—”
“Shut up,” she spat. My eyes bulged, and I closed my mouth with a snap. ”You insolent child—when will you realize that there is more at stake than fun? Equestria lives and dies by us—and to spend all your waking hours crying about the weight of your Peytral is mere—” She gave a rasping sort of snarl.
I glanced up. Her horn was starting to glow at the tip. “Aunt Luna,” I said firmly, forcing the tremble out of my voice, “you need to calm down—”
“I will not be calm!” she roared, lightning arcing up her horn. “You shirk your responsibilities! You flounce off whenever you please! You insult and defy those who would help you! And the Sun Stone—your sacred charge, your one, single responsibility, the only thing that keeps Equestria alive—to you, it is merely a burden you would be rid of as soon as possible. You disgust me,” she spat.
I backed away from her, trying to fight the tears down, but she kept advancing, the fire in her eyes growing higher, the light in her horn growing brighter.
“And then, tonight,” she growled, “I allowed you to attend the Gala because it seemed you had learned. But you took this opportunity—this one chance to change all our fates—and you destroyed it. You were more worried about you and your friends having fun than you were about showing Equestria that you could be the Princess it needs. And look what you did,” she growled, throwing a hoof wide. “Half the hall destroyed. A dozen ponies injured, hundreds more insulted. You were supposed to make allies tonight, to rally support behind you—but instead, you broke hearts, broke bones, and made enemies. All because you were more concerned with fun than the burdens you must bear.”
I bumped up against a pillar and let out a little shriek. And still, she advanced, towering over me, fiery anger and open hatred in her eyes. She lowered her head to meet my gaze.
“Aunt Luna,” I said, my voice trembling, “I know. And I’m sorry. And I’m trying—”
“It is far too late now for sorry,” she hissed. “You’ve made it clear through your actions that your people mean nothing to you.” She glared down at me, eyes full of wrath and hatred. When she spoke again, her voice was suddenly low and dangerous. “If this is the path you’ve chosen,” she said, “I may as well grant your wish. Give me your Peytral, and I will give Equestria the Queen it deserves…” she narrowed her eyes. “Or will you defy me again, Princess Helia?”
My eyes widened. I knew, somewhere in the back of my brain, that there was no room for error. That this was the single most important moment of my short life. That what I said next would determine if the sun ever rose again.
But, even with that knowledge, I couldn’t help myself.
“Helia?” I squawked.
Luna’s eyes bulged, and she jerked her head back. She started trembling again, and she swallowed, several times, without speaking. She almost seemed to shrink a bit before my very eyes.
“Aunt Luna,” I said carefully, “what did you just call me?”
She swallowed again. “C-Cecelia,” she said, her voice shaking. “Cece,” she corrected herself. “Celestia.”
I slowly shook my head. “No,” I said. “You called me Helia.”
She flinched as if I’d struck her, then she bowed her head. “I did,” she said, in a small voice. “I did.”
I peered into her face, and she looked away. I took a deep breath, ready to snap at her—but then, something very strange happened.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
There’s more happening than you know, Blueblood had said.
What are you saying?
I don’t know. Just… she’s having a hard time, too.
“Luna,” I said gently, “What’s going on?”
Luna turned away.
“Aunt Luna,” I said, taking a half-step forward, “please—tell me. I won’t judge.”
Luna took a deep, trembling breath, then looked up at me. “What do you know,” she said quietly, “of myself and Helia?”
I shrugged. “Just what’s in the history books,” I said. “Second Princess. Built Canterlot. And she—” I hesitated. “She fought you. You were jealous of her getting the Peytral instead of your own daughter, so you turned into...” I swallowed, leaving the name unsaid.
She chuckled darkly, but the laugh faltered. She sighed again.
“That’s… half-right,” she admitted. “Though, jealous isn’t the word…”
She gazed around at the hall. “She… was like you, in many ways, Helia was,” she said. “Young. Headstrong. Arrogant. Persuasive, too.” She looked up at me, with eyes that were suddenly deep and sad. “I think you must have inherited your gift for words from her.” She sighed. “But…”
She glanced at me again, and I nodded encouragingly. She flashed a hint of a smile, then continued.
“It was a hard time, you understand,” she said. “Equestria had never before had a Princess, let alone two. There were dozens of claimants to the Sun Throne, and a thousand more opinions on who should get it. I…” she hesitated. “I will admit, my Selene was one of the popular alternatives. And she would have made a good Princess, too—she was kind, and wise, and level-headed…” She chuckled again. “She took after her father, she did…”
I bit my lip, but said nothing.
Luna glanced up at me, then back down at the floor. “But, despite my opinions,” she continued, “Helia was the most logical choice. So, when they asked me to settle the dispute, I chose her.”
My eyes widened. “You chose Helia?”
She nodded. “I did. After a fashion, at least. The legalists and lawyers came to me and presented the various cases, then asked me to make a ruling. And, despite my misgivings, I chose Helia.”
“So—you’re—!”
She looked up at me again. I flinched—but her look this time was neither ice nor fire. Instead, there lay a deep, bottomless sorrow.
“I never said I was guiltless, Your Highness,” she said. “Only that I was innocent of the charges.”
I shut my mouth, then sat on the floor.
Luna chuckled again. “Indeed,” she said, then took a deep breath. “I don’t blame her for consolidating her power, for controlling the narrative, after I… after we fought. But still, it was... unpleasant to hear what she’d said about me.”
I nodded. It may have been the drugs, but my head was definitely spinning now.
Luna sighed, then sat as well. “You were like her in other ways, too,” she said quietly. “She didn’t want to listen to me either. But, though you are simply… difficult, she was…” Luna shook her head. “Do you know the first thing she did?” she asked. “Her first official act after she was crowned Princess? Before her mother was even cold in the ground?”
“She… she started building Canterlot, didn’t she?” I replied.
Luna smiled sadly. “No,” she said. “She started building the pleasure palace that became Canterlot.”
My eyes grew even wider. “P-pleasure palace?”
Luna nodded. “During the biggest political crisis in centuries,” she said, “when even one misstep could spell doom for us all, Helia lifted funds from a treasury that could ill afford it, and commissioned a new palace. A palace of marble and gold. Built on a mountaintop, far away from the plains where our people lived. Filled with gardens, fountains, and a menagerie. And surrounded by a wall that would do nothing to keep out enemies, but everything to keep out… undesirables.” She looked up at me. “Do you see?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Do you see why we fought? It was I who turned to the Old Magics… but it was she who…” Luna started to tremble again. “I wanted to help… to show her how to be better… but she… she… she twisted my words, and pushed me… pushed and needled until… until—” She trembled. “And you—” she said, her voice low and rough. She hesitated, then looked up at me, anger and sorrow and panic all mixed-up in those eyes of hers. “You’re making the same mistakes as she,” she said.
The breath caught in my throat. Luna looked away.
“You are proud,” she said, her voice low and rough. “And headstrong. And you are more worried about yourself—your own happiness, your own comfort, your own prestige—than doing what needs to be done.” She swallowed, a jerky, painful motion. “If it comes to it… if the choice became serving yourself, or saving Equestria…” She shook her head. “I do not know… I do not think you could...”
She bit her lip. And, suddenly, she began to cry.
As I watched her sitting there, hunched over and broken, my eyes widened. The pony sitting in front of me was no longer Princess Loonie, my slave-driver. Nor was she Nightmare Moon, my usurper and destined enemy. For the first time since I’d known her—possibly, for the first time in her life—the pony sitting in front of me was merely Luna.
Luna—old, frightened, and alone. She’d woken in a world that had forgotten everything about her, save for her greatest mistake, the one thing that she, herself, could never forget. A world where everything and everyone she’d loved had turned to dust a thousand years ago. The two ponies in the world that mattered most to her were myself and Twilight—a little Helia, and a little Selene. One, she thought she could save; the other, she thought could save her. She had tried everything she knew how, but, no matter what she did, Twilight feared her for it, and I hated her.
Just like the world feared and hated her. Just like she feared and hated herself.
I swallowed, already feeling the tears rising. I sat there, watching her, for a long while. Should I leave her be? Wait for her to finish? Should I start crying, too?
But I did none of those things. After a long moment, I stood. Then, slowly, I walked towards her—and, for the first time in my life, I wrapped my arms around her.
To my surprise, Luna hugged me back and buried her face in my coat. As she sobbed, my mind frantically spun, trying to process exactly what was happening.
This was… new. Luna—old, hard-nosed, battleaxe Luna—stood so much taller than me, I hadn’t realized how thin she was. As I held her in my arms, she felt so slight, so fragile, so weak… I could feel her bones rubbing together underneath her skin. For just a second, I was afraid that I would never be able to let go of her—because, if I did, she would fall to the floor and shatter.
But then, something about the way I held her triggered a memory. Something deep inside my brain bubbled up to the surface. There had been a time, so long ago, when my world had fallen apart and my wings were brand-new, and all I needed was to know that someone cared. That someone was there for me. And, back then, someone had held me, just like this...
And suddenly, I knew what I had to do.
I cleared my throat. The noise made Luna look up. I just smiled back.
“I, Celestia the Seventeenth of Equestria,” I began, in slow, stately tones, “Sixty-Third Princess of the Sun and bearer of the Peytral Aurum, do, in my need, call on Luna of Equestria, First Princess of the Moon, to ask her a boon.”
Luna’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, but she remained silent.
“With the power granted me by virtue of my burden, I hereby call on Her Highness to…” I swallowed. “...to take a vacation.”
Luna’s face froze, in an expression that I would have treasured an hour ago.
“To take a vacation,” I repeated, “to the township of Ponyville, where I ask of her to spend time with her granddaughter, Twilight Sparkle of Equestria. She shall be relieved of all her royal duties save one: she shall continue to raise and set the moon, as this is a task only she can complete. And, beside this one duty, I shall add a second…” I smiled. “She shall focus upon her own health and well-being, body and soul, to the exclusion of all other burdens.” I took a deep breath. ”This is my pronouncement as Princess of Equestria,” I said. “May it so be.”
Luna swallowed. “I, Luna of Equestria, accept this charge,” she said numbly. She reached up and took off her glasses, then wiped at her eyes with the back of her hoof. “That… that was a Royal Supplication,” she said. “You said it perfectly.”
I shrugged. “I’ve had time to study lately,” I said.
“So it appears,” she said, replacing her glasses. She sighed, then looked down at the floor. “Though, I must add that it is a bit of a shame that you had to waste your first Supplication on a joke at my expense…”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t a joke.”
Luna looked up at me again in frank astonishment, her glasses tilting to one side. I giggled, then reached out and straightened them for her.
“Aunt Luna,” I said, “I may not be the best at… well, anything, but one thing I am good at is ponies. I know what they’re feeling, how to talk to them, and how to make them feel good. And, if I’m right…” I swallowed. “You… you’re not in a good place right now.”
She shrank back and looked away from me. I permitted myself a small grin.
“You want my honest-to-Harmony opinion?” I smiled, then squeezed her a little tighter. “I think you need to have a spa day. And a cake binge. And some time with a bunny or two. A chance to feel the wind under your wings. And a good, hard run. And a lazy weekend lying in the sun and reading cheap paperbacks. And you need to do all that, not because you have to, or because everyone expects you, or because Equestria hangs in the balance, but because you want to, darn it. And because it’ll make you happy.” I smiled again. “And I know just the ponies who can help with that.”
I was seized with the sudden, mad desire to demand she write me progress reports—but then, deep in her eyes, I saw something new: a mist, faint but obscuring, starting to rise up. For a moment, I was confused: had I said the wrong thing? Pushed her too far?
I realized she was already speaking again. I forced those thoughts aside and focused:
“—simply cannot leave,” she pleaded. “You need me here—and I cannot just abandon—”
I tried to smile, but the mist in her eyes was growing thicker.
“Listen, Aunt Luna,” I said, “The Royalty has survived whores, homebodies, traitors, thieves, and madmares.” I cracked a smile. “I think it can survive a teenager who’s still working herself out. At least for six months or so.”
Her gaze was growing distant. Cold. I felt my gut twist; I was losing her.
“Six months?” she repeated. “I hope you are joking with me, Celestia…”
“I’m serious, Aunt Luna,” I said, a faint note of desperation creeping into my voice. “Learn to focus on yourself—" I gulped. "—please—!”
“That… might be helpful,” she conceded.
And the curtain fell. That magical moment of vulnerability, of honesty, had slipped away. The mare in my arms was no longer Luna—she was Loonie once more.
Loonie pried herself out of my grasp, then stood. She adjusted her glasses and dusted herself off, then swallowed.
“You have obligated me,” she said slowly, “and I have accepted that obligation. So, to Ponyville I will go.” She took a deep breath. “You are quite the charmer, Celestia. Honestly, I envy you. And, though you know how to say the right words…” She cleared her throat. “I feel I have made my opinions on your ability to govern quite clear. And your performance tonight has done little to persuade me otherwise.”
I nodded, slowly. I felt numb. What exactly had happened?
“I-I understand,” I stammered. “But I have an advisor now—someone who can help me spot the sharks—”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell.”
I swallowed. “Blueblood,” I said.
She blinked, and I saw a little of the old fear flash across her face.
“You will excuse me,” she said carefully, “if I do not find that information reassuring.”
I nodded. “He deserves it.” I hesitated. “We deserve it.”
She pursed her lips. “Perhaps,” she said.
I cringed. In her mouth, that single word was a rebuke.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Finally, Luna cleared her throat.
“Well, then,” she said. “I suppose I should begin packing.”
And, with that, she turned and walked from the room.
I watched her go, stunned. Slowly, my haunches sank until I was sitting again. I found myself taking deep, gasping breaths, doing my damndest not to burst into tears then and there.
The door at the end of the hall creaked open a little, and Blueblood slipped inside. I just looked away as he made his own long walk across what was left of the ballroom.
As he approached me, he slowed; then, he stepped close and sat on the floor beside me.
“So,” he said, “didn’t go so well?
I scoffed, but he just sighed.
“Well, really,” he said, “what did you expect?”
I sniffled. “It works for Twilight,” I muttered.
He looked at me questioningly.
“It works for Twilight,” I repeated, avoiding his gaze. “Whenever she has a problem, she talks it out and everything goes back to normal. Says so in all her letters.” I threw my arms up in the air. “All she has to do is have a song and dance, and everything’s hunky-dory again! But with Luna, she—”
I stopped speaking, then bit the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t going to cry. I wasn’t. Not in front of Blueblood. And not over Luna, of all ponies…
I almost heard Blueblood smirk. “That’s your problem, then,” he said. “You just needed to end with a musical number and everything would’ve—”
I snarled and rounded on him, but he scooted away, laughing, and threw up his hooves in a defensive gesture.
“Just kidding, Cece,” he laughed.
I scowled. “Not funny,” I muttered grumpily.
Blueblood just sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. He scooted closer again, then hesitated. Slowly, carefully, he reached out one arm, and put it around my shoulders. After a split second, I leaned into him.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Cece,” he said gently. “I think you did good. You did and said all the right things…”
I frowned at him. “You were listening?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He looked down at me. “Is… that a problem?”
I snuggled a little closer. “Maybe,” I said.
He shrugged. “Maybe I won’t do it next time, then.”
I said nothing.
He squeezed me a little. “Either way: I think you did everything you could. But Luna’s a hard case. She’s full of guilt and anger, and she’s let it eat at her for… well…”
“A thousand years?” I muttered darkly.
“Maybe not that long,” he said. “Maybe so. Either way, she’s… not in a good place. And you can’t really expect her to change overnight. Can you?”
I was quiet for a bit. “No,” I admitted, finally.
“But you did get her to open up, at least,” he said. “For the first time since she came back, I think. And she was talking about some pretty sensitive stuff. You should be proud you got her that far,” he added. He lit his horn, then tugged the folded-up handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and passed it to me. I took it, then blew my nose with an undignified honk.
“I think you did pretty damn good tonight, all things considered,” he said. “Yeah, the ballroom could use a new coat of paint…”
I chuckled darkly. Blueblood shook his head and smiled.
“But I think your friends had fun,” he continued. “Or, at least, you showed them you cared enough to put in a good effort. And you did the best you could with Aunt Luna. Now, all she needs is time, I think.”
He squeezed me tighter, then bent down and kissed me on the forehead.
“Proud of you, Sis,” he said.
I looked up at him and smiled.
“Dammit, Blueblood,” I said, “you’re gonna make me cry…”
He laughed. “Take your time, Sissy,” he said. “After all, that’s what big brothers are for, right?”
I sniffled once or twice, then lit my horn, wadded up his snotty handkerchief, and tucked it back into his pocket.
“Hey,” he cried, dismayed.
I just giggled. “Not like it’s gonna ruin your jacket any more, Bloob,” I said.
He rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. I leaned a little closer to him.
“So,” I said, “what happens next?”
He rolled his eyes. “Next,” he said, “we get you back to the hospital, young lady. You made a promise.”
“I know,” I said. “But…” I swallowed. “Could we stop for a doughnut on the way?"
He cocked his head. “A doughnut?” he repeated.
I nodded. “Doughnut Joe’s. Best pastry in Canterlot. He’s open real late, and…” I swallowed. “Well, Twi and I used to go there all the time with our other friends. After something big, like tests or a game. So,” I said, grinning, “wanna commemorate this disaster with a bear claw or something?”
“Actually,” he said haughtily, “I was feeling that hole-in-the-wall curry stand downtown.”
“Curry? Really?”
“Really. Nothing like a late-night eggplant vindaloo." He grinned. "Shiny and I used to see who could eat the most without breaking a sweat.”
I made a face.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “It’s good.”
I giggled. “You’re weird, Bloob.”
“Maybe,” he replied, then reached in and hugged me, careful to avoid my bandages. “But, weird or not, I’m for sure your brother,” he finished. “And, from now on, I’m gonna do my best to act like it.”
I wrapped my good arm around him.
“Thanks, Blue,” I said. I hesitated, then grinned. “Thanks, big brudder.”
He groaned a little, and I just laughed.
Epilogue: Hearth's Warming Classics For Brass Ensembles
I trotted up the last few steps to the front door of Twilight’s old home, shivering a little. I blew into my hooves, then pulled my scarf tighter and shook the snow from the back of my hoodie. Bloob, carrying the big cardboard box full of wrapped presents, rolled his eyes.
“Sissy,” he said, in a mock-warning tone, “what did I tell you about wearing a thicker jacket?”
I grinned. “That sassing your Princess was once a capital offence?” I replied. “And that the law is technically still on the books, though it hasn’t been applied in centuries?”
He chuckled. “You can be such a pill when you want to be,” he said, bumping the doorbell with his hip. From inside the home, we heard the faint, familiar ding-dong.
“But you still love me anyways,” I said.
He nodded. “I do,” he said. “Even though you insist on making it hard, sometimes.”
I smiled and gave him a quick side-hug, squeezing a “Gack!” out of him. I laughed.
From inside, we heard a high, cheerful voice.
“No, please,” it said, “I shall get it—after all, you have already done so much—”
The latch clicked, and the door swung open. When I saw the mare standing behind it, I froze. Beside me, Blueblood gulped.
Just inside the door hung a festive bunch of mistletoe. And, underneath the mistletoe, in a faintly ridiculous red-and-green Hearth's Warming sweater, stood Aunt Luna.
She still wore those pince-nez spectacles of hers, and her mane was up in its same, severe bun, despite the little sprig of holly she’d added for the occasion. And it seemed that a few of her wrinkles had fallen away since last I’d seen her. But, aside from that, she was the same mare that had haunted my days and my nightmares since she returned on the summer solstice.
As soon as she’d seen us, she’d frozen as well. The only part of her that moved was her eyes, which jerked their gaze unsteadily over me, taking in my red-and-white scarf, my CHS Band hoodie with a sweater underneath, and my mane tied back in a simple-but-undignified ponytail.
I’d rehearsed for this moment. I knew I had. I even had a speech prepared: Your Highness, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but it’s Hearth's Warming; could we please put our grudges aside, just for tonight, etc. However, I found that, in the moment, my words somehow got lost on their way from my brain to my tongue.
I was a half-second away from turning around and walking right back home when it happened:
Luna’s face fell, and she looked away. I cocked my head slightly. Her expression was full of surprise and dismay, of course, but also… fear? And shame? What—?
At that instant, a voice from inside the house called out.
“Granny,” came the unsteady cry, “whoozit atta door? Shut it already, it’s cold out—”
Aunt Velvet tottered unsteadily into view, an open bottle of cider held in her magic. As soon as she saw us, she paused, then squealed.
“Cece!” she cried. “And Blue! Happy Hearth's Warming! Come on in, the whole family’s here now—!”
Aunt Luna turned, and, as she did, the ice in her gaze melted away. In its place, her expression filled with genuine warmth.
“My dear Mrs. Velvet,” she said, taking the bottle away from her, “I daresay you have been wassailing with entirely too much enthusiasm.” She sniffed at the bottle, then drew back with a sharp whoof. “Especially with stuff this strong,” she added.
“Aw, c’mon,” Auntie whined, as she turned and headed deeper into the house. “It’s Hearth's Warming, after all…”
Luna followed behind her, then glanced at the label of the bottle and stopped cold. She stood still for a second, then growled. “Mrs. Velvet,” she snarled, “if I discover this is the last bottle of the Sweet Apple stock, then I shall not be amused! Furthermore—!”
Her voice faded as she reached the living room. I elbowed Bloob, then rolled my eyes at him. He smiled, then nodded at the door. I smiled back and stepped inside, with him following close behind.
* * *
The fire had burned low in the grate. The plates from Hearth's Warming Eve dinner lay piled high in the sink, leftovers already stowed away in the fridge. Aunt Velvet and Uncle Nightie sat in the loveseat, Uncle reading A Hearth’s Warming Carol to himself, Auntie snoring loudly on his shoulder. Shiny and Bloob sat at the kitchen table, making a valiant effort at finishing off the pies, while arguing, with almost religious fervor, over whether Blueblood should try Ogres & Oubliettes, or whether Shiny should try Vampony: The Masquerade. And Aunt Luna sat in a rocking chair by the fire, her cross-stitching lying forgotten on her lap, nodding along to a record of Hearth’s Warming carols.
Twilight and I sat on the sofa. On the coffee table in front of us, between our mugs of hot chocolate, lay an open folder with several sheets of thin paper spread over it.
I picked up one of the papers and examined it. It was covered in thin, sweeping strokes, somehow both delicate and bold at the same time. The sketch showed a tall, featureless pony, with both wings and a horn, her mane pulled up in a bun. She wore a surprisingly detailed dress—form-fitting through the chest, blooming out into a wide, billowing skirt below the waist, with long sleeves and a high, pointed collar. Her face was hidden by a domino mask, with a lacy trim. Wispy gauze had been sketched in, showing a scarf, and a short train falling behind. The artist had added some color with delicate pastels: the scarf and the train were a deep, indigo blue, while the dress and skirt were solid black. I peered closer: down in the lower corner, in Luna’s distinct, loopy handwriting, were the letters N.M.M.?
I lowered the paper slightly and looked over the top of it at Luna, still listening to her music. I looked back down at the sketch and nodded a little.
“It’s… good. Really good,” I said. “But, uh… isn’t it a little premature? I mean, it’s December, and she’s already working on her Nightmare Night costume…?”
Twilight smiled and nodded. “Uh-huh. She’s still brainstorming at this point, but I think she likes this one best. I mean—” she gestured at the folder. “She’s proud enough of the design to bring it to Hearth's Warming, after all.”
“Isn’t she jumping the gun a little, though?” I asked. “I mean, ordinarily, she’s not very... keen… on people bringing up…” I glanced at Luna again. “...her past indiscretions,” I whispered.
“Well, you know how she is,” Twilight said. “Once she gets an idea in her head, she has a hard time letting it go. I’m sure you’ve noticed.…”
“No,” I replied flatly. “I hadn’t.”
Twilight giggled. “She… has her ups and downs,” she said. “Yeah, she can be a bear… but when she has a project…” she sighed. “Nightmare Night caught her off-guard this year. And… well, she took it a little hard, truth be told. But, now that she’s had time to process her feelings, I think the concept excites her. And she wants to be ready for next year, no matter what.”
“Even so,” I added, setting the paper down. “Why'd she choose...?" I gestured at the paper.
"Nightmare Moon?” Twilight finished for me.
I flinched at the name, but Twilight smiled.
“I thought it was tasteless at first, too,” she admitted. “But, the more I think about it… the more I think it’ll be good for her.”
I cocked my head. “Dressing as her worst mistake?” I asked. “How so?”
Twilight adjusted her glasses—though, this time, they were already on straight. “The fact that she’s willing to dress as her mistake is a good sign, I think,” she said. “Shows she’s not so hard on herself anymore. Shows that she’s starting to forgive herself—even if she doesn’t realize it just yet.” She took a sip of her cocoa. “And that’s always a good thing.”
We sat quietly for another moment. Luna’s carol ended, leaving the room silent save for the cracking of the fire; Luna herself had dozed off, it seemed.
“So, how is it?” I asked. “Living with her?”
“It’s nice,” she replied. “Granny’s really happy in Ponyville.”
I looked at Twi. “Granny?” I repeated.
Twi nodded. “Mh-hm,” she said.
I waited for her to continue, but she said nothing. After a moment, I cleared my throat.
“So… she’s been treating you well, then?” I asked.
“She is,” Twi said earnestly. “It’s… been a bit of a tight fit, with both of us in that tree, but she’s been… helpful.” She chuckled a little. “Took some stress off Miss Cheerilee when she took over my Guardianship, for one thing… but, more than that…” She hesitated, then picked up and absently stirred her cocoa. “When you said she was coming, I… I was afraid, at first. I thought that her coming to me for help with social skills was, well…” She swallowed. “...misguided. I still mess up so often… and to hear that I was supposed to help a mare five times my age, on top of trying to figure myself out…”
I noticed the mug in her hooves was trembling. I looked up into her face; she was staring at the floor, with a distant, detached look. I opened my mouth to speak, but Twilight spoke first.
“She’s… been good, though,” she said slowly. “I’ve been able to help her, and she’s been able to help me.” She quirked a little smile. “It turns out that we have a lot in common, after all…”
I smiled. “No need to talk like that, Twi,” I said jokingly. “You’re a good pony, and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’m sure that you’re not that bad off—
“I know you’re just joking, Cece,” she interrupted me. “But, you know what I meant.”
I shut my mouth. I recognized that tone—it was one of Luna’s. It was the “We’re done with this discussion” tone. But, coming from Twilight—somehow, it was softer. Sweeter. A gentle reproach, not a command.
I turned back to my own cocoa. I picked it up and stirred it a little, then watched the gentle, steaming swirls in my cup. As I stared down at my lap, I felt Twilight place a hoof on my shoulder.
“So, how are you?” she asked.
The question was so unexpected, it took me a second to realize she was talking to me. I looked up. “Huh?” I asked stupidly.
Twilight smiled. “How are you doing?” she asked. “I know we’ve written, but it’s not the same as in person, and I know you have a lot going on...” She trailed off, but continued to look up at me expectantly.
It took me a while to figure out how to begin. Usually, this conversation went the other way: it was always me who asked Twilight to open up the deepest recesses of her soul, and I couldn’t remember the last time she'd returned the favor. But now—I glanced over at her—Twilight was staring back at me, her expression open and honest and sincere.
She really did want to know how I was doing. And, to my faint surprise, I wanted to tell her.
I took a deep breath, then let it out. “Well…” I said slowly, “h-having Blue’s help has been… nice, actually. Doesn’t tell me what to do, exactly—just... provides some perspective.”
Twi nodded, but said nothing.
“A-and, I’ve been trying to do better about… about keeping a handle on things at the Palace,” I continued. “I have an actual office now, with an inbox and everything. Did you hear about that?”
She nodded. “I did,” she said.
“It’s… made things easier,” I said. “Trying to keep track of so much… and, I’ve been trying to follow Luna’s example,” I added. “Keep a little more on top of things, make sure I know what’s going on.”
The words were coming easier now.
“I don’t, like, rule with an iron hoof or anything,” I said. “In fact, I’m still not doing much of anything. Not yet. I mean, it’s hard to change the course of something so big as the Palace overnight. But I’m trying to make sure it’s my hoof on the helm, at least.” I hesitated. “Luna, she…” I swallowed. “She had some good ideas.” I paused, then turned to Twi with a mischievous grin. “And, if you tell her I said that, I’ll banish you to the moon myself, see if I don’t.”
Twilight laughed, then took a sip of her cocoa. I smiled at her, then looked back down.
“But, uh…” I sighed. “I-I’ve been trying. To, uh… exercise my talents. Follow my cutie mark. Whatever you want to call it.”
Twilight nodded. “How so?”
I looked up at her and smiled. “I thought my cutie mark was obvious, at first,” I said. “I thought it meant I was just going to be a Princess... moving the sun and all? But that’s not it.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “What I’m good at—what my special talent is—is making ponies happy. Filling them up with light and warmth, and helping everything look a little brighter.” I smiled. “I’m the People Princess,” I said. “I don’t have a war to fight, I don’t have a plague to cure, I don’t have a famine to end, or anything else like that I need to deal with—”
“Hopefully not,” Twi interjected.
“Hopefully,” I admitted. “But what I can do—what I’m trying to do—is make everypony feel like they matter. Like they’re cared for. Like, no matter what happens, someone out there gives a damn, and will be there for them when they need a shoulder to cry on.”
Twilight let out a low whistle. “Tall order,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah. Kinda is. But…” I took a deep breath, then let it out. “It’s what I’m good at. It’s… my calling, if I can say that. And, tall order that it is… I’m gonna make a good run of it, at least.”
The two of us sat quietly for a long moment. I suddenly realized I was exhausted—like I had just run a marathon. I sunk a little deeper into the couch.
“You can do it,” Twi said, finally. “I know you can. You’re… you’re kinda good at it, actually.”
I shot her a smile, then shook my head. “You don’t count, Twi,” I said. “The whole love and care thing kinda comes along with the best friends territory. You've done it before.”
“I wasn’t talking about me, silly,” she said. “I was talking about Granny.”
“Granny?” I squawked.
“Mm-hm,” Twi said, nodding. She smiled a little brighter, then glanced meaningfully at Luna, still dozing in the firelight.
In sleep, Luna looked... peaceful. Maybe not happy, but, at the very least… contented. She was no longer afraid, and her dreams—if dreams she had—were pleasant, too.
“She’s gotten better,” Twilight said, “because she doesn’t feel like she has to do everything herself anymore. Because she feels loved. Because she’s no longer so afraid. And you got her there, Cease,” she said, gently slugging me on the arm. “You did it. You got her to slow down, take her time, reconnect with the world that she’d left behind. So,” she added, leaning back against the sofa, “if you’re set on being the—the Princess of Friendship, or whatever—on ruling, not by fear, or arms, or law, but love—I think you’re going to do awesome.”
Twilight watched Luna doze for a few moments longer, a gentle smile on her lips. Suddenly, she frowned, then turned to me. “Cece,” she said carefully, “are you… crying?”
“No,” I murmured, then turned away. I sniffled.
Twi said nothing. She just waited a few seconds, then reached up and started to rub my back, high up between my shoulder blades. Not much—just enough to let me know that she was still there for me, despite everything. That, just like I’d showed Luna that someone was there for her, that someone—for what felt like the first time in maybe forever—was well and truly there for me.
And—though I wasn’t sure how to put it into words—that was exactly what I needed.
* * *
I pulled open the linen closet, and breathed in the old, familiar scent—dust, age, old spices, and the barest hint of pine resin. A home smell. A Hearth's Warming smell. I reached up and started pulling down blankets, saving my favorite—the purple one with the tassels—for last.
It was an old family tradition—one that I was planning on stealing when I was old enough to have traditions—that, on Hearth's Warming Eve, the entire family slept in the living room, around the fireplace. Mrs. Velvet had said that they started it just after she and Night Light had gotten married, back in their first, tiny apartment, when the heat had gone out and the only working radiator had been in the kitchen. Back then, it was just the two of them, snuggled under a blanket on the linoleum as the snow fell outside. They’d kept it going, of course—and had discovered, when Shiny and Twi came along, that their tradition also helped to keep inquisitive foals from getting up too early to open their presents. But more than that, it was just a time to be together, as family, in that special, quiet time before the dawn.
And, of course, since Bloob and I were practically family anyways, we knew how this was supposed to go. After we all more-or-less agreed that it was time to bed down, Shiny and Bloob brought in enough firewood for the night. Twilight went and got the pillows from all the rooms, and I retrieved the blankets from the linen closet. The routine hadn’t changed significantly in years.
Which is why it surprised me so much when Luna spoke.
“I can take those, if you please,” she said, inches behind me.
I yelped and dropped the blankets all over the floor. I spun and glared at her, but she stared back at me, eyes wide.
“I am sorry,” she said, “It was not my intention—”
Then, wordlessly, she bent down and started picking up the blankets. I grabbed one or two myself—before I noticed, suddenly, that she had her head bowed low, refusing to look at me.
I swallowed. “Is… everything alright?” I asked.
Luna looked up at me, surprised, her glasses magnifying her eyes. “Oh,” she said, after a moment, “o-of course. Everything is fine. Just…”
Inwardly, I groaned. I knew this was coming. It wasn’t like her to just let me slip by, unnoticed, without making some sort of remark…
She cleared her throat. “I was wondering,” she said delicately, “if I could, perhaps, have a word with you. In private.”
I raised one eyebrow. That wasn’t in the formula.
Aloud, I said, “Sure. Just…” I hefted the blankets.
“Of course, of course,” she said quickly, backing up a little.
The two of us walked back down the hall, me in front, Luna behind. The silence was deafening.
Night Light was sitting by the fire, stoking it with a poker. Twilight had already returned with a mound of pillows, and was in the middle of distributing them. She’d already laid one—thick, plush, with a lace cover—on the couch. Luna had asked, an hour or two before, if it would not be too much trouble for her to take the sofa—far be it from her to challenge tradition, of course, but the cushions would be ever so much easier on her old bones, et cetera…
I dropped the blankets beside Twi, who looked up with a question in her eyes. “Be just a sec,” I said. I turned to Luna. “Front porch okay?” I asked.
She nodded. Wordlessly, I walked to the front door, grabbed my hoodie off its hook, and pulled it over my head. I opened the door, and Luna slipped out into the night, draping a shawl over her sweater as she went. I moved to follow, then hesitated.
“Wait—just a sec,” I said, then ducked back inside. I trotted over to the pile of gifts, grabbed a small, crudely-wrapped package from the top of the pile, then shoved it in my pocket.
I walked back outside to see Luna standing still at the edge of the porch, staring out at the falling snow. It was cold and quiet this time of night—but Hearth's Warming lights blinked cheerily in windows and under eaves. The snow was thick and deep, and still falling. The scene looked like something out of a dream. I took a deep breath, then let it out, steam filling the air. Whatever was going to happen next—well, at least I had this moment to remember, after it was all over.
Luna glanced over at me, then looked back out onto the street. I paused, then walked up beside her. For a long moment, we stood there, quietly, watching the picture-postcard scene before us.
“How are you enjoying Ponyville?” I asked.
Luna glanced over at me again, then back out at the street.
“I expect Twilight has been filling you in on that front,” she said.
“Mostly,” I replied. “But even so.”
“Even so,” she repeated.
We were quiet for another moment.
“It has been…” she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Enlightening, if I am to be honest.”
I looked over at her, but she continued to stare straight ahead.
“I have learned… quite a bit,” she said. “About Twilight, of course. And her friends. But mostly…” She swallowed. “about myself.”
She fell quiet again.
I glanced at her. “Have you…” I began, then hesitated. I coughed, once. “Have you… thought about coming back?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I have,” she said. “In the spring, I think. If you will have me, of course,” she added.
“Of course,” I murmured.
She nodded graciously. “I... have been away a long time," she said, "but, coming back to Canterlot when the gardens are in bloom seems…” She sighed. “...right.”
We stood there in silence for a long time. I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for her to say something. I was getting cold, after all...
On cue, she spoke.
“Your Highness, I…” She clenched her jaw, then swallowed. “I have something I would like to say to you.”
Ah. Here we go.
I looked over at her. “Of course,” I said, fighting to keep my voice level. “What is it?”
She took a step backwards, then turned to face me. She lowered her head a little, then grimaced. She was fighting a battle within herself—and I knew exactly what was going to come next:
You have been ever so much of a dear, Celestia, for coming today, thankyouverymuch, indeed, but, though I am loath to break the peace of the Season, Seasonal as it is, I absolutely must tell you, from the bottom of my heart, how very much of a disappointment you have been to me, and—
“I am sorry,” Luna blurted.
My eyes widened. I opened my mouth to speak—
She held up a hoof. “Please, Celestia,” she said, her voice shaking, “This is hard enough for me as it is. Let me have my say.”
I closed my mouth again.
She took another breath or two to steady herself, then squeezed her eyes shut and began, speaking quickly, as if she had been rehearsing this speech for weeks.
“I was wrong,” she said. “And I have done you wrong. I expected too much of you, and punished you for failing to act like the Princess I wanted you to be. In particular,” she continued, “my behavior after the Gala—what I said, how I acted—was especially unkind and uncivil.” She hesitated. “Though I have always had…” She swallowed. “...good intentions, my actions towards you have been cruel and inexcusable. And I hope you can forgive me for that.”
The instant she stopped speaking, she hung her head, then stood motionless. For a long moment, the only sound was her heavy, ragged breathing.
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t prepared myself for this sort of discussion. Her anger, I could handle—her olive branch left me speechless.
I stood there, silent, for several seconds. And suddenly, I knew what to say. I smirked.
“Sure,” I said, “if you’ll forgive me.”
She looked up, startled.
“I was wrong, too,” I said. This was not in my prepared speech in the slightest, but the words came naturally, from the heart. “Sure, you might have started it,” I said, “but I was mean, too. You drove me hard, but I didn’t need to twist the knife like I did.”
She smiled weakly. “There is no need to ask forgiveness for being…”
“...a bit of a brat?” I finished. “Sure there is—at least, if you’re asking forgiveness for being…”
“...a complete flapdoodle,” she suggested.
I giggled a little, then nodded. “I do,” I said. “I do forgive you.”
She looked up at me, her gaze quavering. She swallowed several times, then just nodded.
And, for me, that was enough.
I smiled at her for another moment, then I let out a little gasp. “Oh, hang on,” I said, “I almost forgot—”
I reached in the pocket of my hoodie and pulled out my present. It looked so small and pathetic—but it was too late now. I handed it to her and she took it, wordlessly.
“Hearth's Warming present,” I murmured. “Me to you.”
She took it, then swallowed again, before lighting her horn and undoing the wrapping. The paper came free, revealing a small cardboard box. She opened it, and pulled out a delicate pair of scissors. They were small, no bigger than my hoof, but they were made of burnished silver formed in the shape of a bird, with the two blades making its beak.
“Antique sewing scissors,” I muttered nervously. “Real silver. The sort that ponies actually used back in your day.” I swallowed. “I know you probably have some scissors you’re using already,” I said, “but I thought you might like something more… familiar.”
Luna lit her horn again, then held up the scissors. She opened and closed them experimentally once or twice, gazing at them with eyes filled with wonder and awe. She closed them again, then looked at me.
“Thank you, Celestia,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice. She set them down on the box again. “These... mean a great deal to me." She swallowed. "Honestly.”
Luna smiled up at me, then looked, suddenly, uncertain. She hesitated, then lit her horn and lifted one wing. “I suppose this is as good a time as any,” she said weakly, levitating a thin, flat package towards me. I took it in my hooves: it was wrapped in red paper, printed with white musical notes, with my name written, in flawless cursive, on the top corner. It felt like a folder full of papers.
“Go on,” Luna encouraged.
I tore off the wrapping paper—then, inwardly, I groaned. Sheet music. All my friends had learned, long ago, that I didn’t want them buying me music—if I was going to play something for fun, I would choose it on my own. I was very particular about my hobby-music.
“Thanks,” I said, managing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, as I flipped through the booklets—Hearth's Warming Classics For Brass Ensembles, Concerto for Four Horns In D Minor… “It really means a lot—”
Suddenly, my eyes bulged. My breath caught in my throat. I looked up at Luna, only to see her gazing back at me with a nervous smile.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
I nodded wordlessly, then looked back down. The final booklet in the packet read, in large letters across the top:
A KISS TO BUILD A DREAM ON, BY JOUST HOOFSTRONG, SOLO FOR TRUMPET
Luna chuckled nervously. “I told you once,” she said, “often, I am a little more observant than you give me credit for…”
I looked down. I wasn’t sure I could meet her eye just now—I was already so close to breaking down, and I wasn’t sure I could keep myself together, as is...
“Thanks,” I managed to say, my voice shaking.
And suddenly, I dropped the books, then lunged forward and pulled her tight. She made a slight, strangled noise, then put her arms around me, too.
We held each other that way I for a minute, then I pulled away and dabbed at my eyes. I picked up the books in my magic, then turned to her and grinned.
“Well,” I said, “shall we turn in?” It’s getting cold out here.”
“Yes, of course,” she said quickly.
I stepped to the door and held it open for her. As she stepped through, I licked my lips, then spoke.
I sat down on the hard plastic bench next to Twilight. Twi already had her lunch out--a PB&J, a couple homemade cookies, and an apple. She watched me as I set down my lunchbox with an audible thump.
“Hey Cease,” she began. “How was—”
Then, she fell quiet, and her eyes went wide.
I pulled out an egg-salad sandwich. Then another. Two cartons of chocolate milk. Crackers and peanut butter. Crackers and cheese. Trail mix. And a little slice of cheesecake. Twilight stared as I unwrapped one of the sandwiches and started in.
She swallowed. “Are those… leftovers from a party, or something?” she asked.
I swallowed. “Mom’s sick,” I said.
“But she’s sick a lot, isn’t she?” Twilight asked.
I shrugged. “Doctor said eat as much of this as I can,” I said. “Protein and calcium. Said I’d need it.”
Twilight caught something in my tone, and paled.
“B-but…” she stammered, “Y-your papa will still take care of you, won’t he?”
I shook my head. “Never knew him. Died when I was little.” I sighed. “Just me and Blue.”
Her eyes widened, and she turned back to her own lunch in silence.
We ate quietly until we heard hoofsteps behind us.
“Hey, C,” Twink said, sliding into the seat beside me. “How’s it going?”
Minnie sat down across from me and grabbed a few of the nuts from the trail mix. Lem plopped down next to her, shot her a look, then dug out her own lunch. Twilight tried to hide behind her brown paper lunchbag.
“Hey,” I muttered. The others stopped and stared.
“Everything okay, Cece?” Lemonhearts asked.
I took another bite of my sandwich. Twilight peered around her bag, then gently pushed it out of the way.
“Her mama’s sick,” she volunteered.
“Again?” Twinkleshine asked.
Twilight nodded solemnly. “And the doctor…”
“Shut your foundering mouth, Twi,” I snarled.
Twilight blushed and dropped her head. Minuette’s eyes widened, and Twinkleshine scooted away. Lemonhearts scowled at me.
“Cece,” she said, “I know you’re in a bad mood, but that’s not right. Say you’re sorry.”
I glared daggers at her, but she didn’t flinch. “Say you’re sorry,” she repeated.
I stared into her eyes--then deflated. “Sorry, Twilight,” I said. “It’s just….” I shrugged.
Twilight pushed her glasses up her nose. “You’re stressed,” she offered.
I nodded. “Yeah. Kind of.”
Tinklestar nudged me, then swiped my cheescake. “That’s what friends are for,” she said. “What do you need?” she asked, taking a big bite of the cheesecake. “Wanna go shoppin’? Or talk about colts? Or just need someone to help you eat all this?”
I looked around at each of them: Twink still chewing, Lem with a little smirk, Minnie smiling encouragingly, and Twilight watching me over the top of her glasses, a little grin on her face.
I watched their smiling faces, and I allowed myself a little smile of my own--but only a smile that did nothing to lighten the heaviness in my heart.
inb4: Though Cece is eating animal products, she remains an ovo-lacto vegetarian. And this is something of an important exception, besides: she needs the calcium and protein for the bones, muscles, and feathers she will be growing after her mother passes (which will be happening very soon).
Also, I love "foundering" as a pony-swear. References an equine disease (compare the human "lousy," "measly"), and also just sounds profane.
Two quick knocks came at my door, before someone pushed it open. I heard two sets of hooves walking towards me, but I didn’t care. I lay on my bed, among a pile of Power Ponies comics, the Peytral around my neck, my wings still damp from the funeral, my eyes glassy and unfocused.
Slowly, two ponies crept into view: Twilight, with a boquet of lillies, and Mrs. Velvet, her mother. I saw them, but I didn’t react.
“Go on,” Mrs. Velvet prompted Twilight.
“I-I brought you these,” she said, hefting the boquet slightly. “I don’t know if you like lillies, but Mama said they were…”
She swallowed her words, then glanced nervously at me over the top of her glasses. I didn’t move.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Velvet said. “Now, go put them somewhere, then go wait outside for me, okay? Cece and I need to talk about something.”
Twilight nodded, then turned and walked away. She paused, then stood on tip-hoof and slid the lillies onto the top of my dresser. She shot me another nervous glance, then scurried out of view.
Mrs. Velvet watched her go, then lit her horn and pushed the door closed behind her. Then carefully, she walked to my bedside, brushed a few of the comics away, and sat. After another moment, she reached over and started to rub my back--my lower back, far away from my wings.
After a long moment, she sighed.
“Cece,” she said, “I think I know at least a little of what you’re going through. And, for what it’s worth, I want to say that I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
I said nothing.
“Everyone has to, sometime,” she said. “But the first time is always the hardest.”
More silence.
She chuckled to herself a little, then put her hoof back in her lap.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about this now,” she said, “but… well, it’s part of life, too. I’ve been talking to the Palace Counsel, and they’ve been reviewing your mother’s will. It’s…” she took a deep breath, then let it out. “Well, she always had a head for these sorts of things. And she always was thorough, despite whatever faults she might have had.” She went quiet for another moment. “She arranged for pretty much everything,” she continued. “All her personal funds have been placed in a trust, which will provide for you and Blueblood until at least age 25. And she’s already worked out all the paperwork: no one’s going to try to challenge your claim to the Peytral.” She chuckled again. “You might not care about that now, but trust me--not having some distant cousin show up twenty years from now, claiming that it should have been hers all along, well…”
She qent quiet again.
“There’s… one other thing,” she said. “She gave instructions for all sorts of ponies: you have people assigned to take care of your finances, your education, practically everything. And I—” she swallowed. “She asked me to be your legal guardian.”
She paused. I think she was waiting to see how I would react. I didn’t wanna.
“That means,” she continued, “that she wants me to be responsible for you. Sign your field trip forms, making sure everyone is doing their jobs, all that. For you and Blueblood. But, uh…” she chuckled a little. “I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well these past few years. And I don’t think you’d want someone holding your hoof all the time, right? You want to be your own pony--and you never were good with rules. So, I’ll make you a deal: I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do--as long as you don’t make me. Deal?”
I could hear the grin in her voice, but still, I did not move.
She sat in the silence for a while, then sighed. She reached out and put her hoof on my shoulder.
“But, uh… there’s more to guardianship than that. You might not feel like it, but you’re still a young filly--but not for much longer. There’s going to be a lot of changes for you soon, and not all of them political. And I expect you still have a lot of mourning to do.”
I didn’t move.
“So,” she said, “I want you to do something for me. Anytime you need something--anything at all--if you need some help, or advice, or a shoulder to cry on, anything--I want you to come to me, alright?” She patted my shoulder a little. “I don’t know if you want a mom right now--but, if and when you do, I’ll be that mom for you. Or--if not a mom, at least an aunt. Okay?”
I glanced over at her.
“And there’s the other half of that,” she continued. “I expect that you’re not going to feel good for a while. Maybe not ever--or, not the same way, at least. But for the next little bit, I want you and Blue to come stay with us, alright? For as long as you need to, at least.”
I looked up into her face. And I saw her smiling back at me, her eyes already glistening with tears.
“If you want me to leave you alone later, that’s fine,” she said. “But no one should be alone after they’ve had to say goodbye.”
At that, I whimpered a little, deep in the back of my throat. I pushed myself up, just a few inches, then turned and crawled into her lap. She put her arms around me and pulled me close, and I started bawling--weeping like a baby foal, wordless, ugly weeping, in the arms of a mare I could almost pretend was my mother.
I yawned sleepily as I plodded down the hall. Another long night, and I hadn’t been sleeping well as-is. Especially since Loonie had started hassling me. I would’ve put up more of a fuss if I’d known that—
I froze, then ducked behind a pillar. I counted to five, then peered around it.
Dr. House Call was backing out of Luna’s room. He said something to her, but I couldn’t hear the words. He stepped away, then, slung his old-fashioned leather bag over his back. He pulled her door shut, then turned and walked away.
Only, the door didn’t close. The latch didn’t catch all the way; instead, it popped back open a few inches. But Dr. Call didn’t notice; he just kept walking.
I let out a breath, long and slow. He scared me--I thought he was Luna. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with her at any time of day, but especially not while I was hardly awake myself…
But still…
I crept forward. Ever since Loonie had come back, she’d been… well, the newspapers said reclusive. I prefered secretive, myself. I don’t know what she was trying to hide, but she played her cards very close to the chest; she rarely spoke about herself, and, when she did, she was slippery as an eel. But, most of all--she kept the door to her chamber closed and locked at all hours of the day and night.
But here it was, wide open, and not a guard in sight…
I crept closer. I glanced up and down the hall once more, then turned and peered inside.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. But slowly, shapes began to rise up out of the darkness: a wooden rocking chair, a basket of thread lying next to it. A narrow, hard bed, almost a military cot. A full tea service, complete with steaming teapot, on a small table.
And, sitting at her vanity, Luna herself.
I stared. It had taken me a moment to recognize her. For one. She was naked--no clothes, no shoes, no collar (there was nothing wrong with that, just… I’d never seen her without at least a nightie, at least not since she returned). And she had her mane down, too. It was beautiful in the dim light, spilling halfway down her back like a silver-blue curtain. But most of all, it was the way she sat: she looked defeated and sad and broken--nothing like the old battleaxe I knew. I’d always known she was elderly, but this was the first time I’d ever seen her look old.
She sat that way, staring down at the ground, for several long, awkward moments. Eventually, she looked up, slowly, and met her own eyes in the mirror. She held her gaze for just a moment, before jerking away. Without looking at herself, she lit her horn and picked up a silver brush, then began to brush out her mane in silence.
She brushed for several minutes--longer than she needed to, I think. Then she switched to brushing her tail. When she had finished with that, she stretched her wings out, one after the other, and examined them carefully, checking to see if any feathers needed preening. She folded them again with a sigh, the lit her horn again. This time, she pulled her mane into a ponytail, tied it off with a dark-blue ribbon, and wrapped it up into a neat bun. She opened a small drawer and pulled out a pair of her pince-nez spectacles and put them on her nose.
Luna--and she was starting to look like Luna now, finally--took a deep breath. She sat up a little straighter, then looked herself in the eyes again. She set her jaw.
And, though her horn stayed dark this time, what happened next was magical.
As I watched, thirty years melted away. Oh, she was gray and wrinkly as ever, but the way she held herself, she became tall. Strong. Proud. She had changed from bone-china to steel, by pure force of will.
Suddenly, she stood, the movement quick, fluid, and decisive. When she turned to go find her dress, I had already disappeared.
I scuttled into the kitchen a few minutes late, but no one looked up. I snapped on the stove, and gathered up the pancake ingredients already waiting for me. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing, but it wasn’t until after I realized I’d used blueberries to make a grim face in the batter, wearing pince-nez spectacles, that I hesitated.
